Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel

by Virginia Kantra

  He wanted to tear apart the man who had hurt her, to strike out at anybody who thought they had a right to judge her.

  Slowly, he uncurled his fists. He couldn’t fix this problem by beating on it. “There are mistakes, and then there’s just bad luck. The guy you married . . . Did you love him?”

  “I was nineteen,” Jane said. “But yes, I did. Which makes me an idiot.”

  “Nope, it makes you nineteen.” The age of wishful thinking, of believing you were invulnerable. The age of most of the recruits who came to Parris Island hoping to belong to the brotherhood or save the world from terrorism or escape shit at home. “It means you went into it for the right reasons. He turns out to be a shit, that’s on him. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. You did what you did out of love.”

  “So did you.”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t love Dani. I barely knew her.”

  “That makes what you did even more special. You chose to put yourself at risk, to lay down your life, for a stranger.”

  She made it sound almost religious. Which was a laugh. If there was a God, He hadn’t paid much attention to the child Gabe. Now that he was an adult, Gabe figured he was returning the favor.

  “I just reacted,” he said. “It’s my training.”

  Jane’s eyes shone. “It’s you. You’re a good man. You did the right thing for the right reasons when you had nothing to gain.”

  Ah, Jesus. He stared at her, shaken. In all his life, no woman had ever looked at him that way, like he was . . . a good man. No woman had ever said that to him before.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Nothing to gain and nothing to show for it.”

  “That woman you saved, Dani . . . She wouldn’t agree with you. I’m sure she appreciates what you did.”

  He looked down at his hands again. “She wouldn’t testify,” he said, real low.

  “What?” Jane asked, like she hadn’t heard him correctly.

  He cleared his throat. “She wouldn’t testify against them. That’s why the DA was able to get so many continuances.”

  “Was she from around there?”

  “Dani? Yeah.”

  “Maybe she felt trapped,” Jane suggested. “She could have been afraid. She has to stay in that community. She has to live with whatever decisions she made. That doesn’t mean she wanted what happened to her or that she isn’t grateful to you for stopping it.” Jane reached out and took his hand, wrapping her small, scarred, capable fingers around his big, rough ones.

  “You saved her,” she said with a little squeeze. “And one day, she may look back on that, and it will give her the courage to save herself.”

  She might as well have squeezed his heart. Except that his heart was swelling too large for his body, pressing against his ribcage. He couldn’t breathe, all of the room in his chest taken up by his rapidly expanding heart.

  It slayed him that after all Jane had been through she was still so stubbornly hopeful, so determined to see the best in everybody. Including him. It made him want to be that guy that she imagined, to live in her world. “Not every woman’s as brave as you are.”

  “I’m not brave.”

  “You saved yourself. You changed your life.” The way Dani wouldn’t. The way his mother hadn’t. He admired her so much. “You left your ex.”

  Her eyes flickered. “No, I didn’t.”

  He didn’t want to hear it. “You got a divorce. You got a restraining order.”

  “Only after Travis left us.”

  His too-big heart was pounding in his chest, flooding his brain with blood, making it hard to think. He struggled to understand. She didn’t leave him?

  Her chin raised. “Go ahead. Ask the question.”

  “What question?”

  “The one everybody asks. Why did I stay?”

  “I know why you stayed.”

  “Because I was afraid,” Jane said. “Afraid of what he would do, afraid of what people would say, afraid of being abandoned. Trapped, like Dani.” She smiled sadly. “So, you see, I’m not really brave at all.”

  His chest was tight. Maybe she felt trapped, Jane had said about Dani, but she could have been talking about Gabe’s mother. She could have been talking about herself.

  He cleared his throat. “Because you thought you could make things better. Because you thought that was on you, to fix things. To fix him. You made the choices you felt you had to make back then.”

  “It didn’t feel like a choice,” she whispered.

  “You can’t judge yourself by what happened when you got knocked down,” he said. “What matters is what you do when you get back up again. You’re amazing.”

  She looked at him with those wide gray eyes, a funny little smile curving her lips. He wanted to kiss her so much. “Do you ever listen to yourself?” she asked.

  “What?” he demanded defensively.

  “You can’t define yourself by who you were when you were down. What matters is what you make of yourself when you get back up again.”

  He frowned, confused. “That’s what I just said.”

  She folded her arms. “You should have a little faith in yourself. Luke believes in you. Sam trusts you.”

  “Yeah? What about you?” He met her eyes, challenge in his own. “Do you trust me, Jane?”

  * * *

  JANE’S GAZE LOCKED with his. Her heart swelled like a soap bubble in her chest, fragile and shiny.

  Gabe stood in the slanting sunlight like a wall, casting a long shadow. His broad shoulders braced against an invisible burden, his work-hardened hands were loose and open at his sides. She was snared by the contrasts of him, the long hair the color of burnt caramel, the dark beard already shadowing his jaw, his easy smile and intense eyes.

  Her type, she’d thought, before she knew any better.

  But he was stronger than Travis. Tougher. Rougher, too.

  Life had beaten him up and knocked him down, but it had not broken him. She admired the way he played the hand he’d been dealt. No complaints. No excuses. He was patient with Aidan. He was kind to his dog. He hadn’t provoked a fight with her father or walked away.

  It was just too bad that being around him made her quiver like a bowl of pastry cream.

  She wanted to trust him. But living with Travis had slowly eroded her faith in her own judgment.

  Could she risk her hard-won independence on another mistake?

  “Everybody deserves a second chance,” she said, struggling to breathe. “Even . . .”

  “Somebody like me?” he finished dryly.

  Her heart thudded. “I was going to say someone like me.”

  The air thickened like honey. The sun had sunk to the level of the trees. A faint breeze came off the sea. A nervous chill chased up her arms. She shivered, wondering what he’d do if she burrowed against him to borrow his heat.

  “Careful.” His voice deepened. “I’m the guy your dad warned you about, remember?”

  Jane licked her lips. Even knowing it would be a mistake, she wanted to surrender to the attraction pulsing between them. To give in. To let go. To believe. “You don’t scare me.”

  “Yeah?” He moved closer, and the air around her warmed by at least ten degrees. Didn’t stop the goose bumps, though. “Maybe I should,” he murmured.

  He lowered his head without touching her, giving her enough time and space to stop him.

  If she wanted to.

  If she didn’t stop him . . . Nerves jumped in her stomach. Well, she would deserve everything she got.

  He was so close, his breath brushing her lips. Heat radiated from his body. He smelled delicious, like salt and sun and testosterone. She wanted to lick him, the crease of his neck, the hard curve of his shoulder. All over. His mouth hovered over hers, tempting her to take a bite. If she raised on her toes . . . If she leaned in, just a little . . .

  She didn’t move, her heart pounding in longing and panic. She’d told the truth. She wasn’t afraid of him,
exactly. But she was terrified of making another mistake.

  He cupped the back of her head, his fingers sinking into the hair beneath her braid, his calluses delicately abrading her scalp. She jerked once and was still, absorbing his touch.

  He brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth, over her hot cheek to the vulnerable hollow below her ear. She closed her eyes, embarrassed by the frantic beat of her pulse. He nuzzled her earlobe. Took it and bit, very gently. Her mouth opened on a short, shocked gasp of excitement.

  He kissed her, his mouth taking hers, nudging for entrance, sliding inside, tasting her with slow, devastating restraint. She was softening in ways she barely remembered, clenching in places she’d almost forgotten.

  He teased her to play, a nibble of her lips, a flicker of his tongue, a promise of pressure, a hint of heat.

  He was so hot.

  He made her hot, too. She was burning up inside, all her air gone, her fear evaporating in flames. She kissed him back, running her hands up his arms—his biceps flexed under her palms—to cling to his shoulders. He felt so good, solid and warm. She sagged, giddy with lust and lack of oxygen, weak with relief. After everything, she could still want this. Want him. Still respond like a normal woman with a normal woman’s desire.

  How long since she’d been kissed like this? Wanted like this? He caught at her lips, stroking her open, licking into her mouth, until she was melting in his arms, her thoughts dissolving, her knees wobbly. She pressed closer, flattening her breasts against his chest, trying to get close, closer, feeding on the taste of him, dark and addictive as coffee.

  His hands slid under the hem of her T-shirt, rough against the bare skin of her back. She was exquisitely aware of his fingers, stroking up her spine, of his body, muscled and solid against her smaller, softer one. She wrapped her arms around him as if she were drowning, rolling her hips against the thick ridge of his erection, rocking them both.

  He made a deep sound low in his throat and gripped her waist.

  Yes. The word washed through her brain, surged through her body. She was floating in warmth, carried away on a tide of sensation. Do it.

  A small, cognizant part of her, standing above the flood, recognized she did not want the choice. If he swept her off her feet, then whatever happened—the responsibility, the blame, the possibility of mistake—wasn’t hers alone.

  His fingers pressed tight, warm, electric. He pulled her against his hard, aroused body, the friction shocking all her secreted nerve endings to life. She felt the charge deep inside before he eased her hips away, breaking their connection.

  She stared up at him, bereft of contact. Of comfort.

  Gabe’s face was taut, his breath escaping in short, rough pants.

  “Why don’t I scare you?” he said. “You scare the hell out of me.”

  * * *

  JANE STARED UP at Gabe, her pupils dark and dazed, so far gone he couldn’t be sure his words had penetrated.

  He could have her now. The realization seized him, shook him like a dog with a bone. They didn’t need a bed. Hell, they wouldn’t even have to get undressed.

  Jane’s mouth curved in a small, provocative smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  She was teasing him. He fought the urge to grin at her like a fool. But he liked that so much, that she would tease him after he’d just kissed her brains out. He liked the sly humor that lurked beneath her calm surface, the quiet strength under her pinup girl looks. He liked everything about her.

  God, he was so fucked. Not fucked, he amended quickly. Not going to be fucked.

  “I think it’s kind of flattering,” she added. Her smile faded a little in the face of his continued, stupefied silence. “Not that I want to scare you.”

  Right.

  “I have to get back to work,” he said.

  Her mouth, full and bruised-looking from his kisses, jarred open. He almost closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see what he was giving up. “Why?”

  His blood pounded, hard and primitive. Because if I don’t I’m going to take you inside and bend you over a table. Take you up against the wall.

  He tried to force some circulation back to his brain. “Because that’s why I’m here. I need to bang”—Not bang, don’t say bang—“this out.”

  She tilted her head, regarding him with grave, gray, considering eyes. “I see.”

  He was afraid she did. He started to sweat, running scared.

  “Do I get any say in this decision?” she asked.

  “There’s no decision. We’re not doing this.”

  His words stung color to her face. Her soft chin firmed. “I’m not offering to marry you and have your babies. It was only a kiss.”

  It was more than a kiss and they both knew it.

  “It was a mistake,” Gabe said.

  Her flush deepened. But, being Jane, she continued on bravely. “If I did something wrong . . .”

  “What? No. It was fine.” Fine? God, he was such an asshole. She deserved so much better. How about fantastic? Amazing. The thought of her, hot and round, soft and sweet, in his arms, almost destroyed him. “You were great.”

  She looked confused. He couldn’t blame her. He was confused himself.

  “Not a mistake that way,” he explained. “I liked kissing you. I like you.”

  “Then . . .”

  His jaw set. There was no help for it. He was going to have to tell her the truth.

  “I can’t do this,” he said tightly. “I can’t do this with you. I’m one paycheck away from being homeless.”

  “I’m not interested in your paycheck.” She sounded . . . hurt? Insulted?

  He was getting this all wrong. He was trying not to hurt her, damn it. “It’s not just the paycheck. I come from nothing. I’m fresh out of jail. You deserve better. More.”

  “You sound like my father.”

  Gabe winced. He supposed he deserved that. But he was doing the right thing—trying to do the right thing—for both their sakes. Any relationship with Jane would involve her kid. Her skinny, scrappy, appealing kid who was currently not Gabe’s problem.

  And then there was Jane’s father, who could make himself Gabe’s problem at any moment.

  Getting involved would only set up both of them—Gabe for failure and Jane for disappointment.

  “Your dad has a point,” he said. Damn it. “The thing is, I can’t be with you, with anybody, right now. I’ve got a lot of shit to deal with. Probably more than I can handle. You have enough going on without taking on my problems.”

  Her chin went up. “Fine.”

  “Good.” They understood each other. Gabe tried to feel glad about that instead of tense and miserable. Suppose he hadn’t stopped. Suppose he’d hoisted her in his arms, her legs wrapped tight around his waist, and carried her into the kitchen? Laid her down on a counter, peeled her jeans from her sweet . . .

  “Perfect,” she said and went inside and slammed the door.

  Ten

  A WEEK LATER, the sounds of construction penetrated the bakery walls, rattling the windows like gunfire. Pop pop. Bang bang. Rizzzzz.

  Jane set her teeth and concentrated on tying string around a bakery box.

  The place wasn’t exactly jumping. But business was picking up. More vacationers taking advantage of off-season rates, more property owners coming to see how their rental houses had fared over the winter. Her regulars dropped in, buying doughnuts after church and special-order cakes to celebrate this birthday or that anniversary.

  But this Sunday morning, they did not linger as they usually did over lattes on the front porch or brunch in the dining room. Nobody wanted to dawdle in a construction zone. Even the seniors had abandoned their usual table.

  At least she had fewer tables to bus. A good thing, since she was working alone.

  The whine of the saw cut through her concentration. Not alone.

  Gabe and the crew had shown up around ten, after most of the early-morning joggers and beach walkers ha
d come and gone. Sleeping off Saturday night, Jane thought, and wondered how Gabe had spent his off-hours. Not that it was any of her business what he did or who he did it with.

  He didn’t want to get involved with her, fine. She could still feed him. Nobody ever turned down her food.

  Every day this week when the crew showed up, she’d had breakfast waiting. Egg sandwiches with thick Canadian bacon and tangy hollandaise. Glazed sticky buns the size of lunch plates, oozing butter and cinnamon. Ham and cheese brioche, flaky and melting. Jay and Tomás had fallen on the food with thanks and gratifying hungry sounds. And Gabe had given her a long, measuring look, as if he suspected her of wanting to poison his coffee.

  Heat surged to her face. Not that she ever would.

  The tic behind her eyeballs pulsed in counterpoint to the nail guns outside. She had been up since four this morning. Normally she enjoyed the quiet, productive hours as the sky shimmered from gray into gold. But this morning she felt beaten, exhausted. For the past eight nights, she’d tossed and turned, her mind replaying that knee-weakening heart-shattering stupid kiss.

  How could Gabe kiss her like that and then stop?

  Okay, she understood why he had kissed her. He was a guy. She was blond and had boobs. Sometimes that was enough.

  But she couldn’t get past the way she had responded, arousal blooming inside her like proofed yeast, soft and hungry.

  Or why he had left her shaking with desire and frustration.

  “Extra-large decaf soy, no-foam, sugar-free vanilla latte,” ordered Suzy Warner.

  Awful drink. Everything about it artificial. But there was no arguing with an acquired taste, Jane had learned. People wanted what they wanted.

  And didn’t want what they didn’t. Her mind skittered to Gabe. Her jaw clenched.

  The pop of a nail gun filtered through the newly installed patio door. Don’t look.

  “Make that to go,” Suzy said. “Extra hot.”

  Jane kept her smile in place. “Of course. Emmalee?”

  Emmalee Swanson, Suzy’s walking companion, jerked her attention from the double glass doors, where Gabe and Tomás were outside propping up a ladder. “Oh, a Glorious Morning Muffin, please. And a large coffee.”