Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel

by Virginia Kantra

  She cut the tulips’ stems over the kitchen sink, arranging them in a brown-glazed stoneware pitcher. The bright blooms glowed. Wistfully, she touched one, tracing its creamy texture with one finger.

  She had never had a man bring her flowers before or climb the stairs at night to read to her son.

  There was a danger Aidan could become too attached. They needed to talk about that. She had to protect her child.

  But as she set out mugs for coffee and tidied the counter, she worried it was already too late for Aidan.

  Too late for them both.

  Sixteen

  GABE FOUND HER in the kitchen, putting cups and cookies on a tray. Such a Jane thing to do, providing food and comfort. He paused a moment to appreciate the picture she made, her quick, neat hands, her smooth blond hair. Like Tess Fletcher, she had a knack, a need, for taking care of others.

  He wanted to take care of her.

  “Let me get that,” he said. He felt the slight resistance in her grip before she released the tray.

  She twisted her empty hands together, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I thought we’d sit on the porch.”

  He smiled reassuringly. “Lead the way.”

  The screened back porch was shadowed and quiet, surrounded by overgrown shrubs. His contractor’s eye noted a rip in the screen, a break in the lattice, rust on the chains of the old porch swing. The air smelled of sea and loam and faintly of citronella. A chorus of tree frogs swelled in the dusk. Through the skylight overhead, the stars were coming out, faint white points against a deep blue sky.

  Jane gestured for him to put the tray down on a small table. “I need to . . .” Another nervous movement of those hands, smoothing the thighs of her jeans. “I should say goodnight to Aidan.”

  “Take your time.” Gabe eased his weight down on the swing. “I’ll be right here.”

  The thought sank into him. Right here on Dare Island.

  He was content here, happier than he could ever remember being. He had a job, friends, a dog, a truck. Like some cowboy in a country song instead of a punk from Detroit. Gabe grinned in the dark. Hell, he was sitting on a goddamn porch swing in the moonlight. All he needed to complete the cliché was the love of a good woman.

  His breathing jammed. Yeah. All he needed . . .

  * * *

  “HE’S ALMOST OUT,” Jane said, rejoining him.

  “Kid worked hard today.”

  “You, too. Thank you.”

  He shrugged, uncomfortable with her praise.

  She sat beside him on the slatted seat, propping her feet on the table, rocking the swing. Her position, bent knees, raised feet, exposed a strip of pale skin above her plain white sneakers. Jesus. He had it bad when even the sight of her ankles turned him on.

  “You’re good with him,” she continued softly.

  He cleared his throat, trying not to imagine her naked. “He read me a story. No big deal.”

  He liked the boy.

  The swing creaked idly back and forth. He’d never sat with a girl on a porch swing in the dark. It was nice.

  “He talked to you about his father,” Jane said. “That’s a very big deal. Lauren says it’s important for Aidan to express his feelings, but he doesn’t talk to me.”

  “It’s a guy thing.”

  A smile played around her mouth. Her scent wrapped around him in the dark, sweet and edible. He’d probably never be able to eat chocolate again without tasting her. “Talking? I don’t think so.”

  “Not making eye contact,” he explained. “Uncle Chuck used to say I only opened my mouth when we were working together. Or driving in the car. Like I could only tell him stuff if he couldn’t see my face.” He grinned, remembering. “Some of the shit I told him, I’m surprised he didn’t drive us off the road and into a tree.”

  She slid her hand along the seat, wrapping her small, scarred, capable fingers around his big, rough ones, giving them a little squeeze. “Aidan likes you.”

  Ah, Jesus. She might as well have squeezed his heart. Except that his heart was swelling too big 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. “He’s a good kid. You’ve done a good job with him.”

  “Thanks.” She dropped her gaze to their joined hands. “But he’s confused right now. Vulnerable. Especially where his father is concerned. I’m not sure it’s a good idea for him to get attached to you.”

  Her words slid like a knife between his ribs, puncturing his heart. Bang.

  He drew in a cautious breath, absorbing the pain.

  The old Gabe would have argued. His instinct when wounded or threatened had always been to lash out. Fight back. But he’d known all along he didn’t deserve her. He shouldn’t be surprised she’d figured it out, too. What did he know about being a role model for a little boy?

  “I’m all he has,” Jane continued. “I don’t want him hurt when you leave.”

  “You’re worried I’ll hurt Aidan,” he said carefully.

  She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes.

  He choked down his churning panic. This isn’t about you, you bastard. Think about her.

  Something didn’t fit.

  He forced himself to consider what she was saying, to think before he spoke.

  You don’t scare me, she’d said.

  This is what I want, she’d said.

  I trust you.

  Gabe frowned. Jane was a good mom. Maybe she was simply protecting her son. And maybe . . .

  I don’t want him hurt when you leave.

  God. Maybe she was protecting herself.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Unless you tell me to go.”

  Her gaze lifted. In the deep blue twilight, her eyes were searching. Serious. Her fingers clung to his.

  Enough talking, he decided. He’d never been much good with words anyway. Jane needed reassurance.

  Or that was his excuse.

  He lifted the table, moving it farther away. She watched, her brow puckering.

  Leaning forward, he dropped a kiss between her brows. His mouth drifted from her cheek to her jaw, finding the tender hollow of her neck, where her skin was silky and warm. Doing his best to reassure her, to show her with his body the things he could not say.

  Let me take care of you. Don’t tell me to go.

  * * *

  IT WASN’T ONLY sex this time.

  The thought sank inside Jane, sending ripples of warmth that spread through her body to the tips of her fingers, the bottoms of her soles. He kissed her so sweetly.

  Maybe it had never been only sex.

  They played at kissing, brushing lips, teasing tongues, experimenting with depths and angles like teenagers exploring in the dark. His hands moved slowly up and down her sides. The heel of his palm brushed her breast, and her nipples contracted almost painfully. As if he knew, his hands slid under her shirt, texture dragging against her skin, closing over her breasts to claim them. The hard little points pressed against his palms. She whimpered against his mouth.

  The sound shocked her back to awareness. She wasn’t a teenager necking on the porch.

  “Aidan . . .”

  “He’s out, you said.”

  “Almost out.”

  Gabe’s eyes gleamed at her in the dark. His hands kept moving, stroking, playing. “That was fifteen minutes ago. You want to go check on him?”

  She could feel herself softening, yielding. “N-no,” she admitted.

  He laughed low and kissed her. He tasted like coffee and chocolate, rich, addictive flavors. He pulled her to straddle his thighs, her arms around his neck, her knees resting on the old porch swing, rocking, swaying, moving together, jeans against jeans, male against female, delicious, grinding friction.

  His hands tightened at her waist, lifting her away. She stumbled. He held her close between his legs, his arm a solid band at her back, his free hand popping open the button of her jeans. His knuckles bru
shed her stomach.

  She sucked in. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . .”

  He traced the seam of her zipper, his touch wandering, teasing, cupping her. “I think you do.”

  She swallowed. Could he feel how wet she was? “We’re outside.” Exposed. The risk made her heart pound.

  “It’s dark. Nobody can see.” His voice soothed, but the devil was back in his eyes, as if the thought of the neighbors didn’t bother him at all.

  As if what other people saw or said didn’t matter.

  Her breath came faster. She glanced around at the shielding bushes as he coaxed her zipper down.

  She squeezed her legs together, squirming, trying to relieve the tickle between her thighs “My dad will be home in an hour.”

  “That’s okay.” A glint through dark lashes, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “I won’t take long.”

  She snorted with laughter. “Oh, that’s seductive.”

  But it felt good to tease. And his playfulness relaxed her, releasing her muscles. He took instant advantage, easing her jeans off her hips, down her legs, taking her panties with them.

  He tapped her ankle. “Step.”

  She stood awkwardly on one leg, grabbing his shoulder for balance, quivering as the breeze teased her butt and her damp sex. His belt clanked. His zipper rasped, the sound blending into the chorus of cicadas and crickets singing in the shrubbery.

  She held up one finger in the universal sign for wait-a-minute. “Condom.”

  He raised up briefly and pulled a foil packet from his hip pocket.

  Their eyes met. She shivered in anticipation.

  “C’mere,” he murmured after he had sheathed himself. “Let me warm you up.”

  He pulled her down again to straddle him, the swing lurching under their combined weight. Her breasts were practically in his face. He turned his head and bit her softly, suckled her hard, making her moan.

  The heat moved everywhere as he tugged and adjusted, his fingers sliding against her. His body reared under her, smooth and thick and hot. She moved, trying to center him—here, no, here—and he scooted forward, bracing her weight, so that her dangling feet brushed the floor. With her legs spread wide over his, she couldn’t get her balance. She toppled forward, falling into him, and he grabbed her, pulling her down, pushing inside her. Oh, God, yes, there.

  He pulled her closer, spread her wider, rocked against her, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out, her entire body out of her control, shaking like the swing. She clutched his shoulders, the one sure thing in her swaying world, as he filled her, as the earth reeled and the stars swung wildly overhead and the tension spiraled inside her, concentric rings closing tighter and tighter with him at her center, hard inside her, sliding deeper, moving faster. Nothing to do but hold on. Her back arched. Her toes flexed, reaching, straining . . .

  “Come on.” His eyes were almost black. Fierce. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

  And she shattered and shuddered and came, the stars raining down softly behind her closed lids, showering sparks through her flesh.

  His breath seared the side of her throat. His fingers dug into her butt as he jerked under her, as he thrust into her, and followed.

  * * *

  “ONE OF THESE days,” Gabe said, his voice thick with satisfaction, “we’re going to do it in a bed.”

  Jane’s lips curved against his neck. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Sounds like a future.

  Her stomach tensed. She waited for the doubts to come, clustering thickly as the moths around the porch lamp outside. When they didn’t, she sighed and relaxed, kissing his shoulder, inhaling the warm tang of his skin. He smelled so good.

  “I could spend the night,” he said.

  There it was, the first qualm, a flutter low in her belly. She raised her head. “Not a good idea.”

  “Because of Aidan?” Gabe asked. “Or your dad?”

  She shifted uneasily on his lap. This was not a discussion she wanted to have naked. “It’s too soon.” She tried to stand and wobbled. He steadied her with his hands on her waist. “And I have to get up at four in the morning,” she added, inspired.

  She bent and fumbled for her jeans, ignoring the draft playing around her backside.

  “Jane.”

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Nice butt.”

  Heat swept her face, incandescent in the dark.

  He grinned, but his voice was serious when he said, “I get it. No sleepovers. But I’m not sneaking around. Not even for you.”

  She’d snuck around with Travis, hiding from Hank’s disapproval, trying to avoid a confrontation between her father and her lover. But Gabe was not her ex-husband. And Jane was not nineteen anymore.

  “I know,” she said.

  He nodded and stood, zipping his jeans. “Your father will just have to get used to the idea that we’re together now.” He regarded her thoughtfully, a twist to the corners of his mouth. “Guess you will, too.”

  She stared at him, wide-eyed.

  He tucked in his shirt and approached her. Bending his head, he kissed her, a hard, brief kiss like punctuation, a period at the end of a sentence. “See you tomorrow.”

  Huh.

  After he left, Jane brought the tray into the kitchen, still carrying the imprint of his body deep in her body, the echo of his words in her head.

  We’re together now. Flat. Possessive.

  Like she didn’t have something to say about that.

  A vague disquiet brushed wings across the back of her neck, but it could not grip and sting. Not tonight, when she was warm and sated from their lovemaking. She let herself think about today, about Gabe painting her walls and reading to her son and making her shatter on the porch swing, how wonderful he made her feel, how right.

  She put the mugs in the dishwasher. Maybe at some point, a couple months or years down the road when Aidan was older, when her business was more established, when she and Gabe had known each other longer and her father had time to accept him, she’d be ready to think about tomorrow, too.

  She was packing Aidan’s lunch for school when she heard tires on the drive outside and then keys at the door.

  The back door eased open. Hank poked his head into the kitchen, looking so much like a teenager sneaking in after curfew that she had to grin.

  He frowned. “I thought you’d be in bed.”

  “Not yet. You’re home late,” she observed.

  “I had something to see to.”

  Jane recalled Gabe’s suggestion that her dad could have a lady friend. “Something?” she teased. “Or someone?”

  A faint red stain appeared high on his cheekbones.

  Jane lowered her knife. “Dad?”

  “I, ah . . .” Hank cleared his throat. “You and Aidan weren’t home for dinner. So I ate at Marta Lopez’s house.”

  “Marta Lopez from work?”

  He nodded.

  Jane blinked. “I thought you two didn’t get along.”

  “She’s a very nice woman,” Hank said. “Once you, er, get to know her. Nice sons.”

  Oh. A tiny pang, straight to the heart. Of course her father would like sons.

  Jane gave herself a little shake. She was not even the tiniest bit upset by the idea that her father was dating. It wasn’t like he was betraying her mother’s memory. Mom had abandoned him. Abandoned them. Jane should take hope in the possibility that after all these years, her father was finally moving on. She should be delighted that he had a chance of finding happiness again. Twenty years is a long time to go without sex, Gabe had said.

  Ew.

  Jane shrugged. So maybe she wasn’t ready to think about Dad and sex in the same sentence. She could still be happy for him.

  “I’d like to,” she said. “Get to know her, that is. Why don’t you invite her to dinner here some night?”

  Hank scowled. “I don’t know. She might not feel right, leaving the boys to fend for themselves.”

  Ja
ne ignored the implied criticism. “What are they, fifteen? Twenty?” When Aidan was grown, would she feel the same way? Like she still had to cook for him every night?

  “I reckon.”

  “I see Tomás almost every day already. He’s been working with Gabe on the addition. Maybe we should invite them all.”

  Hank’s brows lowered. “You want to invite Tomás.”

  “Tomás and Miguel and . . .” Jane took a deep breath. If her father could get on with his life, then so could she. “And Gabe.”

  Your father will just have to get used to the idea that we’re together now.

  Gabe had a point. In a town the size of Dare Island, there was no way she could keep a relationship between them secret. And no way the two men could avoid each other forever. At least with Marta present, Hank would have to behave himself.

  “Hell, no,” Hank said.

  Jane’s stomach swooped. “Daddy . . .”

  “No. I won’t have that man in my house.”

  Probably not a good time to tell him Gabe had been inside a whole lot more than the house.

  Jane folded her hands to hide their trembling. “Dad, I’ve always been grateful to you for giving me and Aidan a home. I know I made a mistake when I was nineteen. But I’m not nineteen anymore. You have to trust me.”

  “I trust you. It’s Murphy I don’t trust.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about Travis. You were right about him. But you’re wrong about Gabe.”

  “I don’t give a damn about being right. I just want you to be . . .”

  Her heart pounded. “Happy?”

  Hank’s gaze met hers. “Safe.”

  Seventeen

  HANK CROSSED HIS arms and leaned against the side of his police cruiser, watching the crew install the roof on Jane’s addition.

  Working small-town law enforcement, you learned you couldn’t depend on another jurisdiction to come pick up their bad guys, even with an outstanding warrant. You couldn’t run somebody out of town or slap him in county jail for being a threat to public safety. You had to catch the son of a bitch actually breaking the law.

  Or you could hang around, keeping an eye on things, making life uncomfortable enough that he moved on.