by Laurel Greer
“I am not stuck.” And he’s not going to believe me unless I stop shouting. She lowered her volume. “What would it say about me if I didn’t feel bad for lying to my family?”
“They didn’t need to know. That’s what you said, anyway.” He traced his fingers against the backs of her hands. His touch felt too gentle, too caring, coming from someone incapable of a functional relationship. Lifting one of her hands to his lips, he kissed her fingertips, setting them off like sparklers.
“I don’t need you to validate my guilt, Tavish,” she snapped. Not only might their siblings be watching from the boat, but his lips plus her skin still equaled electric currents—both problems with potentially disastrous outcomes. Yanking her hands away, she stood. “I’m going to go get more coffee.”
By the time she climbed the stairs to her house and entered her kitchen, all her self-preservation had drained from her like a trail of gasoline from the dock to the house, ready to ignite and burn to cinders. She poured herself a fresh mug of coffee but didn’t drink, just let the heat from the pottery leach into her hands. It was a safer heat than Tavish’s.
Her life felt like an “Oh, God, Dad’s coming over in ten minutes and the house is filthy” moment. But she had carefully stuffed her crap into closets so no one would realize how messy she was. She’d been Cadie’s sounding board since Sam died, and her father’s since her grandparents’ fatal car accident last May. Last May when she’d been secretly standing at an altar with Tavish. Goddamn it. Sure, Andrew was a rock, but he had Mackenzie and the baby to worry about, and couldn’t always be there for Cadie and their father like Lauren could.
Somehow, she needed to construct a Rocky Mountain-size barricade between herself and her ex-husband. Gripping the kitchen counter, she stared through the window as the boat returned to the dock and everyone piled out. She relaxed at the prospect of no longer being alone with Tavish. Until realization struck—she’d let him chase her off her own dock. Shameful. She stomped back down the stairs.
Cadie flopped onto a lounge chair and snuggled under a towel, and held her hands out to Lauren. “Can I hold your coffee for a few minutes? My fingers are numb.”
“Sure.” Lauren passed the mug over and sat down in the chair next to her sister’s, trying to convince herself that the smell of sandalwood lingering on the cushion hadn’t come from Tavish’s soft hair. He’d climbed back into the boat and sat in one of the stern seats, concentrating intently on the screen of his cell phone. He’d zipped into a hoodie, but that did nothing to minimize his hotness—just one more article of clothing to strip off him. Getting to undress him in their honeymoon suite while he stood stock-still, eyes burning with need, had been one of the best—
Ugh. What is my problem today?
He stretched, exposing a thin line of tanned, tattooed skin between his hoodie and board shorts.
Thanks for the taunt, universe. That was a hypothetical question. Didn’t really need the object lesson.
“Let me know when you’re warmed up, Cadie,” Andrew said, tugging Mackenzie into the bow seat and pulling her in close next to him. “You can drive and I’ll ski back to the boat launch. After this run, I’m going to head into the office for a few hours.”
“You were supposed to take the day off,” Tavish said in a half-engaged tone, still focused on whatever he was reading on his cell.
“And so were you, but you seem pretty absorbed in your emails,” Andrew countered.
“Yeah, just got my itinerary for my Thailand assignment in the fall.”
Leaving again. Of course. She steeled herself before disappointment struck, before she wasted any more emotions on Tavish.
Turning off his phone, Tavish jammed it in his pocket. “Sorry. All yours until tomorrow.”
Andrew rubbed his hands together and let out an exaggerated cackle. “Better get used to it. In no time it’ll be the wedding and I’ll own your ass. I think I’ll start training you this afternoon so there’s less to do in July.”
Training? The word skittered down Lauren’s spine like an unwelcome insect. She shivered and pinned Tavish with a questioning look.
He paled. “Uh, well—”
“What is going on?” Her heartbeat filled her ears, drowning out the sound of water slapping against the dock.
“Finally found you help for while I’m away,” Andrew said, climbing out of the boat with an oblivious grin on his face. “Tavish is going to be your assistant.”
* * *
Gripping his sandwiched-together flip-flops in one hand, Tavish smacked the rubber against his thigh and huffed out a breath. Ah, hell. That was not how he’d wanted Lauren to find out. He should have told her when he had the chance.
Turning white, she stammered out an excuse of having to have a shower before meeting Mackenzie in town for wedding prep. She sprinted up her multileveled deck as if trying to escape an encroaching forest fire.
And it was up to Tavish to put out the flames. He tilted his chin at Drew, who was sitting on the dock waiting for his turn for a ski. “You know, Lauren and I need to coordinate our best-man/maid-of-honor speeches. I’m going to stick around, throw some ideas by her. I’ll catch a ride into town with her.”
Drew nodded and zipped up his life jacket. He caught the tow rope from Mackenzie. “See you at the office?”
“Yeah, give me an hour.” Provided he made it to town without Lauren dispatching his body on a deserted dirt road.
He hugged his sister and Cadie, ignoring the suspicion written on their faces.
A minute later the roar of the boat retreated into the distance. He stared up at the house, the one Lauren had bought and made into a home without him. Not that he needed a house. Just the opposite.
After Mackenzie had shacked up with Drew, Tavish had taken over her apartment to avoid having to find a new place to stash the few boxes of childhood mementos and photography equipment he’d been keeping in her spare closet. That served as more than enough of a base. No point in owning a chunk of property or some neatly constructed glass and logs if he wasn’t ever going to be in town long enough to enjoy them.
He took a deep breath and trudged barefoot up the sets of half stairs. His knock on the glass door went unanswered, so he pulled it open and stepped into the open-concept kitchen and living area. Running a hand along the green-flecked granite counter, he blinked as his eyes adjusted after being in the bright morning sun. “Lauren? You here?”
The dining table sat empty, as did the chocolate-colored leather couches and armchairs curved around a stunning river-rock fireplace that soared all the way to the pine-planked ceiling. He let out a low whistle. Talk about a showpiece. But the house managed to look livable, too.
Touches of Lauren livened the room: clusters of family pictures and splashes of color in throw pillows and an orchid, plum and cream-striped floor rug anchoring the couches. Job hazard, noticing color. Though that didn’t stop his friends from giving him grief for knowing the difference between orchid and plum. Whatever. The predominant moss-and-tree-bark motif made him think of curling up with a bowl of popcorn under a blanket and listening to spring rain on the tin roof. Thanks to the sudden end of their marriage, they hadn’t had the chance to do normal husband-and-wife things, movies on the couch and the like. But they’d been pro snugglers when they’d dated in high school—it took zero effort to remember the comforting shape of her shoulders under his arm.
He wandered over to the mantel, to a pair of photographs in mismatched standing frames. None of him there, not that he expected it.
But he did recognize himself in one sense—he’d taken both the pictures on display. A shot of Drew, Cadie and Mackenzie laughing on a chairlift—he’d been on the chair in front of them and had turned around at the exact right time to capture the women doubled over at one of Drew’s jokes. The other one, though—he had to close his eyes for a second before he could fully take in D
rew and Lauren on their trip to Vegas, sitting in the center of a small group of Lauren’s friends. Lauren wore a tiara, a silly gift from her brother for finishing her residency. Tavish had been working on a magazine spread in LA, so he’d joined them on impulse. And the day everyone else had left, Tavish and Lauren had exchanged rings.
“Why are you still here? Your ride’s gone.” She threw the accusation out from somewhere behind him.
He turned, held up his hands in mock surrender. “I come in peace.”
Gripping the newel post, she shuffled her feet on the bottom tread of the staircase. Her sleek hair hung in just-showered tendrils around her shoulders, making damp spots on her silk bathrobe. That material would be touchable as hell and, with her soft skin, it would be hard to tell where silk ended and flesh began.
Cool it, Fitzgerald.
He jammed his hands into the front pockets of his hoodie sweatshirt. “Just needed to explain myself.”
“Explaining yourself is well and good, but you’re getting back to town how?” she demanded.
“Uh, you?”
“Try again, Tavish.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she sent him a death stare.
Okay. So his prediction he might end up in a shallow grave wasn’t far off. And no way were his fingers getting even close to touching her.
Instead of verbally running in circles, he went for the easy out. He pasted a cheeky smile on his face. “That’s a pretty complicated half hitch in your panties, Lauren.”
“You can dream about seeing my panties, but it’s not going to happen.”
He chuckled. She made it so easy. “I don’t need to dream, sweetheart. I got my fill in Vegas. You still like lace, or have you moved on to the waist-high, granny kind?”
“Wouldn’t you love to know?”
A predictable response, clichéd even, but it pierced the bull’s-eye. Discovering white lace under Lauren’s wedding dress had killed him. And getting to touch her over the soft material, coaxing sexy moans from her with his fingers? The memory still kept him up at night. He barely held in a groan and ran a hand over his face before she realized just how much he’d love to delve under her robe. To find out what she had hidden beneath. Maybe nothing but her sweet skin.
“Nice house. I recognize the artwork.” He jabbed a thumb toward his photography on the mantel.
“Don’t read anything into it. You have a way with a camera.” Her pink cheeks contrasted with her blanched knuckles, which were clenched in fists at her sides. “And with ruining my summer vacation, apparently.”
“You going to give me the chance to explain before you reduce me to ash with that glare?”
“By all means.” She stomped into her kitchen and started opening and slamming cabinets before yanking out a coffee canister and grinder and placing them on the granite island. Sure, her anger had grown to the point that he could almost see it shimmering on her skin, but too much white showed around her irises to peg her as solely pissed off. She was covering for something he didn’t want to poke too much. Unearthing their feelings could suck him past the point of no return.
He strolled to the island and leaned his forearms on the surface across from where she was shakily scooping beans into the grinder. “Mackenzie and Drew needed help, Lauren. Otherwise they were going to have to cancel their honeymoon.”
“Nice to know you’re more concerned about your ex-brother-in-law than your ex-wife.” She pressed her lips together, brows knitted into a near V-shaped blond line.
Tavish’s heart dropped. “That’s not... I didn’t know I’d be working with you when I offered. And it’s about my sister, too, not just Andrew.”
Beans whirred in the grinder. She stared at the counter and gripped the machine as it slowed into silence.
“I figured you’d be so busy at the clinic that we’d barely see each other.” He offered the excuse in a gentle voice.
“Whatever.” Deserting the coffee, she circled the island and stood close enough to him that she had to tilt her chin to look him in the eye. He had a good foot on her, something she’d always complained about. Why, he didn’t know. It had just made it easier for him to pick her up, pin her against a wall and send her into oblivion. Her fresh-from-the-shower scent drifted into his nostrils, a hint of tropical summer and sugary sweetness. His mouth watered for a taste, just one...
And now he was lying to himself and not just his family. Great.
She slumped against the counter. “So, two weeks?”
The urge to touch her, comfort her, licked up his arms. He fisted his hands. “I’m sure if we schedule things right, we can avoid actually being in the office at the same time.”
“That’s not the problem!” She jabbed him in the chest. Her utilitarian-length nail wasn’t sharp enough to dig in, but she put enough force behind it for it to sting. “I can’t believe you’d step in with this, but you wouldn’t stick around for me!”
He caught her by the wrist before she could poke him again. “You needed more than two weeks, Lauren.”
Swiping at her eyes with the back of her other hand, she nodded. “I needed a lifetime.”
“And I couldn’t give that to you. Still can’t.” Not if it meant holing up in Sutter Creek. He ran his thumb along the fleshy base of her palm. The tendons in her hand tensed under his touch.
She glanced down at his fingers circled around her wrist, then back up to his face.
Those damp eyes. Holy hell. Through all of his travels, the countless people he’d captured with his camera lens, he hadn’t come across irises that exact blend of amber and spring green. Nor had he ever encountered eyes that could stare right to the core of his soul. A fist clamped around his stomach. He released her arm and tucked a damp wave of hair behind her ear. “That’s why we cut and ran. Better for both of us.”
“Was it really? Better, that is.” Her lips parted and her chest rose and fell faster than normal.
“I’m betting my mom would say it was. My dad jerked her around for almost a decade—did the same to Mackenzie and me—before disappearing. Our decision seems miles more responsible.”
Her expression softened, and she touched his face. Skilled physician’s fingers drawing down his cheek, leaving behind a trail of aching emptiness. They settled on his left pec. Did she know she owned the organ beating under her palm? That he’d given it to her in high school, and even through long-distance breakups and divorce, he’d never quite gotten it back?
“I’m not putting all this on you, you know,” she said. “I changed my mind. Was just as much at fault as you sticking to your need to roam.”
He settled his hand over hers and squeezed. “Never thought you were.”
“We’ll get through working together somehow. Through seeing each other every day.”
Anticipation, blended with dread, fused his heart to his lungs. He wanted to see her every day. And knew he’d feel like he was walking on knife blades each day he did.
“Maybe it’ll help us find closure,” she added.
He snorted.
“What?”
“We’ve wanted each other for over a decade. I don’t see that ending for me after spending two weeks watching you trot around the WiLA sites in tight technical gear.”
Her cheeks pinked. Her hand still rested on his chest and her fingertips dug into the muscle a fraction. “Kind of like you showing up on my dock in a fricking wetsuit?”
“I couldn’t exactly turn down the invitation when Drew extended it. Figured the fewer questions the better.” Sending her a pained grin, he brushed the backs of his fingers along her jawline. “And you can’t point fingers about wetsuits.”
The corner of her mouth curved as she toyed with the open zipper on his hoodie, running the tab up and down the teeth. “Pretty sure Cadie and Mackenzie suspect something’s going on between us.”
“We’ll hide it. Ev
en if you did decide that you were ready to be honest about our marriage, dropping it on our families right before Drew and Kenz tie the knot would be the definition of unfair.”
Nodding, she slid her hand under the cotton of his hoodie. It rested on his waist. What he would give for her to drop that hand lower, cup his hardening length. He closed his eyes and shifted his weight, hoping she didn’t notice how much of an effect she was having on him. “I should probably go.”
It would be a long walk back, especially in flip-flops, but he didn’t trust himself to stay in her presence any longer without reaching for the row of tiny buttons holding the fabric of her robe snug under her breasts.
She stepped into him, until only an inch separated their bodies. A charged, heated energy thrummed between them, seeped from his skin deep into his bones. He couldn’t be the first to close the space. Couldn’t do that to her.
He didn’t have to. Standing on her toes, she pressed a kiss just above the collar of his T-shirt. “I dunno. If we’re needing closure... Maybe you should stay.”
Chapter Three
Tavish sucked in an embarrassingly shaky breath. “Stay?”
“Yeah.” Her lips landed on his collarbone again, along with the smallest flicker of her tongue. A fluttering, resolve-weakening caress. “Stay.”
“I shouldn’t.” He cupped the back of her head with one palm. Taking one of her hands, he twined his fingers with hers. “But when have we ever done what we should?”
She looked at the floor, sucked in a breath and then made fierce, needy eye contact with him. “Never. And we’ll be quick.”
He chuckled. “I might take my time. It’s been a year since I’ve had my hands on you, and since you’re talking about closure, we won’t do this again. So I’m going to savor every second.”
A faint complaint escaped the back of her throat. Those flushed cheeks, the bare thread of control in her eyes—she’d be the death of him.