Love on a Summer Night

by Zoe York

  Desire seized her body, making her tremble for the first time in years. If they weren’t in the doorway of the library, she would have grabbed his hand and returned it to her side. If she weren’t still wrapped around the axle about trust and loss, she’d lead him to the nearest alley and let him do a lot more than just touch her.

  But they were in public and she wasn’t ready for the kind of adventure that Zander promised.

  She’d never be ready for that, truthfully, because she’d dated the bad boy before. Married him, had his baby, and gleefully kissed him before he set off on adventure after adventure.

  Until the day he didn’t come home to her.

  Now her face was burning for a completely different reason.

  Not her whole face.

  Just her eyes.

  Damn it.

  Just as quickly as she’d burned hot, now she was shivering from the nearness of Zander’s large form.

  Ducking her head, she started walking again.

  Blink.

  Blink.

  She wouldn’t cry.

  It wasn’t that she was afraid of emotion.

  Hell, she was a fan of tears. A big one. They could be cathartic and healing. Freeing and therapeutic. She’d shed them for all of those reasons, and other, sadder reasons. Because she was scared and alone. Depressed and worried and not sure anything would be okay ever again. But they had their time and place, and whatever her flirtations were with Zander, he wasn’t a confidant.

  Over the pounding of her heart, she heard Zander talking to her. Apologizing.

  She shook her head, then waved her hand when he didn’t stop. “It’s not you.”

  “Hey, slow up.” He pulled ahead of her, holding up his hands. “I’m not going to touch you again, just wait a minute.”

  She jerked her head up. She’d crossed the street and they were halfway down the road to her place.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Faith took a deep breath and shook her head a little to shake the dredged-up feelings loose.

  Zander rocked back on his heels and carefully slid his hands into his jeans pockets. She knew what he was doing, backing off and clearly demonstrating he wasn’t a threat. But she couldn’t find her voice to tell him it really wasn’t him, not like that. He hadn’t creeped her out. She was just freaked out by all the uncontrollable feelings. Triggers can be the most unexpected things. It was a primary lesson in grief counselling and she knew it well. After four years, she thought she’d experienced all the triggers she might encounter.

  She’d been wrong.

  Zander had sparked the worst kind of reaction by being the best kind of person. By being awesome with her son and teasing with her, coaxing parts of her back to life. By being gut-achingly perfect in all the most unexpected ways.

  “I know I’m a nice guy…” he started, giving her a slow grin that teased her, that promised she’d never live down that brush off. And that teasing eased some of the tension, helped her breathe again. He watched her face, and slowly nodded. “And since nice guys just aren’t your type…”

  She laughed weakly. “Nice guys are totally my type and I thought we’d agreed you weren’t one.”

  “Is that how that conversation went? Because I assure you, I’m as square as they come.”

  She frowned. “Let’s talk about the fact that you should wear a leather jacket when you’re on your bike.”

  He frowned right back. “I do.”

  “I watched you get off your bike at the park.” She rolled her eyes at the way his eyebrows quirked at her admission that she’d watched him earlier. “Yes, I saw you pull up, and…yes, you are a very distracting sight.”

  “So the storming away from me at the library was a ninety-minute delayed reaction to that?”

  She shook her head, and as he gave her a far-too-gentle, far-too-understanding look, she started to feel silly.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Are we storming to your house, by any chance?”

  “I am heading home, yes. I think the we portion of the day should probably come to a close.”

  “Even though you found me a very distracting sight?”

  “Yep.” She stepped past him and continued down the street. He loped alongside her, and it didn’t matter how fast she trundled, he easily kept up.

  She couldn’t actually run. That would be weird.

  This whole thing was weird, of course, but that would be too much.

  So when they got to her driveway, she stopped again.

  As did he.

  She noted that her mother’s car was gone, and ignored the flight of butterflies that started twirling in excitement in her belly.

  Being alone with Zander was not a big deal, because he was leaving. She’d go and do laundry and put this whole weird encounter behind her.

  Until she fell asleep—then she’d twist it into a bizarre fantasy where they had wild monkey sex at Castaway Pete’s, probably.

  That would be her cross to bear.

  Before he could figure out where her mind had just gone, she returned to their discussion.

  “Where were we? Oh yeah. You. Distracting sight. You’re also an idiot because you were on your bike in this very thin t-shirt.” She tapped her fingers against his chest.

  Oh, he felt good. Big, hard, warm… With a slow exhale, she flattened her palm against his very thin t-shirt and enjoyed the flex of his pecs against her hand.

  She ignored the surprised look on his face.

  He’d touched her. Now she’d just touch him. Just for a minute.

  “And it would be a shame…” She trailed off, her eyelids drooping a bit as she smoothed her hand across the significant width of his torso. More muscles flexed against her touch. Great.

  “You were saying?”

  She jerked her hand away and cleared her throat. “Don’t be reckless.”

  “You’re right. I do have a jacket—it’s in my saddlebag. I didn’t wear it from my meeting with the accountant over to the park because I knew I was just going a few blocks.”

  She knit her brow together. That sounded like he’d deliberately tracked her down. “I thought you said you saw me at the park and that’s why you stopped.”

  He dropped his head, probably to cover up the fact that his cheeks were turning ruddy.

  “Zander?”

  “Shit, you’ve got the lecturing mom voice down pat.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You’d have to know the Foster brothers to really get it, but they’re a bunch of meddling Cupids. Matt’s on duty today as a paramedic, and their station backs onto the park. His brother Dean was with me—we went to see the accountant together—and Dean called to see if Matt had time for a coffee. Mentioned me, and Matt pointed out that he’d just seen you and your son at the park.”

  Faith did know the Foster brothers. Not well, but enough to understand that they were beloved sons of the peninsula, all upstanding members of the community in one way or another. How had they already connected her and Zander? “And what did you say?”

  “I said I was heading straight back to Pine Harbour. Then Matt had a call come in and Dean took off as well.” He searched her face, his eyes not as dark as before. Endless pools of melted chocolate…a cruel shade of eye colour. Irresistible, really.

  “So you came straight to the park.”

  “I did.”

  “To see me.”

  “Yes.” He held her gaze for a beat. “I don’t need to broadcast what we’re doing. I’m not a guy who hides his interest in a good woman, though.”

  She dropped her gaze to his neck. Solid muscle, tan skin. A healthy-looking vein she wanted to press her lips against. He thought she was a good woman?

  “Is that a problem?” He reached out and stroked his fingers along her jaw, lifting her face. Her mouth went dry at the caress and the look on his face made her knees weak. “If people find out that I like you?”

  “You like me?”

  He crowded closer, and she took a step back. He stepped forward,
she stepped back.

  Again and again until they were right up against the side of her house and under the shade of the oak tree that loomed above her driveway and gave a decent amount of privacy.

  “I’ll ask you again…is that a problem?” The question rolled off his tongue loose and light, but it still made her head swim. He made the simplest words sound infinitely dirty.

  “I don’t know…” she breathed, bracing her hands against the vinyl siding wall behind her.

  “I’m sorry about what happened at the library.”

  “I’ve got some issues,” she whispered. “About bad boys.”

  “Ah.” His lips thinned and he gave her a steely look. “The jacket.”

  “All of it. That was just…something I noticed.”

  “I’m careful. I promise.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything. Hello, stranger, let me dump my worries on you.”

  He shifted closer, bracing one arm on the wall above her as he lifted the other hand and brushed some loose hairs off her face. “Dump away. I’ve got wide shoulders, Faith. I can carry a pretty heavy load. And I don’t want to be a stranger to you.”

  Her heart skidded hard, sending electrical misfires throughout her entire body. She rolled her head to the side, then back again, because hiding from his gaze hadn’t worked so far, and really, she didn’t want to hide from him. Not right now. “What are we doing?”

  “I walked you home so you can do laundry.” He grinned. “Now I’m just saying goodbye—for now.”

  Confusion and disbelief were familiar feelings to Faith. That they were tinged with this bubbling edge of happiness was new and strange and not entirely acceptable.

  Nothing was this easy or light.

  Everything had a price.

  “For now?”

  His grin got wider. “I’d like to see you again. I understand if you aren’t ready. If you’re still mourning…”

  “It’s not that.” She shook her head. She’d always love Greg, and always miss him, but the acute ache had faded. She’d grieved and made peace with losing her husband and, in theory, she was ready to date again.

  In reality, she’d never be ready for Zander.

  “It’s…complicated.”

  “I’m not asking for much. Just making my interest known, hoping we can maybe see what this is between us.”

  “I get that. But that’s the problem. You’re…I have trouble believing that—” She carefully set her hands on his chest—there was that warmth again, making her want to do stupid things—and moved him a foot away from her. She waved her hands up and down between them. “It doesn’t make sense that you are interested in fish and chip lunches and talking about spaceships and walking me home so I can do laundry.”

  His jaw clenched and he crossed his arms. Jeez, he had nice forearms. And she had zero focus.

  “I mean, not without expecting something.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Something?”

  “A booty call or afternoon delight. A one-night stand or an easy fuck.” She said the words, maybe to shock him—which didn’t work—or maybe to make a point that she knew that was something people looked for. She didn’t want to think she might be testing him, although as soon as she said them, she held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  A scowl darkened his face. “I’m not asking you for an easy fuck.”

  More’s the pity, screamed her lady parts, but the rest of her relaxed.

  “Faith, I have four tattoos to your…do you just have one?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. He’d noticed her tattoo? She nodded dumbly.

  “To your one. No piercings to your…”

  Oh God. The heat inched further down her neck and she was sure her ears were bright red. “Three,” she mumbled.

  “At some point, I’m going to want a detailed accounting of where all of those are,” he said, every inch a modern rake, right down to the dirty twinkle in his eye. “But I don’t see those and make any assumptions about you. It feels like you’re making some assumptions about me here.”

  She’d started blushing when he started talking about her piercings, and now the embarrassed warmth sank deeper into her skin. Oh. “It’s possible that I’m conflating a few things,” she started before pausing to drag in a shaky breath. “And it’s definitely possible that I’m making a bigger deal about a lot of this than I need to.”

  “Hey.” He rocked on his feet, bending a bit at the knee to put them more eye-to-eye. “I know I’m not Mr. Right. Never have been, never will be. But the only something I want from you is your company. I’m visiting for a week and other than a few family dinners and trying to figure out what the fuck my career is going to be after my current one comes to an end, I have nothing to do. And you are fascinating and kind and beautiful, and I’d love to spend some of this week with you. And Eric, if he’s interested and you’re willing. Hell, invite the entire town to lunch tomorrow if you want.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “That was my really bad way of asking you out again.”

  “Again? When did you ask me out before?”

  “I bought you lunch today, didn’t I?”

  That he had. And now, even though she’d turned pink and lost her tongue, he wanted to do it again. “Oh.”

  His grin practically sparkled this time. “So. How about you stop worrying about the fact that I’m obviously not Mr. Right, and give me a chance to be Mr. Right Now?”

  “Right now?”

  “This week. Lunches and whatever else you want.”

  No… the long list of X-rated whatever else she wanted couldn’t be on the table. No matter how delicious his forearms were. Or his biceps. Or the chest, the rakish smile, the dark, shining eyes or kind way he disproved all her assumptions about him.

  “Okay.” She grinned at him, and the answer felt totally right. With one caveat. “I’d love to have lunch with you again. But just as friends.”

  He gave her a look of pure disbelief. Yeah, she got that.

  The chemistry between them was off the charts. She didn’t want to just be friends and he knew it.

  But it was all she could handle from a guy who was disappearing in a few days.

  “Friends…”

  She nodded.

  He shrugged and his t-shirt bunched up, stretching wide around the top of his biceps. He tugged on the collar, revealing another slice of tattoo. Every time she saw him, his t-shirts were like this, worn and tugged on, like he just couldn’t find any that fit his body properly in the store.

  Well, that made sense—there was no comparing Zander to the average man that t-shirts were designed for.

  This was no khaki-wearing, minivan-driving, rectangular-torsoed man. Lean through the middle, but impossibly broad across his shoulders, she imagined that the only shirts that would properly fit him would need to be custom made. And Zander wasn’t the type of guy to be that vain.

  Not that she was complaining. The bunching and stretching that should make the t-shirt look ill-fitting did the exact opposite. It highlighted his muscular build. Hugged his strong arms and smoothed proudly across his impressive chest.

  And most of all, it said, this guy doesn’t preen. Zander got up, put his fucking shirt on, and went about his day.

  That was obvious and she loved it far too much. Another reason she needed this boundary.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing.”

  He grinned. “You were checking me out.”

  “I was thinking your t-shirts never fit.”

  “Sounds like the same thing.”

  She laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “I hear that’s a good trait to have in a friend.” He winked. “Okay. Until tomorrow. Fish and chips again?”

  She shook her head. “Greta’s. After I drop off Eric.”

  “It’s a date. I’ll see you in twenty-four hours at our table.”

  — SEVEN —

  WHEN Zander packe
d up for his drive across the country, he didn’t have anything other than travelling light on his mind. He’d only brought a few pairs of jeans and a bunch of t-shirts, plus as many pairs of boxer briefs and work socks he could shove in his saddlebags.

  This hadn’t been a problem until he met Faith and now, after a handful of encounters where she’d given him heated looks and wary side-eye in equal measure, he wanted to look like something other than a rough and tumble biker guy.

  After he went for a bruising swim in the lake on Tuesday morning, he called Rafe. “Hey man, I need to borrow some clothes.”

  “This is about Faith, isn’t it?”

  Zander hung up. He tried Tom next. “Are you at work today?”

  “Yeah. Doing Search and Rescue training all morning. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  He grabbed the spare keys to Tom’s cottage from the hook in their parents’ kitchen and got on his bike. Soon he was the proud temporary owner of a pilfered pair of cargo pants and a blue buttoned-down shirt. It wasn’t a big change, but it was something.

  Four hours later he pulled his father’s sedan into the parking lot at Greta’s Bakery. His old man had been happy to let him borrow it—even more so when he left the house looking like a frat boy.

  Well, a frat boy who’d been to war more than a half-dozen times.

  He ordered coffee and pie for two and settled into the same booth he and Faith had sat in five days earlier. And then he leaned back and watched out the plate glass window for her car. She’d drop Eric off at the top of the hour. So as the minute hand ticked past that point, his pulse grew sluggish, like more than blood was flowing through his veins.

  Shit, he hadn’t been this excited-slash-nervous for a date since forever. Maybe high school.

  Not a date.

  Except she hadn’t corrected him when he’d called it that the day before, had she?

  Five minutes past one, she pulled into the lot, her little car sending up a billow of dust. Unexpected nerves thudding in his chest and bounding through his veins, he stood up to greet her.

  His thighs tensed and his palms burned when she got out of the car wearing a dark blue sundress. Don’t get too excited, she wants nothing to do with you. That wasn’t exactly true. The heated looks she sometimes gave him indicated she wanted all sorts of things, even if she said otherwise. At least she was willing to be his friend.