Table of Contents
Title Page
Forever and For Always:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
More Books in the Windswept Bay Series
About the Author
Copyright
FOREVER AND FOR ALWAYS
Windswept Bay Book Four
DEBRA CLOPTON
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Forever and For Always:
Publicist Olivia Sinclair has been away from Windswept Bay for years busy helping the Hollywood elite get out of one scandal after another. But now, she’s in the middle of a scandal herself, involving a big name actor and suddenly, coming home to lay low in Windswept Bay is her own best advice to herself.
Life has just gotten complicated for charter boat captain, Brandon “BJ” McCall. He’s recently learned he has a brother and he’s inherited half of a multi-million dollar corporation that could alter life as he knows it. Finding a beautiful, shorty pajama clad female, frozen in fear on the roof of her house is a complication he doesn’t mind at all.
Terrified and stuck on her roof…and in only her pj’s and being rescued by a stranger who could rival any of her Hollywood clients isn’t exactly what Olivia had planned. She’s trying to get off the cover of the gossip magazines—not hold her spot for eternity! Falling into the arms of a stranger, who turns out to be the long lost brother of her sister’s husband—and is a walking news worthy scandal in his own right, is not a smart PR move.
Not to mention the family complications it could make if things didn’t work out between them. Plus, she has plans to go back to Hollywood the minute she thinks the smoke has cleared.
It’s all just too complicated.
But, on the beaches of Windswept Bay romance is in the air and love is a complication that just might be undeniable.
Chapter One
Olivia Sinclair rolled over in bed and tugged the pillow over her head as the cat wailed just outside her window. “Go away,” she groaned. She needed sleep. Just a little sleep was all she was asking for.
The wail came again.
“Give me a break, kitty,” she groaned. “Go away.”
She’d left Hollywood hours before dawn two days ago and driven the two thousand, three hundred miles to Windswept Bay. She’d tried to sleep for short periods in a couple of small-town hotels, one in the Texas Panhandle and one in Mississippi, but she hadn’t been able to get much sleep while her mind was overtaxed with the scandal that was going on in her life.
She’d had to wear a baseball cap and sunshades every time she stopped for gas. And when she went inside a store for a cup of coffee or a soda, she’d had to keep her head down and hope no one standing in line with her happened to look at the cover photos on the magazine racks beside the counter…her picture was plastered over several of the tabloids. Of course, in most of them, her face was partly hidden by mega movie star Brad Pearson’s face as he startled her with a kiss that came out of nowhere.
What had he been thinking? What had he been doing?
She was still reeling from it and the complications his odd action had produced in her life. The scandal his kiss had started threatened to end her career. He was her client at the public relations firm she worked for and until that moment, their relationship had been strictly business, as required by her firm. And her own moral code where clients were concerned.
She didn’t want to think about that right now.
She wanted to sleep.
Something she hadn’t had for days as she had been trying to stop the runaway media blitz the kiss had started.
The worst of it was that she should have seen it coming. Should have seen some sign that his feelings for her had shifted…but she hadn’t.
The wail came again. Maybe something was wrong with the cat… She groaned and pulled the pillow from her head; she couldn’t ignore a cat in trouble. She sat up. “Okay, okay.”
She glanced at the clock and felt like crying. It was only five thirty. Blurry-eyed and feeling as if she were moving through a tunnel of sleep deprivation, she padded barefoot through the house and out onto the deck, only to realize it was a misty morning.
The mist had rolled in since she’d arrived a whole three hours ago. She glanced down the short path and out across the very wide expanse of white sand that separated the bungalow from the water. The mist was probably going to turn into rain by the looks of the stormy early morning sky.
The wail came again and she spun to glance toward the sound. A small yellow cat sat on the edge of the roof.
“How did you get up there?” Olivia glanced around for a limb of some kind that the cat might have used. She saw one; she could see how the cat could have dropped from the branch of the ten-foot-tall palm near the end of the house or maybe it climbed up the firebush shrub and dove for the roof. Either one would clearly cause a problem getting back down. With a moan, Olivia bit her bottom lip and rubbed her forehead as the thought of climbing up a ladder to rescue the cat sank in. Her chest tightened at the very idea. Heights were not her strong point. Frankly, they were her Achilles’ heel, terrifying her in a really petrifying way.
The cat wailed again and tilted its head to look down at her. It looked pitiful.
“Oh, this is so not good.” But clearly, getting the cat down was the only way to get back to sleep. She could do this. She could get the ladder, climb to the roof edge, and scoop the cat up and rescue it, and then she’d climb right back down. No looking down, no looking around. She’d be okay.
She hurried from the deck to the small shed hidden in the trees for the groundskeeper of the larger estate that this bungalow sat on. Her sister had a really sweet deal going that enabled her to live in the bungalow and house-watch the place during the year for the seasonal owners. They rarely visited, as was the same for most of the other homeowners on the exclusive, private beach.
When she opened the door, Olivia spotted the ladder leaning against the wall; she pulled it out and then dragged it across the sand. She carried it up onto the deck and propped it against the roof and then checked it for sturdiness. Her mouth was dry and her palms damp—she could blame it on the mist but she knew it was perspiration. Sweaty palms were not becoming but when it came to heights, she had them.
Her stomach churned as she placed her foot on the rung and realized that she wore her shorty pajamas. She paused. Maybe she should change. The wail of the cat nixed that idea. Besides, there was no one around and she would only be using it as an excuse to put off what she must do. Her churning stomach turned into rough seas as she forced one foot at a time onto a new, higher rung. The mist caused the metal to feel slick, which only added to her anxiety. With her eyes barely squinting—this was to prevent peripheral sight—she reached the roof edge.
The cat, however, had retreated farther down the roofline.
Olivia tried to call out to the cat but only squeaked instead. She cleared her throat and tried again and this time actual words came out. “Here kitty, kitty.”
The cat wailed.
Olivia felt the dread of moving up onto the roof all the way through her like a case of the flu gone bad, bad, bad. Her heart palpitations were erratic as she moved her hands to the top of the ladder. Gritting her teeth, she moved up a rung and then placed her hands on the roof and her fingers felt
sick…like weak knees.
Ever since she was a child, she’d had this “problem.”
“Focus on the helpless cat,” she muttered and squinted at the roofline through one eye. “Do not look down.” She enunciated each word like a decree and slowly crawled from the ladder to the wet shingles. She slipped and her foot pushed against the ladder rung as she frantically grappled for something to hang onto. Thankfully, she didn’t slip down the roof.
But the ladder crashed to the deck, making her jump.
And making the cat run. It dove to the palm branch and disappeared from sight.
Olivia gaped, mouth open at the spot where it disappeared. “Ahh, why you,” she said shakily just as the mist turned to a drizzle. And her weary spirits plummeted.
“Thanks a lot,” she muttered darkly and shot a glance heavenward. “It’s been a great week.”
Focusing on not looking down and not slipping, she managed to move from her knees to her rump. The rough grate of the shingles did not feel good through the thin material of her PJs. Eyeing the satellite dish sitting just out of reach, but too shaken to move, she pulled her knees up and clasped her arms around them. Trying not to hyperventilate and starting to wail herself, she rested her chin on her knees and focused on the water in the distance. If she stared at the water, she could pretend she was nine feet down on the deck.
All she had to do was not look down and she’d be okay.
The problem was, how would she get off the roof?
BJ McCall wasn’t sure what was more unexpected as he halted his jog on the rain-drenched private beach and stared at the small bungalow across the sand: was it the thoroughly soaked female perched on the roof, or that she had pink flamingos plastered all over the scrap of soggy wet material that she wore?
What was she doing up there?
It had been a long week and he’d had several consecutive sleepless nights adjusting to the fact that almost everything he’d believed about his life had been a lie. This news he’d just learned this past week had him still reeling and trying to come to grips with it. But he wasn’t sure that was possible. Thus, his early morning jog on the misty beach…the private beach where his new brother’s home was located. The home he’d just learned was half his.
Being a man who had never wanted a home or believed in being tied down, he lived on his boat and went where the wind or his notions carried him. The news he was processing was both disturbing and disrupting to his world as he knew it. Or wanted it.
The woman on the roof wasn’t moving.
Was she real? Or maybe a figment of his sleep-deprived mind?
He rubbed his eyes, almost believing the woman perched on the roof like a weather vane in the middle of the rainy morning really could be a figment of his weary and overtaxed brain.
But when he squinted through the increasing haze of raindrops, she was still there.
Yep, she was as real as could be.
Learning that he had an older brother and a father he’d never known who had died recently and left him, not only an older brother and half of a huge home on a private beach in picturesque Windswept Bay, but also half ownership of a multi-million dollar company based in New York—Manhattan, New York—was a shock.
Manhattan. One place that, despite his wanderlust, had never appealed to him.
He wanted open space and the thought of all those buildings and sky only visible if you looked straight up was not on his bucket list.
And dollars… He was a simple man and had what he needed.
Need. This woman obviously needed help.
He moved forward and saw her tugging on the short gown, or maybe it was the top of a set of short pajamas. If she didn’t look so miserable he might have smiled, but he felt bad for her and so there was no smile.
He strode toward the short trail to the house just as the drizzle suddenly turned into a downpour. And still she made no move to get off the roof. BJ frowned and started to jog. Something about this picture was definitely not right.
Chapter Two
“This is not funny anymore,” Olivia muttered as the deluge rained down upon her. She shot a furious glare heavenward through strands of soaked hair as the pouring rain drenched her.
Terror of slipping off the wet roof and plunging to the rough deck paralyzed her more, but she managed to shift slowly until she had locked her hands onto the small satellite dish. It was cold and slick from the rain but gave her something more than her knees to hold onto as the rain beat down on her. Her hair hung like a wet cloak over her face; she wanted so badly to shove it out of her eyes but she didn’t dare let go of the metal disk she clung to.
She was too close to the edge—just thinking about it had her feeling ill and wanting to claw handfuls of roof shingles in an attempt to feel less vulnerable. She closed her eyes against the rain rolling over her and she concentrated on not moving. Her feet felt as if they were on slick ice with the rain now running downhill from the rooftop and cascading over the edge in a waterfall. Which gave her visions of being swept over in the deluge.
“Are you in trouble?”
Startled by the deep voice, she glanced down briefly to see the hooded man she’d seen out on the beach as she’d been staring at the ocean moments ago. He stared up at her from the deck. Her stomach tilted from looking down and she quickly focused back on the beach.
She’d seen him pause on the beach, but she’d been too embarrassed to wave a hand for help like a normal person would have done. Instead, she’d been weighing the consequences of her actions, torn between calling out for help or wishing he would go away—she was, after all, wearing these silly Florida flamingo shorty PJs.
And then there was the other reason. She was already in enough hot water with the tabloids. It would be just the kind of luck she’d been having for this guy to snap a photo and later realize that he could make a mint selling her out to a tabloid. Or, for all she knew, he could be the first of the paparazzi who had located her and he was about to get the scoop of his life.
And she really wasn’t even the scoop. Any female would have been in her spot if they’d been photographed with mega movie star Brad Pearson laying a hot, passionate kiss on her! The very memory sent heated indignation racing through Olivia. Brad had totally and completely blindsided her with that kiss. And now the photographers had labeled her the mystery woman and were in hot pursuit of a story.
Her photo was on every magazine rack in every grocery and convenience store across the country. Mystery woman—ha! She wished. The only mystery to her was what her client had been thinking.
And what had she been thinking when she’d crawled up this ladder in her pajamas, of all things?
Olivia glanced quickly back at the hooded man standing in the downpour and staring up at her. What was he doing walking on a beach in the rain?
And he’s probably wondering who would be on a slick rooftop in the rain.
She had made bad judgment calls lately. Climbing up on the roof to rescue the crying cat had not been one of her smartest moves considering she was terrified of heights.
But then, it could be for lack of sleep that she’d made this one. Lack of sleep and empathy for the cat. Maybe it was scared of heights too… Okay, dumb but well, she was tired.
And here she was on the wet, slick roof with her toes tingling, her heart thundering erratically, and a very real need to toss her cookies—if she’d eaten any cookies that morning.
That darn cat, the little darling, better run when—or if—she ever got down from this rooftop.
“Are you all right?” he asked from way down below and drew her back from her meltdown.
Her eyes narrowed and she was glad her hair was somewhat acting as a disguise. “I’m on a roof in the drizzling rain. In pink flamingo shorty PJs—” Olivia gasped, as dawning hit her of how exposed she was in this outfit. She crossed her arms over her boobage—gifts from Aunt Marge that Olivia would readily disinherit if only it were possible. She could probably win a wet T-shirt contest ri
ght now. Though, hopefully, pink flamingos didn’t show off as much as white T-shirts. Her arms crossed, she awkwardly clung to the satellite dish, feeling as if she were playing a game of Twister.
“Did your ladder fall?”
She glared at him and slipped, very ungracefully. “No,” she snapped. “I kicked it down on purpose.” Who was this guy?
And why are you being a shrew when you need his help?
She shot a peek at him and he had a cross between pity and worry on his face.
“Sorry, I’m fine,” she quipped, and tried for nonchalance. But her hands slipped and she wobbled again. The roof was getting slicker.
“Steady,” he urged. “I get it. You’re afraid of heights.”
“Bingo,” she squeaked. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
“What are you doing on a roof if you’re scared of heights?”
Her fingers dug into the metal. “I was trying to save a cat,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “But the ungrateful feline saved herself.” She ventured a glance down and saw the man had flung off his hood and she realized he was a very hunky man. She also saw his lips twitch.
She yanked her gaze away and tried not to think diabolical thoughts about his demise. After all, he was her only salvation at the moment.
“So you decided to just stay up there? After she saved herself?”
Kill. “No, are you kidding?” she snapped. “I want down. Should have never gotten up here in the first place. But with the drizzle making my ladder slippery, I accidently kicked it down as I was getting on the roof. And now I’m stuck. And it’s pouring.”
“I see that,” he called.
Did she hear laughter in his voice? There was a scraping noise and she opened eyes that she hadn’t even realized she’d closed. The ladder was beside her. And then he was at eye level with her and yes, he was one hunky man. With the bluest eyes…and he was about to save her. She literally could kiss him right then and there. If she could pry her fingers from the satellite dish.
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