Besotted: An Enemies-to-Lovers Small-town Romance (Carmel Cove Book 3)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

Of all the places, of all the times… I hadn’t expected a proposal to come today—after my afternoon nap.

  But then, he’d always promised it would be when I least expected it.

  Miles’ hands closed possessively on my widened waist and tugged me in front of him.

  “You’re going to ask me to marry you now, aren’t you?” I winced. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  His grin widened and he rubbed small circles on my sides as he laughed.

  “I love you, Evie.” He bent down and kissed me.

  Then, capturing my gaze, he slid down slowly onto one knee, gently pressing his lips to my stomach along the way and sending a shiver up my spine.

  “You’re my happily-ever-after.” He pulled a ring box from his pocket, the velvet shadowed from the candlelight. “My forever. And my everything.” He paused, breaking the silence with only the soft strain of the box’s hinge as he popped it open. “And it would make me the happiest man in the world if you would agree to also be my wife?”

  My hands cupped over my mouth, eyeing the engagement ring in wonder. The center yellow diamond was circled by nine smaller white diamonds—it was shaped like a flower.

  I choked as an unexpected sob broke free, tears flowing much easier these last few months with much less provocation than a perfect proposal.

  “Yes!” I blubbered. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  The ring found its way onto my finger but, more importantly, I found my way into his arms and his lips found theirs onto mine.

  At this point, I knew my class was canceled, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting my man—my fiancé—back upstairs and into our bed.

  “Miles.” I whimpered and reached for the hem of his shirt, surprised when his hands stopped mine.

  “Not yet,” he groaned.

  “What?”

  His forehead came to rest on mine. “Trust me, I’d like to tell you that I’d love nothin’ more than to take you back upstairs, peel you out of these clothes, and have my way with you.” He cleared his throat. “But there is somethin’ I’d love more.”

  My brow scrunched.

  He reached to the side and pushed the sliding door to the other front studio open.

  My eyes turned wide as saucers, and it was a good thing Miles had his arms around me because my legs almost gave out when I saw our family and friends piled into the small room, dressed for a celebration—dressed for an intimate wedding.

  “Miles… what… what…” I sputtered.

  He chuckled, loving when he made me speechless.

  “You asked if I was going to ask you to marry me now,” he drawled slowly, reminding me of my question. “You were right, baby. And this is me, asking you to marry me… Now.”

  I gaped at him.

  He tipped his head forward, murmuring in my ear, “Surprise.”

  My gaze dropped to my yoga clothes—at least he’d left out a set that was white—and then rose to meet his.

  “So, what do you say, Evie?” he murmured with a boyish grin. “Will you marry me now?”

  I bit my lip but it didn’t stop the happy tears. Nodding eagerly, I gripped the front of his shirt and pulled my mouth back up to his.

  “Hey, Eve, you skipped a few parts!” Jo yelled from the back of the room.

  I drew back, laughing along with everyone else.

  “I will,” I told him, beaming. “I would love nothing more than to marry you now.”

  “How did you know I would say yes?” I teased much later, wrapped in his arms, staring out at the calm ocean out the front window of our honeymoon suite—a room with fabric walls, an unblemished view of the sea, and a ceiling made of stars. “Very risky of you, Mr. Madison.”

  It was the perfect night. The perfect proposal—the perfect wedding—with my perfect prince.

  “Because, not that long ago, a beautiful woman reminded me that anything is possible when you follow your heart.” He kissed along the side of my neck up to my ear. “And, Mrs. Madison, when you follow your heart, in the end,

  Love Wins.”

  Keep reading…

  Did you love Eve and Miles’ story? Then you can’t miss Addison and Ace’s story! Addy’s past comes knocking in BETRAYED, the sexy and suspenseful first standalone in my Covington Security series!

  As for the Carmel Cove crew, keep reading for the prologue to Cammie and Bennet’s second chance, friends to lovers romance—BEFALLEN, the fourth book in my Carmel Cove series!

  You can get your copy of BEFALLEN here.

  Keep reading to check out the prologue!

  *Note: Befallen contains references to certain subjects that might be sensitive to some readers.

  Cambria

  Two years ago

  I had a dream.

  This was it. The final moment. The final test before I would become a licensed massage therapist.

  “Good luck, Cam!” One of my friends from school, Lucy, encouraged as she gave my arm a squeeze as I disappeared into my designated room.

  I rubbed my hands together again, hoping the eucalyptus-scented lotion would disguise their clamminess. I hoped its scent would calm me as well as my client, Lucy’s boyfriend, Rich.

  Taking another deep breath of the aroma, I looked around the empty room once more to make sure I had everything in place. The warm towel. The lotion. The heater plugged in to keep my hot stones warm. It was all there. All ready.

  This would be my last massage at school—my last hour in this room. And then, I’d be heading back home to Carmel Cove and finally ready and able to apply at Serenity and Stone Spa for a full-time job. My mom, who owned the local bakery in our hometown, said the head masseuse at S & S had just left to take a position at Rock Beach Resort. Everything was falling into place.

  All I had to do was pass this test.

  And try to forget that Rich was also the son of the owner of the school.

  I started as the door opened and a good-looking young man stepped inside wearing a well-fitted suit and tie. My eyes caught on the glint of red from what appeared to be a class ring on his finger.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Pearson.” I made sure to speak with a smile since it helped mask the slight waver in my voice.

  “Good afternoon.” He returned my smile as his eyes trailed down my body.

  They didn’t leer or linger, instead moving with the swift slickness of oil that left me feeling just as dirty.

  I shifted my weight, tugging at the end of my navy-blue lab coat. Even though it fell modestly just above my legging-covered knees, I wished it buttoned up higher and wasn’t so tight around my larger breasts and curved hips. And I wished I’d worn more than a V-neck tank underneath. I was just so nervous, I hadn’t wanted to wear something that would make me any hotter.

  And even though my attire was the same as every other person in my class and was in no way meant to be sexy, the oil spill clung to my curves like it was nothing but.

  I cleared my throat. “If you could please undress and then lie face down on the table.” Gently, my hand rested on the covered headrest as I spoke.

  Before he could reply, I turned and let myself out of the room, only just catching the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth.

  I rested my back on the wall outside the door and took a deep breath. Just one more massage. Just one more hour.

  Sure, he was the son of Tamara Wallace, famous esthetician-turned-model who started this school as one of her many business endeavors. Sure, his dad was some senator up in San Francisco, but I was good at this; there was no reason to worry.

  I didn’t know why Lucy hadn’t claimed her boyfriend for her own test, but maybe that would’ve been too close a relationship to prove objective.

  I’d only met Rich a few times—very brief moments at the school when he came to meet Lucy. He seemed nice, and I was grateful to not have to search out a stranger to use for my practical exam.

  An exam I would pass, and my dream would move onto the next phase.

  I had a dream.

 
I held on to my dream as I walked back into that room. I held on to my dream as I went through the first part of the massage with ease. And I held on to it right until I asked him to turn over and face up… right until it was ripped from my grasp.

  Before I could believe what was happening, and I was forced down over the table.

  Oh, God.

  My face crushed against the fabric, my chest constricting around the wildfire of rage in my lungs. My mouth moved open and closed in shock and horror, but nothing came out.

  I was screaming but with no voice.

  Though a million emotions surged inside me, they were trapped—locked in shock and paralyzed with debilitating disbelief.

  I was breathing but with no air.

  The eucalyptus that was meant to be soothing scorched the back of my throat and eyes; it burned over my body that was stripped shamefully bare.

  I was fighting but with no power.

  My mind fought a valiant battle for survival, but my body was a casualty in the war.

  How had this happened? How did I get here?

  I was trapped. I couldn’t get out.

  That ring. The one that caught my eye now stared me in the face as it imprisoned my hands next to my tear-streaked face.

  Someone had to know. Someone would come to check.

  I believed someone would save me. I believed there would be a savior.

  I only heard bits and pieces. A tear of fabric. The rip of a zipper.

  Someone would come to help me; they had to. This kind of thing didn’t happen in a school. This kind of thing could never happen to me.

  I believed a savior would come before it was too late.

  I could see myself fighting. I could see myself kicking and screaming… in my mind. But in reality, I was frozen, my body seemingly asleep to the horrors forced on it. Paralyzed against the massage table, my body didn’t move—didn’t flinch—as I felt his invade mine.

  Tears pooled under my face. Hot. Hotter than the table. Caustic and stinging with shame.

  Was this my fault? Had I done something to encourage him?

  I stared at his class ring. Vibrant and pulsing like the beat of my heart, reminding me that I was, in fact, alive when later, I would wish I was dead.

  All the while, I hoped… I hoped and believed a savior would come.

  The red shone brighter as the man it belonged to made me bleed, as he took what didn’t belong to him.

  Right up until the very end. Until he heaved and jerked on top of me. Until I felt the remains of my innocence and the corrosive heat of his satisfaction scar down the backs of my thighs as he put himself back together.

  Right up until the very end, I believed a savior would come.

  “Excellent job today, Cambria,” I heard him say with a voice drunk on power. “Lucy was right when she said how… talented… you were at this. I have no doubt you’re going to pass this exam.”

  I shivered as he bent down right by my head that still rested numbly on the table in a pool of tears.

  “Of course, provided you don’t mention how you gave me special treatment just because I’m the owner’s son. I’d hate for them to discredit how… talented… you are. I’d hate for your friend to feel betrayed by how you… enticed… me.”

  More tears spilled down my face. I didn’t want to look at him. But if I moved, it would prove this was all real. If I moved, that would be the end of any last hopeful string that pleaded for this to be a nightmare.

  His sharp chuckles were like thrown stones on my shamed back.

  “You’re going to school to become a massage therapist,” he sneered as he wiped a tear from my face. I didn’t even have the wherewithal to flinch away. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know this came with the territory… happy endings and all…”

  Happy endings.

  Bile rose up my throat and into my mouth, but I didn’t have the strength to spit it out or vomit. I didn’t deserve to.

  I deserved to swallow it back down and live with it in the pit of my stomach for not doing more. For not fighting harder.

  It took all the strength I never thought I’d have to use to clean myself up and reach for the door.

  And right up until I reached for the doorknob, I still believed in my savior.

  But sometimes, the savior doesn’t come.

  And sometimes, the dream isn’t a dream.

  Sometimes, it’s a nightmare, and the nightmare is real.

  And the dream is no more.

  Two months later

  “Morning, Josie.”

  I heard the familiar gruff voice of Larry Ocean echo through the front room of the Carmel Bakery.

  It was seven a.m. on the dot on Tuesday. And that meant Larry would be here to pick up a dozen bagels and mix of muffins to take to the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at Our Lady of Mount Carmel church.

  I’d only been home for four weeks, and that was long enough to become familiar with the regulars at the bakery my family owned.

  “Morning, Larry,” my mother returned just before I heard her yell back to me. “Cammie, can you bring out Larry’s order?”

  “Yeah!”

  I gathered a few fresh blueberry muffins I’d just pulled out of the oven and tucked them as extras in one of the two bags set aside for him.

  I stared down at the paper bakery bags in my arms and walked out to the front of the shop, noticing my mom and Larry talking among themselves. They did that a lot. My mom liked to hear stories about when her dad and Larry served together in the war.

  Today though, Larry didn’t look like himself. Like when it’s midday but looks like dusk because the sky is dark with an impending storm. And it worried me.

  Larry was the guiding light of this town.

  I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was about him that made him seem like the grandfather to this whole town, no matter who you were, where you came from, or how long you’d been here.

  Maybe it was because his coffee shop, Ocean Roasters, had been a staple on Ocean Avenue for going on five generations.

  Or maybe it was because, in spite of his general decisive and to-the-point demeanor, he always seemed to know the right thing to say and the right time to say it.

  Or because he was always there to lend a hand.

  “Morning, Cambria,” he addressed me as I rounded the counter to hand him his order.

  “Morning,” I replied quietly.

  “I don’t know how much longer you’re going to see her in the mornings, Larry,” my mom inserted, with that proud smile on her face that made my heart shrivel up on the inside. “She should be getting her license any day now and then she’ll be over working with Trish at Serenity and Stone Spa.”

  “It still hasn’t come?” He shook his head. “Damn bureaucratic paperwork,” he groused.

  I swallowed hard and extended the bags out to him to take, hoping that would suffice for my lack of answer.

  “I’m sure that you’re just itching to start working, aren’t you, honey?” my mother asked, that painful smile growing, swelling, and ripping the scabs off my heart.

  I managed a brief smile and a nod, guilt piling on my chest like a stack of weights.

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll do great,” Larry said as he took the bags from me.

  I purposely held them from the bottom so that he could grip the handles and take them without coming into contact with any part of me—a skill that I’d mastered with the swiftness of necessity in that first month of the After.

  He took them both in one hand with a smile, and I immediately turned to retreat to the back.

  And that was when the worst thing happened.

  “Cambria, are you sure this is my—”

  I didn’t hear the rest of his statement, though I knew what it was.

  When my mom had started talking about my dream—the one I hadn’t the courage to tell her I’d buried—I completely forgot to tell Larry about the extra muffins into the bag. So, now, he thought I’d given him the wrong ord
er.

  And that was why his empty reached for my shoulder.

  A hand that felt like it reached right out of the past—out of the nightmare.

  Because I’d been turning away that day, too.

  I’d turned away, slightly lifting the covers so that he could turn over. I remember the small drop in my shoulders of momentary relief when I saw that he’d left his pants on as instructed.

  And in that false sense of security, I’d been overtaken.

  A hand on the shoulder had been my only indication before I felt my torso slammed into the table, and my trust… my pride… my spirit broken.

  Black and red flashed in my vision—black like his soul and red like his ring—as Larry clasped my shoulder.

  It didn’t matter that I consciously knew it was a different time and place and person. Subconsciously, it was always him.

  I let out a strangled cry as I stumbled away, slamming my hip into the side of the counter in my haste to get away from the touch.

  From any touch.

  From anyone.

  Of course, Larry’s hand immediately dropped, and the black clouds of crippling fear retreated.

  For a moment, I’d been drowning, suffocating in spite of my security here, and as I blinked and finally registered what just happened, I saw both my mother and Larry staring at me, their faces stricken with fear and concern.

  Oh God.

  What had I done?

  I’d broken at the first sign of pressure—at the first touch from a man I’d known my entire life. I’d screamed and recoiled from him as though he were a leper.

  The man who’d been like a grandfather to me, too.

  When my father passed away from pancreatic cancer when I was four, Larry had stepped in from the start to make sure we didn’t have to worry about anything until my mom could get settled into the dual demanding roles of single-parent and owner of the bakery.

  From carpools to childcare, Larry Ocean and his son, Mark, and daughter-in-law, Fiona, eased the burdens on my mom’s shoulders as she waded through the waters of grief.

  Little did she know that only a few years later, she’d be able to return the favor as Mark and Fiona were killed in a boating accident, leaving Larry and his wife, Pearl, as the sole guardians over their granddaughter, Laurel.