Carolina Man (A Dare Island Novel)

by Virginia Kantra

  He sat on the bench. “Look up.”

  She sat beside him, obediently tilting her head. The stars whirled and pulsed above them, points of light against the velvet sky. No streetlights. No pollution. No choking desert sand.

  “Dad.”

  He lost his breath.

  Taylor twisted to look at him. “We’re not searching for Santa’s sleigh or anything, right? Because I’m ten.”

  Luke grinned. “No sleigh. I brought you to look at the stars.”

  “Cool.” She settled against his side. “Like the wise men.”

  “Yeah.” He put his arm around her. So she wouldn’t get cold. “You know, before we moved here, Grandpa was in the Marines. Uncle Matt and Aunt Meg remember that better than I do. But there was this one Christmas, right before he got out . . . He couldn’t come home. He was in Iraq. The first go-round. I was pretty disappointed. Well, I was only eight. Younger than you are now.”

  Luke cleared his throat. “Anyway, after Grandma went downstairs, I climbed out on the garage roof and looked at the stars. I thought, wherever he was, he could see them, too. I picked out one star to be, like, my Dad star. Because the stars are always there. Always with you. Even in the daytime, when you can’t see them, they’re there.”

  Taylor looked at him blankly. Oh, God, he was screwing this up. Did she get what he was trying to say?

  “Your mom . . . I figure she’s like one of those stars. Watching over you.”

  Taylor nodded slowly, her eyes shining in the moonlight. When the shining threatened to overflow, she squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face against his side.

  Luke tightened his arm around her. “She’ll always be with you,” he said hoarsely.

  And so will I.

  • • •

  “IS THERE ANYTHING I can do?” Kate offered.

  She wanted to help. To belong. Allison, Josh, and Taylor were shouting and shaking to the Wii in the family room. Meg was arranging veggies and prosciutto on a tray, talking about some wedding—his sister’s?—with Sam, while Fezzik haunted the floor at their feet, hoping for food to drop. Luke had just rescued a spitting Snowball from JD. The whole scene was noisy, cheerful, and slightly overwhelming.

  Very different from TV.

  Tess smiled and pulled the plastic wrap off a bowl of dip. “Table’s set, the roast is resting, and we have another twenty minutes before we have to do anything with the potatoes. Why don’t you give Taylor her present? Sam, do you want to open a bottle of this nice wine Kate brought?”

  “Got it.” He winked and reached for a glass.

  Josh wandered in, put his arm around Tess and stuck his finger in the dip. “Mm. Good.”

  She smacked his hand and then shoved the bowl at him. “Take this into the family room. Taylor’s going to open her present from Kate now.”

  Kate’s stomach hollowed. Because the pressure of picking out the perfect gift wasn’t enough without an audience to critique her choice.

  Luke returned from putting the puppy in timeout behind a baby gate. “Time for presents?”

  Tess nodded. “Get your father.”

  “He’s playing trains with Matt.”

  Tess whipped off her apron. “Tom!”

  Allison came in, flushed and lovely from the dance game, and poured herself a big glass of water. “Nice flowers,” she said to Kate.

  “Thanks,” Kate said. The poinsettia she’d chosen with such care overwhelmed the kitchen table. Too big. Too much.

  She always told her clients in a custody battle to save the expensive gifts. You couldn’t buy love and acceptance.

  But she hadn’t followed her own advice. She desperately wanted the Fletchers to like her.

  She let herself be steered into the family room. Nudged onto the couch. Luke sat beside her.

  “Here.” Sam handed her a glass. “You look like you could use this.”

  Support? Or recognition of her outsider status?

  She took the wine gratefully. “Thank you.”

  Taylor tore at the paper, ignoring Kate’s carefully tied ribbon.

  “It’s a book.” More tearing. “Three books.” Her voice was bright. Polite.

  Kate set down her glass, clasping her hands tightly together in her lap. “There are some DVDs, too.”

  “Anne of Green Gables,” Allison said.

  Meg leaned forward to see. “Oh, I loved those when I was a kid. Or maybe I just had the hots for Gilbert.”

  “Who’s Gilbert?” Sam asked.

  Taylor turned the books over in her hand, glancing at the photos and the back cover blurb. “Cool.”

  Luke’s hand rested on the back of Kate’s neck, warm and reassuring. His thumb stroked idly under her hair.

  “I thought . . .” Kate shrugged awkwardly, not sure if or how much she should explain. “It’s about a girl who goes to live with a family on an island, and how she changes their lives. She’s ten, like you, and smart and brave. Kind of a ‘kindred spirit,’” she said, borrowing a phrase from the books.

  “Thanks.” Taylor’s smile flashed. “What did you get Dad?”

  “Oh. Um. Another book.” Kate reached down by her feet and handed Luke’s present to him.

  He ripped it open with the same careless disregard for paper and ribbon that Taylor had shown.

  Kate smiled ruefully. Next time she wouldn’t worry so much about her wrapping job.

  Her breath snagged. Next time?

  Luke stared down at the handsome coffee table book. “It’s Dare Island.”

  “To remind you of home,” Kate said. When you deploy again, she thought, her throat constricting. “The photos are by Adam Scott. He—”

  “Hey, we have that book,” Josh said. Tess shot him a look. “Well, we do. Upstairs. That guy, the photographer, he stayed here, didn’t he?”

  “Oh.” Kate bit her lip. “Well, you can exchange—”

  “I don’t have this book,” Luke said. “Thank you.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her, hard and sweet.

  “We got you something, too.” Taylor scrambled to her feet and returned with a small box from under the Christmas tree.

  A jewelry box. Small, square, unmistakable.

  Kate’s heart slammed into her ribs.

  Luke was watching her, his eyes intensely blue. “Open it.”

  She couldn’t breathe. She picked at the paper, aware of his family, watching. Her hands trembled. We’re not rushing into anything, she’d said to Alisha. It’s too soon.

  “It’s a cat,” Taylor said when Kate opened the box. “You gave us Snowball, so we gave you a cat.”

  “To go on your chain,” Luke said.

  Kate let out her breath in relief and pleasure and . . . No, that wasn’t disappointment. The gold charm was beautiful. And thoughtful. The perfect gift.

  She beamed at them. “It’s beautiful.”

  “He skipped a step,” Meg murmured.

  “What do you mean?” asked Allison.

  “A man works his way down your arm. First earrings, then necklace, then bracelet, then ring.” Meg shrugged. “Luke went straight to necklace.”

  Kate couldn’t help it. She looked at Meg’s hands.

  Meg caught the direction of her gaze and grinned. “Ta-da.” She held up her left hand. Waggled her fingers, flashing a huge emerald-cut stone in a diamond setting. “Merry Christmas to me.”

  Sam caught her hand and kissed it. “And to me.”

  “They’re so cute,” Matt drawled.

  “Congratulations,” Kate said sincerely. “I hope you’ll both be very happy.”

  “Gee, Uncle Luke, does this mean you’re going steady now?” Josh asked.

  “What did you get your little redhead for Christmas?” Luke asked.

  Matt hid a grin with his hand. Josh’s ears turned red.

  The doorbell chimed.

  “I’ll get that,” Josh said and escaped.

  “Do you like it?” Taylor asked Kate.

  Kate looked into th
ose big blue eyes, Luke’s eyes, and closed her hand on the box. “I love it.”

  She loved everything. The presents, the noise, the teasing, the love. Luke’s family was so nice. So normal.

  She couldn’t stand it. She didn’t see where she fit in. How she could possibly fit in.

  “I think I’ll go upstairs and put it on,” she said.

  “There’s a bathroom with a mirror right here,” Meg said.

  “Thanks. I just . . .” She had to get away. She needed a minute to compose herself. “My purse?”

  “With the coats. William Kidd Room,” Tess said. “Left at the top of the stairs.”

  Kate nodded blindly and bolted.

  Alone in the handsome guest bedroom, decorated in deep shades of green, she pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. What was the matter with her?

  She took a deep breath and threaded the charm through her chain with shaking hands.

  Yeah, okay, her childhood sucked. But she was a competent, confident, professional adult. She didn’t fall to pieces in the courtroom. Why should a simple family celebration shake her assurance and turn her into a whimpering idiot?

  She met her eyes in the mirror. Because it was Christmas.

  Because the contrast between Luke’s family and her own broke her heart.

  “Everything okay up here?” Luke asked.

  She blotted her lower lashes with her fingertips before she turned and saw him leaning in the doorway. “Fine.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “What?”

  He smiled at her. “In my family, ‘fine’ means they haven’t amputated yet.”

  She smiled back. “I’m really okay. We should go downstairs.”

  “No rush. The police chief just got here.” He shut the door and strolled forward. “Let him take the heat for a while.”

  “The police chief? Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah. He came for dinner. My parents always invite at least one stray for the holidays.”

  She bit her lip. “I see.”

  And she did. At least one stray. She must be the other one.

  Luke studied her. “I don’t think you do.” He nodded toward the chain in her hands. “Want help with that?”

  Nothing to do but put a good face on things. “Yes, thank you.” She turned her back, gathered her hair out of the way.

  His fingers were light and warm on the back of her neck. Helplessly, she closed her eyes as longing spilled inside her. His lips brushed the side of her throat, and she shivered and moved away.

  Luke frowned. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m . . .” Not fine, don’t say fine. “I’m not used to being around so many people at the holidays. I don’t know how to react. How to behave.”

  “You could try to relax and enjoy yourself.”

  “I am. Enjoying myself.” Not relaxed. Not relaxed at all. “It was lovely of your parents to invite me. I’m just a little tense.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Let’s see if I can relax you.”

  He kissed her again, a soft and undemanding kiss, intended to comfort.

  And everything inside her turned to flame. She opened her mouth, angled her head, and inhaled him. There was no other word for it. She wanted to absorb him, ingest him, take him inside her. His arms came around her, hard as rope. The ridge of his erection dug into her stomach. He felt so good that her eyes brimmed in gratitude. They kissed again, deep and wet, and she sucked his tongue into her mouth.

  “Shh, shh,” he whispered, and she realized she was moaning, grappling with him to bring him closer, to take him in, frustrated by her tight skirt. The fine wool abraded her skin. She was liquid, melting, dying inside.

  He spun her around and yanked on her skirt, bunching it over her hips, exposing her thighs and the thin triangle of her panties. The cool air kissed her hot, flushed skin. He was hard behind her, hard and close. His strong hands shaped her butt, his calluses raising goose bumps, before he reached around, rubbing her from the front, long fingers sliding over wet satin. His arms shook. Or maybe that was her legs.

  “Kate.”

  She could not speak. She had gone to some dark place beyond words, into the extremity of need. She bent forward from the waist, dropping over the bed, resting her arms on her discarded coat with her butt up in the air.

  “Oh, God, Kate.”

  His zipper rasped. She could feel him, blunt and smooth at her entrance. They both shuddered.

  “Condom,” he said hoarsely.

  “In my purse.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  She turned her head sideways on her bent arms, closing her eyes, listening, waiting, hotter and more turned on than she’d ever been in her life. Her blood beat, hard and fast, in her ears and between her legs. His fingers curled under lace and elastic, stretching her panties out of the way.

  “This okay?” he whispered.

  “Do it.”

  He positioned himself behind her, sliding up and down, making her twist and pant. She angled her hips, pushing back, desperate to take him in, and he grabbed her hips, entering her in one thrust, gliding deep. She bit on her coat to keep from crying out. He took her in short, sharp digs, grinding, pushing, until his strokes hit something good, high inside her, and she saw stars and flew apart, all her tension unraveling in long, silky skeins of pleasure.

  Maybe she passed out. Probably not. She could feel him shaking above her, riding her spasms, until his own release broke over them both, and he followed her over the edge.

  His weight relaxed on top of her. His heart thudded against her back. He turned his head and kissed her shoulder blade. Her heart quivered and surrendered.

  She never wanted to move again. She lay quiet, in a kind of sexual torpor, surrounded by the scent of clean linens and hot sex.

  Merry Christmas to me.

  Soon—too soon—Luke sighed and pulled away, separating from her by degrees. He bent and pressed his lips to the base of her spine, making her hips hitch reflexively.

  His hands tightened on her flesh. And then he tugged her panties into place and smoothed her skirt back down over her hips.

  “Best. Christmas. Present. Ever,” he said.

  Her laughter hiccupped, surprising them both. “Better than a bicycle?”

  “More fun to ride.”

  She snorted and then pressed her fingers to her mouth.

  “Shh,” he said again, teasing. “You don’t want anyone to guess we’re having fun up here.”

  “Oh, God.” She dashed into the bathroom to make appropriate repairs.

  “It’s no good,” Luke said when she came out.

  “My hair?” She reached up self-consciously. “Lipstick?”

  He shook his head. “It’s me.”

  She looked at him blankly.

  He met her gaze. “All they have to do is look at me and they’ll see I’m falling for you.”

  She flushed all over. Her heart fell at his feet.

  After that, Christmas dinner was pretty much—ha-ha—an anticlimax.

  Kate sat, smiling fuzzily, as the Fletchers carved the roast and passed the potatoes and talked about . . . Well, she kept losing the thread of the conversation. Whatever nerve Luke had struck inside her had obviously shorted her brain.

  She managed a polite conversation with the new police chief, Jack Rossi, dark and sober in his uniform. Her fellow stray.

  But the word had lost its power to sting. All they have to do is look at me . . .

  “Where are you from, Chief Rossi?”

  “Jack. Delaware County.” Her face must have looked blank, because he added, “Outside Philly.”

  “Oh, are you from Philadelphia?” Allison leaned across the table, not flirting, but . . .

  Aware, Kate decided. The chief had something that made women aware. Testosterone or something. Even a woman deeply in love or newly engaged or still giddy from breath-robbing, heart-stealing, drums-beating sex could notice.

  “Allison’s family is f
rom Philadelphia, too,” Meg said.

  “So I’m not the only dingbatter,” Kate said.

  Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Dingbatter?”

  “Someone who is unfamiliar with island life,” Allison said diplomatically. “Generally used to refer to Yankees, uplanders, and anyone from Away.”

  “How long have you lived here?” Jack asked.

  “This is my first winter.”

  “I warned her it was quiet,” Matt said.

  Allison smiled, curling her hand around his on the table. “It has its attractions.”

  “Impressionable children present,” Josh said. “Do not corrupt our pure young minds.”

  “Pure?” Luke said.

  “I’m trying to protect Taylor,” Josh said with dignity.

  “What about you, Jack?” Tom asked from the head of the table.

  “I like quiet,” the chief said.

  “Well, you won’t find it in this house,” Tom said.

  “Don’t you miss your family?” Tess asked.

  “I miss Philadelphia,” Jack said in a neutral voice. “What about you, Miss Carter?”

  “Allison, please. Actually, I’ll see my mother very soon. She’s flying into Raleigh tomorrow to take me shopping for a wedding dress.”

  “That’s three hours away, isn’t it? You drive carefully,” he said.

  “Mom and I are going with her,” Meg said. “We’re making an overnight out of it. It’ll be fun.”

  Allison pulled a face. “Even if it is at the most inconvenient time. I told Mother you had a full house this weekend, with all the guests coming for Sam’s sister’s wedding. If she’d only wait a couple weeks . . .”

  “You’d have even less selection,” Meg said. “I’ve been browsing wedding sites. Most of them recommend ordering your gown a year before your date. Six months, minimum. You only have four months left.”

  Sam grinned. “You’ve been browsing wedding sites?”

  Meg tossed her head. “I like being prepared.”

  “Anyway, the timing’s not a problem,” Tess said. “The rooms are all ready. And we’ll be back Thursday afternoon. It’s natural for your mother to want to see you over the holidays.”