One Summer Night

by Caridad Piñeiro

  He motioned to the waitress and ordered a bottle of the house red, but then quickly said, “If that’s okay with you?”

  “I’d love some. It was a tiring day.” She gave him dating brownie points for asking her about the wine, belated as it was. But then again, the dating rules didn’t apply if one wasn’t on a date…only this was starting to feel too much like a date.

  “Anything you’d care to talk about that would make your day less difficult?”

  Owen would probably know what she’d faced today. She had no doubt he and his father were closely watching the Sinclair missteps. Particularly his father, who had likely been gleeful about their situation.

  “We said we wouldn’t talk about either business or family. My miserable day would definitely fall into both categories.”

  “What if I wasn’t who I was? What if I was a friend? What would you tell me about your miserable day?”

  Maggie had been eating her salad, but now she laid down her fork as she considered him. His features were serious, his gaze intense as it settled on her face, waiting for her answer. She smiled reluctantly and said, “We are friends, kind of. I mean, we’ve known each other forever. We’ve spent summers together, kind of. Went to the same college. We’ve been on the same committees in Sea Kiss.”

  “And I carried you to your dorm room after our first frat party when you thought that was only fruit punch,” he said with a wry grin.

  “Spiked with grain alcohol.” She dragged a hand through her hair and looked away as heat warmed her cheeks. “That was so embarrassing.”

  “It could have been worse. At least you didn’t toss your cookies all over me.”

  She chuckled, and Owen pressed ahead, clearly not dissuaded about her reluctance to share. “So tell me what’s up.”

  She hesitated for a second before the words spilled from her mouth in a rush. “My father is driving me crazy, and overall, today has to be one of the suckiest days of my life, but it’s nice to be able to relax and enjoy this meal.”

  He frowned, and that drew her immediate response.

  “Something wrong with that?”

  “I was hoping you’d say that it was nice to have dinner with a handsome, intelligent, and really funny—”

  She cut him off with a slash of her hand. “Don’t push it, Owen. I don’t know you well enough to say whether you’re intelligent and funny, much less really funny.”

  “But you’ll give me that I’m handsome,” he said, dimples blazing in a big grin.

  “And modest, I see,” she said with a pointed laugh and smiled, making it clear she was just teasing.

  “Can you see, Maggie? Can you see past this sexy facade and everything that stands between us to the real me?” His words were almost wistful, but he flashed that playful smile at her again and fluttered his lush eyelashes in mock flirtation.

  She laughed out loud, totally amused by his demeanor and the easy repartee. “Damn, Owen. This is a very different side of you that I hadn’t noticed before.”

  He forked up the last of his salad and stopped with it halfway to his mouth. “Really? I thought I was a goofball as a kid also. But I guess you noticing is a good thing, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  Chapter 5

  “Are you sure you don’t want dessert?” Owen asked, loath for the night to end so soon.

  “I wish. I’ve got to watch what I eat.” Maggie covered her midsection with her hand and grinned.

  The smile was one that was free of the earlier worry and brightened the blue of her gaze. It reminded him of the way the blue had shone when they were kids, playing on the beach.

  He decided that her eyes were a barometer for her feelings, changing with her moods. He tucked away the memory of the happy hue so that he might draw it out again. It also occurred to him that he liked their earlier banter, and hunger grew inside him for more. He forged ahead, the tone of his voice low and slightly rough but still striving to be lighthearted. “From what I can see, it’s all good. Really good.”

  Her gaze skipped over his face, as if she was trying to figure out just where they stood, and he hoped that she got the hint that the last place he wanted to be was in the friend zone. That was funny, considering that they’d started the night with a sort of friend truce because of the fight between their fathers. But for some time now, he’d been wondering about the sense of continuing with a feud that was decades old and really had nothing to do with either him or Maggie. It was all about a business deal gone wrong and a friend’s betrayal.

  Not to mention that lately, he’d been chomping at the bit to spend less time working and more time having a life. So why waste this opportunity that Fate had provided?

  “If you’re not up for dessert, how about some coffee?” he pressed.

  She hesitated, her gaze questioning, but then she relaxed. “It’s only a few blocks to my town house, and I just bought this new espresso machine since I’m addicted to lattes. I haven’t had a chance to try it out.”

  “Too busy, huh? You know that all work and no play is not a good thing, right?”

  “Says the man who is probably going to the office tomorrow,” she teased as the waitress came over with the check.

  Heat washed across Owen’s cheeks. “Says the pot to the kettle,” he shot back playfully, snared the check, and tucked his credit card inside.

  Maggie leaned toward him and said, “This isn’t a date, Owen. You don’t have to pay my share.”

  “I know. Feel free to treat me to dessert, but I’m warning you. I have a ferocious sweet tooth.”

  “Yes, I remember the infamous cotton candy incident and the stomachache that followed after the annual Sea Kiss carnival.”

  The increase of heat across his cheeks felt like the touch of a blowtorch, but then again, that she remembered their fun times together was a good thing.

  The waitress returned with the check, and Owen quickly signed it, stood, and held out his hand to Maggie. She slipped her hand into his, and as they strolled out, hand in hand, Toni and the two reporters followed their passage once again, but he didn’t care. There would be talk, and it was sure to get back to their fathers, but he was enjoying his time with Maggie too much, and the feeling was obviously mutual.

  He tightened his hold on Maggie’s hand as they exited the restaurant, and a sharp gust of wind warned that a summer storm might be on the way. Applying gentle pressure, he drew her close and eased his arm around her waist. She fit perfectly against him, her rounded hip bumping his thigh while her equally flawless breast brushed the side of his chest as they walked.

  Another gust of wind sent strands of her thick, wavy brown hair fluttering along his jaw, and the scent of a clean and flowery perfume filled his senses.

  Gazing down at her, he noticed the peaceful smile on her face, so different from the slightly agitated look she’d had when they first sat down to eat. Her eyes were the deep blue of calm sea waters at night. It pleased him that their time together had accomplished that.

  They walked in amiable silence, and when they passed a bakery a couple of blocks away, they decided to get dessert after all. Since there were just too many luscious items to choose from, they picked an assortment of sweets. Another block or so and they were at Maggie’s town house right across from Gramercy Park.

  It was quiet in this part of town, far removed from the Midtown business districts and tourist areas. A little haven that somehow suited her, he thought as she turned and walked through the wrought-iron gates enclosing a small garden in front of her brownstone. The garden was filled with an assortment of pots bursting with flowers in full summer bloom that spiced the air. The area reminded him of the gardens Maggie’s grandmother had planted every year down at the Sinclair home in Sea Kiss. He wondered if that was why Maggie went through the trouble of creating this little oasis in the city.

  As she walked
through the space, she stretched out her hand and skimmed it across the blossoms closest to the stoop, rousing a lemony-sweet fragrance from them.

  He followed her up the steps, enjoying the enticing sway of her hips as she walked and wondering where this unexpected encounter was going to lead.

  Inside, she faced him and motioned to the living room. “Make yourself at home,” she said as she peeled off her suit jacket and hung it on a coat rack in the front hall. She laid her keys in a bowl on a foyer table and walked into the space.

  He did as she asked, following her to the kitchen where he placed the box with the pastries on the breakfast bar, whipped off his jacket, and draped it over one of the high stools tucked beneath the bar.

  She immediately began fiddling with the gleaming and obviously new espresso machine on the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. As she did so, Owen pulled out a stool and sat, then swiveled around to inspect her home, looking for more clues to the mystery that was Maggie.

  It was definitely a home and not just a place where she hung her hat before returning to the office.

  A long, narrow sofa table along one side of the room held a half dozen or so framed pictures of her mom and dad, as well as of her friends. A large glass vase boasted a collection of seashells, and as he examined the space, it occurred to him that while the room was elegant, it had a beach-house feel.

  The walls were painted a weathered blue-gray shade like you’d find on the outside of a Sea Kiss cottage, and pops of bright yellows, whites, and an occasional coral red on seat cushions and pillows added to the coastal vibe.

  The kitchen area was a sunny shade of yellow with gleaming white cabinets reminiscent of a beach cottage. The quartz counter was white, offset by a glass-tiled backsplash in soothing shades of ocean blues and greens.

  The inside of her home, much like the garden outside, was designed as if she had wanted to bring a little piece of the Shore to Manhattan. And unlike his gleaming, modern-designer decor, her town house made him feel decidedly at home.

  “I like your place,” he said and gestured to the living room.

  She glanced up from the espresso maker and snuck a quick look at him and then beyond to her space. With a smile, she said, “Thanks. It’s been in the family for a long time. I know it doesn’t have a fancy city feel—”

  “I like it. It reminds me of Sea Kiss,” he said.

  “Yeah, it does. That’s why I did it, I guess. I love being there, and I can’t get down as much as I’d like.”

  “Me either,” he said with a regretful sigh.

  She shook her head and chuckled. “We’re two of a kind, and not in a good way.”

  Definitely not in a good way, but change is always possible, he thought.

  He popped open the bakery box, grabbed a cannoli, and walked to where she was making the coffee. He leaned against the counter alongside her and held the confection up to her mouth.

  As she pushed a button on the coffee machine, she faced him and glanced at the pastry, and then his lips, and then the pastry again. She took a tentative bite that left powdered sugar and ricotta cream all over her lower lip.

  Tempting. Way too tempting, he thought as he finished off the rest of the pastry in two quick bites, all the time wondering if she would taste as good. He bent his head but stopped just short of her mouth.

  “Since we seem to have so much in common,” she began, meeting his gaze from beneath half-lowered lids, “I suspect that right now you’re thinking way too much about how crazy this is, because that’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

  “You’d be right,” he admitted without moving, enjoying the way her fresh, warm breath spilled over his lips. His groin tightened at the thought of that luscious mouth doing delicious things as they made love.

  “But what would be really right is exploring whatever is happening between us.”

  Before he could utter a word, she closed her mouth over his, her kiss light at first as she skimmed it across his lips but growing more urgent.

  She opened her mouth on his, and she was so warm, so soft. Smooth.

  When she teased him with a quick lick, he groaned and cupped the back of her head, keeping her close so he could return the caress. Licking her lips before dropping a line of kisses from the corner of her mouth to the center of her full lower lip.

  It tasted as sweet as he’d imagined it would, and he deepened the kiss, nearly eating her up with the intensity of his lips exploring hers.

  * * *

  Maggie breathed in the scent of him, so clean and all male. She opened her mouth and accepted the slide of his tongue. Danced hers across his as he pressed his body close, and the long, hard ridge of his erection brushed the soft flatness of her belly.

  Heat and wet filled her center, and she shifted her hips back and forth across him, an invitation for more. As insane as it might be to give in to the temptation, she needed to explore why he moved her as no one else ever had.

  He groaned and bracketed her hips with his hands, pressing her near as he rocked his hips along hers.

  “Maggie,” he whispered, and she didn’t need to hear more to understand what he wanted, because she wanted it too.

  She hopped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, whispering, “Living room.”

  With long, easy strides, he moved them around the breakfast bar and to the center of the sectional sofa, but he never stopped kissing her.

  As he eased her down to the sofa and stretched out over her body, something crashed to the floor, and they bolted apart, breathing heavily.

  Maggie looked down at what Owen had knocked off a side table by the sofa—a crystal bowl filled with seashells. Shattered glass and shells were strewn across the polished wood floor like a portent of lives broken by careless action.

  Like carelessly giving in to the temptation that was Owen.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, then he pushed off from the sofa and bent to pick up the shells and bits of broken glass.

  Maggie sat up abruptly and dragged her fingers through her hair to draw the strands off her face. She could feel the heat there, both of desire and growing embarrassment.

  “You’re sorry? About the bowl or about something else?” she said defiantly.

  The woeful look he provided spoke volumes.

  She shot to her feet and grabbed hold of his hand as he reached for another piece of broken glass.

  “Leave it. I can take care of it,” she said.

  As his gaze met hers, she knew he understood what she wasn’t saying: that he could leave because she was a big girl and could take care of herself.

  He clearly wasn’t about to let it go without getting his two cents in. “As much as I want to explore this attraction between us, we both know that this is where it could lead.” He motioned to the bits of broken and scattered shells on the floor. “Our lives, in pieces, for all the world to see.”

  “I didn’t take you for a coward, Owen,” she replied with a cheeky tilt of her chin.

  A dull flush erupted across his cheeks at her challenge. “And I always suspected you were stubborn, Mags.”

  She lifted her chin another rebellious inch. “Only my friends call me Mags.”

  “A long time ago, we used to be friends,” he said, and the side of his mouth quirked up with the hint of a determined smile.

  “We used to be, but then you left,” she said, recalling the loss she had felt at his absence.

  “I never wanted to stay away, but I didn’t have a choice,” he said and then hesitated, clearly torn before leaning toward her. He kissed her again, hard and demanding. Almost bruising with the intensity of it before he jerked away and said, “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he strode to the door and left.

  Maggie winced as the door slammed shut. She hugged herself tightly, a sudden emptin
ess within her now that he was gone. If Owen could have her feeling like that with just a few amazing kisses, what would it feel like if they did take it further and the world around them shattered just like the shells and glass littering the floor?

  As she bent and started picking up the pieces, it occurred to her that maybe she should thank him for being so sensible.

  That maybe he had been right to stop when he did—until the little voice inside her head said, “Coward.”

  Only that little voice wasn’t referring to Owen.

  Chapter 6

  Inside his skull, a thousand Con Ed jackhammers were pounding away at what little was left of his brain. Owen had spent a very restless, sleepless night thanks to erotic thoughts of where last night could have led with Maggie if he hadn’t allowed common sense and responsibility to rule.

  That’s who he was, Mr. Boring and Reliable, as his brother, Jonathan, liked to chastise way too often. Owen Pierce, always the one you can count on to do the right thing, Jonathan would say and then jet off to Paris or Antarctica or wherever to promote another of his company’s innovative designs.

  But even his brother, who thought Owen needed more excitement in his life, knew that anything to do with Maggie was far riskier than racing electric cars on the Bonneville Salt Flats or flying across the Atlantic in a solar-powered plane.

  Although he’d always wondered why it had become so risky. As he’d told her last night, they’d been friends a long time ago when they were both so young, and he hadn’t wanted to stay away. But then her mother had died, and his own family life had started going to shit. They’d stopped visiting the shore for years until their mother had left and his father had sent them back to Sea Kiss for the summer season, either unable or unwilling to deal with two active boys who were off from school. That return to the Shore had come with a warning about mingling with the Sinclairs and the threat of not being allowed to return to Sea Kiss if they defied their father’s wishes.

  Hurting from the loss of Maggie, his mother’s desertion, and his father’s bitterness, Sea Kiss was the one stable thing in his life, and he hadn’t wanted to risk its loss.