by Lexi Blake
Oh god. She was stuck. “Is there a motel?”
“Not close, and again, I wouldn’t drive around as long as the storm is going. My nearest neighbor is about a mile to the east. I could try to get you there if you’re worried I’m a serial killer who waits for his victims to fall while jogging by.”
When put like that, it didn’t seem at all likely. Also, she was fairly certain he meant her no harm. She had some friends who knew Alicia, and they had nothing but good things to say about her fourth victim . . . husband. Alicia Kingman was a tornado who swept up men and tended to drop them again in a place that had been devastated. She kind of understood that. “If you don’t mind, could I stay for a while?”
“I would not mind the company at all,” he said, his voice warm. “I’ll be honest. I’ve been lonely for the last couple of days. Going through all my grandparents’ things has made me melancholy, and I forgot how isolated it is out here.”
He was packing up his childhood and looking forward to an uncertain future. Yes, she definitely understood that. How long had it been since she’d been around a real man? One who cared about something beyond his Instagram followers and how his hair looked? There had been a guy in Sweden, but she’d had to focus on herself and getting healthy.
It would be nice to spend an evening with a man she could talk to. “Thank you. I’ll call home and let them know I’m safe. Do you have a landline? My cell isn’t getting service.”
“Of course.” He stood up. “It’s in the den on the desk. I’m going to head into the kitchen and pray I can heat something up for dinner.”
“I’m pretty handy in the kitchen. I’ll be right there. I can pay for my room and board with my culinary skills.” She’d grown up in Nana Mary’s kitchen, helping her make meals and learning how to bake.
She’d relearned how to eat, and oddly, it all seemed new again. New palate. New girl.
New woman. She wasn’t going back to being a girl again.
“I’ll see what we have.” He grimaced. “Besides frozen dinners for one. We might be choosing between frozen mac and cheese and Salisbury steaks. You might prefer the storm.”
Oh, she knew that wasn’t true. “I promise. I can come up with something good.”
He pushed open the door that led to the kitchen. “I’ll hold you to that.”
The door swung shut. Damn, that man was fine. He was roughly six-two, with ridiculously dark hair and blue eyes. Had he been wearing glasses she would have called him Clark Kent. He did have a jaw of steel. Something about a cut jawline did it for her. Broad shoulders and a fit body rounded out his status as a complete hottie.
She was never going to call him a hottie, but he was.
She picked up the phone and dialed the number to the landline at Hughes House. She’d been forced to memorize it as a child. Nana Mary hadn’t wanted her out playing without a way to contact her, but she’d also wanted her to have some freedom during those summer months.
“Winnie?”
Only her castmates from the old show called her Taylor. She was Win to her real friends. She’d been Win to Brie for years before that stupid show. The fact that her childhood friend now exclusively called her Taylor said a lot about where they were. “Hey, Nana.”
She couldn’t bring herself to call the woman Mary.
A long sigh came over the line. “Thank god. I was worried. You’ve been gone so long.” Her accent was strong, proving how emotional she was. “I was about to force those lazy boys of yours to get off the sofa and go and look for you.”
Hoover and Kip? She would bet they’d spent the afternoon playing video games and taking selfies. “Please don’t. They rarely drive themselves and won’t have any idea how to handle a car in this weather. They would kill someone. I’m fine. I’m at a friend’s house, and I might stay here if the weather doesn’t break.”
“A friend?” There was no small amount of suspicion in her voice, but Win couldn’t blame her. After all, she hadn’t been smart in choosing friends before. “I didn’t realize you still had friends on the island.”
She had a couple of acquaintances, but any real friends she’d made during those childhood summers had left the island long ago and were out in the world making lives for themselves. “All right. He’s a new friend. I met him recently, but he did save me from becoming a land mermaid. He’s got a place on Chappaquiddick. I must have wandered over here.”
“The closest house to those trails is the Garrison place.” Mary was quiet for a moment. “Are they renting it out, or is the son there? I know the grandfather passed a few years back, but the son was a nice boy. You were a bit too young to remember him, but he was extremely polite.”
It was funny that was what she remembered, since it wasn’t his reputation now. However, Win knew sometimes reputations weren’t earned. “Yes, his name is Henry and he assures me he’s not a serial killer.”
“Did he say that? Because that’s what I would say if I was a serial killer.”
“It was a joke. He’s nice, and he offered me the phone so I could tell you where I am. Hardly the actions of a man about to murder me.” She had to smile because at least someone gave a damn. “I’ll call you in the morning, and I’m sorry I left you with guests. I promise I’ll get rid of them as soon as possible. Once they figure out I’m not coming back on the show, they’ll move on and find someone else.”
There would be a line waiting to take her place.
“Don’t worry about it, love. But Brianna is here and she’s insisting on speaking to you,” Nana said, her voice going professional. There was barely a hint of her Polish accent now. “And your uncle is here. He managed to fly in before the storm hit and he’s staying for a few days. He wants you to sign some paperwork for the foundation.”
“All right. I need to talk to him about the fund-raiser, too. The good news is, I’ve got everything ready and the invitations went out months ago. I need to wrangle a nice check out of him and then the pocketbooks should open up.” Her uncle wasn’t a cold man. He simply wasn’t great father material. He’d done right by her in a way though. He’d given her Mary and ensured that Mary had everything she needed to be a mother. He’d allowed Mary to make all the decisions, and he’d shown up from time to time and sent lavish gifts for her birthday. She certainly didn’t hate her uncle. They’d managed to get closer since she’d grown up. He simply hadn’t known what to do with a child, which was odd since he’d had one of his own. Not that he’d spent time with his son either. “I’m going to talk to him about taking over the foundation. I want to be more than a figurehead. I can do more than plan a fund-raiser.”
“Once you have your master’s degree, he won’t be able to argue with you,” Mary said. “And he’ll have to deal with you once you turn thirty. You’ll be his boss then. He won’t be able to treat you like a child.”
She didn’t like to think about it, but it was true. She would come into her inheritance when she got married or turned thirty. The marriage thing hadn’t happened, but the birthday was inevitable. She’d been assured nothing had to change, except she would sign more paperwork. “Don’t even tease him about that. I have no idea what I would do if Uncle Bellamy didn’t take care of the business. I want to concentrate on the foundation, not on making cash. Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can, and maybe don’t mention I’m at a strange man’s place.”
While he wasn’t the most involved of guardians, he could be a bit on the protective side. The last thing she needed was her uncle calling down a bunch of PIs on Henry Garrison. He’d had enough scrutiny for a lifetime.
“I’ll be silent as the grave, love. Here she is.”
“Jesus, Tay, where are you? How could you leave me stuck here? This place is supposed to be all luxurious and shit, but it’s superdull. I can see an ocean back in L.A.” Brie’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard after the soothing ease of Henry’s.
&n
bsp; “Then you should go back to L.A. I’m stuck on Chappaquiddick, and I won’t be back until the morning,” she explained. “Don’t even try to go out in this. No clubbing tonight. They won’t be open in this storm.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do, then?”
Win looked over the bookshelves in front of her. They were built-in and ran the length of one wall. There were some pictures, but the shelves were mostly used as they had been intended. The owner of this home loved books. She ran her fingers over the spines. The Complete Works of Herman Melville. Mutiny on the Bounty. In the Heart of the Sea. There was definitely a theme going. But there was also a shelf of legal-looking books, and she found another with Jane Austen and Charles Dickens.
“Read a book,” she said to Brie.
Laughter came over the line. “That’s funny. I guess I’ll give myself a facial or something and post it online. And you know I’m not leaving. I’m going to help you with the fund-raiser, and we have to meet with Sully next week.”
Win knelt down, looking at the bottom shelf, where the paperbacks were. Oh, those told a tale. There were a bunch of split-spined Stephen King books down there, along with novelized adaptations of big Hollywood sci-fi films. Michael Moorcock and a Dan Simmons. And a thick stack of comic books. Nerd. He’d been a nerd.
Somehow that made him even hotter.
Was she actually thinking about seducing the Monster of Manhattan?
Could she? He’d been a gentleman up to this point, but he’d also definitely been flirting with her.
“I’m going to be happy to see Sully, but I’m not coming back to the show. He doesn’t want me back.” Sullivan Roarke was the producer of Kendalmire’s Way. He was a genuinely lovely man. He was the one who’d been kind enough to fire her. He’d also sent her to Sweden, and every week that she was in the clinic a lovely new bouquet of flowers had been delivered with a note wishing her well.
Getting fired was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She would love to see Sully, but she would never work with him again.
“You’re wrong. He knows how important you are and what your story line would mean to the series.”
“Story line?” It always made her a little nauseous to think about the fact that her life was some kind of story line to entertain people.
There was a pause that let Win know Brie was still capable of some form of subtlety. “Win, you went through something rough.”
She’d gone through anorexia. “I’m good now. Hell, some people would even say I’m moving toward heifer status.”
The bitchy mean girls would definitely say it. If she put herself back on the Internet, the trolls would have a field day with her. She wasn’t afraid of them anymore, but she also no longer needed their approval.
“Don’t say that about yourself,” Brie said, her voice more emotional than Win could ever remember.
It was good to know that under all that Hollywood chic, Brie still cared. “I wasn’t saying it about myself, but other people will. Going through what I went through is precisely why I can’t go back to that world, Brie. The first thing the producers will say is that I would look better on camera if I lost a few pounds. Nothing serious. No more than five pounds at most. A single dress size. And they’ll be right. I did look better on camera.”
“You’re beautiful now, Win.”
Tears pierced her eyes. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that in years.”
“Because I don’t want to screw up in public. Look, I’ll back off for now, but you could show young girls that they don’t have to be a size zero. I know I’m a freaking caricature of myself now. I do get that, but I remember who I am underneath it all, and if you come back, I will defend you. I love you, Win. I don’t say it often enough, but I admire you. I wish I could be more like you.”
“You are the toughest chick I know, Brie Westerhaven,” Win said with a smile. “You don’t need to be anyone but your own fabulous self.”
Brie chuckled over the line. “Yeah, well, we tabloid babies have to stick together. You safe where you are? Because I can come get you.”
“I’m good. A white knight saved me from the storm. I’m going to sleep on his couch.” She found a bunch of old board games.
“On his couch? Is he hot?”
“Yes, he is, but he’s also not the type who parties it up. I think I really will be on the couch tonight.”
“Every man is the type to save a pretty girl and have her pay him back with her sweet, sweet body.” Brie was right back to her usual role—dirty sprite. “I like this, Win. Handsome man saves innocent woman and requests her body as payment.”
“I’m hanging up now.” She wasn’t going there. “Good night.”
She hung up the phone and pulled out a battered edition of Clue. She remembered that game well.
There was the sound of pans clanging and a low growl of masculine frustration.
She needed to fix that if she was going to have any chance of not sleeping alone. Perhaps if she fed the beast, he would be in a more affectionate mood.
Or she could accept that she was going to pass a pleasant but passionless evening with a nice man. She shoved the Clue box back and pulled out Monopoly. Not as much fun, but given what was happening in her life, it was the safer bet.
She carried it with her as she made her way into the kitchen.
After all, she didn’t need to play a murder game. Not after Stockholm.
She glanced outside, at the lightning flaring along the sky.
At least for tonight, she seemed to be safe.
TWO
Henry stared out at the storm and wondered if he was a complete idiot. It raged outside, off and on all evening. There had been an hour right around midnight when he’d thought he might be able to get her home.
Such a coward.
She’d saved him from a boring microwave dinner by putting together a nice stew from a bunch of stuff she’d found in the cupboard and freezer, and then from boredom by playing a rather ruthless game of Monopoly. The lights had gone out sometime around eight, but his grandparents had kept the place stocked with candles and flashlights. He’d sat with her for hours, listening to the storm and the sound of her voice.
He’d been tempted to try for her house when the storm had quieted, but the sky had opened up again and the lights that flickered briefly had turned back off. He’d given in to the inevitable.
When the time had come to go to bed, he’d offered her the guest room, making sure the sheets were changed. Guest room? He supposed that was what it was now, but for years it had been his.
He’d finally managed to get a girl into his room, and here he was watching the storm.
Damn but she was sweet. She’d talked about her plans for grad school over dinner. She wanted to work for a nonprofit. Wanted to “give back to the world.” Naive idiot. And yet he’d sat there and listened to her without pointing out all the fallacies of her assumptions. It was odd for him. He tended to view normal conversation as an argument to win. Oh, you think the sky is blue, buddy? Prove it, and while you’re at it, why do you think you know enough to even comment on something as scientific as the upper atmosphere? Yeah, he could be a dick.
But not with her. Something about the way she talked, the passion in her voice, made him wonder if he’d ever been that young and enthusiastic. He’d watched her as they’d played, utterly fascinated with the way her face lit up when she landed on a good space and how she frowned when she had to pay up. Her honey-blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail, accentuating the features of her face. The candlelight warmed her skin, but even without a drop of makeup she’d been the single prettiest woman he’d laid eyes on in years.
She was not for him. No way. No how. She was a twentysomething do-gooder grad student with obvious stars in her eyes. He had no doubt he could have kissed her and eased his way into bed with her. Sh
e’d even turned her lips up right before he’d stepped away, and there had been shy disappointment on her face as she’d closed the door between them.
He was too old for her. Way too old. Oh, the difference on paper might be less than a decade, but in experience he was ancient to her baby bird.
He’d liked how she looked wearing his T-shirt, enjoyed the fact that she’d been dependent on him for food and shelter and clothing. The possessive caveman in him had threatened to make an appearance, and wouldn’t that have shocked her feminist sensibilities? He’d sat there and wanted to pull her into his lap, let his hands wander under the shirt, cupping those luscious breasts. He’d been able to see himself teasing his hands under the waist of the sweats that were far too big for her, easing down until he could find that warm, welcoming place at the apex of her thighs.
And then she’d say something about how she’d volunteered at a Swedish orphanage when she’d visited the country.
Winnie. Even her name was saccharine-sweet. She was not his type. His type was obviously crazed harpy actresses who ran through men like they did money. Or New York models who looked good in print and had nothing to say of any substance.
He did not need an innocent social-justice warrior who still thought the world could be saved.
So why was he brooding over her?
Because until that moment when she’d closed the door, he hadn’t thought about drinking all night. He’d forgotten about the bottle he’d found and concentrated on her.
Now he was thinking about it again.
Being in this house made him realize how far he’d fallen. How much he’d aged since he’d run along the beach with his grandfather.
Had he really been the kid who’d sat at the kitchen bar, eagerly awaiting the moment his grandma would tell him the cookies were cool enough to eat?
He wasn’t going to drink.
Maybe.
What would it truly hurt if he drank one more in honor of his grandfather? That Scotch had been one of his grandfather’s only indulgences. When he thought about it, it would be rude to pour it out. And was he truly an addict? Or had it all been the scene he’d found himself in? He’d never had a problem before Alicia. It was all about her.