Summer at Seaside Cove

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  Her eyes widened. “The Luxe hotels?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where all the celebrities and uber-wealthy stay.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re telling me that your family owns Luxe hotels.”

  “Every one of them. Right down to the Egyptian cotton towels in the bathrooms.” Since it seemed he’d robbed her of speech, he rushed on, “Everything else I told you was true—about not wanting to be part of the business, of wanting a simpler, quiet life, being away from the rat race, building something with my own two hands. Of walking away from an existence I found empty.”

  He looked down at their joined hands for several seconds, then returned his gaze to hers. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever been with who didn’t know me as Nicolas Trent the third. Who didn’t know who my father and grandfather were. Who didn’t know my net worth. Who didn’t expect expensive gifts and lavish vacations. Who didn’t want anything from me. This is the first time I didn’t have to ask myself, ‘Is she interested in me—or in my money?’ And most refreshing of all, you’re also the first woman who didn’t kiss my ass.”

  She cleared her throat. “Actually, I believe I did do that. Last night.”

  A surprised laugh escaped him. He hadn’t expected humor during his confession. “So you did. But you know what I meant.”

  “I do.” Her gaze searched his. “You walked away from a great deal. That must have been very difficult.”

  “In truth, it really wasn’t. Because I wasn’t happy. Whoever said money can’t buy happiness knew what they were talking about. I had a big house, but lived in it alone. I had a lot of stuff, but that’s all it was. Just … stuff. None of it really mattered. Except for Kevin—who lived hundreds of miles away—I didn’t have any close friends. Sure, there were tons of acquaintances and hangers-on and ass kissers, but not true, got-your-back-no-matter-what friends. I hated working in an office, sitting behind a desk. I felt like my entire life was a lie. My brother loves it, thrives on it, the wheeling-dealing, the constant travel, the nightly parties, but I grew to hate it. To me it was all just superficial bullshit.

  “Things came to a head when I asked a woman I didn’t really love and who didn’t love me to marry me. And I foolishly would have gone through with it if she hadn’t found someone richer and, as she put it, ‘more ambitious’ than me. After we split, I reevaluated my life, decided what I wanted, and it wasn’t the life I was living. What I wanted was here. Doing what I’m doing now. The sort of life Kevin has. Has always had. I bought Paradise Lost and Southern Comfort, sold my big fancy house and cars, my various real estate holdings, donated a lot of stuff, packed up what was left, and came here.”

  “And no one here knows all this.”

  “No one. Except Kevin. And now you.”

  “And you didn’t tell me before now because … ?”

  He again looked down at their joined hands. And really liked the way her fingers looked linked with his. When he raised his gaze, he said, “I just wasn’t ready to share my past. I didn’t want to risk that maybe you’d look at me differently. But I really decided to keep my mouth shut when you told me about Raymond and said you’d never want to be with another guy from that world. And that’s where I’m from.” He brushed his thumbs over the satiny backs of her hands. “And I wanted you to be with me. Just me—Nick. Not Nicolas Trent the third.”

  She frowned and nodded slowly, clearly digesting everything he’d said. “Now the Princeton education makes sense,” she murmured. “And the high school where you met Kevin—since he was from out of state I assume that was a boarding school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of the fancy, ritzy sort?”

  “The fanciest and ritziest, I’m afraid.”

  “But you said Kevin’s family wasn’t wealthy. So how did he get in?”

  “Scholarship.” A grin tugged at his lips. “We were roommates freshman year. I’ll never forget entering our room for the first time. He glared at me and said, ‘I’m not one of you rich boys. I’m here on scholarship. You plan to give me any shit about that, asshole?’ ” Nick chuckled. “I was fourteen and no one had ever spoken to me like that. Certainly no one had ever called me an asshole, although I’d done plenty to deserve it.”

  “Like what?”

  He shrugged. “I was your typical spoiled brat. I was also a late bloomer—really small and scrawny back then. Kevin was about eight inches taller and outweighed me by a good ninety pounds. No way in hell was I going mess with him—he could have kicked my ass into oblivion. During that first week of school, we pretty much stayed out of each others’ way. Then one of the bigger kids cornered me in the locker room. Said some shit, pushed me around. Kevin came in. Threw one punch at the guy. That’s all it took. Then he looked at me and said, ‘You okay, roomie?’ I wasn’t—I’d just about crapped my pants, but I said, yeah, and thanks. He told me I needed to learn a few things about real life—starting with defending myself against bullies—and since we were roommates, he’d give me a few pointers. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

  “Sounds like me and Kate—without the punching and the ass kicking, of course.”

  He nodded. “When I met your sister last night and she thought I looked familiar—Jamie, it’s definitely possible she and I attended the same event at some point. I don’t recall ever meeting her, but our paths may have crossed. When she said that, I knew I needed to tell you. I’d intended to last night, but when I walked in the door you—”

  “Ripped your clothes off, had my wicked way with you, and, um, kissed your ass?”

  He gave a short laugh. “Yeah. Not that I’m complaining. But one thing led to another—five times, if I recall correctly—and then we basically passed out from exhaustion. And now here we are.”

  “Here we are,” she repeated softly. “Me and Nicolas Trent the third.” She narrowed her eyes. “You can’t be too destitute—you bought two houses here. And you ordered that All-Clad cookware without batting an eye, plus all that furniture for Paradise Lost.”

  “I never said I was poor.” And he wasn’t. He just was no longer defined by his possessions and his bank balance. His gaze searched hers. “So now you know.”

  She nodded slowly. “Now I know. Thank you for telling me.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  “I’m sorry you were the proverbial poor little rich boy. Having it all yet—”

  “Having nothing,” he finished for her. “Or at least not the things that were important to me.”

  “That doesn’t sound like fun.”

  “It wasn’t.” Since her expression wasn’t giving any clue to her thoughts, he asked, “Are you upset?”

  “About what? Your upper-crust upbringing in general or the fact that you didn’t tell me until now?”

  “Either. Both.” His gaze searched hers. “Am I forgiven? Are we okay?”

  She didn’t answer for several long seconds and he realized he was holding his breath. Finally she said, “I told you I never wanted another guy who led that lifestyle, and that still stands. But you’re not that guy.” She squeezed his hands and smiled. “So yeah, I forgive you.”

  The amount of relief that raced through him was nothing short of ridiculous.

  “And yes, we’re okay,” she continued. “I mean, I don’t see any reason why the revelation that you grew up mega-rich should cause the premature demise of our fling.”

  Her words were exactly what he’d wanted to hear—yet somehow hearing her call what they’d shared a fling didn’t sit well. Which was completely crazy, because that’s what it was.

  So he forced himself to smile. “Glad we agree. After all, there’re still almost three weeks until …”

  “We’re flung?” she suggested.

  “Right. Flung.” The word weighed like a stone on his tongue.

  She slid off her stool, stepped between his knees, and wound her arms around his neck. “Actually, I find it very difficult t
o imagine you as a rich boy. You’re so … down-to-earth.”

  He slipped his hands beneath the T-shirt of his she wore and cupped her bare bottom. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “Really?” Deviltry danced in her eyes. “Bet I could say something you’d think was even nicer.” She leaned in, brushed her lips against his ear, then whispered a suggestion that made steam pump from his pores.

  “Nicer?” she asked, trailing her mouth along his jaw.

  “Oh, yeah.” He pulled her closer and was about to settle his mouth on hers when he heard someone climbing the steps.

  They groaned in unison. “Damn. That’s no doubt someone from Paradise Lost,” Jamie said, her gaze flying to the screen door. She grabbed his hand. “C’mon!”

  Together they dashed into the bedroom—not an easy run with a raging hard-on—and closed the door. Seconds later a knock sounded and they heard Godiva barrel to the door, barking for all she was worth.

  “Aunt Jamie?” came Heather’s voice. “Are you there?”

  Nick reluctantly eased Jamie away from him and headed toward the bathroom. “Good luck.”

  “Where are you going?” Jamie asked, following him.

  He shot a pointed look at the erection tenting his boxer briefs. “To take a cold shower. I’m not suitable to receive guests.”

  She wrapped her fingers around him and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Neither am I. I’m not even wearing panties.”

  “Don’t remind me or you’ll never make it to the door.”

  “Who wants to go to the door?”

  “Aunt Jamie?” came Heather’s voice, more insistent this time. “Where are you?”

  “Crap,” Jamie muttered. She released him and bent down to scoop up her panties from the floor, affording him a view that damn near stopped his heart. With a sigh Nick moved into the bathroom and turned on the shower while Jamie quickly dressed in the shorts and tank top he’d taken off her the night before.

  “To be continued,” she said, giving him a quick kiss.

  “Can’t wait.”

  He watched her hurry out to answer the door, and with a sigh, he stripped and stepped into the shower, gritting his teeth when the cold water hit him in the chest. Damn. Her family wasn’t just driving her crazy—they were bringing him along for the ride as well.

  Jamie exited the bedroom, closing the door behind her, then hurried toward the screen door, where Heather was trying to calm Godiva, whose excitement over seeing her was thwarted by the screen between them.

  “Good morning,” Jamie said, opening the door. “C’mon in.”

  Heather entered the kitchen and Godiva immediately flopped on her back to present her belly. “You are shameless,” Heather said with a laugh, bending down to oblige. She looked up at Jamie. “I know it’s early, but I saw Godiva outside, so I figured you were awake.” She looked around, her gaze resting on the two coffee mugs. “Where’s Nick?”

  “Shower. What’s going on? Everything okay?”

  Heather stood and pushed up her glasses. Jamie noted she looked tired, but not upset. “I wanted to tell you about my talk with Mom.” She rolled her eyes. “My really loooong talk with her.”

  “Sure. Did you eat breakfast?” Jamie asked, opening the fridge.

  Heather nodded. “A huge piece of leftover birthday cake. Yum.”

  “Well, be happy you ate because, let me tell you, unless you want mustard spread on a moldy piece of bread, there’s zilch to eat here at Casa Nick.”

  Heather giggled. “Thanks, I’ll pass.”

  “Me, too.” She closed the fridge, hiked herself onto a bar stool, and patted the one next to her. “Sit. Talk.”

  Heather seated herself and Jamie took a sip from the now lukewarm cup of coffee Nick had poured her earlier. After clearing her throat, Heather said, “We walked to the beach and sat in the sand. She asked me to tell her what was bothering me, and I did. I told her everything. How I hate that she’s always blowing me off and trying to change me and how she just doesn’t know me at all. How I feel like I’m last on her list and how she never listens to me and hardly talks to me except to lecture me.” Heather picked at her chipped nail polish—bright green this week. “I kept expecting her to interrupt or yell or something, but she just sat there and listened. Just like she’d said she would. I was pretty shocked.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Heather shrugged and red washed into her cheeks. “And then … and then she cried.” She looked up, her expression utterly baffled. “Aunt Jamie, she just put her face in her hands and cried. I didn’t know what to do. I’d never seen Mom cry before.”

  Jamie tried to recall the last time she’d seen Laurel cry and drew a blank. “Then what happened?”

  “I just sort of patted her back and gave her a hug and she finally stopped crying. And then she said stuff I never thought I’d hear from my mom. She told me I was right. That she’d been selfish and focused on her own stuff and not there for me—not like she should have been—and how sorry she was. How she’d lost sight of what was important and how much she wanted things to be okay between us. Spend more time together. Really get to know each other. She told me she was never close with Grandma Cindy when she was growing up and didn’t want that mistake to carry over to us.

  “Then she told me about Raymond dumping her. Not only dumping her, but for one of her close friends. Can you believe that?” Heather shook her head. “That’s really low. What a douche.”

  “I believe it,” Jamie said dryly. “Happens all the time.”

  “She said she really loved him and thought he was The One. He really broke her heart, Aunt Jamie. It happened almost a month ago but she didn’t tell me. Didn’t tell anyone. She said the breakup made her do a lot of thinking and she realized she had a lot of regrets. And wanted to fix things. Like her relationship with me.”

  Heather looked up from her polish picking. “And with you. She said one of the things she regretted most was a fight with you. That she was really sorry for it.”

  Jamie kept her expression completely blank—not easy given the emotions careening through her. “I see. Did she ask you to tell me that?”

  Heather shook her head. “No. She said she’s going to tell you herself.”

  “Did she tell you what the fight was about?”

  “Sort of. She said you were still with Raymond when she started dating him. That you were really hurt when you found out. I told her that was a totally shitty thing to do, especially to her own sister. And she agreed.”

  Heather hesitated, then said, “I don’t blame you for being totally pissed at her, Aunt Jamie. But I know she’s really sorry. I thought about it like all night long, and you know how sometimes good stuff comes from bad? Like lemonade from lemons? Well, it occurred to me that the totally shitty thing Mom did to you maybe turned out okay for you because in the end, the guy was a complete dirtbag.”

  Jamie stared at her niece, nonplussed. Once again the kid had said a mouthful. And this time a very unsettling one.

  She was saved from replying when Heather rushed on, “And if you hadn’t fought with Mom, you never would have come to Seaside Cove, which means you never would have met Nick. I know you guys really like each other.” She dipped her head and shrugged. “So, you know, lemons and lemonade.”

  And yet another mouthful.

  “I also wanted to tell you I’ve decided to go to Italy,” Heather said.

  Jamie blinked, needing a few seconds to grasp the rapid subject change. Then she reached out and clasped Heather’s hand. “I’m glad, sweetie.”

  “Mom’s coming with me. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

  Jamie’s brows shot upward. “She is? You are?”

  Heather nodded. “When I told her why I didn’t want to go, she said she’d come with me. That way I’d have somebody to hang with when I wasn’t doing stuff with Dad so I wouldn’t feel so out of place and alone. And it would give us a chance to spend some time together. She
spoke to Dad early this morning—it’s like five hours later over there—and made all the arrangements. Mom and I are staying together in the guesthouse at Dad’s villa.”

  “And your dad’s okay with that?”

  “He said he was.” Heather giggled. “Although I don’t think Mom gave him much of a choice. On our way home from Dad’s, she’s taking me to Spain for a few days—not to shop, but so I can visit some of Hemingway’s favorite haunts. I told her that after we did that, hitting a few stores would be cool.”

  Jamie leaned over and gave Heather a hug. “It sounds like your talk went really well. I’m happy for you, kiddo.”

  “Thanks. Me, too. I feel better and I know Mom does, too.” She slid off the barstool and stretched. “So are all of us going to do something today? Since it’s my last day, I’d like to go to the beach for a while.”

  “I won’t be able to meet you there until later. Tonight’s the Clam Committee’s big potluck dinner and I have a lot of cooking to do.”

  “I’ll help,” Heather offered. “That way you’ll finish faster.”

  “Sounds good.” Jamie’s gaze scanned Nick’s kitchen. “With all these fabulous new appliances and the All-Clad cookware … I’d love to do the cooking here. I’m going to ask Nick if it’d be okay.”

  “Ask Nick if what would be okay?” came his voice from behind her.

  She turned and her stomach performed a swoop as she watched him walk out of the bedroom. Dressed in board shorts and a white T-shirt, his hair still shower damp, his face freshly shaved, he looked big and tall and totally yummy.

  “To use your fancy new kitchen to cook my contributions for tonight’s Clam Committee potluck dinner.”

  “I guess I’d be willing to do that. Provided there’s some home-cooked food in it for me. Deal?”

  “Deal—provided you help Heather carry all the ingredients I bought at the Piggly Wiggly over here from Paradise Lost while I grab a quick shower. She knows where everything is.” And it was a perfect excuse for her to avoid going over there and facing her mother and/or Laurel.