by V. K. Sykes
“What? Now you want to stick me with Bram’s beer too?” Lily said, struggling to find a light note.
Aiden shook his head. “No, and you don’t need to buy mine either. I just like spending time with you. I always did.” His voice was deep and sincere, a quiet undertone cutting through the raucous bar.
Lily was afraid she might melt on the spot, just when she most needed to focus.
“If you really want to give me a chance to get even, I just got another idea,” she replied, trying not to sound breathless. She told herself the tight feeling in her chest was only about the crazy plan she was about to drop on him. “Are you up for a real challenge?”
He gave her a lazy grin that curled its way right down between her thighs.
Lord, the man could smile.
“Lily, have you ever known me to back down from any kind of challenge?” he asked.
She’d been counting on that, but not on the predatory heat in his gorgeous, dark eyes. He looked as if he was hoping she would suggest a wild night of strip poker as her next challenge. Now that would be a disaster. Getting a look at Aiden Flynn’s naked body would be as dangerous as going out on the Miss Annie in a winter gale.
Bram was practically standing on his tiptoes behind his brother as he strained to eavesdrop. Micah started to move forward and Morgan scrambled after him, ready to run a little interference.
“You always loved watching the lobster boat races, right, Aiden?” Lily asked.
Every summer, up and down the Maine coast, various harbors hosted the races. Aiden’s father had often raced his boat, though never once had the bastard allowed either of his boys to go with him. He’d been determined, she suspected, to keep any glory to himself.
“Sure,” Aiden said, suddenly wary. “Who doesn’t?”
Lily gave him an easy smile. “Well, the Seashell Bay races are this weekend, and I’ll be racing my boat.”
When Aiden’s jaw tightened, she knew he’d caught her drift. “So?” he said.
“So, even though it hasn’t raced in a while, I figure your dad’s boat might still be one of the fastest out there. Right, Bram?”
Bram looked as stunned as a deer caught in headlights. “Uh, you know Dad can’t race anymore, and neither can I.”
“No, but this big, strong professional athlete surely can,” Lily said, pouring on the sugar. “Do you think you could beat me, Aiden? Could you outrace a girl?”
Aiden let his thoughtful gaze roam over her. As always, he wouldn’t rush to answer. “Let’s just say for a moment that I agree to this little idea of yours,” he finally said. “What kind of bet are we talking about? What would I win when I whip your butt?”
Oh, I think you’d like to spank my butt, wouldn’t you?
Lily forced that too-enticing image from her mind. “Well, I was thinking the loser could grant the winner a wish. Say, something that involved a personal service.” She tried for as much sexual innuendo as she could without going completely hot with embarrassment, hoping he would take the bait.
“Come on, Flynn. You’re going to take that bet, right?” Micah needled, taking an aggressive, wide-legged stance. “Or has the Boy Wonder just come home to sign away his heritage and hustle back to the big city again?”
Crap. Lily had to repress the urge to smack Micah upside the head. If the well-intentioned loyalist of the Doyle clan managed to mess up her plans, she’d kill him. “Micah, come on. You know that’s not the way we do things in Seashell Bay,” she said in a firm voice. “Aiden will always be one of us.”
Her friend grimaced but remained silent as he glared at Aiden.
Aiden’s balled fists slowly opened, and he turned his gaze from Micah to Lily. He let the silence between them drag on for too long but then nodded. “I appreciate that, Lily. And if you want me to take a shot at the races, fine. As long as Irish Lady is up to it.” He glanced back at his brother. “Can we get the old girl in shape by the weekend?”
If there was one thing the Flynns had in quantity it was pride, so it was no surprise when Bram started to look enthusiastic. “It’ll take some work, but damn right we can, bro. And it’ll be great to kick some Doyle ass again, even one as sweet as Lil’s.”
Though Aiden was still looking wary and skeptical, Lily had been right in thinking he couldn’t refuse the challenge. Especially from a girl, and worse yet, a Doyle.
But Mr. Aiden Flynn had no idea what he was getting himself into. After all, she’d won her class in the Seashell Bay boat races for the past two years.
And he’d be in for an even bigger surprise when she finally laid out the penalty for losing.
Chapter 4
Even with his legs firmly braced and one hand propped against the dash, Aiden bounced up and down in the old truck as Bram sped along the potholed goat track that was a sorry excuse for a road. He struggled to remember the name of the curving east-end road, but he couldn’t quite pull it from his brain. The houses were certainly familiar, since little had physically changed on Seashell Bay Island for decades. After all, the last building boom was during World War II, after the navy built a fuel depot on the island.
As much as Aiden held no sentimentality toward the island, it didn’t seem right that simple things like the names of the roads he’d walked, cycled, and driven on all through his youth would be so difficult to recall. It looked as if his subconscious mind was as eager to erase childhood memories as his conscious mind was, and that kind of sucked.
When Bram hit another pothole at full speed, Aiden banged his elbow against the door handle yet again.
“Jesus, man, you’re gonna kill the old beater if you keep driving like you’re in frigging NASCAR,” Aiden growled. “And I doubt the old man’s about to spring for a new one.”
Not when you’re blowing what little money you’ve got on booze and online gambling, little brother.
“He couldn’t, even if he wanted to,” Bram retorted. “That’s why we need to sell all that useless land. Dad’s running through his money fast, not that he ever gave me much anyway. We’ve got nothing now that we can’t fish anymore. Nothing but the land.”
Aiden was sorry he’d opened his mouth. He’d been back on the island less than twenty-four hours, and it already felt like he was in a pressure cooker. That hot-button argument between Bram and Miss Annie last night—plus the nasty-ass scene with his dad—had provided a full-color snapshot of how bad things might still get.
“At least the old man didn’t blow a gasket over this bet,” Aiden said, wanting to change the subject.
When the three of them met for a late breakfast at Bram’s this morning, their father had risen to Lily’s bait even faster than Aiden and Bram. Fueled by the beer he’d put away before they even sat down to eat, he’d cursed Lily’s lineage right back to her great-great-grandfather Seamus.
“You’d better whip her skinny little ass,” Sean had ordered. “But, hell, she’s got a damn fast boat, so I’ve got a phone call to make.” With that cryptic sentence, Sean had bolted from the table muttering something about Roy’s magic.
“I knew he’d be pissed off at her for doing that to you,” Bram said now, braking at the last minute before swerving onto Island Road.
At least Aiden had no difficulty remembering the name of the road that wound around the perimeter of Seashell Bay Island. O’Hanlon’s Boatyard was straight ahead. “Yeah, pissed off enough to agree to a challenge we’re probably going to lose,” he said.
In the sane light of day, he couldn’t come up with one good reason why he’d agreed to the ridiculous bet. Most likely it was a combination of pride and sheer stubbornness in the face of a challenge from sweet Lily Doyle, who could be every bit as pigheaded as he was. And it hadn’t helped that half the population of Seashell Bay had witnessed their little scene.
Bram flashed him a crooked grin. “Lose? Maybe. But when you’ve got Roy Mayo in your corner, anything can happen.”
“You really think a ninety-year-old dude is going to sprinkle fai
ry dust and turn Irish Lady into a speedboat? You said the old tub hasn’t been raced in years.”
Bram made a hard left into the boatyard, bouncing down yet another rutted track until he stopped in front of a red building that looked like a cross between a dairy barn and an airplane hangar. “I don’t care whether Roy’s ninety or a hundred and ninety. Nobody can tune a diesel—or any engine—like Roy Mayo. He’s the damn engine whisperer.”
“He’d better hope Miss Annie doesn’t put cyanide in his lobster stew,” Aiden said in a dry voice as he followed his brother from the truck. “You know she’s going to be madder than hell if he helps the Flynns beat her granddaughter.”
Bram simply snorted a cynical laugh.
Inside, owner Mike O’Hanlon was hunched over a battered reception counter where wire baskets were stuffed with untidy piles of receipts and envelopes, the Portland daily paper spread open in front of him. Mike had been a senior in high school when Aiden was a freshman, and he now ran the boatyard with his semiretired father.
Aiden couldn’t help noticing that some of the same posters from decades ago still hung on the walls, along with decrepit, outdated calendars from marine suppliers. He even recognized the broken-down couch and banged-up metal chairs for the customers. It was like stepping into Mr. Peabody’s Wayback Machine and yet another example of how most residents of Seashell Bay insisted on living in the past.
Mike greeted them with firm handshakes but didn’t waste time with small talk. He led them into the cavernous repair shop in the rear, where Aiden spotted Irish Lady up on a metal trolley.
Aiden stopped dead, as if someone had rammed a fist into his chest. The last time he’d stood on her deck, he’d vowed never to return. And yet, here he was, ready to climb back on board as if nothing had ever happened. As if he hadn’t spent the most miserable hours of his life on Irish Lady, helplessly stuck in his father’s ugly-ass, bitter world.
He took a deep breath, shoved down the unwelcome memories, and focused on the job at hand. He was good at doing that. Every pro athlete was. You either learned to control your emotions or you washed out at the first sign of trouble.
Old Roy, coffee in hand, leaned on the boat’s black-and-white hull—a hull that desperately needed a new paint job. Roy looked unbelievable for his age—tall, tanned, and apparently fit, despite his thoroughly wrinkled face. His white hair was a little long and a lot wild, as if he’d just gotten out of bed. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt that revealed surprisingly sinewy arms.
Aiden blinked when he saw Jessie Jameson. She was dressed in a tube top and overalls and looked more like a grease monkey than the pretty girl he’d seen in the bar last night. Jessie crouched beside Roy, working a metal scraper over the hull as she talked to the old guy.
“Aiden, you know everybody, right?” Mike asked.
“It’s been a long time, Mr. Mayo,” Aiden said, sticking out his hand. “You probably don’t remember me.”
Roy grabbed his hand in a crushing grip. “Hell, boy, you think I got Alzheimer’s or something? Of course I remember Sean Flynn’s oldest son. You hit three home runs to win the high school regionals back in… was it ’ninety-nine? Anyway, I remember Lily got so excited that night I thought Annie and I were going to have to call 911 if she didn’t calm down,” he said with a toothy grin.
That gave Aiden a little jolt, since he hadn’t even known Lily was at that particular game. She’d only been a freshman then, a nice girl from his hometown and just one of the kids he rode the ferry with every day to school on the mainland.
“And call me Roy, for God’s sake,” the old guy added.
In light of the hostility over the development deal, it was nice to see that not everyone in the Doyle camp hated the Flynns. Well, Lily didn’t hate him, although Aiden was beginning to think she wasn’t ready to welcome him with open arms either. Not if this crazy bet was any indication.
“Aiden, I’m Jessie.” The dark-haired girl offered him a slender hand topped with purple fingernails. “I was your scorer last night. I’m sure you don’t remember me from before, since you were so much older.”
Jessie’s emphasis on older was obviously a little payback for his gaffe about Roy’s memory. He replied with a polite smile and a murmur that of course he remembered her. And he certainly would have said hello to her last night if he hadn’t been so focused on trying to get Lily alone. In the end, that hadn’t worked out because Morgan Merrifield had never once left Lily’s side, and Micah Lancaster had hung close too. Both had given off the distinct vibe of being on a mission to protect Lily, as if Aiden were some kind of pirate intent on having his evil way with their island princess.
Mike slapped Irish Lady’s bow and looked at Bram. “You brought her in last week for antifouling paint and an upgrade to the GPS, but now you want to tune her up for racing too?” He raised skeptical brows at Aiden. “You’re serious?”
“She’s that bad, huh?” Aiden sighed.
Mike and Jessie exchanged meaningful glances before Mike said, “Look, that old diesel is fine for trips back and forth into Portland, which is about all your father and Bram use it for anymore. But for racing? No way.”
“Shee-it, Michael O’Hanlon, since when did you start talking like a pussy?” Roy scoffed. “If these boys are set on racing this old bag of hammers, let’s you and me try to give them a chance to win.” He shifted his gaze, his faded blue eyes zeroing in on Aiden. “Sean already told me you’d be footing the bill for this work, son. So, if you give me the go-ahead, I can tune this engine, all right. It’ll cost you, but I’ll find you some extra horsepower. Guaranteed.”
“You’re on your own with that, boys,” Mike said, shaking his head. “We’ll get the hull shipshape, but any diesel modifications are all Roy’s. And Aiden,” he added, “remember that Roy Mayo doesn’t work for O’Hanlon’s, so whatever happens with the engine, my company’s not on the hook for it.”
“Got it,” Aiden said drily.
Mike obviously thought they were nuts to let Roy anywhere near Irish Lady. Not that money was an issue. He hadn’t become rich playing baseball, unlike some of the superstars he’d played with. But spending a little on the boat to try to measure up to Lily’s challenge wouldn’t put a dent in his healthy bank account. Maybe it was just a crazy waste of time and money, but he couldn’t back down now.
“Do what you need to do, Roy,” he said. “Give me all the power you can squeeze out of the old girl because I sure don’t want to be bouncing around in Lily Doyle’s wake.”
Or have to find out what she’s got in mind for me if I lose.
What was Lily’s idea of a personal service, anyway? It had to involve some kind of humiliation, maybe something to do with the feud between their clans or the crap going down over the development deal.
Or maybe she just wanted to take the piss out of the guy who had abandoned Seashell Bay. Lily had never wanted anything but a life on the island, which was one of the reasons they’d both known a relationship between them would never work.
But that didn’t mean things couldn’t work between them in the short term, at least on the physical level. With that in mind, Aiden had a very good idea of what he’d demand from Lily Doyle—if, that is, Roy could perform a miracle and give him a fighting chance.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Holly Tyler tucked a few loose strands of her silky auburn hair behind her ears as she peered at Lily. “You’ve never entirely gotten over Aiden Flynn, and don’t even try to deny it.”
Holly had been a year behind Lily and Morgan in school. Despite that, the three of them had been almost inseparable until the day Holly left for college in Boston, where she now lived and worked as a marketing consultant. An orphan, she’d been raised by her aunts, Florence and Beatrice Jenkins, sisters who’d owned the island’s general store for decades. Fortunately, Holly had always returned to her island roots for an August vacation, even when she’d still been married.
The three friends sat in white ro
cking chairs on the porch of Lily’s cottage, sipping the fresh lemonade she’d squeezed after a full day on the water. The lobsters were plentiful this August, and she had to take advantage while it lasted. Soon enough, the pickings would be slim, forcing her to move offshore to catch anything worthwhile.
Exhaustion and aching muscles weighed Lily down. Though she was supposed to have dinner with her parents tonight, she longed to curl up under a comforter and go to sleep. Lobstering without a sternman was just about killing her.
“I can handle Aiden,” she said, trying to sound like she meant it. “He might be some big baseball hero, but he still puts his pants on one leg at a time, as my dad always says.”
Morgan glanced at Holly. “Lily thinks that if she wins the race, Aiden will be honor bound to work sternman for her until she finds somebody else for the rest of the season.”
The dubious expression on Holly’s face told Lily what her friend thought of that plan.
“Even a couple of weeks would give me a breather,” Lily argued. “I’ve tried hard to replace Johnny, but guys have all the work they need these days. And then there are the ones who don’t want to take orders from a woman.” It might be the twenty-first century, but some of the men in these islands still didn’t think women belonged in a working lobster boat and sure not as captain. She tried not to feel bitter, but her career—heck, her entire life—was on the line.
Holly grimaced. “I’m not buying it, sweetie. And did you really flirt with Aiden last night? You know he’s not going to be here for long. What if he sucks you into his web again and then scoots back to Philadelphia without so much as a wave from the boat?”
Lily avoided Holly’s worried gaze by tracing a curving line down the mist on her frosted glass. But if she were in Holly’s position, she’d be asking the same questions, determined to protect her friend from heartache.
But Lily was no longer the not-quite-seventeen-year-old girl who’d had a deranged, forbidden-fruit crush on Aiden Flynn ever since she could remember. So what if he was probably the hottest guy Seashell Bay had ever seen? Holly didn’t have to tell her that he’d be getting back on the ferry and heading home as soon as his business here was done. Lily knew she’d probably never see Aiden again after this summer, and that was fine with her.