Longing for Love

by Marie Force

  “You may not be aware that this town has decency laws,” Blaine said.

  “All the important stuff is covered,” she retorted, bending over to fill the roller pan with paint.

  At the sight of her rounded bottom, a surge of lust hit Blaine right in the groin. “It’s not covered well enough.”

  “So write me a ticket and be on your way. I’ve got work to do and not much time to do it.” Running the roller through the glossy white paint, Tiffany began applying it to the splotches of red, green and yellow that marred the front of her store. Up went the roller, down went the front of the black bustier.

  Blaine wasn’t sure what was going to happen first: either his head was going to explode or her boobs were going to bust free of that thing she called decent. “Tiffany, please. Come on. We’ll get someone over here to do the painting.”

  “Who? Who will we get to come help the woman who had the nerve to open a sex-toy shop on this button-downed, sexless, freak-show island?”

  He stared at her, his brain attempting to process the words as he began to sweat in earnest. “I thought this was a lingerie shop,” he somehow managed to say. “You didn’t say anything about, um, toys.”

  “I said lingerie and other items.”

  “Is that how you managed to get it past the town?” he asked, mesmerized by the sway of her breasts as she worked the roller. A bead of perspiration traveled from the base of her neck straight down to the valley between her bountiful breasts. Despite his best efforts to keep it under control, his dick surged to full hard-on status. He shifted his coat so it covered the front of him.

  “They’ve been so busy trying to keep Jumbo Mart from invading their pristine island that they barely noticed me.”

  Blaine glanced at the knot of traffic, the mangled cars, infuriated drivers and his rookie attempting to bring order to the chaos. Relieved to see two more cruisers heading toward the scene, Blaine returned his attention to her. “I think it’s safe to say they’ve noticed you now.”

  “That’s the goal,” she said with a saucy grin.

  “You caused an accident!”

  “Um, no, the person who wasn’t watching where he was going caused the accident.”

  Blaine anchored his free hand to his hair to keep the top of his head from blowing off. “You need to put some clothes on, or I’m going to have to cite you.” He couldn’t charge her with anything other than creating a public nuisance, but she didn’t need to know that. Besides, his threats of law and order had hardly stopped her from finishing the job.

  Tiffany covered the last of the red splotches with a wide stroke of the roller. “You know, whoever decided to redecorate my shop has actually done me a favor.”

  “How do you figure?” Blaine asked, exasperated that she refused to take him seriously.

  “Well, I needed to repaint and didn’t have anything else to wear. Who knew this little number would get me so much free publicity? Maybe a little ‘creative advertising’ is just what I need to make a name for my new shop.”

  Now Blaine was not only sweating but also wondering why the idea of her parading around half dressed in the center of town made him so damned mad. It wasn’t like she belonged to him or anything. But if she did—belong to him, that is—you could bet your ass that she wouldn’t be showing her ass to anyone but him. “Sweetheart, it’s safe to say you’ve made a name for yourself that’ll be remembered on Gansett Island for years to come.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Listen, I’m trying to help you here.” Once again, he tried to cover her with his coat, and once again she pushed it away.

  “I appreciate your whole hero-to-the-rescue act, but I’m all set. Go do your job, and I’ll do mine. I’m very busy, and you’re going to scare all my customers away with that nasty scowl on your face.”

  Now that just made him mad. “This isn’t over.” He was dying to ask about the status of her divorce, but this wasn’t the time or the place.

  Bending to pour the remaining paint from the roller tray back into the can, she gave him another view of her superb backside. When she stood upright again, she turned to him, her face red and flushed from heat and exertion. “Sweetheart,” she said in a mocking tone, “it was over before it started.”

  Chapter 2

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Tiffany’s sister Maddie asked as she looked around at the store. “On Gansett Island?”

  “If one more person says that, I’m going to lose it,” Tiffany said, disappointed by her sister’s reaction. “Here’s a newsflash for you. People—other than me, of course—have sex on Gansett. You have sex on Gansett.”

  Maddie covered her mouth with her hand, as if trying to hide a smile, or worse yet, a laugh.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “No, honey. I’m trying to imagine what Linda McCarthy will have to say about it.”

  Tiffany told herself she didn’t care what people like Linda had to say, but there was a part of her that hoped for the approval of the townspeople. “I suppose I shouldn’t show you the rest, then.”

  “There’s more?” Maddie asked, wide-eyed.

  Tiffany gestured to the beaded curtain that separated the main room from a second, smaller room.

  With a look of trepidation for Tiffany, Maddie stepped through the beads. “Oh. My. God!” Parting the beads, she stared at Tiffany, her face scarlet, before turning to take a second, longer look. “Are those… Oh my God.”

  “Don’t knock ’em until you’ve tried ’em,” Tiffany said with a bravado she didn’t feel. What if everyone reacted the way Maddie did and no one patronized her store? Her stomach quivered with fear. She’d be ruined. She’d lose her home, and Jim would get custody of Ashleigh. For a second, Tiffany thought she might be sick.

  Still red-faced, Maddie stepped back into the main room of the store, fanning herself. “That’s some interesting inventory you’ve got there, Sis.”

  “I need your support, Maddie. Not your disapproval.”

  “I don’t disapprove at all, but others may.”

  “I’m prepared for that.”

  “Are you, honey? Truly?”

  “Since when do we care what anyone thinks of us? Are you so far gone being a McCarthy now that you’ve forgotten where you came from?” The moment the words were out of her mouth, Tiffany regretted them.

  Maddie’s displeasure showed in the tightening of her lips. “I haven’t forgotten anything, and no one wants you to succeed more than I do. You know that.”

  “Then don’t run home and tell Mac I’ve opened a sex-toy shop so he can go blabbing to his mother.”

  “With the way the grapevine works around here, I bet she already knows.”

  “Let her say whatever she wants. I have all the proper paperwork and licenses. There’s nothing anyone can do. I’m determined to make a go of this place.”

  “I wish you nothing but the best of luck.” Maddie gave Tiffany a hug. “I’ve got to get home before my boobs explode. Hailey is due for a feeding. Hope your opening is a smashing success.”

  “Thanks,” Tiffany said, waving her sister off with a sinking sensation in her belly.

  When the first hour passed without a single customer, Tiffany didn’t think much of it. On a busy spring Saturday, people were at the beach or enjoying other outdoor activities. Maybe this wasn’t the best time of year to open a new store after all.

  By the time the third hour had come and gone, Tiffany realized she was being snubbed. A sense of panic unlike anything she’d ever experienced seized her. Everything she had was wrapped up in this store. Everything. If no one ever came, she’d be ruined.

  “Um, boss,” Patty said, flitting nervously about the small store. “Should I put away the cheese?”

  Tiffany glanced at the table they’d so lovingly put together with red plates and napkins, crackers, cheese, veggies and dip, and other treats for first-day customers. “Yes,” she said. “Please.”

  While Patty got busy clearing off the table,
Tiffany wandered to the front window. Across the street, a Gansett Island Police SUV sat in the grocery store parking lot. Blaine was probably glad her store was a bust. It would mean less trouble for him if people didn’t patronize her place and she went quietly out of business. She thought about the stack of bills she’d ignored while pouring every dime she had into her store. Going quietly out of business simply wasn’t an option. She had to do something to drum up some business, and she had to do it right now.

  Feeling energized, Tiffany turned away from the window and marched over to one of the more scandalous racks of lingerie. She knew exactly what she was looking for and found it toward the back. Holding up the naughty nurse outfit, Tiffany smiled. Desperate times called for desperate measures. She took the outfit into the changing room and put it on, once again carefully hanging up her silk blouse and skirt and then donning her spike heels.

  When she saw Tiffany emerge from the fitting room, Patty’s mouth fell open. “Um, boss, what’re you doing?”

  “Just a little advertising,” Tiffany said as she adjusted the white bustier over her breasts. “How can they know what we’re selling if we don’t show them?”

  “Well, um, don’t you think the name of the store kind of speaks for itself?”

  “That’s only half the story. I’m going to show them the other half.”

  “But Tiffany, there were cars crashing earlier. What if that happens again?”

  “How is that my fault?”

  “Oh, um, well…”

  “Wish me luck,” Tiffany said on her way out the door.

  “Good luck,” Patty said warily.

  When Blaine saw Tiffany emerge from the store, he sat up from the slouch he’d slipped into as he kept an eye on things across the street. “What the hell?” he muttered before he groaned. She was going to be the death of him—the living, breathing death. While the horny male part of him took a good long look at the luscious skin and long, firm legs, the cop recognized the potential for further traffic mayhem and reached for the door handle.

  But then he stopped himself. What exactly did he plan to say to her? That she couldn’t strut around half dressed? Well, half might be giving that outfit too much credit. That she couldn’t cause a traffic hazard by distracting passing drivers? He’d tried all that before, and she’d brushed him off as skillfully as any woman had ever brushed off a man. He couldn’t deny that she’d been right earlier when she’d said it wasn’t her fault the men involved with the accident hadn’t been paying attention to their driving.

  Watching her prance around, waving to and flirting with passersby, trying to entice them into her store, Blaine seethed with jealousy. If he were being truthful, he didn’t want anyone else to see her creamy skin and tempting curves. It wasn’t like he had any kind of claim on her—yet. But if they were together, she certainly wouldn’t be dancing around mostly nude in public. That much was for sure.

  She bent in half to wave to a passing driver, and Blaine went hard at the view of barely covered breasts. He’d had more hard-ons today than he normally had in a week! God, she was beautiful. Every guy in town was no doubt talking about her, and Blaine wanted to march over there, cover her and drag her off to bed where he’d quickly uncover her again.

  Project alert! Oh shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! Damned his cursed conscience. His mother’s voice was hardwired into his brain, reminding him of how he’d been taken advantage of in the past. That didn’t mean it would happen again. He heard his mother reminding him of what he’d gone through with Eden and Kim before that. Tiffany was nothing like them. She was smart and driven and working toward a goal. Eden and Kim had used and abused everyone they encountered, and the only goal either of them ever had was to find someone else to take advantage of. Even though he’d spent less than an hour total alone with Tiffany, he knew she was wasn’t like that, which was why his heart broke a little watching her try so hard to entice someone, anyone, into her new shop.

  For two hours, she worked it hard, pouring on her special brand of Tiffany charm to anyone who ventured a glance her way, but no one stopped. Blaine watched her start to wilt under the hot sun, but her smile and enthusiasm never faded until she had no choice but to concede defeat. As she walked inside, her shoulders dropped with uncharacteristic despair.

  Blaine pounded the steering wheel with a tightly rolled fist. The longer he sat there, the more obvious it became to him that he was going to do something stupid. Really, really stupid.

  While Grace worked the day shift downstairs at the pharmacy, Evan McCarthy whiled away the Saturday working on his latest song and practicing his guitar. He’d also spent an hour on the phone with the sound engineer he’d worked with on his album, trying to entice him to take a chance on a start-up recording studio on Gansett Island.

  The Starlight Records bankruptcy proceedings that had Evan’s debut CD tied up in court had also put Josh Harrelson out of work. Evan was working hard to convince Josh to move north and be part of Island Breeze Records. Josh had agreed to think about it, which was all Evan could ask at this point.

  He’d been fooling around with a new song that he was calling “Amazing Grace,” which he hoped to make the first single released by the Island Breeze label. The equipment they’d ordered was due to arrive any day now, and the old barn on one of Ned’s properties they’d be using for the studio was all ready. Evan had spent months reconfiguring, sanding, painting and turning the once-dusty, abandoned space into a recording studio.

  Above the studio, his father and Ned had helped him to install four bedrooms as well as a kitchen, bathroom and living room to accommodate visiting musicians. He’d offered Josh a free place to live in exchange for taking a chance on his upstart studio, and Evan was praying he’d take the bait. Without a decent sound engineer, his studio would be sunk before it ever even opened. After a long winter of hard work and planning, everything was coming together, and Evan was itching to get to work.

  A knock on the door interrupted the flow of the song, which aggravated him. His family and friends knew to leave him alone during the day when he was often writing and composing. Without bothering to put on a shirt, he pulled open the door, prepared to chew out whichever one of his brothers had once again forgotten his rules about daytime visits. The zinger he had ready died on his lips when he recognized Grace’s parents from a photo of her family she kept in the loft. They were both pear-shaped with dark hair and eyes. Right away, Evan could see that Grace looked like the mother who was staring at him suspiciously.

  “We were told downstairs that we’d find Grace here,” Mrs. Ryan said.

  “She’s not at the pharmacy?” Evan asked.

  “They said she left a while ago.”

  He remembered her saying something about seeing his cousin Laura at the Sand & Surf Hotel after work. “She should be home soon if you want to come in and wait for her.”

  “Who’re you?” Mr. Ryan asked, his eyes scanning Evan’s bare chest and feet.

  “I’m Evan.”

  They exchanged perplexed glances.

  “Her boyfriend?”

  “She doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Mrs. Ryan said.

  “Ah, I’m quite certain she does,” Evan said, flabbergasted to realize Grace had never told them about him. He stepped aside to admit them to the loft. “For about eight months now, in fact.”

  Mrs. Ryan stopped short at the sight of the rumpled bed, the surfboard propped against the wall, the guitars leaning against the sofa and his size-twelve sneakers under the coffee table.

  She spun around to face him. “You’re living here?”

  Evan had no idea what to say to that, so he went with the truth. “Have been. For a long time.”

  “Well, isn’t this enlightening, Bill?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Ryan said, continuing to eye Evan as if he was Jack the Ripper or someone equally unsavory. “Very enlightening.”

  Evan supposed that finding out your daughter had been sleeping with a guy for close to a year and ha
dn’t bothered to mention it to you might be a little shocking. Hell, it was a little shocking to him that she hadn’t told her parents about them—and a little painful, too.

  “No wonder why she never has time to come home.”

  “She’s been home,” Evan said in Grace’s defense.

  “Three times in eight months,” Mrs. Ryan said, taking a close look at every corner of the loft.

  Evan felt slightly violated by her scrutiny and wondered if Grace would be annoyed with him for letting them in. If she was, they’d be even, because he was kind of annoyed with her at the moment.

  “And what do you do, young man?” Mr. Ryan asked.

  “I’m a musician,” he said, gesturing to the guitars. “And a songwriter.”

  “You make any money doing that?”

  “Enough.”

  “Do you pay rent to live here?” Mrs. Ryan asked.

  “I’d say that’s between Grace and me.”

  “Which means you don’t,” she said, giving him a knowing look.

  “It doesn’t mean that at all. It means it’s none of your business.” The instant the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. These were Grace’s parents, he told himself. Tread lightly. “Let me see where she is.”

  As he picked up his phone from the coffee table, the screen door burst open, and Grace came in, carrying grocery bags. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, and her silky dark hair curled at the ends, thanks to the humidity. “Hey, babe. I’m home. Sorry I’m late, but Laura wanted to show me the new guest rooms at the hotel—” When she saw her parents standing in the kitchen, the grocery bags slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor.

  The distinctive sound of glass breaking had Evan rushing over to her. He took her hand and guided her around the mess on the floor. “I’ll clean it up.”

  She glanced at his bare chest and then at her parents and then back at him. “Did you, have you… You met Evan?”

  “Indeed, we did,” her mother said. “And now we know why we’ve seen so little of you since you moved out here.”