by Amy Olle
A thoughtful frown tugged at his handsome features. “You’re right. We need to sit down and come up with a budget.” His fingertips smoothed over his puffy mouth. “How much money did you ask Cooper for?”
When she told him the amount, he surprised her with his unflinching reaction. “We might need to borrow against Maisie’s and Connor’s college funds to start you up.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’d give me that much money?”
Confusion rippled across his face. “It’s not my money. It’s ours.”
Except that in all their years together, she’d never pulled in even a quarter of what he had earned.
“You worked just as hard as I did,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Maybe harder, considering you had a job, a houseful of my brothers and a colicky baby to contend with. You took care of me and everyone I care about in the world while I went to school and built my career. I can’t put a price on what I owe you. What we all owe you.”
The soft tenderness in his rough voice caused her skin to flush with heat.
Or maybe it was the way he looked at her, his gaze quiet and probing. “If this is what you want, then I say let’s go get it for you. We’ve got the money. You’ve got the talent. And a golden opportunity has just landed in our laps.” His devastating smile reached inside her. “What do you say?”
A sweet bloom of hope blossomed in her chest. He made it all seem so… possible. Probable. To make her dream reality, all she had to do was reach out and take it.
Emotion squeezed her throat and she nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
With the quick flash of his wide smile, he brushed her cheek and pulled her close. When his lips brushed hers, sensation ricocheted through her. Thoughts of resisting him scrambled when his fingers stroked the hollow beneath her earlobe. He tasted her with possessive licks and nips that roused a gentle fire in her. The kiss was slow, drugging, and when he stopped, a whimper of regret escaped her.
“Was that so bad?” he murmured against her mouth.
“Dreadful.” She extracted herself from the warm cocoon of his arms. “I guess you were serious about that kissing thing, huh?”
He studied her with the intensity he used to show his law briefs. “I was serious.”
She pressed the tips of her fingers to her scalded lips. “Vanessa will probably learn the truth about us anyway from one of the island gossips.”
“I doubt she’d care about a bunch of rumors, as long as she gets her story for the feature.” Storm clouds gathered at the edges of his features, contradicting his smooth tone. “But in case it does matter to her, we can be sure to give her the story she wants.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
Dangerous and doomed to failure.
Yet she hadn’t rejected the notion outright.
His broad shoulders lifted with his callous shrug. “I’m not an actor. I can’t fake something I don’t feel and expect people to believe me. If I have to act happy, I need to be happy, and kissing you makes me really fucking happy.”
She bit back a smile. Would it be so bad? If she was going to make four wedding dresses in two weeks, she was going to need his help. What were a few harmless kisses if the end result was a career doing something she loved, something she was good at?
It might even be a good thing. Good for the kids if their parents stopped arguing, and maybe even got along, like they used to do. And when Shea signed those divorce papers, it’d be good for them both, for everyone, if they moved on as friends rather than enemies.
She searched the handsome face of her fierce, determined husband, who she’d never been able to resist for long.
“Those are my terms.” His husky voice tickled a spot low in her belly. “Take it or leave it.”
The risk of failure was great, heartbreak all but certain.
But what were a couple of days of danger for a chance at her dream? If she was going to take a shot at it, she might as well take a big, wholehearted grab. Shouldn’t she?
Of course she should.
But… could she? Could she pretend to be happily married to him? Could she let him help her? Let him kiss her whenever he wanted?
Yeah, she could.
Given the delicious tingling that remained on her lips, she might even enjoy it.
“Okay.”
Blue fire flared in his eyes. Her heart fluttered wildly when he tugged her to him, and as he claimed a kiss, she experienced a flash of fear that the happiness in her heart had less to do with the realization of her dream and more to do with the delicious slide of her husband’s mouth against hers.
Chapter Eleven
When Shea stepped through the back door, the familiar hollowness twisted his gut. He experienced the aching emptiness every time he entered the house that was no longer his home.
How had he and Isobel let things get so out of control that they couldn’t even live in the same house? How had they gotten to this place where he made huge life decisions without her input and she hid little things about herself from him? And if she hid the little things, did that mean she was keeping bigger things from him as well?
A cartoon on the TV filled the house with noise, and he pursued it into the living room. “What’s all that racket?”
Two dark little heads poked over the couch back. “Daddy!”
Connor and Maisie charged him. Bending at the knees, he scooped them up and tucked each one under an arm as if they were oversized footballs. The peal of their giggles carried to the peak of the vaulted ceiling and sang through him. This was the best part of his day every day that he got to see his kids.
Isobel appeared from the hallway, her hair piled on top of her head and a tape measure hanging around her neck.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice contained a distinct lack of annoyance.
The sound of progress.
“I thought I’d come by and see if anyone wants to go fishing.” With a jiggle of his arms, he extracted more breathless giggles.
Connor gasped. “I wanna go!”
Isobel’s stormy eyes widened with surprise. “Aren’t you working today?”
Two weeks after hiring Aiden, Shea couldn’t be happier. He showed up for his shift every night, on time, and he knew what he was doing behind the bar. By far, he was the best bartender Shea had ever had on his staff. He was fast, friendly, the staff loved him, and better yet, the customers loved him. Particularly the female customers, who’d packed into the bar every night that week for a chance to flirt and be served by the island’s mysterious newcomer.
“I’m playing hooky,” he said, and felt no anxiety saying it.
Disbelief parted her lips.
He resisted the urge to claim a kiss.
Though he could claim it. That was their deal.
Supreme satisfaction unfurled in his chest. She’d agreed to let him kiss her whenever he wanted.
“You two ready to go?” He set Connor and Maisie on their feet. “Mama needs to work.”
Maisie scurried to Isobel’s side. “I’m helping Mama.”
Isobel smoothed a hand over Maisie’s small head. “Oh, not this time, sweetie.”
“But I want to.” Maisie slipped her hand inside Isobel’s.
Shea crouched down so his face was level with Maisie’s. “Do you know what Mama is doing?”
“Making a dress.” She leaned against Isobel’s leg. “I wanna help.”
Connor bounced. “I wanna go fithing.”
“Hang in there, buddy.” Shea squeezed Connor’s tiny rib cage and turned back to Maisie. “Did Mama tell you she’s making this dress for a princess?”
Maisie’s big gray eyes filled with wonder, and she bent her head back to stare up at Isobel. “A princess?”
He leaned in. “A princess who needs it right away. There’s no time to waste.”
Maisie’s miniature mouth gaped open.
“Should we let Mama work for a little while? Then we’ll hurry home to help her.”
Nodding, Maisie
hooked her arm around his neck. “We’ll be back later, Mama.”
“Thank you, mija.”
When he stood, his gaze collided with Isobel’s and the slippery softness shimmering in her gray eyes tugged at his groin.
But her small smile fell as Finn shuffled into the room, his dark hair sleep-rumpled and his eyes half open.
Connor latched on to Finn’s leg, pulling a grunt from the groggy teen.
“We go fithing!”
“Cool, buddy.” Finn continued into the kitchen, lugging his leg with Connor still attached along behind him.
“You want to come with us?” Hope rang in Shea’s voice.
Finn’s startled gaze swung to Shea, then he ducked his chin. “Nah.”
When Shea moved out, Finn had refused to take part in the shared custody arrangement his parents had agreed to. Knowing the courts wouldn’t force a fifteen-year-old kid to comply, Shea had honored Finn’s wishes to stay in his home with his mom, though it’d opened up a hole the size of Lake Superior inside him to see his son so seldom.
The hole splintered wide and bottomless, as it did every time Shea looked at Finn and took stock of the changes in him. The additional inch of growth, the new trendy hairstyle, the further yielding of his boyishness to the man he would become. Shea catalogued it all, though it hurt to observe how much he missed by not being a part of his son’s day-to-day life.
Finn’s gaze alighted on him again, but then he twisted toward the cupboard and pulled down a cereal bowl. “I’ve got practice later,” he mumbled.
Outside, a bright summer sun bathed the island in warmth. Though the day was warm, a crispness carried on the breeze, hinting at cooler temperatures in the coming days. Guilt flooded the hole in the center of his chest. He’d meant to take Connor and Maisie fishing this summer, and it was almost over before he’d finally found the time to do it.
At the public beach, Shea grabbed the poles from the bed of his truck and set off down the pier with Connor and Maisie in tow. He knew the actual fishing part wouldn’t hold their attention long, but he set them both up with a pole and a wriggling worm. As he worked, he explained what he was doing, though neither Connor nor Maisie stopped chattering long enough to absorb a single word. Gazing into their cherubic faces flushed with excitement, he decided he didn’t particularly care.
They cast their lines, and less than ten seconds later, he was fielding questions such as “Now what?” and “What if I gotta go pee?”
“Impatience is your worst enemy,” he said, pulling two tiny, thoughtful frowns from them.
Shea’s slow smile took on a satisfied slant. In both fishing, he thought, and when trying to reel in one’s wife.
They lucked out and soon Shea noticed a soft tug on Connor’s line. While Connor squealed, Shea helped him haul in the lake trout. The fish thrashed and squirmed on the hook while Maisie shrieked, then started to cry.
With the wriggling fish, Shea knelt before them. Connor lunged forward for a chance to touch it, but Maisie crept close, her eyes glistening with her tears, and lightly pressed the tip of one finger to the fish’s scales before snatching back her hand. Together, the three of them tossed the trout into the lake so it wouldn’t die, and Maisie’s tears dried.
While he packed up the gear, he couldn’t recall having ever taken Finn fishing, and yet another brutal surge of regret broke over him. He’d been so focused on work, he’d sacrificed his relationship with his son. And his wife. How could he have let that happen to them?
Fear. Fear of all that could go wrong. Of what happened when the other shoe dropped. When shit hit the fan. When tragedy struck. The fear had consumed him. What others assumed was a quest to reach some imaginary mountain peak was really him running from the fear. It’d driven him. Controlled him. Filled him with the compulsion to outrun the hardships in his past. Going to bed hungry all those years had messed with his head, just as the lean desperation in his brothers’ faces had warped his perception.
In the end, he viewed the world through a deceptive lens that colored every choice he made and compelled him to work obsessively. To do more, work harder, and more than anything, never stop fighting. After all, disaster lived only a heartbeat away. Always.
Everything he’d done, he did to survive, and he became so consumed by the battle, he’d forgotten to live. What a miserable shame that was.
The next day, Shea woke early, eager to get over to the house. On his way, he stopped off at Lucky’s to sign payroll and complete the liquor inventory. He let himself in the back door of the pub, which wouldn’t open for several more hours, and crossed the darkened barroom to the hallway that led to his office.
He inserted his key into his office door’s lock, but the heavy wood barrier gave way before he twisted the knob. Unease lifted the hairs on his neck. Had he forgotten to lock his office door?
His hand moved along the wall and when he flipped the switch, light flooded the small room.
From the corner of his eye, he saw something move, and his head snapped around as the form laid out on his couch groaned.
The lump rolled over and Aiden’s eyes blinked opened. Then went wide. “Shite,” he croaked and thrashed to a sitting position in the soft cushions.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Shea’s gaze swept the room in search of clues that might explain his bartender’s presence in his office at 7:00 a.m.
“I, uh, um…” Aiden staggered clumsily to his feet. “I worked late last night and missed the ferry.”
“Don’t you live on this island?” Behind his desk, Shea split his focus between a flustered Aiden and the orderliness of his computer and employee files.
“I’ve been staying with… a friend.” Aiden raked a hand through his rumpled dark hair. “But she kicked me out.”
One of Shea’s eyebrows inched upward. “A friend?”
“A close friend.”
“What’s her name?”
Wariness touched Aiden’s nicely arranged features. “Her name?”
“I know just about everyone on this island.” Shea moved his shoulders in a shrug. “Maybe I can offer some advice or put in a good word for you.”
“Oh, uh, that’s okay.” Aiden turned to pluck his sweatshirt of the arm of the couch. “We’re keeping things quiet for now.”
Shea took his time studying the play of thoughts and emotions that chased across the kid’s face. “There is no girl, is there?”
A light came into his eyes. “Not just one, no. There’re several.”
Shea didn’t doubt that. “At your interview, you said you’d recently moved here. Why did you lie?”
Aiden yanked the sweatshirt on over his head and shoved his arms through the sleeves. Then he dragged the fabric slowly down his torso. “I didn’t think you’d hire me unless you thought I lived nearby,” he finally said.
“Is there anything else you’re lying to me about?”
After a beat of tortured hesitation, Aiden met his gaze squarely. “Yes.”
Shea stiffened with his surprise. “You want to go ahead and tell me what it is?”
“I can’t. Not yet.”
“But you will?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Aiden rolled his shoulders, as if an uneasy burden rested upon them. “Soon.”
“Do I have anything to worry about?”
“Depends how openminded you are.”
“Is it illegal?”
“No.”
“Unethical?”
“No.”
“Immoral?”
“No.”
“Dishonest, distasteful, or dodgy?”
The shadow of a smile touched Aiden’s mouth. “Yes, not exactly, and maybe. But it has more to do with righting past wrongs than creating new ones.”
Shea didn’t bother hiding his assessment of the new bartender, looking closely where he’d only glanced before. Beneath Aiden’s pleasant features and easygoing charm, there was a leanness about him, a hunger that had nothing to
do with food or sustenance. He thirsted for something all the same. Something essential and elemental.
Shea’s head moved with his curt nod. “Okay. I’m going to trust you.”
With his slow exhale, Aiden’s shoulders slumped a notch.
Shea dropped his chin and leveled the kid with a look. “But if you prove me wrong for doing so, I won’t hesitate to destroy you. We clear?”
Aiden’s ease vanished. “Crystal.”
Chapter Twelve
After Aiden left, Shea hurried through his tasks and over to the house. He found Isobel hunched over the dining table where she’d spread out an oversized sheet of tracing paper. At her feet, Connor and Maisie endeavored to build a fort, but by the tight set of Isobel’s mouth and the severe pucker of concentration on her brow, Shea gathered the constant chatter and frequent pleas for help coming from beneath the table had thwarted her attempts to work more than a few times already that morning.
With bribes of a visit to the playground at the park and ice cream, he herded Connor and Maisie toward the door. At the last, he turned back and claimed a soft kiss from his wife.
The brush of fire whipped color into her cheeks.
Unable to resist, he toyed with the chaotic, unruly curl at her temple. A smile curved his mouth as he pondered the last time he’d glimpsed the soft coils in her hair. Probably not since the early days of their marriage.
Ducking her chin, she tucked the curl away behind her ear. “I haven’t had a chance to do my hair yet.”
“Leave it,” he said. “It’s perfect.”
Then he dropped a kiss on her scrunched-up forehead and headed outdoors to herd Connor and Maisie into his truck.
The park and ice cream were almost as satisfying as that kiss. They ate lunch downtown, then, as promised, went sailing. Blessed with calm waters and warm sunshine, all three of them sat on the boat’s bow, their bare feet swinging over the edge.
He’d needed this precious time to hang out with his kids. Isobel’s lucky break might just turn out to be his lucky break. Or would be, once he convinced Finn to join them.