Just One Kiss (Appletree Cove)

by Hall, Traci

  Bert snuffled but joined Sawyer, who had stepped back from their group about ten paces.

  Grace kept her hand on the little girl’s narrow shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

  He jerked a thumb behind him to his house up the hill, realizing that it was mostly hidden by oak and pine trees. “Moved in last week. Hi, neighbor.”

  Surprise crossed her face, and then an emotion he couldn’t decipher. She launched into her lecture. “Since you’re such a great dog trainer, maybe until you’ve got Bert better behaved you should keep him on a leash. Violet’s only six. He could’ve trampled her.”

  He shook his head. “Bert wouldn’t have done that.” The dog was excited, not malicious.

  She arched a black brow. “Really? I have grounds to disagree. He wasn’t very kind to my camera.”

  Sawyer clenched his jaw. There was no point in arguing, because she was right. “I’m sorry Bert bothered you and your daughter.”

  Grace tilted her head. “This is Violet Price, Lottie’s daughter. The owner of the coffee shop.”

  Oh. Violet was not Grace’s daughter but Lottie’s, which he should have realized because of the red hair. Hadn’t he given himself a pat on the back for his powers of observation inside the shop? He’d take another slice of humble pie.

  Violet stared out at the water. Cute kid, he thought. Pink swimsuit. He had no clue how to talk to a little girl. “Hey. Nice to meet you, Violet.”

  “Can you say hello, hon?” Grace encouraged her.

  Violet mumbled a hi but then returned her attention to Bert and finally picked up her shovel and filled the yellow pail.

  Grace tugged a red curl. “Let me know when you’re finished, okay, Vi?” She motioned Sawyer toward the blanket. “Got a second?”

  “Sure.” Sawyer then told Bert to lie down, and the dog did, which was a freaking miracle.

  He joined Grace on the blanket. Her toenails were painted dark purple with a white flower on the big toe. She wore silver rings on her fingers and thumb and silver bangles on her wrists. Her blue eyes were so turquoise they seemed unreal.

  “Let’s sit.” She moved a tray with a pitcher of water, a box of crackers, and cheese sticks and kneeled down, leaving him room.

  Sawyer sat down cross-legged on the edge of the blanket. The little girl seemed very intent on digging into the sand. Bert had obeyed his command, but the pup’s attention was zeroed in on Violet. It was like they’d formed an instant connection.

  The old dock that jutted into the water from Grace’s property hardly seemed safe. He gazed across the lawn to some outbuildings—chickens? And a garden. The house and dock had both been built long ago. Brown block with faded white trim, the garage made of brown wood.

  Grace’s red cheeks suggested high emotion. She was upset, and he had it coming.

  He raised his palm. “I’m sorry for startling you and Violet. I checked out my window but didn’t see you. This part of the beach is blocked by trees.”

  Grace poured a cup of water and offered it to him. He took it on reflex, not really thirsty. She poured one for herself and studied him over the rim. “I accept your apology. Until Bert is trained, though, I’d prefer you keep him on a leash. Violet and I are outside often. She enjoys the sand.”

  What kid didn’t? Sawyer sipped and was surprised at the refreshing taste of cucumber. “Part of training is being able to listen to commands off-leash—but I understand your concern and will be more cautious. As I said, I didn’t expect for there to be people here.”

  “The summer folks have gone back to wherever they live during the rest of the year,” Grace said. “But even then, this particular beach isn’t crowded. We’re lucky.”

  He swallowed down his opinion on luck. It was about as favorable as his opinion on fate. He liked the soft, melodic tones of her voice that made him want to lean closer and touch the silk of her hair. His palm tingled as he recalled how she’d fit against him as they’d tumbled down the sand dune together. His body was never going to forget the curve of her breasts against his chest. What a way to meet someone.

  Sawyer rubbed a drop of water from his glass cup. “I’m still unpacking. After that, I can get to know the neighborhood.”

  She shifted on the blanket, the scarf revealing tan skin at her knee. “Where did you move from?”

  When they’d met this morning, she’d been in coveralls and sneakers. Then her sundress. He liked this look better—less was more in Grace’s case. “Seattle. Originally, L.A.”

  Grace laughed, the sound husky. “So, Kingston might be a culture shock.” She glanced at him. “Lottie told me that you’re here to start a new business?”

  “Yeah—service dog training, using my patented system. I just bought a place. Plan to start ripping it up tomorrow.” Getting in there with his bare hands, just as he had when he’d started in L.A.

  Her face paled. “That wouldn’t happen to be the property off Fiftieth, would it?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded, still pleased as hell by the bargain. “Got the building and five acres.”

  Violet dropped her shovel with a splash and turned toward the square brown house.

  “That must be Lottie.” Grace stood in a fluid motion, but he got the impression she wanted to continue the conversation. “Kid’s got superpower hearing when it comes to her mom’s Corolla.”

  Sawyer rose. “I should go.” He didn’t want to. They were neighbors and could see each other all the time. Swim, kayak. Cocktails on the beach. He grinned. “I’ll bring the camera over once it arrives.” He had the perfect bottle of red wine in mind, damn glad to have a reason to see Grace again. He got the feeling she might be elusive as the wind.

  Grace tilted her head, her black curls spilling to the left, her expression serious. “Watch Bert, okay?”

  “I will.” He whistled, and the dog leaped up as if prodded.

  Violet ambled to the blanket, avoiding Sawyer by going the long way around to Grace’s side. “Mom’s here.”

  “I know, sweetie. Why don’t you go on in?”

  Violet marched resolutely toward the back of the house.

  Grace’s mouth thinned, and he wanted to tease her lips open with a kiss. His curiosity to taste her, to know her, burned, and his throat grew parched. He drained the water she’d given him and put the cup on the blanket.

  “See you later, neighbor?”

  She held his gaze as she folded a beach towel in front of her body. “I’ll see you in the morning. Boss.”

  His sensual thoughts of her skidded to a halt. “I’m sorry?”

  She held out her hand to shake, keeping the towel between them. “I checked my work orders from the temp agency, and that’s the address I have to start work tomorrow. To set up your office.”

  His gut reaction was disbelief. “No.”

  “Yes.” Grace lifted her hand in a wave, silver flashing from her rings and bracelets, as she turned toward her house.

  What a cruel twist. He had a strict policy on not dating his employees—the lesson had been drummed into his skull after his older brother Juan had made that mistake, almost ending up in a lawsuit.

  Sawyer left her property, glancing back once more at Grace in her purple bikini. His heart skipped a beat or two before finding its rhythm. He blamed his reaction on the chocolate he’d had earlier rather than Grace’s crystal-blue eyes.

  Off-limits.

  Chapter Six

  Grace had spent last night tossing and turning and imagining her pillow was the crook of Sawyer’s neck, the warm hollow at his throat so close her lips could taste his skin, his mouth near enough to kiss.

  Lottie had stayed for dinner, and they’d eaten veggie-bacon quiche with garlic toast, the veggies from her garden and the eggs from her chickens for the quiche. They’d talked about Bert, Sawyer, and the fact Sawyer was her neighbor and boss. Lottie had dec
ided Grace should have a late-summer fling. In general, Grace wasn’t sure about love; the word conjured mixed expectations, which led to disappointment. She was single—by choice. Sawyer tempted her, but he was her employer. Period.

  Today was sure to be awkward.

  She was on her third outfit for the day—leggings and a tunic top. Normally for an office job, she’d wear a dress or slacks. This office was going to be torn apart and grungy, but jeans weren’t the best first-day impression, either.

  Grace plugged the address for her temp job into her phone and turned the Volkswagen’s key. The starter squawked, until the engine finally caught. She rested her forehead on the van’s big steering wheel, saying a little prayer.

  Arriving exactly at nine a.m., she parked on a flat space next to a silver Land Rover. She walked up to the brick building and found the wooden door with the glass cut-out unlocked, so she stepped inside.

  “What the—”

  A man in a black T-shirt wrestled on a cement floor with what appeared to be two bears. His muscled biceps rippled as he rolled, pinned by large paws that belonged to a black pit bull. Her stomach warmed in recognition—oh yes, that was Sawyer.

  “Close the door,” he instructed, not turning toward her.

  She did. Was he in danger? It didn’t seem like it. The gray dog’s behind wiggled as it panted and leaped around Sawyer and the black dog.

  Sawyer flipped the black one and bared his teeth to the dog’s neck as if to prove who was in charge.

  Was she still dreaming?

  After a pinch to her wrist, she tucked her lunch bag and purse to her hip and side-stepped behind the four-foot partition separating the reception area from Sawyer and his dogs. Grace set her personal items down next to a brand-new computer still in the box. A desk was on its side, and there was a fold-out chair. This took temporary to a new level. She peered at Sawyer, who was rubbing the dogs down their backs while they drooled with happiness.

  If she had those big hands on her, she might be drooling, too.

  “Welcome to Bark Camp.” He grinned, rose like an Olympic athlete, and wiped his palms down the thighs of his jeans. “Bark Camp…instead of Boot Camp. Get it?”

  His excitement was adorable, and she couldn’t help but smile a little.

  Grace scanned the empty space. It looked like the deserted insurance offices it used to be. Carpet had been torn up, but the floor needed to be swept, the glue scraped off. There were stairs to her left that traveled the wall to the second floor, which had an open gallery before a row of offices. She counted five doors up and four downstairs.

  She couldn’t yet see his vision for the training center. There was a musty smell and a stack of orange painter’s buckets. A broom and mop. “Where to start?” she murmured and wished she’d kept on her jeans to help sweep.

  Sawyer strode to the partition. “Bill’s guys are running late, but they’ll be here at noon to prime and paint.” He sent her a sheepish glance. “You can go home when they get here. I shoulda had you start on Monday.”

  That’s what she’d thought, but she also saw his enthusiasm for the project and was intrigued. “It’s okay.” She gestured to the dogs who panted behind Sawyer. “Do you always train them inside?”

  “No. We’re just messing around. This is Kita”—Sawyer gave the lean black dog a pat—“and Diamond is the big baby there.” Diamond was gray with a white-diamond shape around his eye. Both had white on their muzzles. “They’ve been with me since the beginning, so they should set a good example for the rest. I’m going to build a separate shelter and open yard out back designed specifically for drills and exercise.”

  What did he mean by the beginning? They stared at each other, yesterday’s misunderstandings and attraction simmering between them, until she shifted away, searching the large space. Dirt and grime covered the walls. While she wished she’d worn different clothes, these washed. Instead of setting up a desk, she could sweep and mop and do the desk on Monday.

  “When do you think you’ll be open for business?” By the looks of things, it wouldn’t be for months. She would do her part but hoped he didn’t expect miracles—she only had thirty days.

  “One week from today.”

  Wow. She pulled her focus from the far back wall and the peeling paint to Sawyer, certain he was kidding. Nope. His brown eyes were very serious.

  Grace was a dreamer but couldn’t see how that was remotely possible. “You’re constructing the building in the back from scratch, you said?”

  He chuckled at her obvious confusion, patting Kita at his side. “Grace, when I first started my dog training business, I lived in a shipping crate in downtown L.A.” He gestured to the sad interior. “This is nothing.”

  “You did? Why?”

  “It’s what I could afford.” Sawyer opened the door to a restroom to the left of the lobby and filled two dog bowls with water. The pups stood at the ready, until he told them they could drink.

  She immediately thought of gangs in downtown L.A. “That seems dangerous.”

  He ruffled his short brown hair, a curl over his ear. “I was just out of the Marines and bunked with pit bulls. We were fine.”

  The very sexy image of a guardian and his hounds came to mind, and she reached for her water bottle to quench her dry mouth. He’d been a soldier? That explained so much, from his arrogance to his neat handwriting to the way he filled out his T-shirt. “These two are calmer than Bert.”

  “They’re older.”

  Diamond’s white patch over his eye would make it easy for her to remember his name. He slurped and then nudged Kita over as if to make sure they had the same thing. Grace laughed. “Wiser?”

  “Bert is my problem child,” Sawyer admitted, “but I won’t give up on him. He’s at home today so I can concentrate on this project without him as a distraction. I’ve got a lot to accomplish.” His expression grew determined.

  “I can help. I’m good with a broom.” She scuffed the dirty floor with her ballet flat. “I even paint.”

  His half smile made her stomach spin like the tilt-a-whirl, and she pressed her hand against it. “Thanks.” Sawyer pointed to the boxes of office furniture to be assembled, and his voice deepened, a man in charge. “You’ll begin here.”

  Something about that tone made her wary. Her parents had raised her in a commune, born to rebel against authority. It was genetic.

  “The guys will do the cleaning as planned. Painting. I really should have waited for you to come in. I was on the verge of calling you last night, even.” His brown eyes warmed with sincerity that soothed her ruffled feathers. “But this is important to get the center in full operation mode.”

  She leaned her hip against the front partition that separated her from Sawyer. The two feet wasn’t much, not after the dreams she’d had of him holding her. Of them kissing. He probably had clients waiting for his service animals that only he could train and help.

  “It’s all right.” Her mouth watered at the temptation of his lower lip, his breath warm and mint-scented, and she turned away, calming herself before she gave her attraction away. “Uh, do you have a break room? Refrigerator?”

  Sawyer strode by her, and she inhaled the intoxicating scent of cinnamon, sage, and cardamom cologne. It had to be expensive. The reminder of their differences mattered—she worked for him because she was in desperate need of money to save her house. He was famous. Owned this business and a modern home on the bay. “This way,” he said.

  Grace picked up her lunch bag and followed him, attention dropping to the pockets of his Levi’s and lower. She knew what those thighs looked like without the denim barrier. Had, in fact, felt them hard against her own thighs.

  It was going to be a long month.

  Chapter Seven

  Sawyer entered the kitchen and flipped the light on. The walls were in desperate need of paint, and he winced at al
l there was to do. Was he crazy? Expecting too much? The worn break room held a large white refrigerator, a sink, and a microwave. An oval table with twelve chairs. Exposed drywall and wires from where a stove had been.

  “I’m happy to set up the desk and computer on Monday, if you’d prefer. I really don’t mind manual labor.” Grace brushed past him to the faux granite counter. She wore turquoise tights, flats, and a flowy top that he worried would get ruined.

  He’d wanted her to come in, just to see her, even though it didn’t make sense.

  She widened her turquoise eyes at him, and he straightened. Get it together, Rivera.

  “Not necessary.” He hoped the delay this morning with Bill’s guys wasn’t a sign of trouble. Jaden had been ready to pull the plug yesterday, until Sawyer had convinced the publicist that Bill would use his “stars” for the build.

  Grace’s mouth, a glossy pink, firmed.

  “I like routine,” he said, his tone sharp to cover his uncertainty. “You start at five to nine, can take a break whenever you need one, but be conscious of the time. You’ll have thirty minutes for lunch and end your day at four thirty.”

  “No punch card?” she asked icily.

  Sawyer realized that she’d taken offense at his baldly stated rules and his defenses rose—he’d meant no harm. “Considering it.”

  She blew out a breath that moved a curl over her forehead.

  “You should probably have your name on whatever you bring in.” He held his hand out for her lunch bag, purple with pink hearts, and put it on the center shelf of the fridge.

  The bag was girly to the extreme. Like Grace.

  “Because who might mistake it for theirs? Bert?”

  Her quip was heavy with sarcasm, and since her lunch was the only thing in the refrigerator at the moment besides bottles of water, he didn’t blame her. Instead, he pretended he hadn’t heard her and opened the cupboards to show coffee pods for the Keurig. “Coffee is here.”

  “I don’t drink coffee.” Grace crossed her arms, the sheer sleeves of her tunic showing the slender shape. Bracelets clacked together.