by Marie Force
She looked down at him and burst into laughter.
As he watched the laughter transform her face, the tight ball of tension he’d carried around all morning uncoiled, and he realized he didn’t dislike her at all. Rather, it was quite possible he could end up liking her far too much.
Chapter 3
Laura McCarthy stood on the sidewalk outside the Sand & Surf Hotel, letting the wind and rain pummel her as she studied the weathered Victorian structure. The old gray lady had gotten tired since the last time Laura visited the island. Her gray shingles were worn and stained, the windows dingy from salt water and the white paint on the trim was peeling in places.
Located across the street from the Beachcomber, the Sand & Surf had been closed for a couple of years now as the owners looked for someone to buy the place. It overlooked downtown on one side, and the Atlantic Ocean on the other with beach access and a sweeping porch made for watching sunsets. Laura wished she had an extra thirteen million in the bank so she could take it off their hands.
The thought made her laugh softly to herself. Ever since the first time she’d come to the island as a child to see her aunt, uncle and cousins, the sprawling hotel had called to her. She could picture high tea in the salon, cocktails on the porch and rooms filled with guests who returned year after year.
Pipe dreams.
Laura drew her coat tighter around her as rain seeped inside and her hair escaped from the hood.
“Not exactly a sightseeing kind of day.”
Startled, Laura spun around to find a tall man wearing oilskin and a wry smile. Wet dirty blond hair stuck to his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice. Something about him was familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
He sized her up with gray eyes full of amusement, as if he was in on a joke and trying to decide if he was willing to share it. “You were at the wedding last night.”
“Did we meet?”
“I was the entertainment.” He extended his hand. “Owen Lawry.”
Laura reached out to shake hands. “Oh! Of course. You and Evan were so awesome!”
“Thanks. We haven’t jammed together in ages. Felt good.”
“Sounded good, too.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Friend of the bride or the groom?”
“Cousin—of the bride.”
“Is that right?” He took a closer look. “Now that you mention it, I can see the resemblance.”
Laura laughed. “Sure, you can. Janey is petite and perky, and I’m tall and gawky.”
“That’s not true. Don’t forget I had a front-row view of the dancing last night.”
Despite the wind and icy rain, a rush of heat settled in her face. Was he flirting with her? And then reality returned to remind her she had no business flirting with anyone. A shiver traveled through her, and suddenly she wanted to be warm and dry again.
“Do you have a name, or should I call you Janey’s cousin?”
His teasing tone confirmed her suspicions that he was indeed flirting—that and the fact he continued to hold her hand.
“Sorry,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “I’m Laura McCarthy.”
“You like the Sand & Surf, Laura McCarthy?” he asked, gesturing to the hotel.
She shifted her gaze to the hotel and nodded. “It’s nice to play pretend.”
“It’s a great place.”
Even though she was more than ready to get out of the elements, curiosity got the better of her. “Have you been inside?”
“Yeah. You?”
She shook her head wistfully as she took in the grand old hotel. “Never.”
“Would you like to?”
Laura drew in a breath of surprise. “Now?”
“If you want.”
She hesitated, aware that she was about to step into an abandoned hotel with a man she’d only seen for the first time the night before.
“I’d understand if you wanted to call your cousin Evan to vouch for me. I’ve known him since I was ten.” He withdrew his cell phone and held it out to her.
Laura contemplated the phone as she remembered the genuine friendship she’d witnessed between this man and her cousin the night before. And even though she’d vowed never to trust another man for the rest of her life, her desire to see the inside of the Sand & Surf won out.
“I’ll trust you,” she said.
He flashed a satisfied—and extremely engaging—grin and gestured for her to follow him up to the porch where he reached into the mail slot, rooted around and pulled out a key.
Astounded, Laura stared at him. “How’d you know that was there?”
“I know the owners.” Using the key, he pushed open the main door and ushered her inside.
Walking past him into the musty interior, she cast him a suspicious glance, wondering just how well he knew the owners.
Ned Saunders made a complete loop around the island in his cab and concluded not much of anything was going on beyond wind, rain, high surf and downed trees. With the ferries stopped for the day, the taxi business would be deader than a doornail. No reason he couldn’t take a rare summer day off to spend some time with his lady. Elated by the idea, he drove over to the Sturgil place where Francine lived in an apartment behind her daughter Tiffany’s house.
Things had been tense lately between Tiffany and her husband, Jim Sturgil, and Francine had been doing a lot of babysitting for their daughter Ashleigh. Poor Francine had been distressed by her daughter’s marital troubles, but he’d had no luck convincing her to come stay with him while her daughter and son-in-law tried to work things out.
In fact, he’d had no luck whatsoever convincing her to do anything more than kiss him once in a great while. Maybe he’d been fooling himself when he tried to rekindle an old love earlier in the summer. The first time around—more than thirty years ago—she’d walked away without a word when sweet-talking Bobby Chester came to Gansett Island for a bachelor party weekend and caught her eye. A couple of years of marriage and two daughters later, Bobby got on a ferry to the mainland and never looked back. As far as Ned knew, none of them had ever heard from Bobby again.
Foolish pride had kept Ned away from Francine until his young friend Luke Harris had reconnected with his old love Sydney Donovan and put ideas in Ned’s head. But Luke wasn’t an old fool. No, he was a young handsome guy who had everything in the world to offer his lady.
“Yer bein’ an ass,” Ned muttered. “Ya got plenty ta offer her. Ya got a nice house and plentya room. Hell, ya got a bunch of houses on the derned island. She can pick out whatever one she wants.”
He drove into Tiffany’s driveway and went past her house, grateful to see that things seemed quiet there for once. Parking at the foot of Francine’s stairs, he pulled up the hood on his raincoat and dashed into the storm. At the top of the stairs, he knocked on the door and waited, his heart doing that happy, skipping thing it did whenever he was about to see her.
Wearing a robe with her hair wrapped up in a towel, she gasped when she saw him. “I thought you were Tiffany!”
While he could tell she was dismayed to be caught unprepared to greet him, Ned was dumbstruck by how pretty she was with her hair pulled back off her face. It brought back memories of a fresh-faced girl just off the ferry to work the summer at the Beachcomber, reminding him of the day he’d rushed to help with her bags and lost his heart in the process. Despite her obvious discomfort, he stepped inside and closed the door.
The hand she raised to cover where her robe came together over full breasts trembled ever so slightly, but Ned saw it. She was nervous. For some reason, that pleased him. He took another step toward her.
She retreated until her back met the wall. “What…what’re you doing?”
He reached up to caress her face. “Saying a proper hello.” Leaning in, he touched his lips to hers. “Kiss me, Francine.” Only for her would he have shaved off the beard he’d worn his entire adult life and trimmed back the mustache that she’d called prickly the first time he ki
ssed her. Hell, he’d even started combing his hair once in a while—also for her.
Her lips closed and puckered, which made him laugh.
Brows narrowed over green eyes. “What’s so funny?”
“You are.” Raising his other hand, he framed her face and held her in place for a better kiss—a much better kiss. “Mmm, that’s more like it.” When he drew back, he noticed her face was flushed, her eyes were wide and she was breathing funny. Maybe he was pushing his luck, but he kissed her again.
This time, he felt her hand in his hair, seeming to want to keep him there.
Encouraged, he tipped his head and brought her in tighter against him. “Do ya remember,” he asked, as he shifted his focus to her neck, “how it was between us all those years ago?”
“No.”
Chuckling, Ned rested his hands on her hips and continued to kiss her neck. “Ya do, too. Ya can’t fool me.” They’d only just begun to sleep together when Bobby came along and ruined everything.
Her hand on his chest stopped him cold. “Please don’t.”
He was surprised to see tears in her eyes. “Aww, honey, what’s a matter?”
“Nothing.” She stepped around him. Over her shoulder, she said, “I’m going to get dressed.”
“Not on my account, I hope. I kinda like ya the way ya are.”
She scurried away, but not before he caught the blush that flamed her cheeks.
Frustrated by the walls she’d built up around her heart, he flopped into a chair to wait. Fifteen minutes later, she emerged made up and put together—even though her red hair was still wet—and displeased to see him still there.
“What’s going on here, Francine?”
“What do you mean?” She got busy making coffee, apparently forgetting the power was out. When she remembered, she gave the coffeemaker a frustrated shove, causing water to spill from the top.
Unable to sit still, Ned got up and went to her. From behind, he reached around for her hands, which were still trembling. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out. But ya gotta tell me what’s got ya so wound up.”
“I said it’s nothing.” She shook him off and started cleaning up the mess from the coffeemaker.
“Ya want me to go away and leave ya alone the way I did for thirty-something years?”
“No,” she said softly.
With his hand on her shoulder, he compelled her to turn to face him. “Then ya gotta tell me what’s going on. Why doncha want me to kiss ya or hold ya? I know ya like it.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, every one of them a spike to his fragile heart.
He brushed them away and bent his knees to bring himself to her eye level. “Will ya talk to me? Please?”
She wanted to. He could see that. But rather than share what had her so tortured, she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head.
“Francine… Yer killing me here.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”
Ned’s mouth fell open in shock. “Ya don’t mean that.”
“It’s probably for the best.”
Staring at her, he could barely form a clear thought. The weeks they’d been back together had been the happiest of his life. It couldn’t be over. It just couldn’t. “It’s not fer the best. How can ya say that?”
New tears leaked from her eyes, telling him that she didn’t want to end this anymore than he did.
“Francine, honey, come on.”
She shook her head and turned her back to him.
Even though it pained him deeply, he took a deep breath and walked away. As he headed to the door, every step hurt worse than the one before. With his hand on the doorknob, he said, “Ya know where I am if ya change yer mind.”
In a daze, he somehow managed to get down the stairs and into his car. He sat there for a long time staring out the windshield. Finally, he started the car and backed out of the driveway.
Listening to him leave, Francine sank into the closest chair and let the tears come. Sending him away had been, without a doubt, one of the hardest things she’d ever done. But she couldn’t continue to deceive him or lead him on. She’d done that once before, and no way would she be responsible for crushing him a second time. It had already gone on longer than it ever should have.
That was her fault. She’d been so darned happy to see him that day he popped up on her doorstep, asking her to dinner as if the more than thirty years since their last date had never happened—as if she hadn’t left him for another man without so much as a how-do-you-do for the boy who’d been so sweet and kind to her.
Better to break it off now than later when things would no doubt be more complicated. Knowing it was the right thing to do didn’t make it hurt any less. After so many lonely years, being with Ned again had been amazing. And fun. And exciting. Her shoulders slumped as it dawned on her that there’d be no more dinners out or sunsets at the bluffs or cookouts with their family and friends.
Francine had no idea how long she sat there before Tiffany poked her head in the door. Her long dark hair was in a ponytail, and her lean dancer’s body vibrated with energy—as usual.
“Hey, was Ned here before?” Tiffany came in and stopped short when she saw her mother crying. “What’s wrong?”
Francine forced herself to meet her younger daughter’s worried gaze. “I need to ask you something.”
“Of course. What is it?”
Wiping the tears from her face, Francine said, “Remember when you told me a couple of months ago that you were trying to find your father?”
Tiffany’s blue eyes widened with surprise. “You said you didn’t want to know about it.”
“I didn’t. I don’t. But I wondered… Did you ever find him?”
“No, but I found his sister. Marion.”
Francine bit back a gasp. The last person on earth she had any desire to see was Bobby Chester, but since there was a very good chance she was still married to him, she needed to know where he was. “Have you spoken to her?”
Tiffany shook her head. “I got as far as finding her number, but I knew how you felt about it, and Maddie has no interest in seeing him.” She shrugged. “I didn’t want to upset everyone, so I dropped it.” Glancing toward her house, she added, “Besides, I’ve had enough crap on my plate lately without inviting in more.”
“I hate to see you so unhappy.”
“Jim’s moving out,” Tiffany said in a dull, flat tone.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“Been a long time coming.”
“Still…whatever I can do.”
“Thanks. I’ve got to get back to Ashleigh. Jim’s leaving soon.”
“I’ll see you later.”
Tiffany was already through the door when Francine ran after her. “Tiff!”
At the bottom of the stairs, Tiffany turned to look up at her mother.
“You said you have Marion’s number.”
“What about it?”
“I think I’d like to have it.”
Tiffany’s expression was unreadable. “You sure about that?”
Francine thought of Ned and how devastated he’d been earlier when she called off their relationship. “I’m sure.”
Chapter 4
Covered in mud and shivering from the chill, Grant and Stephanie made their way to the clinic on foot. Stephanie had decided he was the most confusing man she’d ever met. One minute he was pushing her away with his surliness, and the next he was lying beneath her, looking up at her with a dazed expression on his face and a substantial bulge in his pants.
Which version was she supposed to believe? The Grant who made it clear he still wanted his ex-girlfriend, or the Grant who’d made passionate love with her the night before and clearly wanted to again, if the erection pressing against her in the mud puddle had been any indication.
Once he’d returned to his senses, he’d disentangled himself from her, helped her up and acted like nothing unusual had happened.
Stealing a fleeting glance at him, she sure did wish he wasn’t so insanely hot. With his thick, wavy, jet-black hair, brilliant blue eyes, prominent cheekbones, sensuous lips and a too-die-for muscular frame, Stephanie could stare at him all day and never get tired of the view. Even covered in mud with wet hair clinging to his scalp, he still maintained that aura of elegance and class that had drawn her in from their first meeting. Too bad he was such a pain in the ass—and madly in love with someone else.
If she were being honest with herself, she’d admit to being seduced long ago by his amazing words in Song of Solomon, the movie he’d written. She’d watched him accept the Academy Award for best original screenplay and had been dazzled by his handsome face, self-deprecating wit and touching acceptance speech in which he gave his parents credit for encouraging him to follow his dreams.
Stephanie vividly remembered thinking at the time how lucky he was to have the kind of parents who stood behind their children the way his clearly had. Imagine her surprise when those same parents showed up one day last winter at the Providence restaurant where she worked and struck up a conversation that led to the job offer to run the restaurant at McCarthy’s Gansett Island Marina for the following summer.
It had been a gamble, of course, to leave the year-round job in the city for five months on Gansett, but the change of scenery had done her good, and the money was fantastic. She’d made as much in a summer on Gansett as she did in a year in Providence—and she’d been able to live for free at the marina. However, the uncertainty of what awaited her when she went home after the Columbus Day holiday weekend weighed on her, but she’d figure something out. She always did.