Copper Lining (The Cardwell Family Series Book 3)

by Christy Pastore

  Copper Lining (Cardwell Family, Book 3)

  Copyright © 2021 Christy Pastore

  All rights reserved

  Cover designed by Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs

  Editing provided by Missy Borucki

  Book formatting provided by Stacey Blake of Champagne Book Design

  Proofreading provided by K Donald

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. To obtain portions of the text, please contact the author at info@christypastore-author.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement.

  Warning:

  This book is intended for mature audiences.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  From the desk of Author Christy Pastore

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Epilogue

  Author Note

  Afterword

  Books by Christy Pastore

  About the Author

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  Minka

  I hear him yelling.

  It’s too late. I’m already in the water. The deep end of the ocean.

  Well, not really.

  Shallow coastal waters, to be precise. Even at my height of five foot five, the water barely covers my shoulders.

  It’s only a few seconds before I see what I’m looking for—the silver glints in the pristine aqua waters. But it’s long enough for a spotted eagle ray to brush by my leg as I watch the long, whip-like tail in the water.

  Then, I hear a splash and some mumbling curses.

  “Are you crazy?” he asks and grasps my shoulder.

  I start to respond when I notice six of these suckers swirl around us. Little, they are not—they must be ten feet wide, maybe.

  Another one heads straight for me, and my heart hammers in my chest. Strong arms wrap around my waist from behind.

  “Just stay calm,” his deep voice commands. The man they call the Manta Ray Whisperer picks me up at the waist, and the eagle ray glides by us.

  “Miss, we need to get back to the boat,” he says, more a command than a statement.

  Ignoring his words, I wiggle from his hold. Panic grips me when I don’t see the silver below the surface. My hope fades with every passing second.

  Please, God, let it be there.

  “I’ve got to get it. Please give me a moment.”

  “You’re not hearing me . . . come on.” He tugs on my bikini strap.

  I spin back to face him. This close, I can see the flecks of blue in his green eyes sparkling beautifully against his tan skin. “Please help me. It’s a silver bracelet.”

  He’s tall and tan and sexy as hell. I want to weave my hands through his unruly blond hair. A sexy surfer with a southern accent—a pissed off sexy surfer. His narrowed green eyes are my indication.

  “Fuck,” he hisses the curse. “Eagle rays are a shy species, and they’re wary of divers. But those tail spines are venomous and can inflict serious wounds. You got me out here looking for a damn bracelet?” He shakes his head.

  “Go back to the boat then,” I call over my shoulder. “Are you even old enough to be doing this, surfer boy?”

  “I’m twenty-nine, plenty old enough, sweetheart.” He grips my wrist and pulls me toward him.

  For a moment, my gaze holds his, and I notice his incredibly shaped brows. He’s chiseled to perfection. High cheekbones, perfect mouth, even his nose is flawless. This guy is well built, and his tattoos are doing everything for my lady parts.

  “We’re leaving now,” he snaps.

  Pulling from his grip, I move slowly in the water. An eagle ray skates through the water inches from me.

  It’s an epic stare down. Woman versus sea beast.

  “Miss, you’ve got two choices—come back to the boat with me willingly, or I carry you over my damn shoulder caveman style. And I’d really like to keep my southern gentleman rep intact.”

  “It’s here, I just know it. Hold on.” My eyes focus on the sand at the bottom of the water.

  Come on. Come on, I don’t want to lose you here.

  Water splashes in front of me, coating my face and chest. I know I don’t have much time. A long tail lashes out again.

  A low growl sounds in my ear as the Manta Ray Whisperer’s arms lock around my waist once more.

  “Hold on, I see it,” I shout.

  “Keep your voice down,” he orders. “Do you want to get stung?”

  “Wait, please,” I say and wiggle out of his arms. Reaching down, I pluck the silver from the water and shove it on my wrist.

  His green eyes narrow. “Got your bracelet, princess?”

  “Excuse me?”

  One strong arm curls around my waist, and he hauls me up and over his shoulder. Nerves splash in my belly,
and dread rears its head.

  This guy looks like he works out every chance he gets. I get to the gym as much as possible, and I love doing yoga. I’m fit, but I still have cellulite, and my stomach isn’t flat like it once was.

  “You know, I’ve met a lot of spoiled rich girls, but at least they had enough sense not to do what you just did for a silly bracelet.”

  This guy has some nerve and a serious attitude problem. Southern gentleman, my ass. If only he knew what this bracelet means to me. The sentimental value that it holds in my heart.

  We get to the boat and he drops me back into the water. I go under and break the surface seconds later.

  “Hey, you can’t do that to me,” I yell.

  “Seems that I just did, princess.” He climbs up the ladder. His arms flexing as he pulls himself up.

  My heartbeat quickens, much like it does when I hit my stride on the treadmill.

  “What’s your problem?” I feel the wrinkles in my face deepen.

  “My problem? My problem is that you could’ve gotten both of us injured, and there’s no one around for miles. We could have died out here. Not to mention, I’m responsible for this expensive yacht, and I didn’t have time to anchor it in place while you decided to take a dive into eagle ray waters.”

  His words hit me with the impact. But in my defense, my emotions took over my body. The bracelet is too important to me. I never meant to put him or me in danger.

  “I . . . I’m not a spoiled rich girl,” I tell him as I grasp the handles of the ladder. The water sluices off my skin as I climb higher.

  Is my ass jiggling?

  “Pfft, whatever. You rented this boat for a few hours by yourself. And”—his gaze sweeps down my body—“you look like you stepped out of the pages of Vogue by the way you’re dressed. Who wears this much jewelry?”

  Standing on the back of the boat near the grill, I squeeze the excess water from my hair. When I’m finished, I stomp up the stairs and trek through the cabin.

  I’m about to tell him off, but I bite my tongue. I don’t owe this man-child a damn thing. This is the first time in years I’ve had a vacation by myself. It’s long overdue, and I want to bask in every luxury that I can.

  Champagne in my plunge pool—yes, please.

  Breakfast on the beach—yep.

  Private yacht tour with a guide—bucket list, hell yeah.

  But this is much more than I bargained for.

  “Listen up, fashionista,” he barks. “How about I take you to one of the prettiest beaches here, and you can strut around in your bikini, sippin’ champagne, and taking selfies for Instagram? Hashtag, living my best life.”

  My eyes lock on his green ones, his gaze is strong and serious. Straightening my shoulders, I toss him a glare and tie my sarong around my waist.

  The boat rocks back and forth hard and I lose my balance. My heart races as panic shoots through my veins.

  “Oh no!” My hands grip the back of the captain’s chair.

  I expect an obnoxious comment, but instead he smirks.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let you go overboard again. Do me a favor and put any treasured possessions in a safe place.”

  “Okay.”

  An awkward silence settles between the two of us.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I’m ready.” I settle onto the lounge at the back of the boat and zip up my jewels in the side pocket of my bag.

  “Hang on, princess.”

  He turns on the engine and my hand rests on top of my head. “Can you do me a favor and not call me princess?”

  “Sure thing.” He glances at his phone screen and back at me. “Minka.”

  My name rolls off his tongue in the most gorgeous way. The rasp of his gritty, deep southern accent sends a shudder rolling down my spine.

  The boat moves along the shoreline at a slow rate of speed. He signals a few points of interest and then steers the boat into a private cove.

  “Locals only spot,” he tells me. “But by far one of the prettiest views here.”

  He throttles down the boat engine and says, “Next time you want to go for a swim, at least let me do this first,” as he drops the anchor into the water.

  The warning brings my annoyance back. But before I can tell him off, he hands me a glass of champagne. My eyes study the tattoo on his right forearm. It’s a script and I don’t know the language. I’m good with French, Japanese, and a little bit of Chinese, but I have no idea what this language is.

  “Go on, enjoy the view. I’m going to make lunch.”

  Glass in hand, I do what I’m told.

  Blowing out a deep breath, I feel all the tension leave my body. I watch as he takes his time washing his hands before marching back to the front of the boat.

  He’s not wrong about the view. And it irritates me that he’s right.

  Wes

  My blood pumps hot hours later. Both anger and annoyance flood my veins. I don’t know how or why “bracelet chick” is under my skin.

  Minka.

  I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around the clusterfuck I encountered earlier this morning with the spoiled rich princess.

  The woman . . . with the glossy, reddish-brown hair that I want to wrap my hands around as I take her from behind.

  Fuck. And that ass of hers. The sun-kissed globes barely concealed by black fabric were made for my hands, among other things.

  I’ve seen people do some crazy things on vacation.

  Buy the bar a round of shots.

  Get drunk and dive into the pool fully clothed.

  Sing karaoke like no one’s listening.

  Hell, I’ve even seen people hand their room keys to complete strangers.

  But this woman takes the cake. I’ve never seen someone dive right into a swarm of dangerous creatures for a piece of jewelry. Ever.

  It wasn’t even a wedding ring.

  She might be my most spoiled client, yet.

  And she’s booked me for a private paddleboard lesson tomorrow?

  I don’t have a problem with rich people. I have an issue with people who do dumb things. Especially when those dumb things happen on my watch.

  I finish cleaning the boat and then make sure everything is locked up. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I’m ready to go back to the bungalow and crash. Maybe get a drink first.

  My feet carry me past the cool surfboard fence. As I walk down the palm tree-lined sidewalk, I hear the locals call out to me.

  “Hey, Wes!”

  “Aloha, Manta Ray Whisperer!”

  “Weston, my bruddah!”

  I wave and smile and then duck inside one of my favorite little bars on the island. I nod to the bartender, Karel.

  Island life. It doesn’t get any better than this. Time well spent away in a place that cleanses the body, mind, and soul.

  “Aloha, bruddah Wes,” he greets me with a handshake. “How you doin’, my man?”

  “Aloha, buddy.” I take a seat, and he pours me a tall beer. “I’m just glad today’s over.”

  “Tough day at the office?” he asks and places the glass in front of me.

  I laugh. “Crazy woman jumped into a swarm of eagle rays for a bracelet.”

  His brown eyes pop wide. “Wow, that’s a new one.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You want pupus or the usual?”

  I take a long drink and nod. “Yeah, the usual.”

  My eyes drift to the television above the bar. “Kentucky braces for another round of storms.”

  I listen as the CNN anchor talks about the storms, and my heart collides with my ribs. Haven’t heard from my brother, Brant, lately. I glance at my watch for the time. It’s almost midnight in Mayfield.

  I’ll call him tomorrow.

  The bar is relatively quiet, but it’s the off-season, so it’s not all that surprising.

  I swivel my chair to face the patio. Looks like it might rain. I scan the restaurant, sipping my drink slowly.
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  My heart hammers in my chest when the woman who has already taken up too many of my thoughts appears in the doorway.

  And, of course, she walks into the bar looking like every man’s wet dream wearing a tiny, white lace dress that shows off her toned legs and her beautiful tan skin.

  Fuck my life.

  She hasn’t seen me yet. I flip back around just as Karel places my burger and fries in front of me. Instead of looking back, I dig into my food.

  It takes everything inside me to not glance over my shoulder when I see a curtain of shiny dark hair take a seat at the corner of the bar.

  “Aloha, and welcome to Maui’s best tiki bar,” Karel calls out to her. “The Maui Grove.”

  That’s when I feel her stare on me.

  I can’t help it. I look in her direction. Something about her drives me crazy. And I don’t think it’s the spoiled princess thing. I may have labeled her wrong. That’s what’s great about fake labels—they wear off fast.

  There’s something more to her. Why would a beautiful woman come to Hawaii alone? Charter a private yacht alone?

  Then it hits me. She might be dying. This could be her last hurrah, and I was a total asshole to her.

  Nope. I push the horrible thought out of my mind and chew another bite of my burger.

  Karel makes her a mai tai and sets it in front of her. Her small fingers wrap around the glass, and I notice she’s got two big gold rings on. The silver bracelet dangles from her wrist.

  Minka sips her drink and glances around the room. When she finishes, she stands and asks one of the servers where the restrooms are.

  Karel looks up from the sink where he’s cleaning a glass. “You gonna fill me in on the story with the hottie over there?”

  I dip a few fries in ketchup. “That’s the woman I was telling you about.”

  “Wow, so that’s why you look like you want to break something.”

  I want to break something all right, Minka. Break her in . . . teach her how to ride a cowboy. From the moment she walked in, I’ve been wondering what color panties are covering her amazing ass.

  Tipping the beer bottle to my lips, I swallow the cool liquid. Before I can get the next thought out, I’m on my feet and moving toward her.