by Lea Nolan
Chapter 2
An hour and three courses later, Wren took a last bite of chicken piccata and sank against her chair as the buttery lemon sauce slid down her tongue. It was the best meal she'd eaten in years. Decades actually.
So good, if she could have had sex with it, she would. Right here in the middle of the dining room.
Which meant her third glass of wine had pushed her way past tipsy and straight to drunk.
She hiccuped, then giggled softly to herself as the tip of her nose started to tingle. Yup, she definitely should've stopped at two.
But it was hardly her fault. The wine was so perfectly paired with each course—a scrumptious crab-stuffed mushroom appetizer drizzled with champagne sauce, a salad topped with strawberries, almond slivers, and feta cheese, and the delectable entree—she couldn't resist. Smith was some kind of magical chef-wizard.
A tiny tear lodged in the crease of her eye. For once, it wasn't a sad tear, it was a happy, grateful droplet. This meal was exactly what she'd hoped for but hadn't expected Smith to pull off. But he'd come through with a dish special enough for the most important of occasions, and a thousand times better than the samples her reception caterer had provided.
Which shouldn't have been a surprise. Back when they were kids, Smith had always been there for her during the summers she spent on the island. When they were young, they were inseparable. They'd spent long hours playing on the beach, body surfing, and building giant sandcastles the tide wiped out each night. Sometimes they'd dig clams in the evenings, or fish, and her father would build a fire pit on the beach to cook them.
Smith was the best part of her summers growing up. Until he wasn't.
She never understood why he seemed to turn his back on her when she arrived on the island after finishing her freshman year in high school. His rejection made her cry, but her father explained that teenaged boys were jerks and that soothed her. The next year her father got a grant to conduct ornithological research on South Carolina's barrier islands so they never spent another summer on Heron Harbor again.
But tonight, Smith had come to her rescue, saving her on the saddest night of her life with a meal that'd filled her with a sense of warmth and well-being she hadn't felt in months. And for the first time in years, they'd spoken as he held her in his crystal blue gaze. Were his eyes always that beautiful? It was hard to remember.
One thing was for sure. Smith Connors had grown up, and then some. The man was hotter than asphalt in August. Tall and broad shouldered, his round, baby face was long gone, replaced by a chiseled, square jaw that sported a couple days' worth of stubble, the perfect length between sexy and scruffy. And though he was wearing his cook's jacket, there was no disguising his v-shaped torso, or the thick biceps that stretched the fabric of his sleeves.
But that physical perfection was nothing compared to Smith's sexy swagger. He moved and talked with a confidence she'd never noticed before, probably because she usually visited the island with preening assholes like Pierce who demanded her constant attention. But Smith was different. Comfortable in his own skin, he was clearly in his element and in full control. That kind of self-assurance was more than appealing. It was enticing.
Too bad she and Smith were only friends. And that she'd sworn off love. Because he might have been the right guy to help heal her heart.
"Did you enjoy it?" Smith's voice yanked her from her thoughts.
Wren glanced up to find him standing on the other side of the table, an amused grin on his handsome face. How long had he been there? "Oh, hi again." Her lips were officially numb.
His smile widened and she swore his eyes twinkled. "Hi."
Damn, she might be in trouble. Shoving thoughts of his spectacular good looks aside, she focused on his question. "It was amazing. Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed this tonight." Her tongue worked overtime to form the words.
He dipped his head. "It was my pleasure."
Something about the way he said that made her insides do a flip-floppy thing she hadn't felt in ages. Which was exclusively the result of the three glasses of wine she'd drunk, and not anything else. Especially not his plump bottom lip that pretty much begged to be kissed.
"Would you like some dessert to top it off? Creme brûlée, or maybe something chocolate? If I remember right, you used to love chocolate mousse."
Her jaw dropped. He remembered. How was that possible? As much as she wished she could dive into the decadent, velvety dessert, her palm found its way to her stomach. "I wish I could, but I'm sh-tuffed." The slushy words tripped from her mouth. "Sh-orry. I had a little too much wine." Wren hiccupped and covered her lips with her fingertips.
He smirked. "I can see that."
"I never do this, I swear. It was just so good, and the waiter kept bringing me more." Her cheeks burned.
Smith laughed. "It's okay to let loose once in a while, especially when you're on...vacation?" he asked.
Wren scoffed. "Hardly. Well, sort of, yeah. It's a long story." She propped her elbow on the table and sank her chin into her palm.
"How about you tell me all about it while I walk you home?"
She shook her head. "You don't need to do that. I'm fine."
His brow arched. "Touch the tip of your nose."
That wasn't fair. How was she supposed to touch something she couldn't feel? Still, she wasn't about to let a little sensory deprivation get the best of her. Straightening her back, Wren aimed her right finger at the center of her face...and poked her left cheek.
Busted, she shrugged. "So I'm a little in...in-ibriated. It doesn't mean I can't walk three blocks to my house." Although she wouldn't rule out holding onto one of Smith's bulging arms for balance. Because there was a definite chance she might not be able to walk a straight line.
"It's raining like hell out there. I'd never forgive myself if you slipped and fell," he said.
"But the restaurant—"
"What about it?
"You can't leave it, can you?"
He winked. "That's the beauty of being the boss. I can do anything I want."
Smith had never been so thankful for rain. Or having one umbrella.
Huddling close to shield them both from the pelting storm as they walked down Main Street, he draped one arm around Wren's shoulder and clutched her close enough to breathe the mouthwatering scent of her green apple shampoo. She felt so light and small, almost fragile in his hands.
Funny. He could remember when she towered over him and he prayed each night for a growth spurt that'd make her think of him as more than just a friend. No matter how hard he prayed—or maybe in spite of it—the height and heft he wanted so desperately stubbornly evaded him. But that wasn't the biggest obstacle to gaining Wren's affection. He'd never been the smartest student, or even an average one. No matter how hard he tried, school was a perpetual exercise in frustration and humiliation. Girls like Wren, whose brilliance shone like sunbeams off the bay, weren't interested in guys like him.
But that was then, back before he grew another foot and then some, figured out what the hell was wrong with him, and found a way to work around it.
Now, he towered over her, owned a successful business, and had made a name for himself in his chosen profession. And the woman of his dreams was finally in his arms. Was this actually happening or was it some kind of fever dream? One thing was for sure. If he was asleep, he never wanted to wake up again.
"I could have walked myself home," Wren said, then caught her toe on a loose brick in the sidewalk and lurched forward.
Smith gripped her arm and gently tugged her back toward him, keeping her upright. "Uh huh. I'm sure you could have." He stifled a laugh.
"Okay, so maybe not." Wren giggled as they passed Pretty Polish, the village nail salon. They walked in silence as the rain beat against the umbrella. Finally she spoke. "You've been my knight and shining armor tonight."
Hardly, but still his chest swelled with masculine pride. After all this time, doing anything for Wren,
no matter how small, felt like an honor. And if it made her happy, all the better. He shook his head. "I don't know about that."
"No, really. Tonight was supposed to be horrible but you saved it."
"By cooking, or keeping you from face planting?" He chuckled as he guided her around a puddle she hadn't noticed.
"Neither. You helped me forget."
"Forget what?" It sounded so ominous, Smith was almost afraid to ask.
She drew a slow, pained breath. "I was supposed to get married tonight. Obviously...I didn't."
Whoa. That, he hadn't seen coming. "Oh, geez. I'm sorry."
Though honestly, he wasn't. That sorry bastard's loss could be his gain.
"Don't be. You're not a cheating asshole." Stopping short at the corner of Main and Oyster Avenue, Wren wriggled out from Smith's protective arm and faced him. God, she was beautiful. In the glow of the streetlight, her eyes flashed with ferocious intensity. "Unless...are you—a cheater, I mean?" Rain splattered the sidewalk, splashing their shoes and the bottom of their jeans.
Smith wasn't a man whore, but he'd had his fair share of relationships. Most were casual and definitely not serious, but he'd never been unfaithful. He followed a strict one-woman-at-a-time policy, no matter how brief or superficial the connection might be. Which, as it turned out, was pretty often, considering the swarms of single, interested women who visited the island each summer looking for a weekend fling. But as diverting as all those women were, they paled in comparison to the gorgeous creature that stood before him, wounded and vulnerable, and in need of a good, honest, trustworthy man.
A man like him.
Meeting her gaze, he shook his head. "I'm a lot of things, but I'm no cheater." Unable to resist, he reached his right hand to brush a loose strand of hair from her eyes, then tucked it behind her ear.
As if shedding a hundred-pound weight, her shoulders relaxed, and her head tilted ever so slightly against his palm. "Good. Because cheaters suck. And the only thing that sucks more is being the one who was lied to and left behind." Her voice broke, crushing his heart with it.
His free hand curled into a fist. Whoever this loser was, Smith wanted to hunt him down and make him regret every horrible thing he'd done to Wren. But then an even more cruel thought occurred to him. Maybe she didn't want revenge. Maybe, despite all this douchebag had done, she wanted him back?
Sliding his fingers off her cheek, he met her gaze. "Sounds like you're still pretty hung up on this asshole." It wasn't a question, rather an observation. Which stung like hell because it meant that no matter what Smith did, he wouldn't have a chance with Wren. Just like always.
Her brow crinkled. "Pfft. No. I wrote him off six months ago, the moment I caught him." She flicked her wrist, as if shooing a nasty bug.
And just like that, Smith was back in the game. One he intended to win.
Wren threaded her arm through Smith's and pulled him toward a right turn. "It doesn't mean I'm not still angry about what happened. And at myself." The last word came out slurred from too much wine.
"Why the hell should you be mad at yourself?" he asked, enjoying the weight of her hand on his arm.
"The signs were there but I never saw them. I should have realized all those lunch and dinner meetings with Lolita weren't just about client relations."
"Holy shit. That can't be her real name."
Wren laughed. "And yet, it is. See? That's a red flag even a color-blind bull could see but I missed it. Along with a million others." A sigh escaped her lungs.
Smith reached to cover her fingers with his palm. "You shouldn't regret trusting someone you love."
She shrugged. "Too late. Lesson learned. I've got the scar tissue to prove it."
Which could prove more of an obstacle than her carrying a torch for some douchey ex. Too many scars could harden her for life, wrecking his chance of sweeping Wren off her feet. "You don't have to let that stuff build up."
"I couldn't have gotten through the last six months without it. Everyone at our firm knows what happened. And that my ex and Lolita are enjoying what should've been my honeymoon this week—and they’re not even married. It was one too many humiliations to bear."
Smith couldn't argue with that. She'd been through a hell of a situation and did what was necessary to get through it. But maybe he could convince her that with him, she didn't need to guard her heart.
"So you decided to come here instead." Was it too much to hope he'd factored into her calculus for coming to the island?
"It's the only other place that feels like home. We didn't have any renters scheduled, so it was a no brainer." She shook her head. "I can't believe I told you all of this. I never talk to anyone about it but my sisters. It must be the wine."
"I'm glad you did. I like knowing about your life. It's been so long." Without thinking, his hand squeezed hers.
"I'd rather hear about you."
"You've already been to my restaurant. It's my life twenty-four-seven. There's nothing else to know about me." He held her tight as they dashed across the intersection. With just one block left to go there was no way he'd let her slip and fall.
"I don't believe you," Wren said as he guided her onto the slippery sidewalk. "You've been on the cover of a magazine, Mr. Celebrity Chef," she teased, her words sounding adorably slushy.
Oh hell. He was busted. So much for faking humiliation. The truth was he'd been on a lot of magazines, and not all of them had featured his recipes. A couple stories had profiled him personally, chronicling his rise in the culinary world, complete with photo spreads in clothes selected by a professional stylist.
Still he wasn't about to get all Man-Diva about them. "First of all, they're mostly regional tourist magazines. And second, they're marketing pieces for the restaurant. It's not a big deal."
Wren wagged her finger. "That's not what I heard. Raven and Lark both described a centerfold of you on a jet ski."
He was damn proud of that feature. "That was a story on Heron Harbor's recreational opportunities." He didn't add that the article had named Smith among the island's must-see "sights". Harbor's Edge saw an uptick in traffic that season with women seeking more than his pasta puttanesca.
"Uh huh. Which is why your abs were so prominently displayed."
"The pictures of me working out were promo for the local rec center."
"Sure." She giggled.
He'd like nothing more than to invite her to feel his abs herself, but this was not the time. Wren was drunk and vulnerable. His job was to get her home safe and sound.
He cleared his throat and mined the stray bits of intel he'd picked up from Raven whenever she’d visited his restaurant. "So, getting back to you. Have you made partner yet?"
"Not yet. But hopefully soon now that the economy's rebounded and the firm's business is up. I deserve it."
"Spoken like a woman who knows her worth. I like that."
"I'm a bad fiancé-picker but I'm the best damn lawyer they've got."
He loved her feistiness. "I have no doubt."
They crossed over to Beach Drive, the road that stretched along the Atlantic coast. The Donovan house was the second from the corner, a blue, three story building with a white wrap-around porch and three big dormers on the top floor. It was a perfect beach retreat and must have earned Wren and her sisters a pretty penny in rent each summer.
They climbed the porch steps. "How did you know about me wanting to make partner?" she asked.
He laughed. "You're not the only Donovan sister to eat at my restaurant. Raven keeps me up to date on you, too."
"I'm surprised she mentions me."
"Only when I ask. I like hearing about what you're up to."
Wren's head tilted. "Really? After all this time?"
He met her gaze. "Always."
After blooming into a slow smile, she said. "That's nice."
"It's the truth. You stopped coming to the island but I didn't stop caring about you. We were good friends...once." Smith reached for one
of her hands.
She nodded. "We were. Friends." Wren looked like she might say something else, but then looked down at their entwined fingers. "I didn't know what to expect when I went to the restaurant tonight." She lifted her lashes to gaze at him again. "But somehow I knew you'd make everything okay."
His heart thrummed. "I'm glad. I'd do anything to put a smile on your face."
Her lids tightened just slightly as she peered at him as if with new eyes. "You're the same but different. In a good way. Is that weird to say?"
He grinned as he shook his head. "No. So are you."
Wren looked surprised. "How so?"
Drawing closer, his voice softened. "I always knew you were smart and would be a huge success. And you were always the prettiest girl on the island in summer. But now, damn woman, you're more beautiful than I ever imagined."
Her cheeks flushed pink and her gaze turned down to the floorboards. "You're just saying that."
Gently, he cupped her jaw and bored into her dazzling green eyes. "I never say anything I don't mean."
She nodded, her pupils dilating. "Oh-kay."
"The fact that you don't know how gorgeous you are tells me you've never been with a man who truly appreciates you. And that's a damn shame." Smith's fingers slid to the back of her neck and threaded through her hair. "A smart man would understand your value and worship you. Have you ever been worshiped, Wren?"
Wren swallowed hard. "No."
"Would you like to know how it feels?"
"Yes," she whispered.
Without another word his mouth closed on hers. He kissed her softly at first, savoring the exquisite taste and feel of her flesh. His tongue darted across her lower lip, then dipped into her mouth. A tiny whimper escaped her throat and she answered by stroking his tongue with hers.
Turning her head slightly, she opened her mouth to grant him better access. Accepting her invitation, he plunged deeper, nibbling on her bottom lip then sucking it into his mouth.
