by Lea Nolan
His mother plucked the book from his hand, then slid it into the bag with the other copies, spices, and gift certificates. "Let's hope Wren's right. We need every cent we can raise to buy new books for our literacy project."
"Could I offer something for the auction? How about a free legal consultation and up to ten hours of legal work?" Wren asked.
Holy shit. Smith knew how much his lawyers charged for ten hours of work. Wren's firm was bigger and more prestigious, making her offer worth that much more. Her generosity warmed his heart. And the fact that she was doing it for the library and the town made him yearn to wrap his arms around her.
His mother's jaw dropped. "Would you really do that? For us?"
"Of course. This library was everything to me when I was young. It's the least I can do to give back." Wren dug her business card from her purse and handed it to Madeline. "Here's all the information you need for the offering. Have the winner call me after the auction."
His mother gave her hug. "Thank you. This means a lot to our community."
Wren smiled. "It's my pleasure."
"I'm going to write this down right now." His mother rose from the chair and grabbed the bag. Rising on her tip toes, she kissed Smith on the cheek, then darted toward her office behind the check-out desk.
Smith's gaze dropped to Wren. "That was really great. Thanks."
Wren flicked her wrist. "It's nothing. Really."
"It's not, but I won't argue with you about it. Maybe you'll let me buy you a cup of coffee to show my appreciation."
"Don't you have to get to the restaurant?" Wren glanced at the clock on the wall.
"The staff can spare me for another twenty minutes. Come on, what do you say?"
She snatched her purse and rose to her feet. "I don't drink coffee. But I like hot chocolate."
They slid into a booth at Cuppa Joe, the town's oldest coffee shop, with their steaming mugs. Wren's was topped with a heaping pyramid of whipped cream.
Smith nodded at the romance novels she'd borrowed from the library that sat on the table. "So besides reading, what else have you got planned for the week?"
"I'm thinking of painting the third bedroom. There's a big water spot on the ceiling that runs down one of the walls. The property manager charged us for fixing a leak, but he never said anything about the stain. I'm surprised none of the renters have complained. It looks awful against the white walls." She stirred her spoon, melting the whipped cream into the hot drink.
"You could hire someone to do that, you know."
She blew on the cocoa. "Sure, but I don't have anything else to do this week besides learn Italian." Tipping the rim to her lips, Wren took a sip.
This woman was a continual surprise. "You're learning Italian?"
"I'm trying to. I brought some recordings that are supposed to have me speaking like a native in a few weeks. It's not going well."
"Is this for work?" Just his luck, now that he'd finally reconnected with her, she'd move to Europe and once again be beyond his reach.
Wren wrapped her hands around the mug. "No. I've always wanted to visit Italy. I'd hoped to go on my honeymoon, but..." She shook her head. "Let's just say my ex didn't, so we booked a trip to Jamaica instead. Which is a good thing because if he was enjoying Venice right now, instead of a sandy beach, I'd be sick to my stomach. I just hope he's gotten a blistery sunburn on his butt."
Smith cocked his head. "He went on the trip anyway?" This guy was a total douche.
"Yup. He decided he needed a vacation with Lolita. The worst part is I'd already paid for it. He swears he'll pay me back but he keeps making excuses about the cost of his new apartment, having to buy a new car, needing to wait for his bonus, blah blah blah." Wren rolled her eyes and took a couple swallows of her drink.
"What a loser."
"Too bad I didn't realize that earlier." Wren chuckled but it was a hollow, weary sound. Her gaze dropped to the spoon beside her cup. Lost in some memory, she thumbed the smooth, stainless steel surface.
Smith clasped her hand. "You deserve better than that."
"I know," Wren said, without looking up. Her voice was as flat as the spoon handle.
"Do you?" Smith set two fingers beneath her chin and gently tipped it up until their eyes met.
God, she was beautiful. And brilliant, caring, and giving. How could any man lucky enough to catch her eye not do everything in his power to make her happy? If she gave him the chance to love her, he'd never take it for granted, not even for a second.
Wren nodded. "I do. But honestly, I'm not sure it even matters. I've been with so many jerks, I've pretty much accepted that I'm better off on my own."
Smith's hand rested on the table. "How can you say that?"
She shrugged. "There are plenty of happy single people in the world. Not everyone gets a happily ever after."
"I want one. Eventually." With her. He stared into her eyes, attempting to convey the thoughts he'd left unsaid. Could she feel how much he wanted her, or how deeply he'd love her if only she'd let him?
A small smile bent Wren's lips. "Then I hope you get it. I just don't think there's one in my future."
"That's because you haven't been with the right man." Smith's fingers reached for hers.
Wren stared at his thumb as it stroked hers. "I used to tell myself that. And then every time I met a great guy, he found a way to lie or cheat and break my heart." She shifted her gaze to his. "I don't think I can bear that pain again. It's too much." Her voice broke.
Fuck whoever hurt her like this.
Smith wasn't a violent man, but right now he wanted to hunt down every asshole who'd ever betrayed her and kick their asses. But as much as that might satisfy his rage, it wouldn't heal her heart. "The right man wouldn't break your heart in the first place."
A sheen of gloss coated her eyes. "That sounds so pretty. I wish it was that easy."
Entwining their fingers, Smith clutched her tight. "It could be. If you let down your guard for someone you knew you could trust."
As she stared at him, his heart pounded. Smith wanted this woman more than anything. And he was sure she was tempted to give into the chemistry between them, too. She just wouldn't let herself...yet. But he could fix that.
Wren sighed. "Maybe. But we've already agreed to stay friends." Leaving her hand in his, her thumb rubbed a lazy circle against his.
Yeah. Wren wanted him all right. He just needed to get her to admit it.
He leaned closer. "We have. But you have to admit there's something more than friendship happening between us. You don't kiss all your male friends, do you?"
Wren's lids stretched wide. "I don't."
"You liked kissing me. Having my mouth on yours. The way I licked your neck and then scraped my teeth against your earlobe."
Wren nodded as her breath quickened. "That was n-nice."
A grin crept across his mouth. He was getting to her. Good. "It was more than nice, and you know it. Those were the hottest two kisses I've ever had. I can't stop thinking about them. Have you forgotten them, Wren? Or do you replay them in your mind, too?"
Shifting slightly on the bench, Wren licked her bottom lip. "I've, uh, thought about them," she whispered.
Smith inched closer and dropped his voice. "Good. You know what else I've thought about? How the rest of you would taste." Reaching with his free hand, he dragged his fingertips over the inside of her forearm, lightly tickling her flesh. "What it'd feel like to touch your naked skin. Or how you'd look under me as I show you how a real man treats a woman he'd never betray."
Wren swallowed hard. "I'm pretty sure that would cross the friendship line."
"It would. Which is why we'd have to amend our agreement."
Her bottom lip slid between her front teeth. "I'm only here for the week. If things go bad, we'd never speak again. Are you willing to chance that?"
Damn straight. Because chance wasn't involved here. His feelings for her were a sure bet.
Smith's cell ra
ng, the jangling chime breaking the spell between them.
For fuck’s sake. Whoever was interrupting him better be dying or already dead.
Ignoring it, he tugged her hand. "Wren, I—"
It rang again.
Wren exhaled hard—a sigh of relief?—as she disentangled her hand from his then nodded toward his jacket pocket. "You'd better get that. It could be the restaurant."
Shit. It could be. They were expecting a meat delivery this afternoon. Knowing how high Smith's standards were, his staff didn't always feel comfortable signing off on a shipment's quality.
Smith yanked out the phone. Brittney's photo was plastered across the screen. She could wait. He silenced the ringer, set the cell down, then extended his hand toward Wren again.
With her eyes on Brittney's photo, Wren pulled away, and reached for her mug instead. "Answer it. She might need you."
Dammit. This was not where he saw this going. But once again, Wren was right. Grudgingly, Smith swiped the button and brought the phone to his ear as Wren gulped some hot chocolate. "Hey Brit, what's up?"
"I hate to bug you, but I can't start my car, and I've got to drop Timmy off at his babysitter and start my shift." Brittney was a bartender at Johnny's Roadhouse, a popular bar on the mainland with questionable clientele and even shadier co-workers. Smith had offered her a job at Harbor's Edge, but she'd refused, claiming to make better tips. As much as he wanted to, he didn't argue with the single mom who was trying to make ends meet for her kid.
Suppressing his frustration, Smith scraped his fingers through his hair. "Did you leave the headlights on overnight again?"
Wren took another few swallows then dabbed the corners of her beautiful lips with a napkin. What he wouldn't give to wipe them clean himself.
"All I know is I turn the key and nothing happens," Britney answered. Which probably meant yes.
"I bet your battery needs a jump. You didn't by any chance sign up for AAA like I suggested?" He shouldn't be such a dick. She probably couldn't afford the membership. But he was in the middle of a breakthrough with Wren. Jumping Brittney's dead battery was the last thing he wanted to do.
"Are you coming or not?" Brittney asked.
Smith's jaw set as he peered at Wren. Gorgeous, sexy Wren who'd admitted her attraction for him and who'd come this close to breaking her romance ban.
Wren smiled. "She needs help. You should go."
He placed his hand over the speaker. "But we're having coffee."
"You're having coffee. I had hot chocolate, which is empty now. Besides, I've got books to read and a room to maybe paint. Go start her car." Wren slid out from her side of the booth and stroked his shoulder. "I'll see you around, friend."
Chapter 5
Wren stared at the ceiling in the third bedroom. The yellowish orange water stain was an oblong shape, thicker in the middle than at the ends. The more she looked at it, the more it kind of looked like a mouth. With lips.
Just like Smith's.
Dammit.
No matter what she did, her thoughts bent back to him and the two amazing kisses they'd shared. The sensation of his velvety mouth on hers, the taste of his tongue, the weight of his hands on her back. Even the most mundane tasks like buttering toast or folding a plush fleece blanket somehow sparked the memory of his stepping close, cupping her face with his hands, and making her knees wobble with a simple yet soul-rattling kiss.
And when those physical remembrances quieted, their conversation at Cuppa Joe looped in her mind instead. It was impossible to forget the devilish twinkle in his bright blue eyes, or the way his words and touch held her in thrall. He'd nearly broken her resolve to remain in the friend zone, but Brittney's call broke Smith's spell and restored Wren's ability to think.
The question wasn't whether Wren wanted him—that was an obvious hell yes. He was gorgeous, talented, and accomplished. Only a fool would fail to see how much he had to offer. But giving in to her lust and attraction was a bad idea.
There was too much at risk, especially when she couldn't trust her own judgement. And even if things went perfectly between them over the next several days, she was leaving at the end of the week, returning to her life in Baltimore, two-and-a-half hours from the island.
Which is why Wren resolved to spend today in the house, avoiding all potential contact with Smith. And, unfortunately, the Duke and the Highlander. Reading past her bedtime last night, her traitorous imagination kept substituting her and Smith into each ravenous lovemaking scene. The fantasy was great, but it was fiction. What worked on the page wasn't guaranteed to work in real life, and Wren had learned better than to try.
The doorbell chimed, yanking her from her thoughts. She pulled a sweater over her pajamas, then skipped down the steps, and opened the front door.
Smith stood on the porch, a gallon of paint and two plastic bags in one hand, and a long-handled paint roller in the other. He grinned. "Morning, sunshine."
Oh sweet temptation. He even looked good at nine o'clock in the morning. And by good she meant sizzling hot.
Wren tugged the sides of her sweater over her pajamas to hide the fact she wasn't wearing a bra, then brushed her fingers through her messy hair. "What's going on?"
He lifted his right hand, gesturing with the paint can. "I'm delivering painting supplies."
That was obvious. What wasn't was why. "I didn't order any."
"But you were going to. And then I'd offer to help, and you'd say no, then eventually let me anyway. So I figured I'd just show up and save us both some time."
She blinked at this man who bore no resemblance to the shy, timid guy she'd grown up with. This Smith was assertive and confident, cocky, even. And so damn good looking it almost hurt. But a devilish grin wasn't a free pass.
Shifting her stance, she popped her hip to the side. "Awfully sure of yourself, huh?"
"Maybe. Was I wrong?"
Probably not, but she wouldn't admit that. "Don't you have a restaurant to run?"
"It's the off-season. We don't open until dinner so I've got plenty of time. Unless you'd rather do it yourself. In that case, I'll leave these right here." He bent to set the can and other supplies on the porch.
"Wait." There was a reason Wren was a lawyer and not a house painter. Typing was pretty much the only thing she did well with her hands. Even if Smith sucked at painting, he was already a thousand times better than her. Refusing his help would be dumb.
A smirk inched its way across his lips. "Great. Let's get to work." He stepped toward the door.
Thrusting out her hand, she planted it on his chest, taking note of the firm muscle beneath his shirt. "If you're doing this to get into my pants, it's not going to work."
Smith's expression shifted to surprise mixed with a tinge of insult. "This is just a friendly gesture. From one friend to another. No strings attached."
Her arms crossed over her chest. "Really?"
"Scout's honor."
She arched a brow. "I don't remember you being a Boy Scout."
He shrugged. "Cub Scout. Same difference."
"Not exactly." Still, she let him in.
By the time Wren brushed her teeth, ran a brush through her hair, and dressed, Smith had already moved all the furniture to the center of the room and laid down tarps to protect the carpet. He'd also removed his jacket, revealing a holey black T-shirt that stretched around his biceps, and ripped jeans that clung to all the right places. Warmth stirred in her stomach as his words from the night before echoed in her mind. He'd wanted to taste her, touch her, lay his body over hers.
It would be so easy to take him by the hand and lead him to her bedroom next door where they could do all that and more.
But she shouldn't.
Because....?
Staring at his rock hard body as he knelt to pry off the can's lid, she couldn't remember why she'd resisted him, but there had to be a good reason. A logical reason. A fool-proof, iron-clad reason to steer clear of this smoldering hunk of man whose kisses
made her quake.
Since none came to mind, Wren yanked her gaze from Smith's perfectly firm backside and tried to focus on the task at hand.
"You thought of everything," she said, as he pulled a plastic liner pan from a bag and stirred the paint with a narrow pine stick. The snowy white mixture was nearly the same shade as the color on the walls. "How'd you know what color to get?"
"Educated guess. You mentioned it was white last night. Knowing you and your sisters, you'd never change the paint without redecorating the rest of the room." Tipping the can, he filled the liner with paint.
Wow. So that's what it felt like to be heard. Pierce never listened to a thing she said, even when it was about her cases at the firm. Something as mundane as paint color would never have landed on his radar.
And, Pierce had never known her sisters well enough to guess at their interior design rules. But Smith had, and he was right.
Wren chuckled. "If we changed the paint without Lark's approval, she'd kill us. She insists that every room tells a story." It was typical Lark. She never visited the island, and hadn’t seen the house in years, but she still wanted input on its aesthetic. Wren's polar-opposite baby sister was all emotion and instinct while Wren was analysis and logic. Their father used to tease that Lark didn't have a care in the world while Wren thought too much. Funny how little things had changed.
Smith looked around the room accented with fiery red and orange furnishings, marble pedestal side tables and lots of seashells. "What's this room's story?"
"Pompeii beach resort, during the volcanic eruption."
Smith chuckled. "Your sister is funny."
"Hilarious. She wanted to paint the walls lava red and add a few plaster body sculptures but we vetoed that."
"Good call." He handed Wren a brush with an angled edge. "You cut in around the windows, doors, and corners and I'll roll. We'll have this room done in no time."
They got to work, Wren on the step stool from the kitchen while Smith started on the ceiling. On the small ladder, she was still shorter than him, but now there was no need to tilt her head to meet his eyes. They were crystal blue, like a Caribbean lagoon. Which coincidentally was the theme of her bedroom next door. Where she had a big comfy bed just right for two.
