Runaway Tide

by Julie Carobini

  Runaway Tide

  A Sea Glass Inn Novel

  Julie Carobini

  Runaway Tide (Sea Glass Inn, book 2)

  Copyright © 2018 Julie Carobini

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Dolphin Gate Books

  Cover photos from Shutterstock.com and Depositphotos.com

  Cover design by Roseanna White Designs

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

  JULIE CAROBINI writes inspirational beach romances and cozy mysteries … with a twist. RT Book Reviews says, “Carobini has a talent for creating characters that come alive.” Julie lives in California with her family and loves all things coastal (except sharks). Pick up a free ebook here: www.juliecarobini.com/free-book/

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  Welcome to the magical Sea Glass Inn novels, where secrets are revealed and hearts are mended. Read all four in the series!:

  * * *

  Walking on Sea Glass (book 1)

  Runaway Tide (book 2)

  Windswept (book 3)

  Beneath a Billion Stars (book 4)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Julie Carobini

  “We can nowhere evade the presence of God … He walks everywhere incognito.”

  C.S. Lewis

  Chapter 1

  Regret slid through Meg like the cold wash of the morning tide. Still, she ran. Wet sand flying. Salt-saturated air on her skin. No matter that she wore her favorite suit, the one with the Gucci calfskin belt that made her long to stroll a piazza in Milan. Earlier this morning after she and Jackson Riley, her new boss, clashed over an agreement he’d made behind her back with one of her clients, she kicked off her ALDOs and took off for the beach. Anything to get away from … him.

  Maybe she should have quit the moment her ex became her boss. Surely she would have been able to find another sales position, maybe even set down roots in some other beautiful place. She had both the education and real-world experience to find such a position. Jackson’s father, William, had seen to that—something for which she would be eternally grateful.

  Jackson, a.k.a. “the enemy,” ran behind her now, gaining on her. She pictured the contours of the enemy’s face, the cleft of his chin … those rich browns that blended to form the waves in his hair—and hated herself for it. What might have been between them … could never be. He had made that clear years before. Meg accelerated, kicking up wet sand behind her, frustration and old hurts building. What a spectacle they must have made running down the beach!

  Jackson closed the gap between them. Though no match for his strength, she believed she could outrun him. He had surprised her with his speed, but she doubled her efforts, pumping her arms like a triathlete racing toward the next leg of her event.

  Her lungs constricted. Liddy, her best friend, chose running as a sport, something she did to stay in shape, maybe even de-stress after a long day, but Meg? Not so much. Pain jarred her right knee, which threatened to collapse, but pride kept moving her forward, the heels of her feet digging into wet sand, the bounce of labored breaths in her chest. Oh! She would give Liddy so much grief about this later.

  “Meg—slow down.” The words flew from Jackson’s mouth like darts.

  She did not want to talk to him. She wouldn’t! Not after what he had done …

  Jackson chased after her, skirting the ocean’s edge, the enemy who would not give up. Neither would she.

  What was wrong with her? Meg prided herself on being calm. She was the doer, the poker face when times called for it. An inkling in her brain said she should slow down long enough to hear him out—it was the right thing to do, the mature choice. The last place she ever thought she would find herself was on the beach butting heads with her boss. If William were alive, that would still be the case. William had always been like a patient father to her, teaching her how to navigate the hotel business, and sometimes life in general.

  Though Jackson had been slow to surface after his father’s death, that all changed recently when his sister Pepper decided to bring her accounting skills to the company. Since then Jackson appeared to have something to prove—that he was no longer the restless wanderer, the man who seemed to have no regard for the family business. He looked the part, too. Now whenever he strolled through the inn’s entry doors, a ripple skittered through the staff. The women swooned. The fabric of European-cut suits hugged his body, showing off his efforts at the gym. His once-lean frame had morphed into cut edges embraced by tanned skin.

  Was it her imagination or did she really feel the heat of Jackson’s breath on her neck as she ran from him? A chill traversed down her arm. She could almost sense his hot grip on her forearm, the strength of his tug, pulling her closer to his body. She was not his possession. Not now, not ever again.

  She gulped muggy air, pulling it deeper into her lungs.

  “Meg!”

  She slowed, turned, and glared at him, a low buzz circling her head. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

  “I can’t.”

  His eyes were hooded, as if she had caused him some kind of pain, but she knew it was all an act. “You won’t.”

  She kept her eyes trained on him. His shoulders rose and fell, his breathing matching their rhythm. His cheeks burned red and he moistened his lips. He did not, however, look away from her. “Are you willing to talk now?”

  Meg crossed her arms in front of her ribcage, coaxing her body not to show any sign of stress, certainly nothing to match Jackson’s level of fatigue. As far as she was concerned, the mile-long run they had both meted out—in business wear, no less—took nothing more from her than a turn down the first-floor interior hall of Sea Glass Inn might have.

  Jackson exhaled. “Adele is the mother of a college buddy. Just a chance meeting and I jumped on it. For the good of the hotel, of course.”

  Inhale. Exhale. Look at him, she thought, standing there trying to sound rational, as if he had not just swooped in and caught the big fish that she had been baiting for months. If Jackson had not wrangled …

  “You said yourself she had been waffling about whether to bring her company to us. The opportunity to end that indecision presented itself to me without any warning.”

  She considered how he looked at her, his stare unwavering, as if imploring her to hear him out, to realize that she was being unreasonable. Maybe even selfish.

  He took a step toward her, the naughty puppy that had run away. Inches from her now, the hardness of his chest pressed against his dress shirt, perspiration seeping through. “Can’t we both admit that I did you a favor?”
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  Meg gasped. “A favor? Who asked you to?”

  He bit down on his bottom lip, as if to shut himself up. Surely he knew that his reasoning was about to implode—and that she would do nothing to stop it. “You … you gave away too much, Jackson. And right when I was about to close a great deal all around. How was that doing me—or the hotel—any favors?”

  His eyes flashed as if she had dared to do the unthinkable: challenge Jackson Riley, hotel owner … her boss.

  Her heart squeezed in her chest. “I think you figured out that you had a connection to my client and you made a meeting happen so you could be the hero. Did you have a copy of a contract in your back pocket too? And a pen for her to sign it right then and there?”

  “You’re being ridiculous now.”

  Maybe, but she didn’t care. The realization that life at the inn had forever changed brought a lump to her throat. “Your father would never have said something like that to me.”

  “My father … my father did a lot of things that I question.”

  “Like promote me to sales director?”

  He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. William was gone and Jackson called the shots now. Who was she to question him? She had made a promise to William that she would stay on at Sea Glass Inn and help make it, and the other inns in the chain, successful. Did anyone other than her care about that now? She dropped her arms to her sides, pursed her lips, and turned to run again. But he took hold of her upper arm and drew her back toward him. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Forget it. It’s obvious we aren’t meant to have this conversation.”

  “And what conversation is that?”

  She looked dead into his eyes “The one about why you have been trying to get rid of me ever since your father died and you became head of the hotel chain.”

  “Nothing about that sentence is true.”

  “No?”

  He stepped closer, both hands on her upper arms now. His touch both warmed her and caused goosebumps to alight on her skin. A talent, for sure. A sea breeze tousled his hair, mesmerizing her. Looking away would break the spell … but did she really want to be the one to break it?

  “I do not have it out for you, Meg,” he said quietly, drawing her attention back to his mouth. “My father valued your work ethic and so do I.”

  Sweet talker.

  He frowned, his eyes penetrating. “Did I say something wrong … again?”

  This time, she looked away. If this were any other employer … any other situation … she could make sense of it. But there was nothing normal about this situation. Rational people did not get into sparring matches with their bosses on the beach. Not without litigation of some sort.

  Jackson stepped closer, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it over the sound of coursing waves. “When we get back to the hotel, let’s pull out the contract and go over it together.”

  Was he really extending a peace offering? After these many months of switching between the cold shoulder or the perfunctory comment? He gave her a fraction of a smile, reminding her, albeit briefly, of when they had spent time alone together. Before he left the state …

  “Meg?”

  She couldn’t take her eyes from his, except to let her gaze drop to his mouth. Why did he leave her when he did? Didn’t he realize that she had done what she thought best. He cut off her thoughts with the brush of his lips, followed by a kiss that tasted wild and unprovoked. One hand tangled with her hair as the other found the small of her back. Her knees weakened as she pressed herself into him.

  Slowly, he pulled his mouth away, eliciting a gasp from her. He smiled more widely this time, his voice thick. “My father was right about you,” he whispered. “You are stubborn … but you always come around.”

  Her stomach tumbled sharply. Hot tears pushed toward the corners of her eyes. The kiss … this show of affection had nothing to do with her, with their past, and everything to do with him. She looked up, ignoring the wide-eyed look of surprise on his face. That was all an act, too. “Never again, Jackson.”

  She stumbled backward then recovered, vaguely aware of that same low buzz overhead. She began to run again, harder this time, her feet somehow aware of the importance of getting far away from Jackson as fast as possible.

  “Meg—hold up!”

  Tears fell from her eyes in angry bursts. She had allowed herself to weaken, but it would not happen again. She vowed to avoid any such ache in her chest ever again.

  “Duck!”

  Meg jerked a look back, as if by reflex. Despite the shadow that passed over her, she did not slow—until her foot collided with something buried in the sand. Without warning, she fell to the sand, the sickening snap of bone the only sound that lingered.

  * * *

  So much for thinking Meg would be pleased with his help. Jackson sat back, leaning with force against the leather loveseat in his condo, chin up toward the ceiling, picturing Meg as she confronted him on the beach. Those butterfly lashes reawakened something in him that, up until now, he had chosen to forget.

  Jackson picked up his drink from the glass coffee table and took a swig, remembering the way his day had started. He had casually mentioned to Meg that he’d signed a client she had sent a proposal to, but with one look, she had set him ablaze. Her scrutiny had rocked him, so much that he had to remind himself that he was the head of Riley Holdings—not Meg.

  He should not have been surprised by her reaction. Though they were about the same age, Meg had been a part of the family hotel chain for … well, longer than he had—though Jackson’s absence had not been his idea. His father had sent him away and that was that.

  Over the years, Meg had become known around the hotel for her quick wit and business acumen, her ability to catch a plane on a phone call’s notice, all wrapped up in a quiet and strikingly professional woman. Well, except for the tirade she had directed his way this afternoon.

  Meg had wandered into his father’s office one foggy afternoon in late winter. Not long after that day, his father took Meg on as his assistant, well before she had any business answering phones for the likes of William Riley, president of Riley Holdings. His father had taken a liking to her unlike anyone else he had ever known. “The best way to find out if you trust someone,” his father had once said, quoting Hemingway, “is to trust them.”

  Trust. Now there’s a loaded word. Had his father ever trusted him? Would he even be in this position now if his father had not died so suddenly?

  He shut his eyes, reliving the years that he barely remembered. When his father hired Meg, Jackson had been too busy attending classes and chasing late-night ragers to care much about the petite brunette who had turned William Riley’s office into a virtual command center for his burgeoning company.

  But even through all the repeated studying and partying, Jackson noticed the new life Meg had given a simple admin position. His father had apparently been impressed because he promoted Meg first to sales assistant, then sales manager, and finally, to sales director for the entire chain of boutique hotels—small and fledgling as it may have been. Of course, it had grown substantially since then.

  What happened between Jackson and Meg during the years in between was … complicated. And until today, over. Or so he thought. Jittery, he set down his glass and stood, looking into the black night through his living room window. Though he searched for stars, nothing remarkable stood out to him.

  Admittedly, she had made him angry with her accusations—and with her taunts du jour about his father. He rubbed the back of his neck, his muscles taut and unforgiving. How could he stay angry with her when she had no idea of the shortfall the company was facing?

  He had not set out to pull the rug out from under her by signing Adele’s group to the hotel. It had been Pepper’s idea, really. A good one from her, for once. “Didn’t you say you once knew the son of the owner of CartCo?” she had said.

  Though he had mentioned that fact in a moment of bravado, it was partially tr
ue. He had once lived in the same residence hall as the woman’s son, Todd. So when he had found the opportunity to bump into Todd at a college game, he asked if his mother still headed up CartCo. And when he’d said yes? Well. The rest was history.

  When Meg found out that CartCo had signed with him and not with her, he might as well have told her that he was burning down the hotel and building a sports bar in its place. Her reaction stunned him at first. Meg had always kept her emotions in check around the staff. His father appreciated this about her—the ability to stay calm amidst the dizzying speed of hotel work, including the often-intense volley of negotiations. It had taken time—and distance—for Jackson to cultivate that ability for himself, something he surely would have perfected if his father had not died so suddenly.

  After telling him what she thought of him, Meg marched off to the beach, an unreasonable jut to her chin. He should have left her there to cool off, but something about her actions dared him to follow her. By the time he reached the sand, she was already far ahead of him. He had a second chance to stop himself—and should have—but she had already burned so far under his skin that he blistered. First, she laid into him about the contract, then she taunted him about his father—an off-limits subject if he had ever heard one.

  Jackson tried to shake off the memory. He sat down, took up his glass again, and gulped down the rest of his drink. But he could not stop thinking about Meg and the way she had taken him on. Her warm skin had flushed, fire intensifying those almond-shaped eyes until a yearning tugged at him. He should have been incensed by her harsh tone, but his body had been taken over by aliens. Yeah, that was it. Aliens had shot him up with some sort of magic and paralyzed all threads of common sense.