Sweetest Risk

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

  Copyright ©2016 by Megan Matthews. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written person from the author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author at megan@authormeganmatthews.com

  Edited by Amanda Brown

  Cover Images from: Thinkstock.com

  Cover design by: Megan Matthews

  Created with Vellum

  Thank you for downloading Sweetest Risk.

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  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

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  More Books By Megan Matthews

  1

  No one knows what a day will hold in Pelican Bay.

  I tap the thick stack of papers on the big wooden desk for the tenth time since punching into work five minutes ago. A rogue piece glides against my thumb and slices through the skin. Why is it the littlest pricks are always the most painful?

  “Ouch.” What a wonderful way to start a day of work. Not.

  Dwight, nephew to the owner of the bed-and-breakfast and manager of the night shift, raises his head from the second stack of papers he’s been finalizing before handing over the keys. Wonderful. The only thing worse than a paper cut so early in the morning is drawing attention to myself when he’s here. What would it take to get one morning without seeing Dwight so early? Any price would be worth it.

  His eyes lock on to my finger as I wave it in the air praying it won’t bleed. “Are you okay, Tara?”

  I force a smile, trying to be polite. “Yeah, it’s just a paper cut.”

  “Do you want me to stick it in my mouth?”

  Eww. “What?” It’s impossible to hide my shock and disgust at his question. This is odd even for Dwight. He’s let his freak flag fly too high more than once.

  He reaches out, trying to grab my finger, but I shove it between my lips so he doesn’t get any ideas. “I read somewhere the saliva helps heal a cut,” he says looking at my mouth with sadness.

  I’m pretty sure humans don’t have healing qualities in our spit, but I nod my head before taking the finger out and wiping it on my leg.

  “All my paperwork is in order. We didn’t have any incidents last night or late check-ins. Everything should be set for you today.” He cautiously hands over the second stack of papers and then pulls it back. “Be careful with this stack. Don’t let it attack you.”

  “Ha-ha-ha,” I deadpan. It’s not that Dwight is a bad guy. It’s that he’s… well, creepy. Weird. Unsettling. Things about him turn me away — normally in revulsion. He wasn’t socialized enough as a child or something. He tries to be funny, but he doesn’t hit the mark. Ever.

  The small alarm glued to the top of the reception desk dings, warning me of the upcoming morning rush. I quickly turn it off on reflex. It will go off again in a few hours to warn us about the lunch and dinner rush. Working here will have me trained like one of the Pavlov’s dogs by next spring.

  The 7 a.m. alarm is my reminder to get my butt in gear and start the morning preparations. December is the off-season for Pelican Bay tourism, the time of year when snow coats the streets, cold winds whip down Main Street, and people stay warm inside their homes.

  That means the rush is more of a slow trickle of people. Those misguided folks who decided it would be pretty to see the coast in the winter and occasionally a long-term resident here for a fancy meal. And sometimes — when I’m lucky — a hot guy with a long-term reservation because of work.

  One of those last types has me peeking toward the dining room every thirty seconds. Each morning for the last two weeks he’s walked down the hallway and headed into the breakfast room between 7:10 and 7:15.

  I take the stack of papers from Dwight, not bothering to look at him or his paperwork before setting them down on top of the others.

  “So, would you like to?” he asks.

  “Hmm?” I try to keep one eye on the dining-room door. Did he ask to stick my finger in his mouth again?

  Dwight leans across the counter getting closer as I back up to maintain my distance. He wears too much cologne for this early hour. “You want to grab something to eat from the bakery this afternoon? You always take a lunch at one.”

  His admission grabs my full attention. There he goes being weird again. “Um, like a date?”

  Dwight smiles, putting more of his weight on the top of the counter. “Just to get to know each other better.”

  That sounds date-ish. I swallow hard, my brain searching for another way out of a proposed date. I’ve already used every excuse in the book in the past. Something tells me men in this day and age won’t believe I’m washing my hair all night. “Wow, that is really nice of you,” my words pause as movement happens from the corner of my eye. I fight not to let myself check the room with Dwight still waiting for my answer.

  “You told me you don’t like to date people you work with, but one day I’ll own the bed-and-breakfast and then your rules won’t matter.”

  “Wow, that is a really nice offer.” How many times have I said really? Damn it. “Thank you, but I’m not sure I’m ready yet. I’m still settling in here.” Even as a kid I was a slow settler. I calculate it’s going to take me years. Decades.

  Dwight leans back in a huff, his normal reaction to one of my rebuffs, although they’re getting louder. “You’ve been in Pelican Bay six months now. You can’t use that excuse for much longer.”

  That may be true but I can use it today and I plan to since I haven’t thought of anything better. “Sorry, Dwight.”

  He shakes his head but takes one wonderful step away from my counter. “One day, Tara, I’m going to make you mine.”

  “Fat chance,” I whisper under my breath when he’s far enough away. I may not want to date Dwight, but I also don’t want the future owner to hate me. He is the nephew of the owner and the only relative with a desire to keep this place going. I rather like my job and I don’t want to lose it yet.

  Distance from my family wasn’t the only reason I moved from the West Coast to Pelican Bay. I also wanted to see a new place, and I’ve always loved the idea of working in an old renovated bed-and-breakfast. The history here is more than you ever find on the west side
of America.

  Of course, in my dreams I own the bed-and-breakfast, but after getting my degree in hospitality management, this is the next best step. Until I can save up enough money to buy one of my own. A haunted one with Victorian era details. One I can work to fix up and restore to its previous glory.

  I arrived in Pelican Bay during the middle of the summer, when the temperatures were beautiful and I could spend my off time walking around the beach, and eating ice cream from the little shop on the shore. The weather conditions have changed drastically in the last six months. The summer breezes which cooled the place off, making the temperature wonderful, are now freezing cold. 6:30 in the morning it’s more often than not a negative temperature. Like below zero. Who in the hell believed temperatures went that low? I had to wear gloves this morning. It should be illegal to be so cold.

  Frostbite aside, Pelican Bay has been gorgeous. I’m not ready to be fired and forced to leave so soon.

  “Did you see him this morning?” The question comes from behind and I whirl around, abandoning my silent stakeout on the restaurant doors. Now that it’s 7:20 I’ve missed my favorite hotel guest walking in to grab his breakfast. Stupid Mondays.

  My slumped shoulders are my answer. “No.” It would be a day that Graham Kinney probably looks scrumptiously good, and I missed him. Ugh.

  Cammie leans against the counter, her eyes dreamy. “He did this new thing with the gel in his hair. It’s GQ worthy.”

  I swear little hearts are coming out of her head like you see on cartoon animals as she stares with dreams in her eyes at the wall.

  I have my own issues with the revelation. All sad. Gel. I missed GQ man wearing gel. Stupid Dwight. Stupid Monday. “If nothing happens, I can catch him when he walks out.” I don’t want to miss a good hair day.

  If I pretend to be busy with paperwork, there’s a chance I’ll be at the desk by the time he finishes eating. It never takes him more than twenty minutes. Anyone can stall that long.

  “Get your camera ready because you will want to memorialize this forever,” Cammie whispers as one of our regulars from town walks in the front doors. I wave to Mrs. Whitney as she comes on right to the dining room.

  I nudge Cammie on the shoulder. We only met six months ago, both of us new to the bed-and-breakfast, but we become quick friends. Pelican Bay is a small friendly town, but it’s better when you have a connection with someone.

  “I can’t take a picture. If I got caught, I’d lose my job.” I mean, if it was a great gel hair day it might be a risk I’d be willing to take.

  “It’s worth it. Trust me, today is total spank bank material.”

  “Shhhh.” I use a hand to try and cover her mouth in case someone is nearby as my eyes search the area with frantic sweeps, but there’s no one in sight.

  With Cammie twisting her body into an unnatural position so she can peek into the dining room, I mentally pretend she’s not blocking my view and shuffle Dwight’s stack of papers from the desk.

  Without warning she pushes against my shoulder, sending me sliding into the desk corner with pain spreading through my hip. “What the hell?”

  “He’s coming!” Cammie whisper yells. Then, leaving me high and dry to ogle Mr. GQ all by myself, she scampers off down the hallway behind the front desk.

  I slid fast, so I didn’t lose my chance, and stepped around the desk rubbing an open palm against my hip, trying to wipe away the pain from bashing into the corner but also smoothing out the long-sleeved navy and white polka dot dress I picked out this morning. Yes, I’m trying to impress him. There’s no other reason anyone would wear a dress in these ridiculous Maine temperatures. Even inside.

  Cut me some slack. Not a lot happens here in the winter. We all need a good distraction from time to time.

  The man I’ve been waiting for walks out of the dining room proving all of Cammie’s words true. His hair is gelled perfectly and flops just the right amount to the left side. I don’t know what he does for a living, but he’s never worn a suit and tie, yet somehow, he makes his tight-fitting jeans cradle his ass. You could probably bounce a quarter off of his tight butt cheeks. The long sleeve thermal shirt with an unbuttoned flannel on top is enough to make any girl soon. It’s like he’s a… Metrosexual lumberjack.

  “Good morning Mr. Kinney,” I say when he is two steps out of the dining room and then curse myself because I’m not playing it cool this morning. I fidget on my feet, trying not to send off stalker signals, but I’m guessing there are flashing warning sirens.

  Thankfully, he stops a foot from the desk before turning toward the front door and smiling in my direction. I should have grabbed my camera. This picture with him and his straight white teeth beaming at me would be worth losing my job. I’ll never question Cammie again.

  “Good morning, Tara,” he says and I swoon because he knows my name. Hot guy knows my name! This isn’t new information — he’s called me by my first name for two weeks now — but I still get a thrill over hearing him use it.

  The two of us stand there staring at one another and I realize he’s waiting for me to say something. But what?

  “Will you be staying another week?” It is Monday morning, after all, and he hasn’t checked out of his open-ended reservation.

  He nods once. “Yes, it seems I’m not quite ready to leave yet,” he says, the words trailing past his lips and each echo in my mind. I’m processing how he gets his hair to fall so perfectly when Graham turns on a heel and walks right out the front door of the bed-and-breakfast.

  I swoon. Again. Because I’m a crazy weirdo.

  “Girl, you’ve got it bad,” Cammie’s voice comes from behind.

  I wind around in her direction. “Where did you come from?”

  She laughs, her brown hair bobbing high in her ponytail. “I watched the whole thing go down in the hallway.”

  “What friend hides out watching me make a fool of myself in front of the hottest guy since Brad Pitt was in Legends of the Fall?”

  Cammie rolls her eyes. “First off, Brad Pitt was not hot in Legends of the Fall and second, you were fine. I wanted to give you and hot lover boy a few minutes alone. And it gave me a better angle to take a picture.”

  Wait, there’s a picture? “Go clean something.” I shoo her away with my hand and then yell as she walks backward from the front desk, “And send me the picture!” She better not be lying.

  Her laughter floats down the hallway as she passes the first three rooms.

  2

  “Are you going to eat that?” Cammie asks as she removes the golden-brown roll from my lunch tray.

  I mourn my favorite food in the world as it passes under my nose and lands on her plate. “No, you can have it.”

  Cammie shakes her head in dismay but wastes no time splitting the roll in two and slathering butter on one side. “How long do you think this no carb thing of yours is going last?”

  “I’m eating carbs.” You can’t give up carbs all the way even if you wanted. I’m pretty sure carbs waft around in the air waiting to be consumed when I breathe.

  “Tara, twelve net carbs a day is not enough carbs for a small mouse.”

  “It’ll be worth it during swimsuit season.” At least I hope it will be because I miss bread. Bagels. Sandwiches. Bananas. Who in the hell knew bananas were loaded with carbs? It’s not fair. I’m sure last night I had a dream where Mr. GQ fed me a piece of whole wheat bread with bananas and peanut butter, and it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever dreamed.

  “At least this diet works out for me because every carb you won’t eat, I will, and it’s spectacular because I love these rolls.”

  I shake my head in her direction because it’s so true. The dinner rolls at the bed-and-breakfast are buttery soft, and fresh out of the oven. They’re included in every single employee lunch and dinner. The fact I’ve been able to withstand eating one for the last two-and-a-half weeks proves I have nerves of steel. If I can do this for another few weeks, I can do anything.


  “Just promise me if you have dreams involving bread you’ll consider other options.”

  “What?” I play down her comment. “Who would have dreams about bread? That’s ridiculous.”

  Cammie raises an eyebrow as my delicious roll pushes past her lips. “People do weird shit when they haven’t had carbs.”

  “I’ll be fine.” My face must be unconvincing from the glance she gives. “Really. I barely miss them?”

  “Uh- huh.” She shoves the other half of my roll into her mouth and closes her eyes while she wordlessly moans over the buttery flavor. Carb whore.

  I wonder how many carbs a stick of butter has? Too many.

  “You know what you should do to help keep your mind off your lack of real food?”

  “Cammie, how many times have I told you celery is real food?” I wave my half-eaten bag of celery in front of my face hoping it will make them more appetizing. It doesn’t.

  Cammie doesn’t buy it for a second. “Yeah, for a rabbit. But listen, that’s not important. What you should do to get yourself over the hunger pains is go check out Mr. Kinney’s room and see what he stashes in his drawers.”

  “No way! I would lose my job.” It’s one thing to talk about carbs the way she does, but a different thing to suggest I riffle through someone’s belongings — especially that someone.

  “My cousin Katy taught me how to pick a lock when we were twelve, but there’s no breaking and entering required. I have a housekeeping key.”

  “No.” Definitely breaking and entering, key or no key.

  “Come on. It’s time for my six-month review. Why don’t we head down the hallway and you can pick a room at random to inspect my work and then we’ll inspect his underwear drawer?”