Beautiful Encounter

by Lindsey Hart

  BEAUTIFUL ENCOUNTER

  By

  Lindsey Hart

  CONTENTS

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  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

  EPILOGUE

  SCARS OF LOVE

  BURNING TOUCH

  HIJACKED BY HER GREEK BOSS

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  A modern-day retelling of The Little Mermaid with a guaranteed HEA.

  Owen

  5 years ago, he promised his all to the woman who saved him from drowning and who he thought he loved.

  But he had been left with nothing but a broken heart.

  On a whim to finally bring closure, he travels back to the very place where it all started. The place where a mermaid-like figure saved him.

  Maren

  He was back.

  She had been there on that day when he’d nearly drowned. She'd watched as he gave his heart away to her best friend.

  This is a full length stand-alone steamy romance novel. No cheating. No cliff-hanger. And HEA all the way!!

  COPYRIGHT

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, or transmitted by email without permission in writing from the publisher. While all attempts and efforts have been made to verify the information held within this publication, neither the author nor the publisher assumes any responsibility for errors, omissions, or opposing interpretations of the content herein. The book is for entertainment purposes only. The views expressed are those of the author alone and should not be taken as expert instruction or commands.

  Copyright © Passion House Publishing Ltd 2018

  All rights reserved.

  You can contact the team at team@passionhousepublishing.com.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lindsey Hart is a married mom of a two-year old and lives in Ohio with her husband and two furry ball Persian cats who take themselves as the owners of the house.

  She specializes in sweet to extra hot and dirty romance and strongly believes in happily ever after. If you are looking for a page turner, then you are in for a wild and naughty ride with feisty heroines and alpha male heroes.

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  CHAPTER 1

  Owen

  Down. He was falling down. Into the blue-black darkness. Into the depths of the grave. Its watery fingers reached out, gripping him, tugging at his hair, his clothes, filling up his lungs with salty fire. The end was so painful.

  He was dying. Sinking, the fight gone out of his burning muscles. He sunk, oddly peaceful, suspended, in slow motion.

  As the flames of a watery destruction burst over him, igniting his skin, his lungs, his panic, his shame, his heart, there was only one last thought. The fact that there had never been anyone and now it was too late.

  Owen Carter ripped the soaked cotton sheets away in panic. He flung them to the floor as he sat upright, gasping, choking. He filled his burning lungs with air. Like so many nights before, when the nightmare gripped him and held him captive, he realized he wasn’t drowning. The aftermath of shock and terror faded. No, he’d been saved. He had the chance to love. He’d given his heart, his trust, his life, his devotion to the woman who had pulled him from the ocean.

  And she’d betrayed him. Broken him.

  She was gone and he was alone. Alone in the house they’d shared. Just a few last nights before it belonged to someone else. It was already sold, a chunk of his fortune gone. The assets divided, the papers signed, the short, brutal battle that was divorce, at an end.

  His heart though, a heart that he’d blindly given and for five years entrusted to her… it had never meant anything at all. The house, his cars, his money, what he’d given away meant nothing. The investments he still had, his business, his fortune, meant nothing. He couldn’t replace Chelsea. He couldn’t steal back the years, the time, his heart or his body.

  He thought of Monterey. The peaceful coastal California town had captured his soul, provided him refuge when he was lost. It was there that he’d found Chelsea, that she’d saved him from drowning the morning he’d foolishly left the bed and breakfast and gone for a swim. He’d vastly underestimated the undertow. He wasn’t a strong swimmer at the best of times.

  He remembered drowning. He remembered dying, or at least, he remembered the blackness that overtook him, the horror that stole reason and peace and sanity. It was all dark and then, light. Light and the face, the dark halo of her raven black hair hanging over him, the worry in her eyes, the relief that flooded them when he retched up the water that had nearly stolen his life.

  Thinking of returning there, to that looming red and white house on the coast with the peeling siding and the cedar shingles, should have struck terror or even loathing in the very marrow of his bones. Oddly enough, it did the opposite.

  Owen heaved a breath into the darkness. He no longer slept in the bedroom he shared with Chelsea. No, he’d long ago left there, over a year ago, the night he’d found out that she’d fallen in love with another man, that she’d loved him for years, that she’d played them both, in her own way.

  He cast aside the sodden comforter and sweat-soaked sheets. He padded across the hardwood floor, cold from the air conditioning, to the window. It wasn’t a small window, but it was dwarfed by the size of a room that had been useless. A guest bedroom that was never once used until he moved into it. The house he’d built with his fortune. A monstrosity of a thing, four thousand square feet in the affluent neighborhood of Peace Hills in Seattle. It had been everything Chelsea dreamed and more.

  Naturally, he was relieved when it sold. He didn’t want to spend any more time in that house than he had to. He’d been happy there, at one time. He believed, still, that they both had been.

  Owen didn’t crack the blinds or peek through. He stood, staring at the white slats, seeing nothing. His mind wondered, back to that beautiful coast, to the sound of crashing waves and the scent of salt on the breeze. He remembered, how he licked his lips and tasted it. To him, Monterey had been freedom. He’d found himself there when he was lost.

  Going back would be no stranger than anything else. It would hurt him no more than Chelsea’s falling out of love had. Though it was on that beach, in those waters, that she’d saved him, that his love for her had been born, it didn’t pain him to think of returning. If anything, it would be a relief. Perhaps, even, offer the elusive closure he’d sought for so long, never hoping to actually find.

  Answers. That was what he wanted. Ans
wers to all the questions that had no damn answer. Meaning for the shit in life that was ultimately meaningless.

  He had work, but he always did. He lived and breathed his company. Anyone who said owning a business was fun never had been a business owner. He almost wished for the more mundane routine of the nine to five life. A least then, there was a beginning and an end to the day, not a constant stream of worry or thought that went on for every hour, every moment, every second of every single day.

  What he needed was a week. He didn’t take vacations. Chelsea had always complained most about that. That he didn’t make time for her. Maybe if he had she wouldn’t have had to find someone who did.

  Owen gave his head a hard shake. His hand fluttered upwards, towards the blinds, as though he might actually crack a slat and peek out at a neighborhood he already knew would be bathed in the silent, golden glow of overhead streetlights.

  He didn’t. His hand fell back to his side.

  He’d played the game of blame, asked himself a thousand answerless questions, gone over and over the years. He’d spent nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wishing, regretting. It didn’t change a thing.

  There were no answers. There was no stealing back the past. There was no changing where he was, no putting back together a heart that had been shattered.

  He might not be able to truly take time off, but for once, he didn’t care about the consequences. His company faded to the back of his mind, inconsequential, meaningless. Closure. Yes, that was what he needed. He needed to shut the door on the past, on Chelsea, on their love that hadn’t made it and move on.

  When he left the room, his black cotton t-shirt and tight-fitting boxers still damp from his night terror, his steps were sure, firm, without hesitation. It was without regret, that just past three in the morning, a glass of half drank tap water besides him at the kitchen table, the glow of his laptop straining his tired eyes, he made the reservation that would take him back to a place and a time, where everything was still possible.

  CHAPTER 2

  Maren

  “I had the strangest reservation, booked in the middle of the night. You know how I always check first thing in the morning.”

  Hettie McTavish leaned forward in her red vinyl chair, folding her wrinkled hands with the gnarled fingers on the table just in front of her teacup. The chrome chair legs and chrome band around the table were freshly polished, the tabletop immaculate. The whole thing looked like it had the day it rolled out of whatever fifties showroom had sold it.

  “Well don’t keep me waiting, child. My heart can’t take suspense like that any longer.”

  Subtlety was never Maren Hartwick’s strong suit. She snorted. “You’re as fit as you were in your twenties. You could outrun me every morning, that’s for sure.”

  “Because you don’t even try.”

  “Because I hate it.”

  “Practice makes perfect.”

  “Anyway, back to what I said about the reservation. It was for Owen Carter.” She gave it a moment for her news to sink in.

  “Owen Carter? What could he possibly want here in Monterey? Everyone here knows that Chelsea is long gone. Never did come back once she had him wrapped around her finger. That girl was trouble, always was.”

  “There’s a difference between trouble and troubled,” Maren softly corrected.

  “You’re a saint, Maren. That’s your problem.”

  “Hardly. You’re just too nice.”

  “My Harold would say different, god rest him.”

  “Nonsense.” Maren waved her hand in the air, dispelling steam from the piping hot cup of tea in front of her. “You were my grandma’s best friend and she was the best woman I knew. She wouldn’t have picked you if you weren’t special.” Cue the tears. Both women choked up, reached up and dabbed at the corners of their eyes. Hettie offered a shaky, watery smile that Maren returned.

  “I miss her. Every single day. You’re right. Everyone who ever met her would say she had the kindest soul. She’d let people stay the night at the bed and breakfast, even if they couldn’t pay, just because they needed a place to go.”

  “She raised me, no questions asked. Some people might have been bitter or daunted when a child gets dumped on their doorstep, but she never was. At least, she never let me think so. That was the thing, she was always fearless, always happy, always the brightest light in the room.” Maren had to stop before the tears started again.

  Hettie turned misty eyes her way. “She always knew Tiffany would give her trouble. She was always so worried about her. We talked about it all the time. When she took off after having you, it wasn’t a surprise. Monterey never was big enough to hold her.”

  “I know grandma missed her.”

  “Of course. She was her only daughter. But she loved you, honey. More than the entire world. When you said you wanted to stay and take over the bed and breakfast, you put her heart at ease. She knew it was in good hands when she left it to you and now look at it! No one would even recognize the old Raven’s Gem.”

  Maren’s throat closed up. Her heart beat double time in her chest. “That’s actually what I came to talk about this morning. You know I borrowed money from the bank.” Her hands started to shake so she hid them under the tabletop.

  “Of course. You couldn’t have restored the entire thing without a loan.”

  “Yes- well- er- business hasn’t been so good. The loan’s interest is really high…”

  “No, Maren…” Hettie’s use of her first name set off alarm bells. She never called her that. It was dear or honey or sweetie or child. Never Maren.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve done all I can. Advertising. Working with different agencies. Half price sites and other promotions. I’ve gone everywhere, trying to figure out how to extend the loan or borrow more money to pay it down, at a lower interest rate. I’ve done everything I can…”

  “So, you’re going to put her up for sale. The Raven’s Gem has been in your family for four generations. Your grandma’s father built it from the ground up.”

  Maren gritted her teeth so hard it actually sounded like she was chewing on rocks. “I know, Hettie, but there isn’t anything else I can do about it. I’ve tried. I’ve tried for two years. I’ve hung on, but you can’t squeeze blood from a stone, no matter how hard you try. I either need a partner willing to invest a significant amount of money, or I need to sell.”

  The warm, cheery, yellow kitchen fell silent. The lace curtains at the windows fluttered in the breeze. In Monterey, there was always a breeze and that term was kind. The tang of salt was heavy in the air, as it usually was in the early morning and late afternoon. Maren knew if she got up and looked out the window, she’d overlook the gentle waters of Monterey Bay and beyond that, the Pacific Ocean. It was the same view from her own kitchen window.

  “Please, say something,” Maren begged. “I know how disappointed you are.”

  Hettie reached forward and gripped the handle of her teacup. The china was dainty, white with little pink roses printed around the edges and another larger one inside the cup. The saucer below was mismatched. It had purple violas or pansies. Maren couldn’t actually be sure what the artist was trying to depict. They were scratched and faded, chipped, showing the wear and effects of time. She’d been drinking tea out of those saucers in Hettie’s kitchen since she was a little girl and her grandmother, Jane, brought her along on her afternoon visits. Hettie was practically a second grandmother. She knew the old woman was lonely, her children having long moved away. They only came for Christmas, sometimes not even then. Hettie had been a widow for nearly ten years.

  “Sometimes I can’t believe it’s been seven years now that Jane’s been gone.” Hettie breathed out a forlorn sigh that wreaked havoc on Maren’s tender heart.

  “I know.”

  The silence resumed, louder than a roar. Maren filled her lungs with the crisp, fresh scent of the air drifting through the open window. She watched the lace curtains flutter up and down, up
and down, before they stilled mysteriously for a moment, then again, moved once more.

  “I… I have an idea.” Hettie slammed down her teacup so hard into the saucer that even the table rattled. Maren nearly jumped out of her seat.

  “Oh no, why do I get the feeling that I might not want to hear it?”

  “I never could hide anything from you. You know me far too well.”

  Maren didn’t disagree. She braced herself, her tea forgotten, her hands clasped tightly on her lap. “Okay, well, what is it?”

  “Well, you said you need a partner. Then you might not have to sell…” Hettie’s rheumy blue eyes sparkled with life. The woman might be in her late seventies, but she jogged miles every single morning, rain or shine. When she wasn’t out running, she was gardening or puttering around the yard that adjoined the Raven’s Gem. It was Hettie’s magic touch that had kept the gardens around the bed and breakfast looking as good as they were. She was trim and petite and didn’t let her aches and pains slow her down. Her gnarled hands and the wrinkles lining her eyes and mouth were really the only indicators of her true age.

  “Yes, I did say that, but there isn’t anyone around here interested in investing. Believe me, I’ve asked.”

  “But you also said you had a strange reservation. Owen Carter.”

  “No, Hettie!”

  “Yes, just hear me out.” Hettie straightened even further. She reached up and brushed her long, white hair off her shoulders, twirling it behind her neck in a bun that she let fall out a second later. “The guy’s loaded. He has investments out the ass. There’s not a person in this town who hasn’t looked him up and followed him since that tramp took off with him.”

  “Chelsea became his wife. And she didn’t just take off. They dated on and off for six months before she moved to Seattle.”