Chapter Ten
Her mouth was warm and soft and tasted like cinnamon candy.
For all of maybe three seconds, he couldn’t seem to move past the shock of it, completely frozen by the unexpectedness of the kiss and by the instant heat that crashed against him like those waves against the headland.
He forgot all about his amusement at the idea of his aunt Abigail using a big, gangly dog to work her schemes from the afterlife. He forgot the rain and the wind and the vow he had made to himself not to kiss her again.
He forgot everything but the sheer wonder of Anna in his arms again, of those soft curves beside him, of her scent, sweet and feminine, that had been slowly driving him insane all evening long as she sat beside him, tugging at him until his senses were filled with nothing but her.
Her arms twisted around his neck and he deepened the kiss, breathing deeply of that enticing, womanly scent and pulling her closer until she was nearly on his lap.
For the first time since he had sat down on the porch swing next to her, he was grateful for the blanket around them. Now it was no longer a curse, lending an intimacy he didn’t want. Instead, the blanket had become a warm, close shelter from the cold air outside, drawing them closer.
Nothing else existed here but the two of them and the wild need glittering between them.
Kissing her again had a sense of inevitability to it, as if all day he had been waiting for only this. Suspended in a state of hungry anticipation to once again feel her hands in his hair, her soft curves pressed against him, the rapid beat of his heart.
Since the first time he kissed her, his body had been aching to have her in his arms again. That’s why he had punished his ankle with a long walk on the shore, why he had spent the morning at the gym he’d found in Seaside working on his physical therapy exercises, why he had done his best to stay away from Brambleberry House all day.
Now that he had rediscovered the wonder of a woman’s touch—this woman’s touch—he couldn’t manage to think about anything else. And even when he wasn’t consciously thinking about it, his subconscious had been busy remembering.
This was better than anything he might have dreamed. She was warm and responsive, her mouth eager against his.
It was an intense and erotic kiss, just the two of them alone in the night in this warm shelter while the storm battered the coast around them, and he wanted it to go on forever.
Still, he had a vague awareness even as their bodies heated that the storm was calming—or at least moving farther inland, leaving them behind. The lightning strikes became more infrequent, the rolling thunder more distant.
He didn’t care. Nothing else mattered but having her in his arms, slaking this raging thirst for her.
She moved a little, her soft curves brushing against his sling, but she quickly drew back.
“Sorry,” she exclaimed.
“You don’t have to be careful. I’m sorry my arm is in the way.”
“It’s not. I’m just afraid of hurting you.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“Are you? Worried about it, I mean?”
“What red-blooded male in his right mind would worry about a stupid thing like a cast on his arm right now?” he murmured against her mouth.
Her low laugh sent chills rippling down his spine.
“Do that again,” he said.
In the darkness, she blinked at him. “Do…what?”
“Laugh like that. I would have to say, Ms. Galvez, that was just about the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re crazy,” she said, though she gave a self-conscious laugh when she said it and he thought he just might be content to sit there all night letting his imagination travel all sorts of wicked roads inspired by the sound.
“I must be. That’s what six months in an army hospital will get you.”
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she whispered. “I wish I could make everything okay.”
To his shock, she planted a barely there kiss on the corner of his mouth then one on the other side. It was a stunningly sweet gesture and he felt something hard and tight that had been inside him for a long time suddenly break loose.
Had anyone ever shown such gentle compassion to him? He sure as hell couldn’t remember it. To his dismay, tears burned behind his eyelids and he wanted to lean into her and just lose himself in her touch.
A fragile tenderness wrapped around them like Aunt Abigail’s morning glory vines. He pulled her more firmly on his lap, solving the quandary of his cast by lifting the whole thing out of the way and resting his arm against her back as she nestled against his chest.
They kissed and touched for a long time, until he was aching with need, until she was shivering.
“Are you cold?”
Her laugh was rough. “Not even close.”
Still, even as she said the words, she let out a long breath and he sensed her withdrawal, though she didn’t physically pull out of his arms.
“This is crazy, Max. What are we doing here? This isn’t…I don’t do this kind of thing. I…we barely know each other.”
He was having a hard time making his addled brain think at all but the still-functioning corner of his mind knew she was absolutely right. He had only been here a few days and in that time, he had been anything but honest with her.
But he didn’t agree when she said she barely knew him. Right now, he felt as if she knew him better than anyone else alive. He had told her things he hadn’t been able to share with the shrinks at Walter Reed.
“I don’t know what this thing is between us but I’m fiercely attracted to you.”
She let out a shaky breath and pulled out of his arms with a breathless little laugh. “Okay. Good to know.”
“But then, you probably figured that out already.”
“I believe I did, Lieutenant. And, uh, right back at you. So what do we do about it?”
He had a number of suggestions, none of which he was willing to share with her.
Before he could answer at all, the porch was suddenly flooded with lights as the electricity flashed back on.
Her eyes looked wide and shocked and she slid away from him on the porch swing as Conan gave a resigned-sounding sigh.
“Is that some kind of message?” Max asked with a rueful laugh. “Maybe the ghost of Brambleberry House is subtly telling us it’s time to go inside.”
“Ha. Doubtful. If I bought in to Sage and Julia’s theory, Abigail’s ghost would more likely be the one who cut the power in the first place,” she muttered.
“You didn’t tell me they had a theory about the ghost. I just figured she maybe wanted to hang around and make sure you treated her house the way she wanted.”
He couldn’t quite imagine Abigail as a malicious poltergeist. Not that she didn’t love a little mischief and mayhem, but she wouldn’t have caused it at any inconvenience or expense to someone else.
Though he might have expected things to be awkward with the heat and passion that still sparkled between them, he felt surprisingly comfortable with Anna.
He enjoyed her company, he realized. Whether they were talking or kissing or sitting quietly, he found being with her soothing, as if she settled some restless spirit inside him in a way nothing else ever had.
“Abigail was always a bit of a romantic,” Anna answered. “She would have enjoyed setting the scene like this. The rain, the storm. All of it.”
While he was trying to picture his aunt working behind the scenes as some great manipulator, Conan ambled off the porch steps and out in the misting rain.
“You don’t really think some…ghost had anything to do with what just happened, do you?”
“I’m afraid my feet are planted too firmly on the ground for me to buy in to the whole thing like Sage and Julia do. And besides, while I firmly believe Abigail could have done anything she set her mind to, cutting off power along the entire coast so the two of us could…” Her voice trailed off and he was intrigued to
see color soak those high, elegant cheekbones. “Could make out is probably a little beyond her capabilities.”
Just as she finished speaking, the porch lights flickered off for maybe two seconds before they flashed back on again.
When they did, her eyes were bright with laughter.
“I wish you could see your face right now,” she exclaimed.
He scanned the porch warily. “I’m just trying to figure out if some octogenarian ghost is going to come walking through the walls of the house any minute now with a bottle of wine and a dozen roses.”
She laughed. “I don’t believe you have anything to worry about. I’ve never seen her and I don’t expect to.”
Her smile faded and her dark eyes looked suddenly wistful, edged with sadness. “I wish Abigail would walk through that wall, though. I wish you could have known her. I think you would have loved her. She was…amazing. That’s the only word for it. Amazing. She drew everyone to her in that way that very few people in the world have. The kind of person who just makes people around her feel happy and important, whether they’re billionaire hotel owners or struggling college students.”
“She must have been a good friend.”
“More than that. I can’t explain it, really. I just think you would have loved her. And I know she would have adored you.”
“Me? Why do you say that?”
“She was always a sucker for a man in uniform. She was engaged to marry a man who died in Korea. He was her one true love and she never really got over him.”
He stared. “I never…” Knew that, he almost said, but caught himself just in time. “How do you know that?”
“She told me about him once and then she never wanted to talk about him again,” Anna answered. “She said he was the other half of her heart and the best person she’d ever known and she had mourned his loss every single day of her life.”
Why had Abigail never told him anything about a lost love? He supposed it might not be the thing one confided in a young boy. What bothered him more was that he had never once thought to ask. He had always assumed she loved her independent life, loved being able to come and go as she pleased without having to answer to anyone else.
He found it terribly sad to think about her living in this big house all these years, mourning a love taken from her too soon.
“I would think a heartbreak like that would have given her an aversion to military men.”
Anna shook her head, her eyes soft. “It didn’t. I know she had a nephew in the military. I don’t even know what branch but she was always so proud of him.”
“Oh?”
“Her Jamie. I never met him. He didn’t visit her much but she was still crazy about him. Abigail was like that. She loved wholeheartedly, no matter what.”
Her words were a harsh condemnation, and the hell of it was, he couldn’t even defend himself. He might not have visited Abigail as often as he would have liked, but it wasn’t as if he had abandoned her.
They had stayed in touch over the years, he just hadn’t been as conscientious about it while he was deployed.
“She sounds like a real character,” he said, his voice gruff.
She flashed him a searching look and opened her mouth but before she could speak, Conan bounded back up the porch steps and shook out his wet coat on both of them.
Max managed to pull the blanket up barely in time to protect their faces.
“Conan!” she exclaimed. “Cut that out!”
The dog made that snickering sound he seemed to have perfected, then sauntered back to the corner.
“If you’re looking for a signal to go inside, I believe that’s a little more concrete than some ghostly manifestation.”
“You’re probably right,” he said, reluctance in his voice.
“You’re welcome to stay out here longer. I can leave the lantern and the blankets.”
“I’d rather have you.”
The words slipped out and hovered between them. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Forget it.”
She blinked. “No, I—I…”
She looked so adorably befuddled in the glow from the porch light—and just so damn beautiful with that thick, glossy dark hair and that luscious mouth—that he couldn’t help himself.
One more kiss. That’s all, he promised himself as he pulled her closer.
She sighed his name and leaned into him. She was small and curvy and delicious and he couldn’t seem to get enough.
He touched the warm, enticing skin above the waistband of her jeans. She gave a little shuddering breath and he felt her stomach muscles contract sharply. Her mouth tangled with his and she made a tiny sound of arousal that shot straight to his gut.
He feathered his fingers along her skin, then danced across it until he met an enticing scrap of lace. He curved his thumb over her and felt her nipple harden. She arched into him and a white haze of hunger gnawed at him, until all he could think about was touching her, tasting her.
She gasped his name.
“I need to stop or I’m afraid I won’t be able to.”
“To what?”
He gave a raw laugh and kissed her mouth one last time then leaned his forehead against hers, feeling as breathless as if he were a new recruit forced to do a hundred push-ups in front of the entire unit.
He wanted to take things further. God knew, he wanted to. But he knew it would be a huge mistake.
“To stop. I don’t want to but I’m afraid what seems like a brilliant idea right now out here will take on an entirely different perspective in the cold light of morning.”
After a long moment, she sighed. “You’re probably right.”
She rose from the porch swing first and though it was one of the toughest things he had ever asked of himself, he helped her gather the blankets and carry them inside the foyer.
“Good night, Anna,” he said at her apartment door. “I enjoyed the storm.”
“Which one?” she asked with a surprisingly impish smile.
He shook his head but decided he would be wise not to answer.
His last sight as he headed up the stairs to his apartment was of Conan sitting by Anna’s doorway looking up at him, and he could swear the dog was shaking his head in disgust.
His TV had switched back on when the power returned and some Portland TV weatherman was rambling on about the storm that was just beginning to sweep through town.
He turned off the noise then went to the windows, watching the moonlight as it peeked between clouds to dance across the water.
What the hell was he going to do now?
Anna Galvez was no more a scam artist than his aunt Abigail.
He didn’t know about Sage Benedetto but since he had come to trust Abigail’s judgment about Anna, he figured he should probably trust it with Sage as well.
Anna had loved his aunt. He had heard the vast, unfeigned affection in her voice when she had talked about her, when she had told him how she wished he could have known Abigail.
She loved Abigail and missed her deeply, he realized. Maybe even as much as he did.
He would have to tell her the truth—that he was Abigail’s nephew and had concealed his identity so he could basically spy on her.
After the heated embrace they had just shared, how was he supposed to come clean and tell her he had been lying to her for days?
It sounded so ugly and sordid just hanging out there like that, but he knew he was going to have to figure out a way.
As was often the case after a wild coastal storm, the morning dawned bright and cloudless and gorgeous.
Anna awoke in her bed in an odd, expectant mood. She rarely slept with the curtains pulled, so that she could look out at the sea first thing in the morning. Today, the waves were pale pink frothed with white.
Conan must have slept in. He was usually in here first thing in the morning, begging for his run, but she supposed the late-night stormwatching had tired him out.
She wished she could say the same. She h
ad tossed and turned half the night, her body restless and aching.
She sighed and rolled over onto her back. She was still restless and achy and she was very much afraid Harry Maxwell had ruined stormwatching for her for the rest of her days. How could she ever sit out on the porch watching the waves whip across the sky without remembering the heat and magic of his arms?
Blast him, anyway.
She sighed. No. It wasn’t his fault. She had known she was tempting fate when she kissed him but she hadn’t been able to control herself.
She wanted a wild, passionate fling with Harry Maxwell.
She drew in a shaky breath. How was that for a little blunt truth first thing in the morning?
She was fiercely attracted to the man. More attracted than she had ever been in her life. She wanted him, even though she knew he would be leaving soon. Maybe because she knew he would be leaving soon.
For once in her life, she didn’t want to fret or rehash the past. She wanted to live in the heady urgency of the moment.
She blew out a breath. Even if she ever dared tell them—which she wouldn’t—Sage and Julia would never believe she was lying here in her bed contemplating such a thing with a man she had only known for a matter of days.
How, exactly, did one go about embarking on a fling? She had absolutely no idea.
She supposed she could take the direct route and go upstairs dressed in a flimsy negligee. But first she would have to actually go out and buy a flimsy negligee. And then, of course, she would have to somehow find the courage to put it on, forget about actually having the guts to walk upstairs in it.
She sighed. Okay, she didn’t know exactly how she could work the logistics of the thing.
“But I will figure it out,” she said aloud.
Conan suddenly barked from the doorway and she felt foolish for talking to herself, even if her only witness was her dog, who didn’t seem to mind at all when she held long conversations with herself through him.
“Thanks for the extra half hour,” she said to the dog.
He grinned as if to say you’re welcome, then headed to the door to stand as an impatient sentinel, as was his morning ritual. She knew from long experience that he would stay there until she surrendered to the inevitable and got dressed to walk him down the beach.
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