He had no desire to forget Bri or what happened to her, and desperately wanted to stop others from going through the same thing. In the beginning of his career and GermTechPharm, he’d been idealistic enough to create drugs for the sake of helping people. Along the way, the marketing and sales force grew and invaded his sense of purpose at the same time his abilities to manipulate formulas increased to monolithic proportions. He was invincible in his capabilities.
Then along came a butterfly . . .
Knocked off his pedestal, he was just a man in wrinkly shorts, alone and hungering for something he couldn’t have.
“You want a lobster?”
Lucas blinked, the sound of a needle dragging across a record echoed through his head as his thoughts were derailed by a short Latino man in a white apron who shoved a very alive and very wiggly lobster in his face.
“What?”
“You’re staring at the tank. Do you want one? We’ll cook it up real nice for you.” He motioned to the large tank just inside the huge bay window of the Fresh Catch Café.
Lucas stepped back and took in the place. A blue-green roof sat atop a bank of windows. There were several open seats inside, and a hefty cook dropped a cube of butter into a steaming pan. His stomach growled. Real food. “Sounds great.”
The little man grinned, flashing a gold tooth and an off-center smile. “Good. Good. You’ll love our lobster.” He ushered Lucas around to the ocean view side of the restaurant, giving his new customer the VIP treatment. A chipped and weathered bar ran the length of the building. The stools fared better, their seats shiny. “Take a seat,” instructed his host.
Lucas peered through the window and saw three tables staggered across the small sitting area and another bar that ran along the inside. A couple absorbed in what smelled like shrimp tacos and heaven sat close to the door. Other than those two, the place was empty. Lucas checked his phone. It was three in the afternoon—not exactly high time for a restaurant.
“Do you want a steak with that?” asked his host—and apparently waiter—as he set a soda Lucas hadn’t ordered on the table.
Lucas searched his shirt but couldn’t find a name tag. “No thanks. The lobster should be plenty.” He was still feeling the effects of the cola and granola bar binge from earlier. Nothing but time and movement would get that rock out of his gut.
“Okay.” He turned to the cook and called through an open window with a screen, “Rusty, just the tank, no corral.”
“Ten-four,” Rusty called back. He had on a Red Socks baseball hat and a faded black T-shirt. His white apron spread across his expansive stomach, and his hands, though thick, moved with speed. The lobster was inside the steaming pot before Lucas had a chance to blink.
“I’m Bear, that’s Rusty.” Bear nodded towards the big man inside.
Caught off guard at the invitation to introduce himself, Lucas paused a moment. He had no intention of giving out his name. If word got out that he was in Santa Barbara, he’d be forced to weigh anchor and sail into the sunset. These guys seemed harmless enough, friendly even, but he wasn’t taking chances. “Luke,” he said.
“Nice to meet you. You visiting?”
I’m not sure how to answer that. Was he? Did he intend to spend the rest of his days holed up on a boat at the end of the dock? His situation was fine for now—ideal, actually, if the press left him alone. But what about in a year, two years? What then? Usually quick on his feet and with his mouth, Lucas’s pause lasted long enough that it became awkward, and Bear wiped the counter.
“I didn’t mean to get into your business.” Bear held up his hands. He flashed another smile.
“Sorry, it’s been a long day.” Of soul-searching. “I’m here for a while, not sure if I’m staying or what.”
Bear paused, and then brightened. “Welcome to Santa Barbara.”
“Thanks.”
“Order!” called Rusty from the kitchen.
Bear opened the window, and Rusty slid the plate out. The lobster was a beautiful sunset red. Luke’s mouth watered and his stomach growled.
“Here ya go. Garlic butter here and Cajun butter here.” He pointed at the two sauces in silver cups. “If ya need anything else, let me know.”
“Thanks.” Lucas dug into his meal, amazed at how the meat melted on his tongue. A few gulls flapped about, and people meandered on the other side of the building, but on this side it was quiet. There was a light breeze now and again, and whatever Rusty was mixing up smelled great.
Wondering if the pixie was home yet or if she was off rescuing baby seals, Lucas dipped a bite in one of the sauces. The Cajun spices lit his sinuses on fire. Lucas downed half of his soda before he could breathe without fire scorching his throat.
Rusty chuckled behind the screen. “You’d better lay off that one, rooky.”
“I’d argue with you,” Lucas rasped, “but I don’t think I can.”
Rusty laughed deeply as his large belly bounced. The sound was big like the ocean and strong like the wharf, triggering something inside Luke. He stared at his plate. Laughter. Like the voices of the street musicians leaving a hole in the world because of their silence, the lack of laughter in Lucas’s life was an echoing cavern. Making Rusty laugh had uncovered tender sprouts that he wanted to nurture.
Rusty went back to scraping off his grill, and Lucas wiped his buttery fingers on a napkin.
Sensing eyes on him, he glanced over his shoulder to see a red dog sitting not five feet away and watching him. It couldn’t be. Lucas glanced down at his half-empty plate and back at the dog. He’d teased the pixie about the dog being thin, but he did remember the bony body as it clambered off him. He grabbed a morsel of meat and tossed it towards the dog. Fido crept forward and sniffed before slurping it up. Lucas threw him another piece, this time a bit closer. He might not be able to find the dog a home, but at least he could make sure he didn’t starve. Fido licked his lips, and Lucas could swear the dog smiled at him as his eyebrows twitched.
“You shouldn’t feed him,” said Bear. “He’ll just keep coming back.” He set a new drink on the counter and took the empty cup.
Lucas wagged his head, embarrassed at getting caught. He patted his belly. “I’m coming back for another plate real soon.”
Bear grinned. “We make good shrimp too.”
Lucas handed him a large bill that would more than cover his meal and gratuity. “I’ll be back to try it.” He would. This little shack at the end of the pier had something special, and it wasn’t the Cajun butter sauce. Rusty and Bear were content like the pixie and Lucas wanted a piece of that. He tossed the last of his meat to Fido as he left.
Instead of hanging out where Rusty created things that smelled like heaven’s kitchen and tasted celestial, the stupid dog followed Lucas. An older couple in capri pants and sun visors glared as they passed. “You’d think he didn’t understand a leash law,” grumbled the wrinkled and weathered man to his wife.
Lucas kicked out his foot, and the dog fell back a couple feet.
A couple of runners passed by. One woman had a leash and a poop-scoop bag.
I will never carry one of those things!
Her dog went nuts, barking at Fido like a possessed canine. Fido ignored him. “Leash your dog!” yelled the woman as she struggled to contain her animal.
Shaking his head, Lucas considered Fido. The pooch needed to skedaddle before he drew any more attention. At this rate, there would be an angry mob at his doorstep. At the bottom of the wharf, and a light blue truck with the animal services logo painted on the side waited for them to pass.
Lucas pulled to a stop and so did Fido. “You’re a scam artist, aren’t you?”
Fido wagged his tail.
Lucas checked around him. Besides the homeless guy near the green dolphin fountain, he and the dog were alone. “Listen, I’m going to give it to you straight. If you follow me, they’re going to catch you, and I’m not going to stop them. If you head off on your own, I wish you the best of luck.”<
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Fido looked past him and then took off at a sprint the other direction. Lucas nodded once. “Smart dog.”
“Or smart man,” said the pixie from the front seat of a silver Mustang convertible. She must have pulled up at the curb while he talked to Fido. Strangely, he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen talking to the dog. Not in front of her.
She had the top down, a pair of sunglasses on her head, and a saucy smile.
“Nice car,” Lucas blurted. And it was. The shiny silver paint didn’t have a scratch and the black interior was clean. In fact, it could have been driven off the lot this morning, and yet this woman appeared as comfortable in it as she would in a pair of old jeans. And beautiful. Beautiful in her happiness—or because of it.
She blushed a little under his appraising gaze. “Thanks.”
Though Lucas had come to Santa Barbara looking for solitude, he suddenly had no desire to be alone. “You want to walk with me?” Lucas gestured to the open sidewalk. She could easily park her car here; it wasn’t far from their destination, assuming she was going home.
She considered him for a moment. “Normally I’d say no, but any man who talks to dogs is okay in my book.” She pulled forward into an open spot and hit the button to put the top up.
He gave her a half grin.
“What?”
“I didn’t picture you as a convertible type.”
She shrugged. “It was my grandpa’s. He passed away a few years ago, and I just couldn’t bring myself to sell her.”
“Ah.” They fell into an easy rhythm. “Well, any woman who drives a Mustang is okay in my book.” Lucas didn’t want to bring up what happened yesterday; what she had said that had cut deep. Nor did he want her asking him about it. She seemed content to forget their strained conversation, and Fido had unwittingly won him a few points.
His teasing earned him another saucy smile, and he felt two inches taller and on much safer ground than he’d been on yesterday. Taking a deep breath of humid air, he ventured, “Are you from Santa Barbara?”
“Originally I’m from Colorado, but I spent my summers at the harbor with my grandpa. We’d sand and varnish his boat, mend the sails, and do a hundred other odd jobs. It was my favorite time of the year.”
As a teenager, Bri had always had friends over or was at a friend’s house or was calling a friend. Her social life ran at the speed of WiFi. “What about home? Friends?”
“Um, not so many friends. I was the runt in my grade and too geeky for my own good.” She smiled like someone who has put the hurt behind her. Instead of entering the south gate where his boat was docked, she directed him toward the west gate. This end of the harbor—where the restaurants and businesses stood—housed the smaller boats.
“I wouldn’t call you a runt . . .”
“Oh right!” She tipped her chin up so she could look him in the eye and laughed easily.
Entranced by her laughter—it had a deliciously different effect on him than Big Rusty’s laughter had not too long ago—Lucas said, “You’re more of a pixie.” Lucas watched her for signs that he’d said something wrong. She’d bristled easily enough yesterday, like an angry bird fluffing its feathers. He smiled wryly, thinking of his nephews’ favorite app. Did that make him the pig?
Instead of puffing up, her cheeks went the sweetest shade of pink. “Well, that’s better than most of the things I’ve been called because of my height.”
Lucas fished in his pocket for his key fob and changed the subject. “So, you moved here to be with your grandpa?”
The heavy iron hinges, constantly fighting against the deteriorating properties of Santa Barbara’s humidity, protested loudly about being opened.
She sighed heavily. “I moved here because it was the only place that felt like home.” They walked a few feet in silence as Lucas thought about what she’d said.
She stopped in front of a construction barricade and groaned.
“What?” He read the notice posted on the fence.
PHASE 3 CONSTRUCTION PROJECT
The majority of Marina One was constructed in the 1970s and includes 16 fingers providing berths for approximately 500 vessels. An engineering analysis has concluded that the docking system of Marina One has neared the end of its useful life. The assessment recommended replacing the fingers in succession to minimize disruption to the slip owners and incrementally fund the project.
Funding for this project is provided by …
Craning to see past the sign, Lucas found that the slips beyond the chain link were empty. “Is this where you live?”
“It was.” She kicked the fence. “They’ve moved me. I need to go up to the harbor master’s office and find out where my boat is.”
Despite her half-hearted kick at the fence, she was taking this rather well. She was upset, as evident by the twitch of her jaw, but she wasn’t losing it by any means. Each time he’d been forced to move to a new house in the past few weeks, he was furious. Anger had been his most prevalent emotion lately and that needed to change. In the lab, the best way to increase the rate of change was to add a catalyst.
Lucas studied the petite beauty out of the corner of his eye. Thankfully, he’d been bored enough to read the information Juanita sent him about the harbor when he moved in. “It’s after six; they’re closed.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I guess I’ll wander around until I find it.”
“I’ll wander with you.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Her eyes flicked to the side.
“I want to.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
The more she protested the more determined he became. Ignoring her, he spun in a circle, having absolutely no idea what type of sea craft she owned. Unfamiliar vessels lined up nicely, secured so their bows didn’t overlap the pier. “It could be anywhere.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes like she was trying to center her being. The tiny line between her eyebrows smoothed out.
I should try that some time.
“You’ll only slow me down.”
“Ha. You don’t know. I could be the world champ at finding things.”
“I don’t think they hand out medals for that.” She started off at a quick pace. Lucas had no trouble keeping up, as his legs were much longer than hers.
“Let’s think about this,” he began, and she sighed once again. “When they’ve done the other remodels, where do they usually take the boats?”
“They fill in the farthest slots first.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, and Lucas noticed her sculpted cheekbones. They were really quite lovely.
“So if we start at that end—” He nodded toward the area for larger boats. “—we could find it faster.”
“Sure.” She shrugged, and they headed in that direction.
Lucas cocked his head. “I told you I was good at this.”
“We haven’t found it yet,” she admonished in the face of his boasting.
Lucas wandered alongside her, not in a hurry to return to his disaster of a home. He really should make an effort at laundry sometime soon.
She waved at a few people, and Lucas nodded when they gave him curious looks.
“I’m Luke, by the way.” The nickname he’d given Bear was kind of growing on him.
“Luke? Just Luke?” They’d reached the end of the pier and took the first finger to the right. The boats at this end were large enough that a smaller boat between them would be well hidden.
“Just Luke. Why?”
“You’re kind of familiar. Where did you go to college?” She stood on her tiptoes and peered down the rest of the dock.
“Back east.”
“Hmm.” She shook her head. “Not here.” They spun around and went back the way they came.
After a beat, he prompted, “And you are …?”
“Becca Lee.” She held her hand over her eyes to block the sun and checked things out.
“Becca.” He tested the name and found that he liked the way it felt
on his lips. They turned onto the finger where his boat was moored at the end. They’d come far enough down the line that they were in his neighborhood.
“Aha!” She bounced toward a smaller boat with blue trim and a teak hatch.
“This is it?” he asked, not filtering the shock in his voice. He ping-ponged back and forth between the two parked right next to each other. Her craft was a third the size of his—maybe a fourth. “And I feel cramped in my boat,” he joked. Although maybe that had more to do with the emotional baggage he’d hauled aboard than it did the size of the boat.
“Not all of us are giants.” Becca tossed her hair over her shoulder.
Those little sprouts of happiness shot up, and Lucas’s cheeks creaked upward in his first real smile in months. “It’s cute.” He nodded towards her craft.
“Cute?” Becca poked him in the chest. “It’s a good thing Grandpa isn’t around to hear you say that. He’d have you polishing the shiny for the rest of the afternoon for disrespecting the Salty Dog.”
Lucas sucked in. “What about you?” He lifted one eyebrow in a challenge.
“I should make you change the oil.” Becca put her hand on her hip. “Lucky for you, I’m good with cute.”
Lucas studied her quickly—liking what he saw, but hiding his deep appreciation for her lean legs and silky hair with a boy-next-door grin. “It shows.”
Becca ducked her head, and her thick hair brushed across her face.
Aware that the air between them had changed, Lucas said, “I guess it’s a good thing I know your name, since we’re neighbors. I can borrow a cup of sugar.” Why was his voice so low? He cleared his throat again.
“Anytime.” Becca moistened her lips and Lucas wondered if they would be sweet to taste. She smiled. “Hopefully my house won’t be moved too soon. I-I mean often.”
“Hopefully it stays right there,” Luke said, as he stared into her amazing eyes while heat pooled in his stomach. “I mean, until the construction project has finished up.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, wondering where his good sense had gone. Women never had this effect on him. Well, he couldn’t say never . . . but it had been a while since one had made his mind perk up and his body take notice.
The Reclusive Billionaire (Destination Billionaire Romance) Page 4
