Monroe Manor, as the family referred to the house, was a two-story brick-and-stone structure occupying a five-acre lot on the northeastern side of the island. Her childhood home was roomy, over three thousand square feet, with six bedrooms and three and a half baths. The verdant green lawn behind the house went on for several hundred yards before it gave way to a broad strip of sand, then to the cerulean waters of the Atlantic. It wasn’t the largest home on the island, but it was in the top five.
She’d used her key to get inside and shut the door behind her. There was no telling what her parents would be up to this time of the day, but she knew they were home. She’d passed through the three-car garage and entered through the kitchen, and noticed both cars and both motorcycles were parked inside.
The family room was Hadley’s favorite room in the house. The crisp white walls, along with the soft shades of blue, green and tan her mother had chosen for the furniture and decor, were a perfect reflection of the coastline outside. The picture window behind the beige sofa allowed plenty of light to shine in. Making herself comfortable on the couch among her mother’s bevy of throw pillows, Hadley looked outside at the grassy expanse that led to the road. She loved looking out the window at the pristine scenery of the other homes and landscaped lawns nearby, so she thought she’d watch before she combed the house in search of her parents.
She didn’t have to go looking, because her mother strolled into the family room, carrying a magazine and a cup of hot tea. At fifty-six, Viola Monroe still possessed the appearance of someone fifteen years her junior. She wore a pair of white palazzo pants and a white T-shirt and had her gray-streaked curls, as well as her reading glasses, piled on top of her head. She looked up from the magazine as she sensed her daughter’s presence. “Hello, sweetheart. What are you doing here in the middle of the week?”
“Hi, Mom.” Climbing up from the couch, Hadley went over to give her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I was hoping to talk to you and Daddy.”
Viola’s brow furrowed as she set her teacup and magazine on the side table. “It must be important for you to come over out of the blue. Your father’s in his study, flipping through that stamp book again.”
Hadley sighed. Tugging her father’s attention away from his prized stamp collection would be a challenge. “I’m going back there.”
Settling into her favorite armchair, Viola cracked, “Good luck, dear.”
Hadley walked through the foyer, past the staircase and into the rear hallway. There, she knocked on the solid oak door of her father’s study. “Dad? Can I come in?”
A few seconds later he answered, “Sure, Hadley.”
She pressed down on the gold handle and opened the door. Peering into the room, with its pine wainscoting, flooring and bookcases, she saw her dad in the center of it all.
Carver sat behind his big pine desk, leaning forward. She could see the light from his desk lamp reflecting off the top of his head, which was sparsely covered by his thinning, close-trimmed gray hair. He clutched a magnifying glass in his hand as he pored over the open pages of the stock book holding his stamps. Without looking up, he said, “Hi, honey. What are you doing here in the middle of the week?”
She chuckled, releasing some of her nervous energy. “Mom just asked me the same thing. I was hoping to talk to you and Mom about something.”
“Okay.” He flipped the page, closely studying the contents.
She watched him for a few minutes. When she realized he’d fallen back down the stamp rabbit hole, she spoke again. “Daddy, could you come in the family room with us, please? It will just take a few minutes, then you can get back to what you’re doing.”
“Sounds reasonable.” He set his magnifying glass aside and closed the book, following her to the front of the house.
Once they were all comfortably seated in the family room, Hadley and Carver on the sofa and Viola ensconced in the overstuffed armchair across from them, Hadley squared her shoulders.
Taking a deep breath, she started talking. “I’m here because I think Savion is about to make a bad business decision, and I’d like to prevent that, if possible.”
Carver’s brow cocked. “What bad business decision?”
“Do you know about the Neville South offer on our land?”
He nodded. “Of course I do. But what does that have to do with anything?”
Hadley frowned. “Everything. Daddy, Neville South doesn’t care about the people in Sapphire Shores or creating jobs or any of that. They’re just out to make a buck, while pushing out the people who already own businesses here on the island.”
He chuckled. “There’s that youthful idealism of yours.”
She wasn’t amused, especially since his tone and his expression were basically the equivalent of patting her on the head. “It’s more than that, Daddy. Bringing all those chain stores to the island is going to ruin the unique charm we have here. And why can’t they make room for local businesses, anyway? Della already told me she wants to expand, and I—”
Carver sighed, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Hadley, calm down. No one has signed anything yet. But I’m going to be honest with you. I agree with your brother. It’s a good offer, and it could bring a lot of good things to the island, too.”
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she turned away. “You sound just like him. I’m sure you’re thinking of the money right now, aren’t you?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.” Carver shrugged, his arms moving beneath the fabric of his pajama top. “Did you know that they’re offering two and half times what the land is worth? I don’t see accepting that as a bad business decision.”
“Daddy, you’re not listening.”
He patted her shoulder. “I’ve heard everything you said, honey. I just disagree.”
She swiveled toward Viola. “Mom. Please jump in here and tell Dad...”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Viola waved a hand from behind the pages of her magazine. “I’m not about to step into that minefield.”
“Mom, I just think...”
“This is precisely why I retired. After almost forty years taking care of this family, plus helping to run the business, I’m tired.”
Hadley stared at her mother, amazed. “Come on, Mom. You must have an opinion on this. I know you do.”
“I sure do. And I’m keeping it right to myself.” She raised the magazine a little higher, turning the page as she lapsed back into silence.
Letting her head drop back against the cushions of the sofa, Hadley sighed. She wasn’t going to get anywhere with her parents on this issue. If she was going to stop the Neville South deal, she’d have to do it herself.
* * *
Devon strolled out onto the patio Thursday afternoon with his tablet in hand. He wanted to do a little online shopping with the local grocery store, Shoreside Foods. The locally owned market had embraced the rise of technology and leveraged it for the convenience of their customers. Because of that, they now had a delivery service, so customers could shop online and have their items delivered to their door. The service had been implemented since Devon’s last visit, and now that he’d discovered it, he was quite pleased. He needed to replenish a few things he’d used up since his arrival—milk, eggs and the like. He also planned to order some fresh flowers and a few surprises for Hadley.
Seated on the resin love seat, he started perusing Shoreside Foods’ website. The day was partly cloudy, with mild temperatures and a cool breeze blowing from the Atlantic. In his gray sweats and sneakers, he was comfortable and warm despite the crisp air. The quietness, broken only by the soothing sound of the waves, helped to still his mind. This was why he chose to spend his holiday vacation here, in his hometown. No other place on Earth had ever seemed so peaceful and so antithetical to the pace and tone of life in Los Angeles.
A
notification on an incoming video call filled the screen, blocking his view of the store’s website. Seeing the name on the display, Devon smiled as he swiped the screen. “What up, Rick?”
“Hey, youngster.” Rick’s grinning face appeared on the screen. He gestured behind him, indicating that he was on foot and walking outdoors. “Look at this. Finally got away from the set and out to the ranch.”
“I bet the wife and daughter are happy about that. Where are they?”
“Up at the house. I’m just out for some fresh air.” He huffed a few breaths, as if taking on hilly terrain. “Whew. Anyway, I’ve got some news on the Panther project.”
Devon’s face brightened. “Great. Let me hear it.”
“Well, first off, the movie’s got a title now. Love in the Revolution.”
“Nice.” He was eager to hear what else Rick might have for him, so he encouraged him. “Go on.”
“The other news is that I was able to pull some strings for you and snag you a role.” The moving scenery stopped as Rick dropped down onto a bench somewhere on his property.
Devon’s chest tightened as his excitement rose, but he kept it low-key. “Great, sounds great. So, when will I meet the screenwriter? Get a look at the script and all that?”
Rick’s face crunched into a frown. “When we start prepping for filming in February. Your agent will get all the details ironed out. Since when have you wanted to do all that before a role?”
Hell, now I’m confused. Frowning, Devon asked, “Okay, let’s back up here. What role are you talking about?”
“They offered you the role of Stokely Carmichael, which I think is pretty damn good considering this isn’t an action flick. Stokely played a big part in the party back then. It’s an honor, really. I’m playing Bobby Seale.”
He felt his frown deepen. “Rick, I thought I was clear when I said I was looking for a directing job, not an on-screen role.”
Scoffing, Rick said, “You were clear. And I thought you were clearly joking.”
He met that remark with silence, letting his expression speak for him.
Rick’s face changed then, to a display of disbelief. “You mean you were serious?”
“Yes, I was.”
Shaking his head, Rick replied, “So are you turning down the role? Because they already have a director.”
Blowing out a breath, Devon nodded. “Yes, I’m turning down the role. I think it’s a great concept, but I’m not looking for any more on-screen roles right now.”
Rick shrugged. “All right, I’ll let them know. But let me give you a little advice. You know, as a friend.”
Devon braced for a real gem. “Sure. What is it?”
“Nobody here is going to take you seriously about this directing thing, Devon. You’ve been in the game almost ten years now, and you’ve never done anything but action and stunt work. That isn’t gonna translate to you sitting in the director’s chair.”
He sighed. “That may be so, but it doesn’t change what I want. I plan to find the right project and start my new career in directing.”
Rick shook his head again, as if pitying Devon. “Do you, man, but don’t expect any help from me. Later.” And just like that, he disconnected the call.
Devon stood, tossing the tablet on the cushion. Frustration coursed through him like hot lava. Stripping off his sweatshirt, he stepped away from the love seat. If he were able to do so, he’d get in his car and head for the gym to take out his feelings on the heavy bag.
Yet his body had betrayed him, all because of the work he’d done—the work he was trying to leave behind. He looked back on his efforts over the years. After seventeen films, millions made at the box office, tons of fan mail and a beautiful home in one of the swankiest neighborhoods in Los Angeles, he wondered if it had all been worth it. Acting had taken him so many places and provided him with so many relationships and experiences. Still, how much did any of those things matter if he didn’t have his health?
And as for those relationships he’d developed with his colleagues in the film industry, he wondered what they amounted to, as well. He’d considered Rick Rollingsworth, the Oscar- and Golden Globe–winning actor, to be one of his close friends. When he’d first come to Hollywood, he’d looked up to Rick. They’d worked together on half a dozen films, gone to countless red carpets and after-parties together. Devon had even spent time with Rick’s wife and daughter. Yet none of that had meant a damn when it came time for Rick to help Devon achieve his innermost dream. Nothing in their past had stopped Rick from laughing in Devon’s face when he’d shared his career hopes.
Pushing those thoughts away, he widened his stance. With his bare feet planted hip-width apart on the cool stone of the patio, he stretched, careful not to put too much stress on the muscles around his damaged disk. With his bare arms stretched up toward the sky, he took a series of deep breaths, focusing on the waves until he felt centered again.
With his peace restored, he grabbed his tablet and headed inside. Leaving the device on the coffee table, he retrieved clean linen from the closet in the hallway.
Later, under the hot spray of water flowing from the waterfall showerhead, he let his mind drift to more pleasant things—namely, Hadley. He hadn’t called her today because he knew she was busy with end-of-the-year duties at work. That didn’t preclude him from thinking of her, though. As he soaped his body, he recalled the way her lips felt pressed against his, the way she’d moaned when he’d darted his tongue over them.
His line of thinking soon began to affect his anatomy, so he tucked his fantasies away for later.
He would see her soon, and then perhaps his fantasies of her would become reality.
Chapter 10
Hadley was both pleased and anxious to go over to Devon’s place Friday for dinner. He hadn’t given any indication that he’d tired of her cooking yet, and the thought made her smile. Now as she stood on the front porch of his town house, she smoothed her hands over the fabric of her cream-colored A-line skirt. She’d paired the skirt with a V-neck crimson top and understated gold jewelry and left her shoulder-length curls to hang down around her face.
She’d been standing there for a few moments but hadn’t knocked yet. First, she needed to get her mind right. While her attraction to Devon was a long-standing part of her life, their relationship was still new. Logic told her she should take things slow and easy with him, but her body wanted the fast track. He’d mentioned not wanting to take the shortcut route with their relationship, and she’d agreed. Now she wondered if taking it slow would mean quelling the powerful physical desire that hung between them.
Drawing a deep breath, she knocked on the door.
He opened it, greeting her with a bone-melting smile. He wore a pair of well-fitting black jeans and a vintage Free Huey T-shirt. “Hadley. Come on in.” He stepped aside to allow her entry.
She stepped out of the cool air and into the warmth of the town house, and he shut the door behind her. Before she could reach the sofa, he walked up behind her. His presence in her personal space threatened to overwhelm her.
He leaned into the crook of her neck and inhaled. “You smell wonderful.”
With the fragrance of his cologne invading her senses and his muscular arms snaking around her waist, she barely managed a reply. “Thanks. So do you.”
He placed a soft kiss against her throat before releasing her. “Let’s sit down for a minute and talk.” He moved to the window seat and patted the cushion next to him.
She eased onto the seat, close enough that their thighs touched.
He draped his arm around her lower back. “What would you like to make tonight?”
She shrugged. “I thought I’d make a nice pasta Bolognese. How does that sound?”
“Sounds great. Do I have all the things you need?”
; She nodded. “Yes. I checked the refrigerator when I was here last time, so we’re good.”
He gave her a squeeze. “A man could get used to this, you know.”
“Get used to what?” Being this close to him made it difficult to think critically. She’d come over to cook for him, and at this point it would be a miracle if she could remember the recipe. All she wanted to do was fall into his arms and have him carry her to the bed. The direction of her thoughts, coupled with the touch of her handsome companion, made her blush. I have got to get it together.
“Having a beautiful woman who’s intelligent and loves to cook...” He paused, his gaze settling on her lips. “And kisses oh-so well.”
A small sigh escaped her throat.
Seconds later, he pressed his lips to hers.
His kiss was gentle, yet held a fiery passion. His tongue darted along her lower lip, teasing and coaxing her to open her mouth. She did and was treated to the best, most intense kiss of her life. Their tongues mated, and she sank into his embrace as if she was made to be in his arms; that was how she felt.
A few breathless moments later, she eased away from him, a difficult but necessary action. Once she got her breath, she said, “If you want dinner, we’re going to have to postpone the kissing until after I cook.”
He chuckled as he put some distance between them. “I think you’re right. If we keep this up...” He didn’t finish his statement, but his eyes implied the rest.
She scooted off the window seat and scurried into the kitchen. There she assembled everything she’d need for her Bolognese sauce on the countertop. To keep the sauce hearty while cutting cholesterol, she was using ground turkey instead of beef or pork. She’d also set out a large can of crushed plum tomatoes, white wine, chicken stock, minced garlic and various seasonings. Once she got the sauce simmering and the pasta boiling, she went to the sink to rinse her hands. As she dried them, she hazarded a glance his way.
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