by Jackie Braun
“My mom never married my father, so he wasn’t around when I was growing up.”
She did keep the more painful details to herself, such as the fact that the real reason Ray Masterson had not wed Angela Bellini after the scared and pregnant eighteen-year-old had showed up at his doorstep was that he was already married and the father of two children with a third on the way.
“That had to be tough.”
“It was a long time ago,” she said, trying to sound as if her father’s disavowal of Ree’s very existence didn’t still wound her to the core.
“So, who raised you?”
“My mom’s folks. Great people.” She smiled now as she dished the soup into a blue porcelain bowl and put the sandwich on a matching plate.
“Are they still living?”
“No. They’re both gone. My grandfather passed away during my senior year of college. My grandmother died last Thanksgiving.”
As she set the meal in front of him, Dane surprised her by reaching for her hand. The pad of his thumb rubbed over her knuckles in a negligent caress that still had her breath hitching. “God, Ree. I’m really sorry.”
She stared at their hands, wanting so desperately to turn hers over so she could weave her fingers through his and simply hold on. It felt so good to be consoled, and, God, how she missed being touched. Her grandparents had demonstrated their love with frequent hugs, kisses and pats to her cheek. Paul had run hot and cold with his displays of affection. When a dig was going well, he’d sometimes surprise her with an embrace. If not, days could pass without so much as a brush of fingers against her arm or a chaste peck on the cheek.
“Thank you,” she replied hoarsely. Maybe it was only because Dane was still holding her hand that she admitted, “I really miss them, especially Nonna. She was something else.”
“Nonna?”
His hand fell away and Ree took the seat opposite his at the table. “It’s Italian for grandmother.”
“Tell me about them?”
It came out a question and because he seemed genuinely interested, Ree did.
“Nonna and my grandfather came over from Naples just after the Second World War. My grandfather worked in an automobile factory in the Detroit area and my grandmother stayed home raising my mother. When my mother was a girl, they came north for a vacation and stayed at Peril Pointe. The people who owned it rented out rooms and my grandparents returned every summer after that. My grandfather decided to retire early and they used their savings to buy the house and move here.”
“Did they run it as a bed-and-breakfast, too?”
She shook her head. “No. I think they planned to. They took in guests here and there, and they loved meeting new people. But then my mom died and they wound up raising me.”
“They sound like incredible people.”
“They were. And very much in love.” She smiled at the memories that always warmed her. “When my grandfather was still alive, he and Nonna would go for a walk along the beach every evening in the summer. They always held hands.”
Ree had envied them that. Their grand, sweeping love affair had spanned more than five decades of marriage, while even the most tepid of emotions hadn’t been evident just a few short years after her and Paul’s wedding day.
“I can’t imagine that kind of love,” she murmured.
“My sisters seem to have found it,” Dane said thoughtfully after chewing a bite of sandwich.
“They’re both married?”
He nodded. “And Audra’s expecting her first baby in the fall. A girl. The doctor says she’ll arrive around Halloween, but if the kid is anything like Audra, she’ll be so stubborn she’ll hold out till Christmas.”
Interesting, but beneath the humor she thought he’d sounded almost wistful. And so she asked boldly, “What about you? Have you found that kind of love?”
Dane had spooned up a mouthful of soup as Ree spoke. Then he nearly choked on it as the name Julie Weston blasted into his brain with all the subtlety of a stick of dynamite detonating. It was the first time he’d thought of his girlfriend since arriving at Ree’s. He acknowledged that truth with a stab of guilt, followed swiftly by regret, because he knew that neither the knot on his head nor his near-death experience was the real reason she’d failed to show up on his mental radar.
Everyone kept telling him how perfect Julie was for him. After nearly three years of dating, he’d be the first to admit she was a fantastic woman: smart, funny, pretty in an understated sort of way. She cooked a mean beef stew, could carry on an intelligent conversation and was the ideal euchre partner, never reneging or failing to take a trick with trump. But too often he found himself wishing for a loner hand and thinking that something was missing.
One question haunted Dane: Was this all there was?
Ali had Luke. Audra had Seth. Both couples seemed to have hit the mother lode of happiness. They deserved their bliss. Dane didn’t begrudge them a moment of it. But as they feathered their new nests and made plans to start families, he felt envious, and maybe even a little empty.
He was thirty-five, settled and successful. During the past few months he’d begun to agree with Julie: Time was ticking away and they weren’t getting any younger. Yet marriage to her seemed utterly anticlimactic, an epilogue rather than an exciting new chapter in his life. He had enough respect for the institution that he didn’t think it should be that way.
“When are we going to make it official, Dane?” Julie had asked him the question that very afternoon. He’d had no answer for her when he’d left Trillium, so eager to escape that he’d foolishly headed out into a storm on the pretext of getting supplies that the resort hardly needed posthaste.
He glanced across the table at Regina Bellini. God help him, but he did have an answer for Julie now, and it wasn’t one she was going to like. But how could he make a lifetime commitment to one woman when in the space of a couple hours a virtual stranger had helped convinced him that would be a huge mistake?
Love at first sight? Nah. No way. But something was going on here. Something disturbing enough that it had caused him to forget completely the woman with whom he had been inching toward matrimony.
“Well?” Ree asked.
He blinked. “S-sorry?”
“I asked if you’ve managed to find that kind of love.”
The candle flickered briefly between them on the tabletop, the dim light making the room intimate as the revelation in his head slipped past his lips.
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
They talked for another hour sitting in her homey kitchen. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm was moving off. Dane credited the food, the painkillers and a second glass of wine for the fact that he no longer felt so shaky and weak. He credited Regina for the fact that he was actually enjoying himself on what undoubtedly had been one of the worst nights of his life.
“Well…” Ree stood and began gathering up the dishes. After depositing them in the sink, she said, “You’re probably getting tired.”
“Not especially. I’m a bit of a night owl,” he admitted. “Besides, I read somewhere that people who take a blow to the head shouldn’t go to sleep—at least not alone. Something about the possibility of lapsing into a coma.”
He couldn’t resist flirting with her and he enjoyed immensely watching one side of her mouth quirk up.
“I think that’s an old wives’ tale,” she replied dryly, but she settled back onto the chair opposite his.
She didn’t rise again for another two hours. By then, they both were yawning.
“I’ll show you to your room,” she told him as she blew out the candle and flipped on the flashlight.
Dane pulled the afghan more securely around his midsection and stood. Even though he felt steady on his feet, he didn’t object when she drew near to assist him.
For the past couple hours they had talked companionably about everything from the right way to eat French fries—doused in mustard rather than catsup—to whether the Detroit Lions wou
ld ever manage a winning season. Neither would bet on it. Beneath the newly established camaraderie, awareness had simmered. Now, as he walked with her through the quiet house, that awareness returned to a rolling boil.
“I think you’ll be most comfortable in here. This is the only one of the seven bedrooms located on the main floor.”
Ree opened the door and Dane knew right away that it was hers. The light bewitching floral scent had him inhaling deeply. In the dim light he eyed the big four-poster bed with its fluffy down comforter and then cleared his throat.
“This is your room.”
“Yes.”
“Where will you be sleeping?” It came as quite a surprise to realize he was holding his breath after he asked the question.
“I’ll be in the first room to the left at the top of stairs.”
When he started to protest, she shook her head. “I’ll be perfectly comfortable there. It’s the room I slept in before my grandmother died. Besides, I don’t think you’re ready to navigate stairs in a strange house in the dark. I’ll feel better with you in here.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She was still standing beside him, one arm wrapped loosely around his waist. It took little effort for Dane to turn until they were facing one another. When he bent, he intended only to brush a kiss over her cheek, but she turned her head slightly or maybe he turned his. Either way, his mouth settled over hers and the chaste peck graduated to a kiss full of curiosity.
Still, he might have pulled back and managed to bank the need, but she made a soft moaning sound in the back of her throat that had the same effect as pouring kerosene on a campfire. Heat flared and good intentions were forgotten. He framed her face with his hands. He had to do something with them, because if they were allowed to roam any lower he knew he would be doomed.
And that was before the afghan wrapped around his waist tumbled to the floor right along with the flashlight she’d been holding.
The kiss ended on his strangled laugh and Ree was chuckling as well when Dane rested his forehead against hers.
“I seem to have lost something,” he said at last. “And you, too.”
Oh, Regina knew she’d lost something. Forget the flashlight, she’d lost her mind. This was crazy, foolish and she wasn’t the sort of woman who did crazy, foolish things. She’d toed the line her entire life, eager to spare her grandparents the worry and grief her mother’s impulsiveness had caused.
Thinking of them, she said, “I’d better go.”
“Yes. You should.”
But he didn’t release her and she found herself almost glad. It felt so good to be held, to be wanted. It took all of her willpower to finally step away—and to keep her gaze level with his before she turned toward the door.
“I’ll leave the flashlight with you. Good night, Dane Conlan,” she called over her shoulder when she reached the threshold. “Sleep well.”
He laughed, sounding bemused, and she thought she heard him mutter, “Yeah, like that’s going to happen now.”
Alone in the room upstairs, Ree lit a candle, tugged the dustcovers off the furniture and dropped heavily onto the side of her old bed. She’d never been this wound up or felt this…this physically aware. She scrubbed her hands over her face, amazed by and a little ashamed of her body’s reaction.
As she made up the bed with fresh linens, it dawned on Ree that she’d forgotten to grab a nightgown from the dresser before leaving Dane in her room. She wasn’t fool enough to tempt fate now by going back for it, so she stripped off her clothes and climbed into bed wearing only her underwear.
With a tortured sigh she realized that was one garment more than what the handsome man tucked between the sheets downstairs had on.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN Ree descended the stairs early the next morning after dressing hastily in the cropped pants and pullover she’d worn the evening before, the scent of frying bacon greeted her. She found Dane in the kitchen standing in front of the stove, his hair wet from an apparent shower and a bath towel hooked low around his waist. A bouquet of bruises bloomed on the middle of his back, but that wasn’t the reason she sucked in a breath. The same outrageous tug of desire she’d felt the night before was still there. It hadn’t moved off with the last of the rain. And she still had no idea how to deal with it.
She cleared her throat. “Good morning.”
Dane turned and offered a smile, revealing that solitary dimple that had haunted her dreams.
“It’s better than a good morning. It’s a great morning. The sun’s shining. Birds are singing. I’m alive.”
Despite the offhanded way in which he said it, she got the feeling he truly meant it. Glancing out the window at Lake Michigan, she remembered the way the waves had heaved and bucked against the shore the evening before. The great lake was calm right now, but it could be brutal and unforgiving under the temper of a storm. He was indeed a lucky man.
“I take it you’re feeling better.”
“Much.” He nodded toward the frying bacon. “I hope you don’t mind, but I rummaged through your fridge and decided to start breakfast.”
She swallowed hard. A gorgeous, half-naked man was standing in her kitchen preparing a meal for her. He’d even made coffee.
“I could get used to this,” she murmured and then was pretty sure she blushed. She couldn’t believe the direction her thoughts were taking. To hide her consternation, she asked, “Finding everything okay?”
He nodded. “You have an amazingly organized kitchen. Everything is right where it should be. Well, except for the coffee.”
“You didn’t find it in the canister marked Coffee?” she asked dryly.
“I found it, but the grounds hold their freshness longer if you keep them in the freezer.”
Regina got down a mug from one of the cupboards and poured herself a cupful of the beverage in question. “I’ll take that under advisement,” she said on a chuckle as she stirred in some nondairy creamer.
She leaned against the counter and watched him flip the sizzling strips of bacon with a fork. He looked completely at ease in the kitchen, obviously no stranger to the workings of a stove. Taking a sip of coffee, she nearly sighed. He made a mean cup of joe on top of his other culinary skills. It was scary how the marks in the man’s plus column just kept mounting.
Although she didn’t mean to compare him to Paul Ritter, she found herself doing just that. Her husband didn’t know a coffee pot from a roasting pan. He had always been too distracted by his work and too disinterested in the mechanics of meal preparation to offer to cook her breakfast. He’d never so much as poured her a bowl of cereal. Ree’s gaze strayed to the towel around Dane’s hips. Moistening her lips, she admitted that Paul had never looked quite like that while wearing terry cloth, either.
The toaster popped up and she jumped right along with the delivery of two pieces of evenly browned bread. She wasn’t a woman to let passion overrule dignity and decorum. Nor was she a woman ruled by impulse. That had been her mother, with disastrous results. Ree wasn’t like Angela. She’d made a point of proving that her entire life. As for last night and that kiss, it was but a momentary lapse brought on by stress and the storm.
“Everything okay?” Dane asked.
She smiled to hide her embarrassment. “Barely a sip of coffee and I’m already jumpy.” As he buttered the toast, she added, “I see the electricity came back on.”
“Yep. About six this morning.”
“I wonder if that means phone service has been restored as well.”
He shook his head. “Sorry. I already checked for a dial tone. Nothing.”
As she watched, he cracked an egg one-handed into a skillet of melted butter. The man was a regular Wolfgang Puck. Her grandmother would approve. To Nonna, cooking had been on par with praying.
Although he appeared as at ease as she wielding a spatula, good manners compelled her to ask, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
&nb
sp; “Nah. I’ve got everything under control. And cooking breakfast is the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”
“I really didn’t do that much,” she demurred.
But Dane grinned. That solitary dimple flashed briefly in the stubble on his jaw, and her pulse shot off like a damned emergency flare.
“You did. More than you know.” Before she could ponder what he meant, he asked, “So, how do you like your eggs?”
“That’s an easy one. This morning calls for sunny-side up.”
Just as she had the night before, Ree found herself seated across from Dane at her kitchen table. The conversation flowed surprisingly easily given the way his gaze would sometimes linger on her lips. In the bright morning light Ree realized that his eyes were an interesting cross between gray and blue, and they definitely clashed with the green and purple welt protruding from his temple.
“You’ll need to see a doctor today.”
“I know. When the phone comes back on I’ll make an appointment right after I call my sisters to let them know I’m okay.”
“You’ll probably need stitches.”
He glanced at his bandaged hand. “Possibly.”
“And maybe even a tetanus shot.”
His lips twisted into a grimace. “Yeah, that’s a possibly, too.”
“Do you think they’ll recover your boat?”
“I don’t know how much of it will be left to recover.” Then he shrugged. “I’ve got insurance. It wasn’t fancy anyway.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Not like this house. I didn’t get a chance to appreciate it last night with the lights out and my head on fire.”
“That’s understandable.”
“The detail work is incredible. I’m guessing it was built in the late 1800s, probably between 1885 and 1890.”
“Eighteen eighty-seven,” she confirmed, surprised by his perception.
Motioning with his fork he asked, “Do you know if those are the original cabinets?”
“Yes. The hardware is vintage, too.” She frowned at the worn finish of the cabinet doors and tarnished brass knobs before her gaze dipped to the scored floorboards that peaked from beneath a faded throw rug in front of the stove. “I’m afraid most of the house could use a fresh coat of paint and other renovations.”
