Cape Cod Kisses

by Melissa Foster

  “It’s great to meet you, Shelley, and I’d love to talk about possibilities,” Sierra said.

  Quinn could see by the silent questions in his sister’s eyes that she’d also already noticed his interest in Shelley.

  “I’m afraid I have another meeting to go to right now,” Sierra said. “But let’s be sure to get together soon. I’m usually here at the restaurant, or you can come by my house. I live in the bungalow at the end of Shore Road, right on the beach, and if the light’s on, it means I’m home.” She jotted down her phone number and handed it to Shelley. “Why don’t you give me your number, too?”

  Shelley wrote down her number, then handed it to Sierra. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

  As both his mother and sister headed out of the bar, Shelley took a step away from him as if she were planning to follow them out.

  Quinn touched her elbow before she could go, not at all surprised by how electric that one small touch felt. “Have a drink with me?”

  Something dark flashed in her eyes, almost as if she was warring with herself for the heat sparking between them. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Not a good idea? Women usually clamored to tie him and his brothers down, and she thought a drink wasn’t a good idea? Hadn’t she been the one to kiss him last night? And hadn't the kiss blown both their minds?

  “How about a walk on the beach, then?”

  “Honestly, this”—she pointed her finger between them—“is probably not a good idea.” She sighed and shifted her eyes away, but not before Quinn saw the struggle in them. “You’re a Rockwell, and I’m…”

  “Not going to hold it against me?” he teased to try to lighten the mood.

  A soft laugh escaped her lips—the same laughter that had caught his attention last night at the cove and played again and again in his head in the early hours of the morning. The sweet and sexy sound tugged at his heart in a way that he didn’t understand or recognize. But at the same time he couldn’t, and didn’t want to, ignore it.

  Whatever her reason for not wanting to spend time with him anymore, he was determined to change her mind. “I could tell by how comfortable you were in the cove last night that you really love the island, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then I promise you’re going to really love this secret spot that tourists don’t even know exists.”

  Quinn put his hand on the small of her back, hoping she’d let him lead her toward the door. He felt the eyes of his family on them, but he didn’t care. He didn’t know how long Shelley was on the island, but he didn’t want to take a chance that she’d leave without him having a chance to get to know her better.

  “Do you really have a secret place that no one knows about?”

  Thankfully, some of the tension had gone out of her voice by the time they got out to the sidewalk. He drew his brows together in what he hoped was a serious look and tried hard not to smile as he said, “I really do,” in a conspiratorial whisper. “Can I trust you to keep it just between us?”

  Her eyes lit with curiosity before she shrugged and said, “That depends how good of a secret it is.”

  “Oh, it’s good.” He couldn't keep his gaze from dropping to her mouth as the wild thrill from their kiss hit him all over again. “Really good.”

  She trapped her lower lip in her teeth, and her eyes widened with excitement.

  Oh yeah, he knew just how to get this special adventurous woman’s attention.

  “Just as long as you don’t mind getting a little dirty.”

  Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Are you kidding? I love getting dirty.”

  Their eyes held for a long moment as desire sparked again, fast and hot. He hated to break the connection, but if he didn’t, his lips were going to find their way to hers, and even though he was dying to taste her again, he didn’t think that was the best way to win her over…yet.

  Instead, he went for another kind of connection, by slipping her hand into his. She looked down at their hands in surprise.

  Has no one ever held her hand before?

  It had been a long time since Quinn had held a woman’s hand, but he liked the way her fingers fit perfectly between his. Liked it a lot, actually.

  His life was so busy that when he did make time to date, it usually included dinner at a fancy restaurant, a few drinks, and then a quick stress-relieving roll between the sheets—at the woman’s house—before he made his exit at the end of the evening, swift and on his terms. Dating rarely included getting to know the women very well. Mostly because he’d never met a woman he wanted to take time to get to know.

  Until Shelley.

  “So,” he asked, “are you up for having a little adventure with me today?”

  She studied his face for a few long moments, each of which had him holding his breath as he waited for her answer. But then, finally, she smiled up at him, turning his dark day so much brighter as she said, “Take me to your secret place, Quinn.”

  Chapter Seven

  THE MINUTE SHELLEY found out that Quinn was part of the Rockwell family, her stomach had taken a nosedive.

  She’d spent her childhood with a father who worked too much and a mother who cared too much about her place in society for either of them to have time for a relationship with their own daughter. Her father had regarded her with the coldness of a business associate, offering a brief hug only when it was socially expected, like at her high school graduation. Her mother had been only slightly warmer, assessing Shelley’s outfit and “fixing” her wild hair each morning before the driver took her to school.

  Shelley didn’t want a lifestyle—or a relationship—like her parents. Which meant that a hot island fling with Quinn Rockwell was off the table.

  At least, until he'd led her outside and she began to see a playful side of him that her father and her friends’ husbands had never shown.

  Thinking of the seductive glimmer that had been in his eyes when he’d made the comment about getting dirty made her smile. Yes, he was still a Rockwell, but she supposed it couldn’t hurt to give him an afternoon to try to prove her wrong about all rich men being self-absorbed and materialistic, could it? Especially considering how good he looked with his white T-shirt hugging his firm, broad chest...and how nice it felt to hold his hand.

  Last night she’d been too stunned by being caught skinny-dipping at the deserted cove—and too fuzzy from the bubbly—to fully appreciate just how gorgeous he was. Or how power simply radiated out from him. Despite the fact that he was wearing casual clothes instead of a suit and that she didn’t yet know what he did for a living, she could easily imagine him presiding over a boardroom, making multimillion-dollar decisions. He’d been so strong when he’d picked her up out of the water last night, and now his hand was equally strong and unexpectedly gentle over hers as he led her through town.

  Upon waking this morning and thinking about what had happened last night, he’d been a mystery to her. Now that she was with him again, she found him to be even more of a mystery than ever—the sexy, powerful man who could be so gentle with her and sweet with his mother and sister, too.

  A mystery that she was more and more tempted to unravel, despite her lingering doubts about getting involved with a wealthy Rockwell. Especially when just holding his hand was doing crazy things to her insides...

  As they walked hand in hand through town, past the library, a park overflowing with flowers, and a baseball diamond, he asked, “So you own a coffee shop?”

  She had to pause to focus for a moment on what he'd just asked her. With his hand over hers all she could think about was pulling him into her for another kiss. But she couldn't, not yet. Not when she still needed more proof that he wasn't just like every other rich, preoccupied guy out there.

  “Yes,” she finally answered. “My café is in Severn, Maryland.”

  They stopped to let a car pass, and Quinn looked at her in surprise.

  “Severn? You’re kidding me. I l
ive in Annapolis. What’s the name of your café?”

  Severn was only a thirty-minute drive from Annapolis. It really was a small world. “It’s called the Creek Café. Have you heard of it?”

  “Heard of it? I was there two weeks ago on my way back from a meeting. But I don’t remember seeing you there.”

  He’d been to her shop? She would have definitely remembered seeing him. Quinn Rockwell wasn't the kind of man it was possible to forget. “I’m guessing you must have come on a Tuesday. That’s the day I work with my suppliers, and I usually do that from home, because otherwise I get too involved with my customers to get any real work done.”

  They walked through a residential neighborhood with lush gardens and expansive beach houses. The hilly street had an incredible view of the town. By that point they’d taken so many turns that the resort was no longer in sight, but the view of low tide was awe-inspiring.

  “It’s great, isn’t it?” Quinn said, clearly noticing how enthralled she was by the view. “This is one of my favorite views on the island. At high tide it looks like the bay is spilled out before us. Now, at low tide, it’s more like the bay has been sucked away, leaving footprints on the sea floor.”

  “Footprints. I love that.” And she also loved finding out about Quinn’s surprisingly poetic side. One more lovely surprise to add to the others. “Low tide always feels like such a miracle. Just the idea that all that water recedes like it does is amazing. When I was a kid I used to envision a water god that would inhale a deep breath, sucking all the water into his lungs at low tide, and then at high tide he’d blow it out until it refilled the mold it had left behind.”

  “A water god.” He looked as pleased by her imagination as she’d been with his. “That would explain the footprints. When I was a kid we’d skateboard and ride our bikes all over the island. I used to wish there was a ramp big enough to send me flying up over the water.”

  Shelley was stirred by the wonder in his voice, something she’d never heard in either of her parents’ voices, or from anyone in their extremely wealthy social circle—a true love of life and dreams of something other than mergers, takeovers, and investments.

  Seeing the hint of nostalgia in Quinn’s eyes and hearing it in his voice as he talked about his childhood made her extra interested in finding out more about him. How could a guy from a family as wealthy as the Rockwells have had such a normal childhood, with skateboards and bicycles? What had it been like to grow up on this island? And how could he have ever left it?

  Having met Abby, Shelley already knew that Quinn’s mother was a far cry from her own cold mother. But since she’d also met his grandfather, she had to wonder how the rather forbidding older man fit into the Rockwell family equation.

  “Did you like growing up here?” she asked.

  Tension suddenly filled Quinn’s grip, and she realized she’d struck a nerve. He was quiet for several moments as they headed down the road, then cut over toward the marina. He seemed to take careful consideration before answering.

  “Growing up on an island isn’t like growing up in the city. Not that I have that experience to compare it to, but there aren’t as many things to do here, and there are limited career choices, obviously.”

  “But did you enjoy it? Spending afternoons riding your bike or your skateboard? Being so close to the bay and growing up in such a close-knit town?”

  Instead of answering her questions, Quinn stopped beside the boathouse and looked at her. “You have a way of making me think about things that I’d long ago forgotten.”

  “A good way or a bad way?”

  He stepped in close and caressed her cheek. She barely stifled a moan at how good it felt to be so close to him. Close enough that she could feel the heat of his body all along hers. She wanted to close her eyes and revel in the intimate moment, but she didn’t want to miss the intense look he was giving her. A look full of not only desire, but something else, too. Something deep and sweet. “A good way, Shelley. A surprisingly good way.”

  For a moment she was positive he would kiss her again. And even though she was still torn over his being a Rockwell, she held her breath waiting for the press of his lips over hers.

  But he must have read her mind—and the conflicts she was still struggling with—because instead of kissing her the way she could see that he wanted to, he sucked in a harsh breath, then stepped back. “Come on. Let’s get to your secret.”

  But just because he didn't kiss her, that didn't stop him from rubbing seductive little circles on the sensitive skin of her palm with his thumb as they continued toward a boathouse. With every soft caress on her hand, she felt her breath grow shallower, her legs get weaker, and her need for him ratchet up another million levels.

  By the time he led her to a shed beside the boathouse and handed her two metal rakes, she was a lust-filled mess. “Would you mind holding these?”

  “Sure.” It took everything she had to keep her voice from being breathless. Husky. “But what are we going to do with them?”

  From the way his dark eyes had dilated and he was running his hand roughly through his hair, he looked just as wrecked by unfulfilled desire as she was. “You’ll see.”

  He snagged a bucket, and then she followed him into the boathouse. Tools and boating equipment filled the high-ceilinged building. Large workbenches lined the walls, with cabinets above and below. Quinn reached into a cabinet beneath one of the work areas, grabbed a towel and tossed it over his shoulder. He took the rakes from Shelley and put them in the bucket.

  “Now we’re ready,” he said as he led her away from the boathouse along the main road.

  Yes, she thought. She was so freaking ready to kiss him again, it wasn't even funny...

  Still, she tried to focus on the secret he was about to show her. “We’re either going to build some funky sand castles,” she guessed, “or you’re going to use the rakes to dig a shallow grave, bury me before the tide comes in, and hope no one notices.”

  “Sweetheart, if those are the best ideas you can come up with for a rake and a bucket, you haven’t spent nearly enough time on the island yet.”

  Sweetheart. He barely knew her, yet the endearment sounded natural. Just as natural as it had when he’d said it to her last night. Right before she'd thrown herself into his arms and learned just how good a kiss could be. Good enough to turn a girl wanton.

  “I already love it here on the island. So much, in fact, that I’d like to stay longer.”

  He shot her a questioning glance. “Are you considering extending your vacation?”

  “I don’t know exactly what I’m thinking yet, but even in the short time I’ve been here…I feel like I fit, you know?”

  “I can’t imagine you not fitting in anywhere.”

  “Oh, there are definitely places,” she said softly.

  But she didn’t want to go into details on her family life right now. She wanted to get to know the real Quinn Rockwell, and if she told him about her childhood and her concerns about wealthy people as a whole, he might try to bend to please her.

  She didn’t even know why she’d revealed to him that she’d like to stay longer, but once the words were out, she knew they were true. She did feel like she fit in with the easygoing lifestyle here, at least what she’d seen of it so far. She felt relaxed and accepted here, just like she always had with her aunt in Eastham.

  Shelley was glad that he didn’t push for details as they walked down a side street to a sandy, rutted road that looked like it had seen better days. Every part of her was keenly aware of his athletic build, the firm outlines of his thighs against his khaki shorts, his strong hands engulfing hers. He was just so sexy and confident, and best of all, noticeably lacking the air of self-importance that surrounded her father like a cloud. Quinn felt substantial—not that she needed a big man to protect her, or that she was looking for one, for that matter, but she felt safe with him.

  At the end of the dirt road, a hill rose up to meet thick, spiny bushes
. “We’re heading through there.” He nodded to a narrow path between the thorny bushes. “I’ll go first to clear away the branches.”

  “What’s over the ridge?”

  He grinned, and her heart started pounding faster at the way the expression utterly transformed his face, from handsome to heart-stoppingly gorgeous and carefree.

  “Your surprise.” Quinn carefully pushed aside the bushes.

  He held the bucket in one hand high above the tops of the bushes and used his other hand to hold the branches away from her, oblivious to the way thorns were clinging to his own shirt.

  “You’re getting pricked!” She tried to pull the branches from his shirt and a thorn stuck in her fingers. “Ouch.”

  She drew her hand back, and a bead of blood appeared on her finger. When she sucked it into her mouth, Quinn’s eyes darkened and the air between them sizzled, causing her pulse to quicken. She couldn't stop herself from imagining what it would feel like to have his mouth on her finger, his tongue licking a lazy path up her skin.

  “Shelley.”

  She'd never heard anyone say her name with that much heat, with that much desire. Her finger fell from her mouth, making a loud kissing sound that hung in the air between them.

  The sound was so unexpected, and loud, that a second later they both laughed, momentarily breaking the spell. Long enough, at least, for Quinn to guide her the rest of the way through the bushes. As they climbed down the steep dunes toward the beach, Shelley stumbled and nearly fell down the last few feet.

  He caught her and swept her against his chest. Oh God. He smelled potent, virile. Delicious. So delicious that Shelley’s body immediately heated up and she couldn't tear her gaze away from his mouth. A mouth that had tasted better than anything else ever had.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” Her response came out breathy and swoony. She never swooned.