Sex on the Beach (Southern Comfort Book 2)

by Melanie Shawn

  Still, every once in a while, it was nice to have a whole day to do nothing but rest. I needed that, too, because I was still pretty knocked out by the drinking I’d done the night before down at the bar. I didn’t know how much longer I could continue knocking ’em back like I did in college. Sure, I still had a few years until I hit thirty; it wasn’t like I was ancient, but I could already feel my instincts telling me to slow things down.

  Thankfully, the majority of folks I took out were on vacation, so their mentality fit with mine just fine. Relax and enjoy: my motto.

  My phone buzzed and I saw that it was a text from my brother Hank. The fighter.

  Meeting. Noon. House.

  I wondered if this family meeting had anything to do with the inheritance we’d learned about after my father passed. It wasn’t his cash. Hell, our old man hadn’t had two dimes to rub together and if he had, he would’ve owed ’em to somebody.

  Nah, the moola my siblings and I were set to inherit was from my mama’s side of the family. Sabrina Wentworth’s granddad had made his millions in pharmaceuticals in the early sixties. His empire had been carried on by his son and passed on to my mother, and she’d left it for us in a trust.

  Fifty. Million. Dollars.

  That amount of money was unfathomable to me. It would be like telling me that I was getting a billion-teen-hundred dollars. It didn’t even make sense.

  But that incomprehensible amount was exactly what I was set to inherit, split four ways with my brothers and sister. A sister, mind you, I hadn’t even known existed until a few months ago. She was snatched up by my maternal grandparents after my mama passed. I’d only been two at the time and hadn’t remembered she existed.

  Then, when Pop passed, she’d shown up at the will reading, and I hadn’t even known who she was. Both of my older brothers remembered her, but they’d never spoken about her my entire life. No one had. Not even my daddy.

  Although, in fairness, since she wasn’t my late mother or alcohol, it tracked that he hadn’t had much to say about her.

  I’d thought that the return of a sister I never knew I had would be the shock of the decade. But I was damn wrong. Becoming a millionaire was fucking insane.

  I was still trying, and failing, to wrap my head around it. And the truth was, we might never see it. There’d been a clause put in the will stating that we wouldn’t inherit a dime if there was any foul play connected to Mama’s death.

  We’d always been told that she passed in a car accident on a rainy night. But it seemed we might not’ve had the whole story. So, we’d been lookin’ into it, which was probably what this family meeting was about.

  I’d been looking forward to a day on the water to let the events of the past few months sink in, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. My relaxing day on the water might’ve just gotten cut short, but I still wanted to get some time in, even if it was just a few hours.

  I grabbed my keys and Sherlock’s leash. “You comin’?”

  He laid down and sighed. A few years ago, he would have jumped at the chance to be out on the water, but in his old age he was slowin’ down a bit.

  “Alright, see ya later.”

  I scratched him behind the ears and was out the door.

  The drive took less than five minutes, and then I was pulling into the parking lot at the docks. As soon as I got out of my truck, I saw Miss Shaw struggling with getting a box out of the trunk of her car. Her beauty salon, Pretty in Peach, was located in the downtown arts district that ran along the wharf.

  “Mornin’, Miss Shaw. Let me help you with that.”

  I easily lifted the heavy box and carried it to the back entrance of her shop. She held the screen door open and I set it next to another stack of boxes.

  I turned around. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  Instead of answering, she lifted her sunglasses off and stared at me like she’d seen a ghost. I would’ve been alarmed if I hadn’t known that was exactly what she was seeing. I was the spittin’ image of my Uncle Henry, a man that she’d been engaged to before he lost his life in a tragic plane crash over forty years ago.

  I never met my uncle, but I was now the age he was when he was killed. And if you put a picture of us side by side, you couldn’t tell the difference.

  My brothers and I carried on the family names, genes, and dependin’ on who ya talked to, the family curse. The genes and names I didn’t mind so much. The first generation of Comfort men were all built with wide shoulders, muscular arms, and six-pack abs, even when they drank a six-pack a day. My brothers and I had all been blessed with athletic builds that we didn’t have to spend a single day in a gym to achieve or maintain.

  And as far as the names went, I had no complaints. I was James Comfort Jr. after my father. My brother Billy was named after my Uncle William, who was also the middle brother in the OG set. And Hank was named after my Uncle Henry, who was the eldest, just like his namesake.

  “I just can’t get over how much you resemble him.” Miss Shaw reached up and touched my cheek gently. Tears pooled in her eyes. “It’s just uncanny.”

  The pain I saw in Miss Shaw’s eyes was what some people in this town would attribute to the last trait that we’d been bestowed. The Comfort Curse. Legend had it that, three generations earlier, a curse had been placed on the male heirs of the Comfort bloodline. It said that any love they found would end tragically in death, either theirs or their beloved’s. Dark, right? That was why I didn’t really buy into it.

  Sure, an argument could be made that all evidence pointed to its legitimacy. For three generations, every single Comfort man had either lost their loves or their lives, and tragically. Still, I reckoned that was either coincidence or self-fulfilling prophecy.

  But the one person that was convinced of it was Miss Shaw. She’d never remarried or even dated anyone seriously after my uncle was killed. She maintained that the love they shared was once in a lifetime, and she wasn’t about to tempt fate twice.

  “Sorry.” She sniffed and her hand fell.

  “No, I’m sorry. If I could change my face I would.” I grinned, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “And deprive the female population of Firefly? Never,” she teased. “Thanks for the hand, handsome. And you behave yourself, today, young man.” She waved her finger at me as she gave me the same instruction she’d been giving me my entire life.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” I returned my usual response as I headed out of her shop.

  By the time I made it down the dock to the Vitamin Sea, a trickle of perspiration slid down my back and sweat started gathering on my forehead. I pulled a ball cap out of my back pocket and put it on.

  My boat was my favorite place to spend my mornings, but this was a hot one. Barely eight o’clock in the morning and the sun was already burning like a fireball. Gotta love that Georgia heat.

  I was just about to get underway when something drew my attention to the dock. Scanning the area, I stopped short when my gaze fell on a stunning stranger—a woman too beautiful for the real world, as a matter of fact. This girl looked like she belonged on a movie screen, or maybe in my dreams. To see her standing at the edge of the dock I walked on every day of my life stopped me in my tracks.

  She was tall and elegant, wearing white linen shorts that showed off her long legs all the way down to her high-heeled sandals, a flowy sky blue tank top that wasn’t clinging to her skin despite the heat and humidity, and oversized sunglasses that made her look like a celebrity in hiding. Her glossy chestnut brown hair was pulled into a high ponytail that hung down to the middle of her back.

  I took in all of those details in an instant. The image of her burned into my brain. I doubted it would ever fade.

  This goddess was speaking to Gunner “Stash” Jones and I wondered if she was gonna give the old man a heart attack. In his day, Gunner had been quite the ladies’ man. Growing up, I’d thought he was Paul from the original Pete’s Dragon. He’d had the thick brow
n hair and Tom Selleck mustache, which was the inspiration for his nickname. At six foot six he towered over other men in town and he’d been known to wear a turtleneck. Nowadays he resembled the Gorton’s Fisherman and his frame was more Stay Puft Marshmallow Man than Magnum P.I.

  Stash turned and pointed to me, and the heavenly creature’s gaze followed. Slowly, casually, she lowered her sunglasses halfway down her nose and looked at me over the top of them.

  Our eyes met, and I felt the impact of it hit me in the gut.

  Damn, what was going on here?

  The old man finished his spiel, and the girl slid her sunglasses up and faced him. She nodded, a quick and decisive motion, and started down the dock toward me with a smooth and determined stride. I’d expected her to have trouble navigating the rough planks in her precarious-looking high-heeled sandals, but she may as well have been a model on a runway.

  As she approached, I suddenly felt sloppy in my worn flip-flops, faded cargo shorts, vintage band T-shirt, and baseball cap. Which was stupid, obviously. The only other people on the dock were fishermen. What I had on was practically a tuxedo, comparatively. But something about this woman made me want to bust out the spit and polish.

  When she reached me, I gave her my best carefree smile. I’d gotten good feedback on that smile in the past from members of the fairer sex, and if I couldn’t impress her with my dress and grooming, I could do my best to attempt it with my charm.

  She took off the sunglasses, revealing a pair of the most brilliant blue eyes I’d ever seen. Good Lord in heaven, the glimpse I’d gotten from the distance had not done them justice. Not one little bit.

  Her expression was cool and a little distant as she asked, “Are you Jimmy?”

  “At your service.”

  “The harbormaster mentioned you hire out your boat.”

  The sound of her voice was soothing. Like the sound of the waves or the hum of crickets and mockingbirds on a hot summer night. I wanted to hear more of it.

  “He’s not lyin’.”

  “I’d like to go out, please. Now, if you’re not otherwise engaged.”

  I considered blowing off the family meeting completely, but even this siren of the sea couldn’t entice me to flake on my family. But it was tempting.

  “I have a family meeting to get to this afternoon, so all I have time for is a three-hour tour.”

  She grinned, a spark beaming in her aqua gaze. “Like Gilligan.”

  “Yep, and I guess that would make you the movie star.”

  “I’m more of a Mary Ann.”

  Bullshit.

  Not that there was anything wrong with Mary Ann. I loved me some Mary Ann, but this woman was a Ginger, no doubt about it. She was a showstopper.

  I held my hand out to help her aboard, and my throat constricted at the touch. It was electrically charged. A zap of awareness zipped through me the second we made contact. She was one hell of a woman, that was for sure. I didn’t even know her name yet, but I was already sure I’d never forget her.

  “Welcome aboard…”

  “Isabella.”

  “Bella…” I spoke her name with reverence. “That suits you.”

  She grinned. “Really? Because no one calls me that.”

  Aw, shit. I’d known her less than five minutes and I’d already offended her. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. It’s okay.” Her head dipped and she brushed several strands of hair that had fallen in her face off of it. When she lifted her chin, the smile that was on her face caused a very funny feeling to stir in my stomach. “I like it.”

  Putting that smile on her face, hearing her say that she liked me calling her Bella, had a completely disproportionate amount of pride welling up in my chest.

  I did my best to ignore my reaction to her as I gave her my spiel, which included safety and a tour below deck where there was a bathroom, cabin, and galley. The quarters were tight, and she brushed up against me more than once. I’d given my body a warning that there would be no funny business, but it wasn’t really heeding it. It had a mind of its own, and that mind was a dirty one.

  Once we were topside, she settled into the lounge area and I untied the moorings that held the boat to the dock. “So, what did you have in mind?”

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “Fishing? Sightseeing up and down the coast? The trip out to Peachtree Peak is a nice one, although it’s usually reserved for sunrises and sunsets.”

  “Oh, I…” She licked her lips, her tongue slid along the seam of her mouth. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought it through. I just wanted to go out on the water. I’ve never been on a boat.”

  “Really?” If I had to guess, I’d have put her in the filthy rich, yachting class of folks. The sort that had fifty-footers and summer homes in Hyannis Port. Growing up in a tourist town, I’d gotten real good at pickin’ out the haves from the have nots, and the woman before me was definitely in the former category. “You’ve never been on a boat?”

  “No.” Her eyes stared into mine and I could see her trepidation. “Is that okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am it’s more than okay. I’m honored to pop your cherry.”

  Her face flushed with color and I wondered if I’d put my foot in my mouth. I hadn’t meant to be crass but damn now that I’d seen her blush, hell if I didn’t want to see it again.

  CHAPTER 2

  Isabella

  As I settled back against the surprisingly comfortable cushions that lined the seating area, I found my eyes drifting to Jimmy again and again. He had a confidence and ease about him that I was drawn to, like a moth to a flame. I spent time around males, mostly ones that worked for my father, but what I was staring at was a man.

  He oozed testosterone, and from my body’s response I would guess a good number of pheromones as well. I kept wondering what it would feel like to be touched by him, to be kissed by him, and to touch and kiss him. I tried to ignore it, ignore him, but it was impossible.

  I’d just get my mind on something else and then a sound or a movement would catch my attention, drawing it back to him. His large hands as he handled the ropes, his arm muscles as he lifted the heavy coil. His movements were so powerful, so masculine, so sexy.

  And then there was his smile. It was the first thing I’d noticed as I walked down the dock. That kept coming back to my mind. Immediately following was the distinct flutter in my belly when our eyes met.

  For the hundredth time, I tore my gaze away from him and turned it out to the water to distract myself. Sunlight glistened over the surface of the ocean. It reminded me of thousands of diamonds sparkling. The motion of the waves carrying the boat was soothing and I could see how people could get addicted to being out on the water.

  My father owned a yacht that he used for business, but I’d never been invited on it. I’d always wanted to go. In high school, a lot of my classmates’ families had boats, but I was never permitted to go on them either. I’d been allowed to go to school and come home. That was basically it. And once my peers were getting their driver’s licenses around age sixteen, my father conveniently took umbrage with the course of my education and arranged to have me privately tutored.

  The more I looked back on it, it was as if he’d wanted to keep me in a bubble. I used to believe that his behavior could be explained by the fact that he was a control-freak, but now I wondered if it had been because of my condition.

  Since finding out the news a few days ago, I’d called him. Several times. But he had yet to return any of my calls. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be unreachable for weeks, sometimes months at a time, but I’d always assumed, wrongly so it turned out, that if I really needed him, he’d be there. If the past seventy-two hours were any indication, that was not the case.

  I closed my eyes against the bright southern sun and tried to push all negative thoughts from my head. I didn’t want to waste another second worrying about him or my condition.

  Instead, I focused on the fact that I was there. In Georg
ia. On this boat. With the sexiest man I’d ever met.

  We’d been out on the water for a couple of hours now and I’d done everything I could to not stare and drool over the boat captain. I’d read every piece of literature on Firefly Island that I’d picked up at the rental car company in Savannah, my childhood hometown.

  I’d learned that Firefly Island was founded by three Harvard students, who bought the island to use as a vacation home. Carlton Abernathy, whose family was in real estate, Benson Montgomery, who was heir to a shipping dynasty, and Trenton Culpepper, whose family made their fortune in oil. The three decided to move to the island permanently and develop it after they graduated.

  Firefly Island was nicknamed the Jewel of Georgia. It was renowned for its breathtaking coastal scenery that included beaches that lit up nightly with lightning bugs.

  Its architecture was also notable. Well-preserved early-to-mid-19th-century and late-18th-century buildings populated the tiny island. It also had thriving historic and arts districts nestled in the heart of the city.

  It boasted a modest population of just over five thousand residents, but drew close to half a million tourists every year. The large number of visitors was attributed to its diverse and unique attractions, from magnificent deep-sea fishing to the tallest Ferris wheel in the East—which I planned on heading down to Firefly Pier and riding, despite being terrified of heights.

  Then there were the quarterly festivals—including the Annual Firefly Festival, which was only four days away, and which I hoped to attend.

  But the biggest draw to the Jewel of Georgia was Abernathy Manor. The world-famous—or should I say, infamous—estate was regularly on “The Top Ten Most Haunted Places in The U.S.” lists, and had been featured on several paranormal investigation and reality shows. I was determined to go on a tour while I was here, even though my second greatest fear, next to heights, was the undead. Actually, I’d always been terrified of anything supernatural.

  But that was the old Isabella. The new Isabella faced her fears! She didn’t cower and give in to them.