Their Secret Summer Family (The Bravos 0f Valentine Bay Book 7)

by Christine Rimmer

  His shrug was too offhand. “At Aly and Connor’s party three weeks ago, Daffy and Percy sat with me and the girls. Daffy mentioned you, said she was trusting me to treat you right. I got the impression she’d noticed that I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

  It pleased her no end to picture him blowing his cover because he couldn’t stop staring at her. “Aunt Daffy’s a very perceptive woman.”

  “Did she say anything to you last night—about us? Give you any strange looks?”

  “Nope. We shared a hug when I got there and she didn’t say a word about you. As for strange looks she might have sent my way, I didn’t see any.” And this seemed like the perfect moment to make her position clear on this subject. “The truth is, I don’t really care what anyone says about you and me, Dante. And I don’t care what they know, either.”

  He ran a slow finger down the side of her neck and then outward to her shoulder, where he idly fiddled with the lace strap of her cami. “The way I see it, if Daffy and Aly and Connor and everyone else in town have decided to just keep their mouths shut about us, that works for me.”

  A sharp spike of irritation twisted in her stomach at his words. Okay, yeah. He was a very private man. But she was so tired of being his sexy little secret—or if not a secret, something no one was supposed to talk about.

  It was way past time she made her position clear.

  But she really didn’t want to get into some deep discussion about where they were “going” and how she wanted “more” from him than he’d said he could give. She’d been racking her brain to come up with a light, evenhanded approach to this issue.

  And then, as she stood there at the counter with him so close she could melt right into him, it came to her—the perfect way to find out what she needed to know. “So I’ve been thinking...”

  He lowered his head a fraction. Those fine lips hovered just inches from hers. “I really love the way you think.”

  Maybe not about this, though. “You know, there’s a family dinner at Daniel’s pretty much every Sunday. We all have an open invitation.”

  He tipped up her chin with a finger and brushed his mouth across hers. “I’m aware.” He kissed her again. “You taste so good. I can never get enough of you. Let’s go back to bed.”

  She slipped her thumbs from his belt loops and pressed her hands against his beautiful, bare chest. “Dante, listen to me.”

  The sex fog in his dark eyes cleared a little and a tiny frown drew down between his thick black eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

  She stared up at him, keeping her gaze steady and true. “I want you to come with me next Sunday to Daniel’s for the Bravo family dinner.”

  He blinked, a dead giveaway. She knew she wouldn’t like whatever he said next. She was right. He stepped back an inch or so. “Gracie. If I go to Daniel’s with you, they’re all going to think we’re together.”

  Because we are together.

  That little spike of annoyance in her belly? All at once, it was a spear shoved clean through her. “So then, that’s a no?”

  “I thought we had an agree—”

  “Just say it, please.”

  “Gracie...”

  “Say it.”

  “No. I think it’s a bad idea. I think we really need to keep things—”

  “Shh.” She stopped his words with the gentle touch of her fingers to his lips. “I understand,” she said softly. “You don’t need to say another word.”

  “We did agree from the first—”

  “Yes, we did. I get it. It’s fine.” Lifting on tiptoe, she replaced her fingertips with her open mouth. It was a wet kiss, a long kiss, slow and hot and full of sexual promise, a kiss that said everything he needed to know at that moment. Everything about right now.

  And nothing more.

  Because right now was what they had and he didn’t want more.

  Okay, yeah. Maybe she ought to do the adult thing—communicate. Maybe she should talk it out with him, tell him what her sisters had said to tell him, that she needed more or she was moving on.

  But ultimatums weren’t her style. And it was all just too sad and depressing. Not to mention, it hurt. A lot. She’d been agonizing over this for weeks now. The longing had kind of worn her down. It just shouldn’t be this hard with a guy, should it?

  But it was hard. The hardest thing ever.

  And she knew why.

  She felt so much for him. More than for Joey or Randy in high school. More than for Niall or Keegan or Paolo. She might as well just admit it—to herself, at least.

  She’d fallen in love with this man.

  And that scared her to death. Especially now she fully understood that her love was going nowhere.

  She’d fallen in love with Dante Santangelo and he didn’t want anything more than great sex for as long as it lasted—oh, and her friendship. He wanted that, too.

  And she wanted his friendship. Maybe. Eventually. If she ever got over him.

  She just saw no point in humiliating herself. He’d made it way clear he wouldn’t let her—or anyone—in. He was never going to the love place.

  “Gracie...” He said her name with real feeling. With need and affection, with searing desire. Like she was everything to him, like she carried his heart inside her, precious, cherished. Protected. Safe.

  Yeah, it was a lie, but such a perfect, beautiful lie. She needed to indulge that lie.

  One last time.

  Scooping her up, he took her back to the bed and laid her down on the tangled sheets.

  She reached up her arms to him, twined them around his neck and pulled him down to her, so close. So tender. So exactly right.

  Just the way a last time ought to be.

  When he came into her, she rocked him slow and sweet, legs and arms locked around him, feeling him within her, so hot and deep, as their kiss went on and on. He tasted of wonder and pleasure and all the love he refused to give her.

  But it was beautiful, anyway. He gave what he could. And as she moved with him, so tight, so close, she knew he had no idea that she was letting him go.

  Afterward, she cooked him eggs with sausage. She made sourdough toast with marionberry jam. As they ate, she asked him about his work schedule.

  “I’m off for the rest of the day,” he said, and she knew he was filling her in on his schedule so they could figure out when and how they might next hook up. “I’m going to get some sleep. And I told my dad I would help him haul some stuff to the dump. So there goes my afternoon.”

  “Your mom’ll want you to stay for dinner.”

  “Probably.” His eyes made promises she wasn’t going to be available to help him keep. “But I’ll be home by eight, eight thirty. How ’bout you?”

  She sipped her coffee and then shook her head. “I promised Cassie and Erin I’d be over for dinner. We tend to run late when we get together.”

  Now he was looking rueful. “Tomorrow, I’m pulling a twelve-hour shift. Six a.m. to six p.m.”

  “And I’ve got to work tomorrow night.”

  “That’s inconvenient.”

  She gave him a little nod for an answer.

  “I’ll miss you.” He said it tenderly.

  She replied in kind. “I’ll miss you, too.” And she would.

  So very much.

  * * *

  The next evening, Dante picked up Owen from the sitter and got home at six thirty.

  He’d had an hour free at lunch and sent Gracie a text hoping maybe they could steal a little time at the cabin. She’d never texted back. And by now, she would be mixing drinks at the Sea Breeze.

  Tomorrow, he didn’t go in until four in the afternoon, so he had a good chance of seeing her tomorrow morning—late, so she could get enough sleep.

  As he unlocked his front door, he was thinking he would send her another te
xt just to check in, make sure everything was okay with her. There had been that rough moment yesterday, when she’d invited him to Sunday dinner at Daniel’s and he’d turned her down.

  She’d seemed okay afterwards, though.

  More than okay. She’d kissed him and that had led to another totally satisfying interval in bed. She’d even made him breakfast after and he’d been reassured that they were back on the same page about everything.

  He pushed the door inward. That was when he saw the plain white envelope on the floor. It had his name on it. He bent to pick it up as Owen went around him, headed for the kitchen.

  When he peeled back the flap, he found a single folded sheet of paper and the key to the cabin.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dante,

  When this crazy, wonderful thing started with us, we agreed it would last until one of us called it off. And that’s what this is—me, calling it off. Thank you for the cottage. I’ve loved living there. You really came through when I needed a hand. Take care.

  Gracie

  His gut twisting and his heart beating a ragged rhythm under his breastbone, Dante stood in the open doorway and read the note through five times.

  Take care?

  That was it?

  That was all he got?

  After everything they’d had, she thought she could just scribble a quick note and give back the key?

  He stuck the key in his pocket and whipped out his phone to call her and tell her in no uncertain terms that a damn note wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. They needed to talk.

  They needed to work this out. She couldn’t just run away like some irresponsible kid. She couldn’t just...

  The indignant thought died unfinished.

  Because damn it, yes. She could. Those were the terms. He’d set them. He’d agreed with them. He’d really thought the terms were a good idea at the time, reasonable and clear. So simple and forthright.

  He was an idiot.

  And he should have known, shouldn’t he?

  Yesterday morning, when she’d asked him to Daniel’s, he should have recognized the invitation for what it was, should have understood that she was saying she wanted more.

  Should have figured out that if he turned her down, he very well might lose her.

  His hand was shaking. Both hands. He glanced from one to the other, ordering the shaking to stop and the aching emptiness in his chest to fill up with acceptance.

  But acceptance was not happening.

  Crumpling her note into a tight little ball, he let it fall to the floor. He dropped his phone on the entry table and went to the living area, where he flopped down on the sofa and shut his eyes.

  There was no point in calling her. She’d made her position crystal clear, given him exactly what they’d agreed on.

  A tidy, easy ending. No drama. Quick and clean.

  He should be grateful. It was just about the best end he could have hoped for.

  If only he was ready for it to end.

  If only he hadn’t started to doubt that he’d ever be ready to have Gracie walk away from him.

  He lay there with his eyes closed, wishing he could just fall asleep and forget everything.

  Didn’t happen. Several minutes crept by.

  And then Owen whined and licked the back of his hand.

  He got up, fed the dog, made a sandwich and ate it standing at the kitchen window, looking out at the graveled driveway that wound into the evergreens and the cabin, barely visible back in the trees.

  Owen whined at him again. The dog sat by his left foot, gazing up at him hopefully.

  “She’s gone,” he said flatly. “She moved out today—apparently.”

  Another whine, the sound somehow more hopeful than ever.

  “What? You need to go over there and see for yourself?”

  That brought a short bark in the affirmative and three hard smacks of Owen’s tail against the floor.

  “Okay, then. Have it your way.” He turned for the slider, Owen right behind him.

  When they reached the cabin, he almost changed his mind. He didn’t want to go in there and see all the ways she’d left him behind.

  But then Owen whined at him again and he stuck the key in the lock.

  Inside, it was pretty much as he expected. Her bed was gone. So was the chest of drawers she’d brought with her. The drawers of the other bureau were empty. No sexy satin and pretty lace, no naughty pleasure toys.

  She’d cleaned out the fridge and taken the food she’d bought from the cupboards. The bathroom still smelled faintly of her bodywash and shampoo, but the medicine cabinet was empty.

  When he returned to the main room, Owen was curled up in the doggy bed she’d bought for him, his long face resting on his favorite chew toy. He looked up at Dante without lifting his head, his caramel eyes glum and faintly accusing.

  “I don’t even know where she went,” he said to the dog, who just closed his eyes and chuffed out a heavy sigh. “Maybe back to Daniel’s...”

  Not that it mattered. Wherever she was, she didn’t want him there. She’d made her point and he needed to let her go.

  And he would. He’d get on with his life and let her get on with hers.

  * * *

  Alternately furious and bleakly resigned, Dante somehow managed to get through that night, the next day and eight hours of work.

  He got home at three in the morning and tried to sleep. Mostly, he stared at the dark ceiling overhead and punched at his pillow a lot, trying to get comfortable, trying not to think of silver-blond hair, sea-blue eyes, a wicked laugh and sweet pink lips.

  There was no point in going after her. He had nothing to offer her. He was set in his ways, not going to change, didn’t have whatever it took to make the love thing work. The best thing he could do for her was to leave her the hell alone.

  But at nine that morning, as he stared out the window over the sink, sipping coffee without really tasting it, he finally broke.

  He called her.

  It went straight to voicemail.

  Miserable, disbelieving and angry that she wouldn’t even take his damn call, he barked out a message.

  * * *

  Grace sat at the kitchen table in the cottage she now shared with Harper and Hailey, who had left at a little after eight to head over to the Valentine Bay Theater where they would be staging their next theatrical extravaganza.

  The phone was right there on the table beside her. She watched it light up with Dante’s name and she sent it to voicemail. Maybe he would leave a message, maybe not.

  When the voicemail icon appeared and the phone gave an annoying beep, she set down her coffee cup and shifted her gaze to stare blindly at the cupboards above the sink. It hurt so much, being away from him.

  She missed him—missed everything about him. The cloves-and-cedar scent of his skin, his reluctant smile, the proud jut of his strong cheekbones. His touch and his voice and his kisses...

  It was awful, this being in love with Dante. Leave it to her to fall for a man who claimed outright he was bad at relationships and wouldn’t be having one ever again.

  She didn’t want to talk to him and she wasn’t going to talk to him. No way. There was no point. Rising, she refilled her coffee cup. For a minute or two, she stood at the counter, glaring at her phone, waffling about whether to check that voicemail or not.

  Her constant longing for the mere sound of his voice won out. She took her cup back to the table and autodialed her voicemail.

  His message was short and straight to the point. “What the hell, Gracie? We need to talk.” He sounded really pissed.

  Which was in no way her problem.

  For another three or four minutes, she sat there stewing—aching to call him back, reminding herself that she’d already decided she wouldn’t.

 
; Finally, she gave in to her own hopeless longing and texted him. I’ve moved in with my sisters. She typed in the address of the cottage. I’m here until 2 p.m. You’re welcome to stop by.

  His response was instantaneous: On my way.

  “Great,” she muttered angrily, her silly heart beating so fast she imagined it leaping into her throat and right out her mouth, hitting the floor with a wet slapping sound, then flopping around desperately like a landed fish.

  He would be here any minute.

  Jumping up, she ran to her bedroom. Stripping out of her sleep shorts and Reed College T-shirt, she ran for the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face, put on deodorant and mascara and combed her hair.

  What to wear?

  God. Was she pathetic or what?

  She did know him, after all. This wasn’t a reunion. He was going to get all up in her grill about the way she’d left him and then remind her that it was all for the frickin’ best.

  Really, why did she have to go and fall in love with him? There were good guys in the world who actually wanted someone to love and cherish and bring home to the family.

  She needed...sexy underwear.

  Even though there was no way he was going to see it. He could crawl on his knees across a sea of broken glass swearing to love her forever, vowing never to leave her in a million years and to accompany her to dinner at Daniel’s this coming Sunday—and he still wasn’t getting a look at what she had under her clothes.

  Not today, anyway.

  It took a good three minutes of pawing around in her lingerie suitcase to decide on the perfect pair of lace-trimmed cobalt-blue satin cheekies and the bra to match. She put on the undies and then went to the dresser to whip out her best secret weapon: the faded, tattered jean shorts that showed way more than they should every time she bent over. Paired with a too-tight T-shirt and brass-riveted flip-flops with a cute bowtie detail, she was ready to face the emotionally unavailable man of her dreams.

  And pigtails. Dante couldn’t get enough of her in pigtails. And he wasn’t going to get enough. In fact, he was getting nothing of her.