Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel)

by Brogan, Tracy

  “Oh, trust me. I’m imagining all sorts of things.” Oh, God, he really was.

  “Well, stop it, because it won’t do you any good. And check your phone, will you? I want to see if Melody has sent any updates.”

  He pulled the phone from the pocket of his jacket, which had been hung to dry on a hook on the wall. He checked the screen.

  “Two messages,” he said. “First one says PHONE IS STILL IN BENTLEY.” He moved his thumb over the screen. “And the second message says, PHONE IS STILL IN BENTLEY. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHO THE FUCK IS GRANT? LOVE, MELODY. XOXO.”

  He smiled at her, and she smiled back. “It’s too late to answer her now. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  He set the phone on the little shelf above the bed as she stared at the mattress once more.

  “Which of these pillows do you suppose is the least nasty?” she asked, reaching down and spreading the quilts over the bed using just her thumbs and index fingers.

  “No telling. But here.” He pulled off his shirt. “Put this around one. It’s not much, but it’s clean and smells like fabric softener. Apparently Reggie likes to wash shirts too.”

  Elaine chuckled. “Won’t you be cold?”

  He’d be lying next to her. No chance he’d be cold. In fact, he’d be lucky if he got any sleep at all. “I’ll be all right.” He slid under the blankets and sheet and patted the spot next to him.

  She stared for a minute, and he sat back up. “Do you want me to go sleep on a bunk or the couch? Because I will if you ask me to.” Every speck of testosterone in his body was calling him a dumbass right now. What kind of moron offered to go sleep someplace else?

  Elaine paused for the briefest hesitation, then sighed and flipped off the light. “No, it’s fine.”

  She climbed in next to him, covered a pillow with his shirt, and lay down, her back to his front. His chest whumped in relief and he wasted no time in snuggling up behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist. He left a little room between them—as Father Lawrence would say, leave room for the Holy Spirit—but there was nothing holy about his thoughts right now. Even so, he didn’t need her to know the extent of his desire, or of his suffering. As she relaxed into him, he knew this was going to be the longest night of his life. Her hair spread over the pillow and smelled like flowers. He didn’t know what kind of flowers because he was, after all, a dude, but the scent was flowers for sure, and her skin smelled like that fancy bar of soap back at home in their shower. He wanted to savor it. He breathed in deep, slow, and apparently loud.

  “Grant? Are you . . . smelling me?”

  His pause was infinitesimal. “Get over yourself. Of course I’m not smelling you.”

  He was totally smelling her. He nudged a little closer, pressing his chest against her back and slipping his hand up under her shirt to rest it on her warm abdomen.

  “Hey, now what are you doing?” she whispered and caught his arm at the wrist.

  “Touching you,” he whispered back.

  “I know you’re touching me, but you should stop. These walls are wafer thin.” She didn’t push his arm away but her grip tightened.

  Still, the whiskey made him bold and silly. He nuzzled the back of her neck and took another obvious breath. “So . . . no boogie-woogie, then?”

  He felt her body move with silent laughter. “Absolutely no boogie-woogie. You said you’d never take advantage of a damsel in distress.”

  “I never said that. If I did, I was just trying to get laid.”

  He felt her laughing again, though no sound came out. “Go to sleep.”

  “Won’t you at least kiss me good night?” He sounded more desperate than sexy. Damn whiskey. Damn dick that felt no sense of shame or pride.

  Elaine rolled slightly so that she was looking up at him. Lights from the parking lot lampposts shone in through the seams of the curtains, making her look dark and mysterious.

  She lifted her mouth and gave him a fast, tight kiss on the lips, but he followed as her head fell back to the pillow. That tiny taste had only made him want more. His hand slid farther around her, turning her onto her back. She didn’t resist, and the kiss deepened briefly, until one of the goddamn Paradise Brothers slammed the bathroom door and the moment was over.

  Elaine kissed him once more, a soft brush of the lips at the corner of his mouth, then she rolled to her side once more. “Go to sleep, Grant.”

  Yep, this was going to be one long, uncomfortable night.

  Chapter 14

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S no signal?” Three hundred and fifty pounds of virtual linebacker plowed into Delaney’s chest, and Grant’s phone shook in her hand. She pulled the quilt back up to her waist as she sat in the bed. It was barely daybreak, and with the time difference between Illinois and California, she’d woken her sister up.

  “I’m sorry, Lane,” Melody said, her voice drowsy. “I don’t know what to tell you. I checked when I went to bed last night and it showed that your phone was still in Bentley, Illinois, but when I check it now, it says it’s offline. So either your burglar turned it off, or your phone died.”

  “Crap! Crap, crap, crap.” Elaine punched at the mattress with her fist.

  Grant rolled over and scrubbed a hand across his face. “What’s the matter?” His voice was as scratchy with sleep as Melody’s.

  “Who’s that?” her sister asked. “Your mysterious Grant person? Let me talk to him.”

  “Oh, hell no.” That’s all she needed. Melody and Grant exchanging information. “Just let me think.” But her brain wasn’t booting. After a few seconds of blank nothingness where her cognitive reasoning should be, she spoke up. “OK, listen, Mel, I guess we’ll head to Memphis. I’ll call you when we get there, but don’t tell anyone about any of this. Not about the phone or the car trouble or anything. I want to take care of things myself, without having to worry about what the people worrying about me are actually worrying about. Got it?”

  Her sister’s voice rose. “But what if I’m worried? You’re acting nuts, you know. I don’t want the next picture I see on People magazine to be a mug shot of you, or one of you shaving your head or something. What do you even know about this guy? Is he trustworthy?”

  Elaine looked down at Grant. His short hair was a little bed-heady and he had a pillow line on his cheek. Very threatening.

  “Are you trustworthy?” she asked him. “My sister wants to know.”

  She was making a joke, scrambling to find some humor in this latest twist, but his sleepy gaze turned serious. “I am trustworthy. Tell your sister I’m going to get your phone, and your money, back and get you home safely.”

  “Money?” Melody said. “What money?”

  Ah, shit.

  Delaney tore her gaze from his. “It’s nothing. Just a little cash I had with my phone. It’s all good.”

  If she told Melody that forty thousand dollars had been stolen along with her wallet and laptop, there was no way her sister could keep that quiet. She’d tell her parents, and then her parents would call the police, and then Donna would get arrested, and then Delaney would be all over the news again in yet another ridiculous scandal, and Grant would be dragged in right along with her. No police, no media. No way. “It’s all under control,” she lied to her sister. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call you later.”

  She disconnected the call before her sister could ask anything else, and set the phone on the nightstand. She slid back down so she was lying on her back next to Grant. Her heart thumped erratically. Pure stress. Probably. She pulled in a deep breath through her nose and blew it out slowly. That did nothing to calm her mind. It only made her feel light-headed.

  Grant was on his side, facing her, with his arm drawn up under his head, and since his shirt was wrapped around her pillow, protecting her from all manner of boogie-woogie ickiness, he was bare chested. That wasn’t helping to calm
her state of mind either.

  “My sister doesn’t have a signal for my phone anymore. We are flying blind.”

  He reached over and rested his hand on her belly. The move wasn’t so much sensual as it was comfortable and comforting. Her heart took an extra whump and began to slow. She covered his hand with her own but stared up at the dingy ceiling.

  “So, we’ll do like you said,” Grant said quietly. “We’ll head to Memphis. We can go to my aunt’s house, and if they’re not there, we wait. She’s got pets and a job. It’s not as if she can disappear the same way my mom can. And she’s not batshit crazy like my mom either, so I have to believe as soon as she hears the message I left at her house, she’ll call us. I’d bet your forty grand that Tina doesn’t even know my mom has that bag.”

  Delaney turned her head toward him. “What if they’ve separated? What if your aunt comes home but your mom has gone off someplace else?”

  His lips pressed into a line and his eyes clouded. “If that happens, Lane, then we call the police. Yes, she’s my mother, and God knows I don’t want to do that, but she broke the law and stole your money. You don’t deserve this. This isn’t about some twenty-dollar watch from a jewelry store. This is serious cash we’re talking about. Money you’ve worked for and saved. Right?”

  The question was tossed out as an afterthought. A reminder that he wasn’t wholly convinced she hadn’t just stolen it herself. She could hardly blame him for doubting her. No sane, logical person would be in this predicament. Still, she couldn’t keep a little edge from her voice.

  “Yes, Grant. It’s my money that I worked for and saved. I got my first job when I was fifteen and I always put part of every paycheck into the bank. My grandmother taught me to do that. God knows, I didn’t learn it from either of my parents.”

  He looked convinced, finally, and began tracing a design over her abdomen with his index finger. “So, what was your first job?”

  “Piano tutor.” The answer slipped out before she’d had a chance to think it through. That finger on her stomach was like a magic wand dissolving her ability to lie, and although he was touching her stomach, she felt it farther south.

  “A piano tutor? Really?”

  She nodded. “Yes. There was this little place by my house, kind of a pay-as-you-can sort of music studio, so most of the people who went there didn’t have very much money. I only made a few bucks a lesson but it was probably my most favorite job. The little kids were adorable and sweet, and so excited about using real instruments. The place was noisy and hot but I loved it.”

  She hadn’t thought about that studio in a long time. It was founded by a handful of musicians and her father had talked her into taking the job. Then he’d come in every Wednesday just to volunteer his time. It wasn’t much of a secret he’d hoped one of his girls would catch the fever and follow in his footsteps, but only Melody had any real talent. Delaney was a marginally decent singer, but she’d never felt the drive, the hunger to go professional. Maybe because she’d seen what it did to him when the bright lights faded and the fans went home. Still, she was pretty good on piano, and loved to play. She mentally added that to the growing list of things she missed about home. Her piano.

  “You must be pretty good if you can teach other people,” Grant said, still tracing, still sending ripples.

  “I’m OK. I started playing when I was about three, so I’ve had lots of practice.”

  “What was your next job?” That index finger trailed downward, circling her belly button through the cotton of Humphrey’s T-shirt. Shivers danced along her nerve endings, down to her toes and back up again.

  “My next job? I don’t even remember. I think I worked at The Gap.” Back to the lies. Her job after the music studio had been at a swanky boutique in Beverly Hills. She’d worked there while she dabbled with college. It wasn’t a bad job, just sort of mindless. She went from dressing emotionless mannequins to dressing overly emotional starlets. Conversations with the mannequins were more riveting. “What was your first job?” she asked.

  His hand stilled, his palm flattened on her stomach. “Um, I mostly worked with my dad. He had a charter fishing boat based out of Bell Harbor Marina.”

  He wasn’t looking into her eyes now, but staring at her shoulder instead. There was more. She could see it.

  “And?” she prompted softly.

  “And he died in Iraq. So no more charter company.”

  “Oh, that’s sad. I’m sorry.” Her parents were a pain in the ass, but she loved them and couldn’t imagine life without them.

  His head gave a single shake, shooing away a memory. It was subtle, but she noticed. Or maybe she was learning to read him. His eyes came back to her.

  “My brother and I used to talk about starting the company back up,” Grant continued, “but things went crazy pretty fast after my mom married Hank. Ty says the boat is still sitting in her barn, though. He told me he’d nearly sold it to pay off some debts last fall but Evie talked him out of it.”

  “He still has it?”

  “Apparently, although he’s got a job and a wife, and they’re about to adopt some kids so I’m not sure when he thinks he’s going to fish.”

  “You’re out of a job. Maybe you could do it now, although I really like the idea you have for a TV show.”

  Grant shook his head, finally smiling again, showing off his subtle dimples. “I’m not cut out to be a fisherman. I like my feet on dry land, or at least dangling over dry land.” The finger tracing began again. “And I also like that you like my idea for a TV show.” Mildly melancholy faded away, turning to sweet and sexy. “Maybe you could be the host of my show? That would be fun, right? Any interest in being on TV?”

  Delaney’s laughter came forth so fast and loud she had to clap a hand over her mouth. The S.S. Irony had just set sail. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I have no interest in being on TV.”

  “What’cha making there, honeybun?” Reggie asked, sitting down next to her on the green sofa. They’d been on the road for a while, but another arctic blast had paralyzed the entire east side of the country, making travel slow and treacherous. They were still hours away from Memphis and Delaney was about ready to get out and push this bus just to make it go faster.

  She paused at Reggie’s question and held up a wad of soft blue yarn. “A baby hat.”

  His expression registered surprise, followed by tenderness as he glanced at her stomach, then back at her face. “Aww. Congratulations, darlin’.”

  Grant looked up quickly from the magazine he was reading, eyes rounding like a startled cartoon character. Finch and Humphrey stared at her too. This must have been how Snow White felt when the seven dwarves came home from the mines—assuming Snow White had just announced her unexpected pregnancy.

  Delaney let out a short burst of laughter. “Not a baby hat for me. I’m not . . . well, I’m just . . . not. These hats are to donate to charity, although I’m not very good at knitting. I’m not sure any charity will want them.”

  “If they take used bras and undies, I think they’ll take your hats.”

  “Let me see that,” Humphrey said, moving to sit down on the other side of her. “You’re doing that wrong. Wrap the yarn around this way.”

  She let him take the needles from her hand. “You’re a knitter?”

  His smile was confident. “My grandma taught me. I can crochet and sew too.”

  “Humphrey is going to make someone a wonderful wife one day,” Finch said.

  “Hey!” Reggie reached over and cuffed his brother on the kneecap. “That is pure chauvinism talking. If he wants to explore his feminine side, we should encourage that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hells, yeah. Somebody on this bus should learn to cook.” The brothers snickered but Humphrey seemed unfazed.

  “I didn’t realize those were baby hats you were making,” Gra
nt said. “What made you decide to make baby hats?”

  Delaney shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seemed like something I could do to make the world a sweeter place.”

  His gaze held hers, and she didn’t know why he was looking at her that way, as if he was working through something in his mind. Almost smiling, but mostly not. It sparked a fire down low, and she wondered how much longer she’d be able to resist him. Had they been in any other setting last night, things would have gotten much hotter, so maybe getting snowed in with this bus full of chaperones was for the best.

  “What?” she finally said. “They’re just baby hats.”

  “Here, like this,” Humphrey said, directing her attention back to the needles. She let him show her, but all the while she could feel Grant’s eyes on her.

  “That doesn’t look that hard,” said Reggie, leaning in over her arm.

  “It’s not hard,” Humphrey said. “You just have to have some patience, and be skillful with your fingers.”

  “I got loads of patience, yeah? And everyone knows I am skillful with my fingers. You got any extra needles?”

  Delaney chuckled. “Um, sorry, no. I have lots of yarn but only these needles.”

  “I can fix that.” Humphrey grinned. He stood and went to one of the bags lying on a spare bunk and rifled around in it for a minute. “How about these?” He stepped toward them again, whipping out drumsticks from behind his back.

  Snickering circled the bus. “Nice going, MacGyver,” Reggie said, then he tilted his chin at Finch. “Grab another pair of those. I challenge you, bro.”

  “To what?” Finch arched a ginger brow.

  “A knitting contest, yeah? This blizzard ain’t going anywhere and we got hours to kill before we get to the hotel. I challenge you. Honeybun here gets to be the final judge, and she’ll decide which one of us makes the best fucking baby hat north of Tennessee. You man enough to take me on?”

  “You want me to knit. On drumsticks. Baby hats.”

  “I’m in,” Humphrey said, going back and grabbing four more sticks. “How about you, Mr. Cameraman. You want to knit?”