But he also had the power to decide whether she’d be staying on the island. She couldn’t risk doing anything that would adversely affect his decision to let her open an inn.
When they reached the sand, Colin let out a sigh. “Just the same as I remembered. That’s comforting, in a way. Geraldine is gone, but the beach remains the way it’s always been.”
“It does.” The water was calm, and the waves lapped at the shoreline in a lazy rhythm. Luna wanted this to be a celebratory occasion, but the beauty of the little cove seemed to emphasize that the former owner would never enjoy it again.
About two weeks ago, Luna had sat on the beach with Geraldine, and she remembered that last evening with fondness. They’d watched a spectacular sunset while drinking martinis and eating finger sandwiches.
Memories of Geraldine swirled through Luna’s mind as she set the picnic basket and the insulated carrier next to a huge piece of gray driftwood, its trunk as big around as she was. It would make a good seat for both her and Colin, provided they didn’t drink too much gin. At the moment, drinking too much gin to fill the void Geraldine had left was an appealing thought.
“Luna, look!”
The urgency in Colin’s voice shattered her melancholy. Glancing up, she gasped in delight as a pair of orcas arched out of the water about twenty yards offshore. Their black-and-white, tuxedolike markings glistened as they undulated in tandem through the calm water.
“I’d forgotten.” Still clutching a funerary urn in each hand, Colin watched the whales make their way past the island until they became indistinguishable from the movement of the gentle waves. He set the urns in the sand and turned to Luna. “How could I forget about the orcas? They were one of my favorite things about the summers I spent on this island.”
“Fifteen years is a long time.”
“Too long.” His expression was bleak. “I loved it here. I should have made it a priority to come back for a visit.”
“She knew you were busy.” Luna hated to see him in pain, but maybe this meant her plan had a chance of succeeding. “She was proud of your accomplishments.”
“She talked about me?”
“All the time. Considering she left everything to you, it’s safe to say you were the son she never had.”
Feet braced apart, hands bracketing his hips, Colin stared at the sand beneath his feet. “And a bloody inattentive one, at that.” He shifted his focus to the horizon. “At first I thought it was my duty to step aside and allow my younger brother to have his turn over here, but he wasn’t interested.”
“Geraldine mentioned your brother. I gather he’s a handful.”
“Aye. Duncan’s what you’d call a party animal. He thought spending the summer over here sounded as exciting as watching a sheep grow wool.”
“He must be very different from y’all.”
He glanced over at her. “You mean different from my whole family, or just me?”
“Just, uh, you.” She flushed. “Sorry. It’s just the way I talk. It’s confusing enough for someone who’s not Southern, let alone someone who’s not even from this country.”
His blue gaze gentled. “Please don’t worry about it. I enjoy the way you talk.”
“I enjoy the way you talk, too. Your voice reminds me of Geraldine’s.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Then maybe I need to pitch it somewhat lower.”
That surprised a laugh out of her. “I didn’t mean you sounded feminine. I just—”
“I know.” He flashed a grin. “Just teasing.”
Her breath caught. He really was gorgeous with the sun picking out the gold in his hair and bronzing his skin. She could get lost in those blue eyes and that warm smile. No wonder Geraldine had loved him. He’d be easy to love.
“I’m not sure what I did to put that look on your face,” he said, “but it’s very becoming.”
Oh, dear. Once again she was staring at him as if she had a schoolgirl crush. She cleared her throat. “I was thinking that we need to get started.”
He gave her a half smile, as if he didn’t believe a word of that. “Drinking or scattering?”
“Your choice.”
He nodded. “I suppose it is, so I choose drinking first, scattering second. I think I’ll handle this better with a little alcohol in my system.”
“Me, too.” She knelt beside the insulated carrier and unzipped the lid.
“Can I help?” His voice was very close.
She turned to find him crouched right beside her. His scent and body heat were unbelievably distracting. But asking him to move away would be rude, and he wouldn’t understand why. Most Were females would be thrilled to have him nearby, and they wouldn’t be skittish about it, either.
Forcing herself to concentrate, she pulled the martini shaker out of the carrier, opened it, and added ice from the thermos. Then she screwed on the lid and handed it to him. “You can do the shaking and the pouring.”
“How many does this thing hold?”
“Five, but we certainly don’t have to drink them all. Geraldine thought it was better to be oversupplied than undersupplied for a trip to Happy Hour Beach.”
“I remember that. She wouldn’t let me drink martinis with her and Henry, but I was welcome to join them with a six-pack of soda.” He stood and began rattling the ice in the stainless-steel container. “Every time I hear a bartender doing this I think, Shaken, not stirred. ”
“Was Geraldine a double-oh-seven fan back then, too?” Luna set the stemmed glasses upright in the carrier and added the olives.
“Rabid. It’s a wonder Henry wasn’t jealous, the way she carried on about Sean Connery. But Henry was a good sport about it. He was daft about her.”
“From things she said to me, I think she was daft about him, too.” Luna didn’t normally use the word daft, but she liked the idea of employing a word Colin used. It sounded more cultured than crazy. She picked up both glasses and carefully stood so she wouldn’t dump the olives.
“She must have been deeply in love,” Colin said. “The story was that she came over to Vancouver on vacation, met Henry, and never returned to Scotland. The Whittier pack in Vancouver wasn’t happy because Henry was supposed to mate with someone else, and the MacDowell pack wasn’t happy because she’d abandoned them for some Canadian Were.”
“No wonder they decided to buy an island and live by themselves.” She held out the glasses. “Fill ’em up. We need to toast Geraldine and Henry, who valued their own happiness over the opinions of others.”
“That they did.” Colin poured the clear liquid into each glass. “They marched to their own drummer, which isn’t common in our world.”
“No.” She felt a prick of unease. It might be Colin’s world, but she still wasn’t convinced it was hers. Sometimes she thought it could be, and other times she felt like a half-breed fraud who didn’t belong with either humans or Weres.
Keeping his glass level, he leaned down, settled the shaker in the carrier, and flipped the lid over it. Then he straightened and touched the rim of his glass to hers. “To Henry and Geraldine, who created the life they wanted.”
“To Henry and Geraldine.” She met his gaze and added a fervent wish that he’d allow her to create the life she wanted here on Le Floret. As she took a sip of her drink, she watched him from beneath her lashes.
His mouth fascinated her. She’d had one kiss in her life, a hard, demanding, and disgusting kiss forced on her by a guest at one of the hotels where she’d worked as a maid. If that was kissing, she wanted no part of it. But she couldn’t imagine Colin behaving with such aggression and lack of finesse.
He took a long swallow and glanced up. “Nicely done, Luna. James Bond would approve of this martini.”
“Thank you.”
“Shall we sit?” He gestured toward the giant piece of driftwood.
“Okay.” She picked out a level spot and settled down on the water-polished wood.
Colin surveyed the driftwood and chose a section about
two feet away from her. Balancing on the driftwood, he nudged off his shoes. “Ah, that’s better. Geraldine didn’t think anyone should wear shoes on the beach.”
“That’s right.” Luna had thought about that, but she hadn’t wanted to appear overly casual. Now that Colin was going barefoot, she could, too.
Toeing off her shoes, she nudged them aside and wiggled her toes in the warm sand. The familiar sensation soothed her. “Geraldine believed in enjoying life to the fullest, whatever that meant to someone.”
“That she did.” Colin took another swallow of his martini and gazed out at the water. “And she encouraged others to do the same. I wonder… ”
“What?” She glanced over at him.
His attention remained fixed on the horizon, as if he were looking for answers. “Maybe I hesitated to come back here because I knew I wasn’t following her advice.”
“How is that?”
He sipped his martini. “If I stop to evaluate my choices since my seventeenth summer, they’ve all been based on what my family wanted, what my pack needed. Never on what I needed.”
She went very still, afraid to do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, and ruin this moment. She doubted he confided that sort of insight very often, if ever. Perhaps he was lulled into this reflective mood by the private beach, the martini, and the reminder that life could end at any time.
He glanced over at her. “Did she give you the same advice?”
“Yes.” Geraldine had been the first person in years who Luna had allowed close enough to give her advice.
He drank more of his martini. “And what do you want, Luna Reynaud?”
She could tell him, but it seemed too soon, and a business discussion wasn’t appropriate tonight. She drew circles in the sand with her toes. “What everyone wants, I suppose. Fulfillment, joy, a feeling of security.” She looked up. “How about you?”
“The same, perhaps, although a need for security can end up weighing a person down.” He studied her as he sipped his martini. “You do realize I’m planning to sell this place?”
“I assumed so.”
“If you have to leave Le Floret as a result, what will you do?”
She met his gaze. “I’ll be fine.” She didn’t want him to think she had no alternative to staying on here. That would look as if her idea had been inspired by desperation, rather than a solid business plan.
“Financially you’ll be fine, because I’ll give you a great recommendation and a generous severance package. But you seem to be without strong pack ties, and so I can see how the island… ”
“Works for me the way it worked for Henry and Geraldine?”
“Essentially, yes. Those who choose to stay here don’t want to be closely involved with a pack. That’s not a common Were profile.”
“No, it isn’t.” She held his gaze. “I’m a little different.” Another half-truth that she hoped would satisfy him.
“And that’s why you fit in with Geraldine and the others,” he said, his voice gentle. “But they may be able to keep their jobs under new ownership, because Whittier House needs a staff. Chances are slim there will be a place here for you. A personal assistant is a more specialized position.” He sounded genuinely worried about her future plans.
Unexpectedly, her eyes misted and a lump rose to her throat. Damn. This was no time to get emotional just because he was being considerate. For years she’d kept a sturdy wall around herself that had prevented anyone from getting close enough to worry about her.
Geraldine had partially penetrated that wall, leaving Luna more vulnerable than she’d been since losing her mother nineteen years ago. But she couldn’t expect Colin to trust her with his legacy if she got teary at the slightest hint of kindness. She needed to project an air of calm control and competency.
Clearing her throat, she looked him straight in the eye. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been on my own for most of my life. I can take care of myself.”
Chapter 4
Taken aback by her sudden switch in mood, Colin stared at Luna. A second ago she’d been leaning toward him, her expression soft and vulnerable, her eyes damp. She’d looked in need of comfort, and he’d considered putting down his drink and drawing her into his arms.
But this new Luna wouldn’t welcome that gesture. She sat ramrod straight on the driftwood, her chin firm and her eyes clear. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, she’d armored herself against him.
Far be it for him to force unwanted concern on anyone. “I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t take care of yourself,” he said in his best laird of Glenbarra manner.
She gasped. “I was rude, wasn’t I? I’m sorry. You were only trying to be nice.”
“And apparently I insulted you in the process.” He drained the rest of his martini.
“Not at all.” She sighed. “I just don’t want to appear helpless and… without resources.”
“I’m sure you’re not.” He must have hit one of her sore points, and if she’d been on her own for a long time, her ability to take care of herself would be a source of pride. Yet she’d allowed him a glimpse of her vulnerability, and she probably regretted that.
Colin thought of Duncan’s favorite slogan: When in doubt, have another round. He raised his martini glass. “I’m going to have another one of these, after all.” Flipping back the soft lid of the carrier, he pulled out the shaker. “Can I top off yours?”
“Um, yes, please.” She held out her glass. “And I apologize. Nothing’s gone quite as I planned.”
“Planned?” He tried to make sense of that statement as he filled their glasses. “What sort of plan did you have?”
“Maybe I should lay all my cards on the table and be done with it.”
That got his full attention. Quickly tucking the shaker back in the carrier, he faced her, all his senses alert. “Please do.”
“I intended to give you a chance to rest up first, but here we are drinking martinis and having a conversation about my future. I didn’t expect that. It’s thrown me off.”
“Go on.” His drink forgotten, he gazed at her with new understanding. She hadn’t survived on her own all these years without being resourceful. Geraldine’s death had created a problem for her, and she’d obviously come up with a scheme to solve it. Apparently the scheme involved him.
She clutched her martini glass in both hands as she focused those green eyes on him with the intensity of twin lasers. “I have a proposition for you.”
For one wild moment he thought she might mean a sexual proposition, and his pulse leaped. But she had an air of innocence about her that didn’t jibe with that scenario. “I suspected as much.”
“Instead of selling Whittier House and Le Floret, I think you should turn it into a premiere Were vacation spot.”
He was aghast. “And have strangers running all over the island?” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he realized how idiotic they sounded. He planned to sell to strangers, and they could allow anyone they chose to run all over it.
“See, I knew it! This place is special to you!”
“Of course it is.” He took a gulp of his martini. “But I have to put sentimentality aside, because selling is the only reasonable course of action.”
“Not necessarily.” She took a careful sip of her drink and glanced up at him. “I’ve worked in hotels all my life. Not to brag on myself, but I’ve learned every aspect of the business, and I’m good at it. I started out cleaning rooms, but then I moved up into management. I understand basic bookkeeping and I know how to turn a profit.”
“You want to make Whittier House into a hotel?” He couldn’t imagine such a thing. “But it’s filled with valuable antiques and tapestries. Strangers could ruin—”
“Were you planning to take those things back to Scotland?”
She had him there. He sighed and shook his head. “MacDowell House is already stuffed with antiques. I’d love to convince my mother and father to sell at least half of them so we coul
d walk through rooms without bumping into things.”
“So whether these stay with the house or not, they’d be sold?”
He swallowed another mouthful of his drink. “Yes.” And the thought of selling Aunt Geraldine’s antiques tore at his heart, but turning the place into a hotel didn’t make him very happy, either.
“It would be an exclusive inn,” Luna said. “It would be for Were guests only. And even for them, booking a room would require references. I’d make sure the guests behaved themselves.”
He gazed at her and tried to imagine how a sweet creature with a voice that sounded like warm honey could possibly control a pack of rowdy Weres. But he’d already gotten into trouble suggesting that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself, so he said nothing.
“You don’t believe I could keep the peace, right?”
He couldn’t help smiling at a mental picture of her standing in the middle of the drawing room cradling a shotgun as she demanded proper behavior from her guests. “I don’t know. Could you?”
“Absolutely. I would set the tone right from the start. Coming to Whittier House would be a privilege, not a chance to act up.”
“A privilege they’d pay for?”
“Of course, and pay handsomely, too.” Matching his smile, she lifted her glass to her lips and drank.
He loved looking at her mouth. Her pink lipstick had left a print on her glass, and he found that sexy. “I must be getting peshed on gin, because I’m starting to consider this daft concept of yours.”
Luna’s gaze softened. “Geraldine sometimes said she was peshed. Or blootered.”
He waited for a pang of longing to subside before he spoke again. “I wish I’d given myself the chance to get peshed with Geraldine.” He polished off the last of his martini. “And speaking of the old girl, we have a job to do.”
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