by Jill Shalvis
And in need of a doughnut.
“Interesting and dangerous,” she said softly, drawing his eyes back to hers. “Asking me what I want.”
It suddenly felt hot in the room. Was it hot in the room? He resisted the urge to tug at his collar. “I think it’s a simple enough question,” he managed evenly.
“Sure. But to be honest, I want a lot of things.” She eyed him for a long time, then slowly sat in a chair. She crossed her mile-long legs, which left one sandal dangling playfully off her big toe. “Three cameras now?” She laughed and fingered a strap. “I still think of you when I see one of these.”
Was she trying to destroy him? Her hair was loose around her shoulders today, and still could catch the light like wildfire. She had something glossy on her lips but no other makeup. There was a Band-Aid on a knuckle and a silver ring on her thumb but not her ring finger, and she sat there like some complicated mix of mischievous girl and sexy, earthy woman.
His brain didn’t know what to do, but his body seemed to. And yet it felt odd to look at her, the one bright spot in his shitty childhood, the only reason he’d ever made it through high school, the first woman who’d ever held a piece of his heart.
And then broken it.
Jesus. If that wasn’t a mood wrecker, then the fact that she was looking good enough to lap up like a bowl of cream should do it. Lusting after her was apparently never going to change, which made his gut clench hard. “Just tell me why you’re here.”
“Is seeing me that bad?”
“I have a meeting in ten minutes, and my chief is breathing down my neck about it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She stood up. “Do you still do those breathing exercises I once showed you for releasing stress? Because maybe I can—”
“Summer.”
She let out a soft laugh. “Right.” She nodded, looking as if she felt a little foolish. “We’re not exactly still in each other’s back pocket, are we?” She backed to the door, that incredibly arousing belly ring glinting. But that wasn’t what got to him.
Her deeply troubled expression did.
Damn it. Damn her. “Summer—”
“Look, I get it. You’re busy.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” She reached for the door handle.
“Stop. Red—”
At the use of her old nickname, she glanced back, startled.
“I have a minute,” he admitted.
“Or ten.” She smiled but it faded quickly. “Okay, listen, I’m sorry for the interruption, but it’s my mom. She’s not doing well. The fire really got to her, you know?”
“I can imagine.”
“She asked me for help.” She sounded bowled over by that. “Me.” She lifted her hands. “I’m going to handle all the paperwork for her.”
“There’s going to be a lot,” he warned.
“Yeah.”
There was something deeply disconcerting in her tone. He alone knew the phantoms she must face being back in O.B., and he wondered how long she’d be able to handle being here at all. “You’re unhappy to be back.”
He hadn’t meant to say anything personal, and she looked just as surprised as he that he had. “I guess I am,” she admitted, and paced the length of the room. “I’d rather be on a mountain. On a river. Anywhere else, really.”
“Why?”
She lifted a shoulder but didn’t meet his eyes now that they were talking about her. “I don’t know. It’s closed in here. Crowded. It’s not the same.”
Well, there was a news bulletin.
She turned and faced him. “Uncle Bill wants to get my mother and Tina into the warehouse to see the damage but they’re still being held out.”
“I can get them in but after they look around, the scene will be sealed again. It’s a safety issue.”
She sank back to the chair. “And?”
“And…what?”
“There’s an investigation.”
“There usually is.”
“Yes, but do you think it’s arson?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Why not?”
“These things take time,” he said. “You know we found an accelerant.”
“Gasoline. Which is crazy.”
“Exactly. That’s what makes it suspicious.”
That was clearly not the answer she’d expected. Again she got to her feet. “What reason would there be for arson?”
“Insurance fraud, revenge, blackmail—” He broke off at her wide-eyed look of horror.
“You think that my mom and aunt—”
“No, I don’t think,” he said. “I don’t think anything until the evidence tells me what happened. There could be any number of possibilities, accidental or otherwise. Employees, acquaintances, the vagrant…” She still looked horrified. “Summer, it’s nothing yet. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She turned to look at the plaques and pictures he had scattered around, stopping at the corner wall behind the door to look at one in particular. It was a shot of him and his squad, drenched, filthy, and dirty, arms slung around each other as they celebrated the end of the horrifying and tragic San Diego County fires two years ago.
“You asked me why I’m not happy to be here,” she said, staring at the picture. “But you are. You’re happy here.”
When he didn’t say anything, didn’t know what to say, she turned and looked at him. “I always wanted you to be.”
He absorbed that for a moment, but before he could respond, the door to his office opened again. Cindy, dressed to kill in a siren red business suit, still wearing her name tag from her position at an executive headhunter agency in town, came in and smiled at him, clearly not seeing Summer behind the door. “Since you don’t have time to come to me, I’ve come to you,” she said. “I’ve brought the lunch special. It’s called Sex On Your Desk.” She shut the door behind her, put her fingers to the buttons on her blazer, then executed a comical double take when she saw Summer standing there. “Oops.”
Summer lifted her hands. “Oh, no, that’s okay. I, um…” She glanced at Joe with an indescribable look on her face. “Gotta go.”
Joe himself sat rooted, morbidly fascinated by the differences between the two women, one so fully made-up and blatantly sexual, the other’s appeal more natural, somehow more genuine. Both women were looking at him curiously, probably wondering why he’d gone speechless, and he thought that tonight, for once, he’d have a new nightmare.
Summer moved first, around Cindy and toward the door.
Ah, hell. “Red.”
Her hand on the doorknob, she glanced back at him.
What could he say? And he couldn’t help but wonder, is this how she’d felt that long ago day, standing between him and Danny? Did she appreciate the irony? “I’ll contact you as soon as I have any answers on the fire,” he promised.
“Yeah. Thanks.” She offered a small smile and glanced at Cindy.
“I’m Cindy Swenson by the way,” Cindy said, thrusting out her hand to Summer. “And I interrupted your business meeting. I’m sorry.”
“No problem.”
“Cindy, this is Summer Abrams,” Joe said. “We’re…”
Summer locked her eyes on his.
“Old friends.” Which felt like both an understatement and an overstatement at the same time. “From school.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Cindy said to Summer. “I’m so sorry for my abrupt appearance, but Joe and I don’t get much time together, as he lives and breathes his work.” She flashed him the look that for two months had been giving him an instant hard-on, but now acted like a shriveling agent.
Summer reached for the door again. “Okay, well, I’ll just let you two get to your, um…” She gestured to his desk. “Lunch.”
He grimaced. “Red—”
But she was gone.
When the door shut, Cindy perched a hip on the corner of his desk and waggled her brows. “Ready to eat?”
“Can’t.
I have a meeting—Whoa!” He lurched back up and put his hands over hers when she started to undo the buttons of her blouse. “The door—My chief—” She kept stripping. “Cindy, I mean it.”
She trailed her hand down his abdomen, and then even farther, cupping him between his thighs. “Mmm, look what I found.”
He grabbed her busy hands. “Cindy, I’ve got to go. You’ve got to go.”
He spent the last two minutes before his meeting walking her out to her car and seeing her off before racing into the conference room with thirty seconds to spare. Chief Michaels eyed him curiously but apparently had the willpower not to point out the oddity of two beautiful women visiting his usually woman-challenged fire marshal within five minutes of each other.
“Hey, gigolo,” Kenny said with a grin, possessing no such willpower at all.
Chapter 4
Ocean Beach really hadn’t changed much, at least not to Summer’s eyes. It still had a bohemian feel to it with its complex mix of poor college students, wanderlust-stricken surfers, and derelicts living on the streets, as well as a whole new socio-group: the young, wealthy urbanites.
The sand was still hot, the water a frothy blue as it pounded the shore. The air smelled like salt and fast food. Once upon a time, this had been home, but now Summer felt like one of the tourists she’d always resented.
After she’d left all those years ago, her mother had dealt with her grief by selling their house a few blocks inland and buying a tiny condo downtown. She’d filled it with her handpicked collectibles, healing supplies, and homemade teas, but to Summer the place seemed too far from the water, too small and closed in, and after the first awkward, sleepless night, she’d made an excuse about needing to be on the beach and had gone to one of her Aunt Tina’s properties, a small cottage on the bluffs overlooking the ocean.
The decision seemed to disturb Camille, and Summer had spent the past few days trying to make up for it. They’d gone to breakfast each day, where Summer had tried to draw her mom out, but all efforts had hit a solid brick wall. Summer could just leave it alone as she tended to do with all things awkward and uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to. Damn it, she was here, she wanted to fit in, wanted to be a part of the family. Wanted to be close again.
On the fourth morning, Summer once again got into her VW Bug and took I-5 toward the bay to meet her mom. Shaped like a hook and protected by the peninsula of Coronado, the San Diego Bay formed a natural deepwater harbor around which the second largest city in California had grown. Summer headed directly into the heart of it, into the famous Gaslamp Quarter, once notorious for its nefarious activities such as prostitution, gambling, and drinking. Years ago the entire area had been given a welcomed revival. Historical buildings had all been renovated in grand Victorian style, carved into the original architecture, leaving a wealth of hotels, shops, galleries, and trendy clubs and restaurants, all illuminated by the prominent, graceful gas lamps lining the pavements.
Determined, Summer pulled into one such Victorian, where Creative Interiors was housed, and parked in the lot behind it.
Camille was just getting out of her car, with a sleeping Socks in her arms. Her mom would be forty-seven this year, but if Summer hadn’t known, she’d have guessed no more than thirty-five. The woman simply never aged. Lean and toned from her morning jogs, she wore clothing extremely well, including the vintage bohemian-style dress she had on right now. She had porcelain skin, long wavy hair the color of roasted chestnuts, and a way of talking that made you listen. “Morning,” she said with a welcoming smile. “How are you?”
Summer returned the smile. “Good.”
“So what’s up? I need to open the store.”
“I know.” Tread carefully here. “Mom, I’ve been thinking. The insurance paperwork isn’t that difficult, and I could really use something else to do while I’m here.” Such as get close to you again. “How about a job?”
Camille stared at her as if she’d suggested getting a third eye. “Why?”
“Well I’m going to be here a while, so—”
“But honey, why will you be here a while?”
Summer blinked. “Because I told you I would.”
“I don’t expect you to drop everything for me.”
“I’m not.”
“But you’ve never stayed more than a few days.” Camille sounded baffled.
“I know,” Summer said quietly. “But I want to do this. For you.” Just as she wanted, needed, to reforge a bond that had never been the same since her father’s death.
Camille made a noncommittal sound as she nuzzled the cat and then began walking. Her crystal earrings made a tinkleing sound that floated on the air.
Summer followed. “I really do want to help,” she said softly, longing to see a real smile cross her mom’s lips. “You’re opening a second shop this week, right? And it’s a big deal. I’m sure everyone’s crazed, worrying about the loss of stock from the warehouse fire, and getting the new store ready. Surely you could use an extra set of hands.”
“Hmm.”
That hmm was the sound of Camille thinking, and no one, not even God himself could rush her through a decision. There’d only been one person who’d ever been able to break through that stubbornness, and that had been Tim Abrams.
Other men had tried since Summer’s father had died. Camille had enjoyed them each for a time, and then on some schedule only she had access to, she’d set them free.
Summer admired the spirit but not as it applied to their relationship. “Mom, five days ago you called me in the middle of the night in tears.” Clingy. Scared. “You wanted my help. You wanted me here.” And that had meant so much, Summer had dropped everything and rushed here.
And yet she hadn’t seen a hint of that soft, clingy Camille since she’d arrived. “You wanted me here,” she repeated, softly, reaching for her mom’s hand, squeezing the cold fingers. “Now let me do something.”
“You’ve done plenty. You brought Socks back. You went and talked to the fire marshal.”
“Joe.”
“I invited him to our grand opening of Creative Interiors II tomorrow night. He’s been very kind. I’m going to send him a box of my teas. I think he could use some peace and tranquility.”
Summer didn’t want to think about Joe, needing tranquility or otherwise, because thinking about him at all confused her. The memories of her youth were all tied up with memories of him. He’d been her best friend, her rock. Her everything. Granted, their relationship had been decidedly asexual, but she honestly believed that that’s what had made it so strong and binding.
But then, like everything else in connection to O.B., she’d let it go. She’d let it all go, and life had gone on without her. Twelve years, gone, like a breath of air, and now Joe was no longer that scruffy kid, but a full grown man who disturbed her in ways she couldn’t really grasp.
No, she didn’t want to think about him fitting into his quiet intensity, having sex on his desk with a beautiful woman who clearly had claimed him as her own.
Did the two of them talk into the wee hours of the morning? Did she say his name softly when he moaned with fear in his sleep from the old nightmares? Did she know he was addicted to Dr Pepper but hated Coke?
Undoubtedly she did, and that made Summer feel like brooding when she had no right to do so.
But the fact was, nothing here was the same. Not Joe, not her mom, nothing.
And actually, she could live with that, she could. She just wanted to find her place. “Mom.”
Camille stopped and sighed, softening on the spot. “Honey, listen. You came when I called you. That means everything to me.”
“And I’m still right here. Ready to be needed some more.”
“But for how long? I mean I just don’t see you staying, Summer. I don’t.”
Why that hurt when it had always been the utter truth, she had no idea. Camille had never complained, or even let on that she’d have liked more than that from Summer. She’d said n
othing at all, and in return, Summer had taken that as tacit permission to stay gone.
But now she wondered at all she’d missed. At what her absence had meant to Camille. Maybe her mom thought she didn’t care, that she’d left and had never looked back.
“How long do you really think you’ll stay?” Camille asked.
An honest question. Summer struggled with an honest answer. “For as long as it takes to get this fire thing over with.”
“That could take weeks.”
“That’s okay. I want to do this.” Please want me to do this.
Camille was quiet for a long moment. “All right, then. Let’s go in and see what we have for you to do.”
Creative Interiors had once been a premiere boat shop. The building had been built in 1926, and remodeled in the fifties when the original owners had sold it off. Directly across the street was another furnishing shop owned by their most fierce competition, Ally’s Treasures. Ally herself was well named, Camille had always claimed, because she was like an alley cat, always sneaking in to see Creative Interiors’s stock, checking out their prices, often returning to her shop to price slash.
But in reality, a little competition hadn’t hurt either store. Uncle Bill had recently repainted the outside of their building a shiny cream with a navy trim. He’d made a colorful hanging sign that read CREATIVE INTERIORS: FOR FUN BEACH LIVING!
The inside opened to one large showroom with two small alcoves off to each side. In the back were the offices, employee break room, and extra storage. The walls were the color of melted butter, with soft wood trim and a rough texture. Decorated like an expensive yacht, it was filled with furniture, photos, and all sorts of other knickknacks, such as Bill’s handmade ceramic lighthouses and a set of Tim’s old, savored travel books. There were also pretty, soft sofas covered in pillows with throws over the backs of them, with lamps providing lighting, and rugs on the wood floors that were easy to maintain by their employees.
As for the employees, Tina and Camille had kept it mostly in the family. Tina had three children from her first marriage. Chloe, her oldest, worked here, usually with major attitude. Chloe’s younger twin sisters, Diana and Madeline, were high school divas forced to work at the store whenever they were grounded, which was constantly.
