by Drea Stein
She led the way up the path, noticing that the pots of begonias needed more water. He followed her up onto the porch. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do, whether to ask him in or not. He had apologized; she had accepted. Business completed. Still, he showed no sign of going anywhere, and finally her good manners won over.
“We could go inside, but it’s probably cooler out here.” She motioned to the wicker couch on the porch. She had given it a new life with a coat of crisp white paint, and Caitlyn, who was surprisingly skilled with a sewing machine, had whipped up some striped cushions for her.
Sean sank onto the couch. “You can see the water,” he said appreciatively, craning his neck to catch a view of it.
“Barely. Can I get you a drink?” Darby offered, more because she wanted one, and Sean didn’t seem in any hurry to leave.
“I don’t want to put you out,” he said, but his tone was hopeful.
“You’re the one who followed me home,” she pointed out. “Anyway, coffee’s always on ice here,” she said, trying not to sound elated at the prospect of spending more time with him.
“Iced coffee it is.” Sean nodded and gave her another one of his smiles that would have had her blushing if she hadn’t turned and hurried through the screen door.
She went into the kitchen, telling herself to cool it. He had come to her, so again there was no reason to be nervous. He had apologized, right? Did that mean they were starting over? Did she want to start over? They were grownups, right, and there was no use denying that she found him attractive. And he felt the same way, she assumed, judging by his remarks the other day.
She sighed, reminding herself that Sean was used to hanging out with celebrities and models. Bright, attractive, well-put together: she might use all those words to describe herself, but she’d never once been asked to model. Was he trying for another notch on his ladle?
Just go with it, she told herself. She wasn’t a lawyer anymore; she didn’t need to analyze everything from every angle. She was allowed to simply enjoy being in the presence of a really cute guy, right? After all, it was about time her hormones kicked in and showed there was still some life left in them. And just because she acknowledged finding him attractive, didn’t mean she had to act on it. Or did it?
She put that thought out of her head as she grabbed the jug of coffee she brewed every morning and put in the fridge to cool during the day. She threw it onto a tray, along with some tall glasses, a bowl of ice, and a small pitcher of cream.
She poked her head into the small powder room that had been squeezed under the stairs. She looked . . . well, as good as one could look after a day spent in a hot kitchen. She pulled her hair back, trying to smooth down the wisps that were curling even more because of the humidity of the approaching storm.
Lipstick, she really should wear lipstick, but to run upstairs and find some would only keep him waiting, and he probably had to be back at work.
So she took her tray, and her smile, and headed out onto the porch.
“You were right.” Sean nodded at the sky. The storm had rolled in fast, the pewter-gray clouds tumbling in on a strong wind that was tossing the trees so that the leaves showed their silvery underbellies. In the distance, Queensbay Harbor was flecked with whitecaps, the water a seething, metallic thing, almost as if it were some sort of beast coiling to strike.
She nodded. She was seldom wrong about the weather, especially when it was happening on her harbor. She busied herself pouring coffee. “That’s living on the water for you.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Sean said.
“No?” she asked, curious despite herself.
“I’m from Indianapolis, well, not even. A small town about a hundred miles away.”
“I’m guessing there’s no water there?”
“No, not really, at least nothing like this.” He gestured toward the harbor.
She looked out at it. She loved the water, always had. “No, it’s definitely a force of nature to behold.”
Sean seemed to take up most of the couch, but there was nowhere else to sit, unless she decided to lean back against the railing, which probably wasn’t a good idea with the way the wind was whipping around. A small branch, leaves still attached, flew by.
Trying not to get too close to him, she sat on the edge of the couch and watched as he poured himself some coffee.
“Hmm,” he said, after he had added some cream. “You must grind those beans yourself.”
“Every morning,” she admitted, taking a sip of her own coffee. The temperature had dropped, which was a welcome change from the earlier heat. Rain wouldn’t be too far behind. Probably lightning and thunder would come as well. “But you didn’t come here to talk about my coffee, did you?”
Sean looked her over, and she had to fight back a nervous reaction to check her hair, check her lips, anything to make sure that he wasn’t staring at her for the wrong reason. His eyes, the color of a dark ginger beer, danced with effervescence. God, could he be any hotter? she thought and then put the thought away, deeply away.
“Not about the coffee, though I might have to ask you for the name of your supplier.”
“We’ll see,” she said. The truth was, she had her own personal beans delivered monthly from a small company in Portland. And there were some things that were meant to be kept under wraps.
“You were sabotaged,” he said, finally.
“What?” She looked at him.
“That’s what happened, right? Someone poured salt in the spinach before you gave it to me? I tasted it before. It was incredible, and then when I tasted it in front of the class . . . .” He trailed off.
“It tasted like seawater. I know. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Trust me, it never tasted like that.”
“So somebody dumped salt in it.” He sounded triumphant, pleased with himself at having figured it out.
She shrugged, shifting a little on the couch. “Actually, I think someone took mine, gave me his, and poured salt into it. I can’t prove it, but what I made didn’t taste like that.”
“You should have said something,” Sean said, running his hands through his hair in frustration. She wondered why he was bothered by this now.
“Like you would have believed me? It would have sounded like an excuse. Look, I’m a lawyer. Trust me, I have heard just about all of them. And none of them ever sound like anything but an excuse. You were upset and rightly so—the dish that you tasted was a disaster. But don’t worry, it was only spinach. I’ve suffered much worse from clients and partners. You went easy on me.”
As she said it, she realized it was true. It had only been spinach and she had moved on and forward—and become better because of his criticism. Still, she thought, she wasn’t about to thank him for it, not when he looked so cute being apologetic.
“Then why did you leave the class? I looked for you, afterwards to talk to you, but . . . .”
She laughed, amused at his discomfort. “Not because of you. Well, at least, not just because of you. I had a work emergency. I wasn’t quite ready to quit my day job back then, so I had to go back to the office. I was just taking the class for fun, really.”
Sean looked at her, one eyebrow slightly raised. “It was a professional level class. People don’t take it just for fun.”
“What can I say? My idea of fun is a little different than everyone else’s.”
“Who did it? Who do you think poured the salt in it?” Sean asked.
“Does it matter?” She didn’t really want to discuss this.
“I think I have an idea,” Sean said, his voice dropping to a throaty whisper that had a delightful shiver running down her back, one that had nothing to do with the sudden drop in temperature.
“Those are good things to have, usually,” she managed to respond, her stomach clenching at the hope that perhaps his voice might suddenly whisper something naughty in her ear.
“It was Will Green, wasn’t it? Do you know I hired him? Because of that class.�
�� Sean shifted uncomfortably, and anger flashed across his face.
“I know. Probably. The guy was a jealous bastard with a temper. And he was a sneak.”
“You seem to know him well.”
She hesitated, and then decided it was better if it were out in the open. “We dated. Actually we more than dated. So I saw firsthand how determined he could be to get his own way.”
“Did he hurt you?” All of sudden, Sean’s voice was loud again, his eyes hard and unreadable.
“No.” She shook her head. “He was a controlling manipulative bastard, and he had a way of making me doubt myself. Needless to say, he shook my faith in the intentions of the other sex. We hadn’t really started to date then, but I think he was jealous that you were giving me some attention. So he got back at me.”
“Why would he try to get back at you?” Sean asked.
“I told you he was a sneak. I think he was more jealous of my cooking skills than of me with other men. He kept stealing all my family recipes and passing them off as his own. It just took me a while to figure it out.”
“So, did it get serious between the two of you?” Sean said, his voice cool.
She sat back. She really didn’t like to remember her time with Will. He hadn’t hurt her, at least not physically. But he’d done a good job of luring her in. Maybe, just for a bit, she had thought he was the one. But then her good senses had kicked in and she’d seen all the things he did in an attempt to try to prove he was in control. Little things, to undercut her and undermine her confidence. At first had been things like showing up late, leaving her waiting at places, then it had been the verbal put downs, and finally the last straw—stealing her family recipes. It galled her that she had stood for it, even holding out hopes that maybe they’d get engaged. But she had figured out, finally, just how manipulative he was, and then she had walked away fast enough.
“Sort of. But I ended it. Well, at least according to me. I am sure if you ask him, he’d tell a completely different story.”
Sean gave a bitter laugh. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms either. I did hire him, but then I had to fire him. It got a little ugly.”
“Ugly?”
Sean looked down into his coffee. “It might have gotten a little physical.”
She tried to quash the feeling of triumph. “Is it wrong to say I hope you won?”
Sean sighed. “Maybe the battle, but not the war. Turns out nobody likes a boss who punches people. Let’s just say it wasn’t my finest hour.”
“Why did you fire him?” She knew she should stop talking about it, but she couldn’t resist satisfying her own curiosity.
“I fired him because he was giving away the kitchen’s secrets to one of our competitors. Before I knew it, we were yelling, and then . . . I don’t know.” Sean stood up, his large hands clenched at his sides.
She thought for a moment. “Let me guess . . . he pretty much goaded you into throwing the first punch, then cried foul and got you in trouble?”
He shot her a look. “How did you know?”
“Like I said, I dated him. That was totally his style.”
Sean laughed bitterly. “Funny thing is, I hadn’t thrown a punch in years. I mean, when I was a kid, that was the only way I knew how to settle things. I know I have a temper, and I know I yell at people, but like I said, I haven’t used my fists in years. I thought I had that part of me under control. But he pushed every button I had.”
She shook her head. “It’s a pretty foolproof scam, you know—trick someone into getting so mad that it looks like they’re the ones that started it. Works on schoolyard bullies and bosses.”
Sean gave a bitter laugh. “Before I knew it, I was the one who was fired and Will had my job. He even threatened to sue me.”
She felt for him, remembering the way Will had manipulated her. “I’m sorry. Is that why you left the city? One moment you were all the rage, and then, well, you just sort of disappeared.”
She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. She hadn’t meant to get so personal with him, but then again she almost never talked about Will.
Sean didn’t seem to mind, he just nodded and said, “One of the reasons, I guess. I worked for a group of investors at this big restaurant. They liked me when I was on TV and hanging with the city’s celebrities, but not so much when they had to hire a lawyer to defend me against that lowlife. So they asked me to leave. When I didn’t want to, they fired me and advised me to keep a low profile and get the hell out of Dodge. Or in this case, Gotham.”
She looked at Sean and saw that he was truly upset. “It doesn’t sound fair.”
Sean shook his head and he sank back down onto the couch. “Truth is, I did punch a guy—warranted or not—and they were right. I was wound up tight, ready to blow. So here’s to lessons learned—and using them to become a better person.”
“And watching our backs.” She realized she had settled in on the couch closer to him, no longer guarding her space. Their glasses clinked, and their eyes locked. She could feel the cool wind whipping around them, and realized, out of the corner of her eye, that the storm had come in and borne down on them with a vengeance, yet all she could do was stare at Sean’s face, taking in the way his eyes bore into hers.
Their heads were almost touching, and one of his hands reached out and tugged at a strand of her hair that had blown loose. His finger traced down the skin of her cheek lightly, and she shivered, turning in to his touch. Her mind was racing as, almost unbidden, they moved even closer to each other. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, but she risked looking into his eyes and was lost. The question was there, in his intense gaze, and she knew she was matching the heat in them with her own.
Seamlessly, words unnecessary, they moved toward each other, their lips touching. At first, his kiss was tentative, but she responded to it, leaned into it, and he took her lead, his mouth hot and hungry on hers, his arms pulling her up and closer to him. She heard his glass being set down and felt hers being lifted from her hand, and then his arms were around her, pulling her close.
He pushed back once, searched her face, and then covered her mouth with his. A moan escaped her as she felt her body tense in response to his kisses. Electricity snaked through them, matching the ozone in the air.
He leaned over her, so her back was on the couch, and she could feel the delicious weight of his body over hers, feel the strength in his arms. She loved the way his lips were brushing down her neck, her chin, down to her chest, flirting with the curve of her breasts underneath her top.
She didn’t know how long they would have stayed like that, or what would have happened next. And then it came, just as she had predicted, a boom of thunder so deafening that they sprang apart.
“Oh,” she said, as a spear of lightning cracked over the harbor.
“I’m sorry.” Sean sat up, backing away from her, the expression on his face wary, unreadable.
She was very aware that her heart was racing and that her hair clip had come undone and that her eyes were open wide in shock.
“I didn’t mean to,” he stammered.
She sat up, too, but he rose and took a step back, nearly tipping over a small side table.
“Look,” Sean cleared his throat and his voice was steady, “thanks for the coffee. I guess I better head back now. Dinner rush and all that.”
She nodded. The temperature had dropped, and she wrapped her arms around her, hugging herself close, all of a sudden cold in just a t-shirt, or maybe it was from the waves of coldness rolling off of Sean.
He was backing away, turning to face the top of the steps. “Thanks again for the coffee.”
And with that, he practically ran down the steps, down the flagstones and out the gate. It swung shut behind him, the low squeal of the hinges muted by another roll of thunder that caused her to flinch. A slash of lighting forked across the roiling black sky over the harbor.
Sean all but jogged down the sidewalk, and he disappeared ar
ound the corner just as the first of the big, fat raindrops splattered down.
Had she just been jilted by Sean Callahan? Ugh, she thought, banging her head against the column. It was for the best, she thought. Sure, they had shared a moment, but this was still Sean Callahan standing in front of her. He was a guy known for his Get Laid dinners, wild nights, bad temper and now for firing people by punching them out. Really, truly, she needed to stay away, especially if the torrent of emotions she was experiencing was any indication. She needed to concentrate, focus, while she was here. She had a bad habit of getting too wrapped up, forgetting herself. But not this time. Now, with her plan, there could be no distractions. Men, she thought. Chefs were even worse. Maybe all he wanted from her were her beans.
Chapter 11
Sean didn’t really stop to think until he was back in the kitchen of the Osprey Arms. He yelled at the line chef and felt marginally better, and then remembered he wasn’t supposed to yell at all. But after his afternoon with Darby, he felt like he had to take his stupidity out on somebody. And then, of course, he realized he had no one to blame but himself.
With a sigh, he set down his knife, straightened up and called the guy over.
“Sorry about that, buddy. I don’t think I was clear. I want you to prepare the vegetables this way.”
He went over the technique, slowly, patiently, and this time Kevin got it. Sean clapped him on the back.
Feeling better, Sean took off his cap and went out the back door into the small alley. The rain storm had been short but violent. What had Darby called it? A squall. In and out. He’d gotten a thorough soaking by the time he’d reached the restaurant, which had done nothing to cool down the heat running thorough him. He felt like a randy teenager who had just gotten in his first grope under the bleachers. Not even if he threw himself in the waters of Queensbay Harbor would it be enough to cool him down.
What had come over him? There was just something about her, the way she had looked at him, had listened to him.
“God, what was I thinking?” he muttered. He’d gone to see Darby to apologize. To do the right thing. To make amends for being a jerk. And then what had he done? He’d kissed her—god, he had practically jumped her on the creaky wicker couch on her porch in front of the whole village. He had wanted to kiss her, kiss her so hard she would call out his name and beg him for more. There was something about the way those dusky green eyes looked at him, inviting him to confess, making him feel forgiven.
