“What the hell?”
Kat’s sitting on a bench in the back corner, nearly hidden, gripping her phone with both hands.
“Oh my god!” I shout. The mariachis notice us briefly, then go back to their heated discussion. Kat jumps up and hugs me tightly.
“What are you doing here?” she cries happily.
“What are you doing here?”
“I got arrested,” she whispers loudly.
“Well, that much is clear. What do you think any of us is in this cage for?”
“You’re not here to bail me out?”
Now we’re the ones talking low and frantic.
“What are you in for?” she demands, wired-tired.
“Whatever it’s called when you have sex in someone’s backyard. Diego got taken into an office at the front.”
She claps her hand over her mouth. I notice her hair looks oddly singed at the front.
“I’m too tired,” I start. “What about you? Did you burn your hair?”
Sighing like Niagara Falls, she crosses her arms. “Unlicensed fireworks.”
“Fireworks? Where did– Wait, the ones from the beach? At the wedding?”
She nods sheepishly.
“That was you guys?”
“Barely. We went down for a walk. The pyrotech asked us to watch them for just a few minutes. He never came back, so Jose decided to just, you know, light ’em up.”
“Just light ’em up?”
“We weren’t exactly using our best judgment.”
“What happened?”
“Kaboom.”
“Shit. They were pretty, at least.”
“Yeah. Can’t say the same for Jose’s eyebrows.”
“Oh shit!” I burst out laughing. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right, I’m sure we’ll be laughing tomorrow.”
I nod at the men in green, who are tuning their instruments like we’re all just back here waiting to go on stage. “What’s their story?”
“Nicaraguan band without a license to play in Costa Rica.”
“Sucks.”
“Uh-huh.”
The lock jimmies and all us poor slobs jerk our heads to the squeaking door. Cage. Open.
“Lia Noble! Kat Noble!”
We walk past the musicians and they eye us with envy as we step out, never to see them again. I wonder if they’ll write a song about it.
Like a mirage, Diego and Jose wait at the end of the hall, silhouetted in the open doorway. An open door is a good sign. A bearded captain-type with a coffee in one hand watches us like we’re the punchline of a joke he’s remembering.
“Hello, ladies. You stay out of trouble, prometen?”
“Sí,” we say in unison without understanding exactly what’s going on, the way schoolchildren do.
“Pura vida, damas hermosas.”
No explanation is offered, so I smile politely, say nothing, and get the hell out of prison.
Diego
“Más café?”
We all hold our cups out at once. Nervous, the waiter steps back.
“Okay, everyone can have,” he assures us.
“Sorry, it’s been a long night,” Lia apologizes.
The kid pours and we all watch like it’s liquid gold. Sun streams through the windows of the diner so hard it hurts. Got a deadly hangover but my cock feels fucking great. I’m feeling better than I have in months.
Jose’s grinning, the smug bastard with burnt-off eyebrows. It was his idea to offer a donation to the local precinct. No way I could have gotten away with that. Jose could have torched the station and still walked out with a friendly handshake. Not exactly the Valverde way, but he isn’t one, gracias a Dios.
“It was crazy seeing you walk through the door with a police escort, man,” he laughs. “Cuffed and everything. That I’ve been waiting all my life to see. Diego Valverde getting hauled into jail.”
“Where you get the balls to bribe a cop, tico loco?”
“Bribe, you crazy? I made a charitable donation. Totally different,” he insists.
“Only in Caramelo could you get away with that. And maybe some parts of San Jose.”
“You mean Saint Jose,” Kat corrects, making me laugh. We’re all so damn grateful to have our freedom regained, doesn’t matter she’s not making any sense. Yesterday is years ago, feels like.
“We all owe you, brother. Saint Jose, the pyromaniac.” I toast him without lifting a glass.
The food arrives and we disappear into our meal. Waffles, rice, beans, plantain, pineapple, and cantaloupe covered with powdered sugar. Steaming cups, shiny forks and knives wet with fruit juices and agave. I could almost get hard I’m so glad about it.
“So,” starts Lia, wiping her mouth with a napkin and crumpling it, “Diego and I are planning a trip.”
“Really? Where?” asks Kat, looking from her to me. Jose glances up from his plate, chewing more than he can fit in his mouth.
I’m curious too.
She shrugs. “Don’t know yet. But last night we decided that we’re going to break out of here for a while. See somewhere new. Don’t know when or where.”
I reach for her hand. “That’s right.”
“Assuming it works out with Genesis and the school.”
“It’ll work,” I promise her. No way in hell I’m letting my sister hold us back.
Lia sits across from me, tired but happy, the whites of her eyes red and dim from the night. A pin’s come loose halfway down her hair, her dress is dirty, there’s mud on her back. My love. Don’t need her to be any different than she is. I just need her.
Got a hot breakfast and one hell of a foxy woman in front of me. If this is life, I’ll have it.
Acknowledgments
Thank you very much:
To my family and friends in Chelsea, Ottawa, Toronto and across the globe for your ongoing support. To the kind readers and reviewers who asked if there would be a sequel to Lessons in Pure Life. To the pals who made my day by sending book selfies with excited faces. To everyone who asked for a copy, bought one for a friend, or took an interest in what I was working on. To Jenny for your editor’s insight, the awesome manuscript comment dialogues, and keeping me apprised of all necessary Jason Momoa updates. To Meg for the beautiful cover of my dreams and for pushing me to write Caramel Beach. To Pamela “La Osa” Coneybeare for checking my Spanish and for the goddess jewelry. To Elsa and her team in Costa Rica, who work morning and night to educate students in need. To my nieces and nephews, who drew fabulous chalk palm trees on my driveway and have wonderful ideas of their own. To my grandmother, who traveled the world and encouraged me to create my own adventures. To Ryan, man-muse, for all the wonderful cups of coffee, micro-smoothies, and brilliant ideas.
About the Author
Audrey O’Connor is inspired by art, science, compassion, and rare moments of transcendence. She writes in Chelsea, Quebec, and enjoys river swims, woodsy gatherings, live music in Wakefield, and a deep, dark cabernet sauvignon. Come by TrystBooks.com/caramel-beach and Audrey’s website, audreyoconnor.com, to learn about what she’s up to.
Meet Us Under the Covers
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If you missed the prequel to Caramel Beach, Lessons in Pure Life, we can hook you up at TrystBooks.com/lessons-pure-life.
In the meantime, take a peek at some of our other books…
Drawn Through You by Sarina Rhoads
A provocative, trope-twisting romance, Sarina Rhoads’s Drawn Through You finally puts the heroine on the other side of the desk.
What if the brooding billionaire wore pencil skirts and Louboutins? What if the impressionable intern was a small-town furniture maker with boyish charm?
Cole Jacobson always thought he
would take after his father and pursue his dreams. But when the family business falters and he’s forced to accept his uncle’s help, Cole is summoned to the big city for a job he never wanted.
Priorities become obscured when Cole finds himself working for Shaun Wright, the strong, intimidating, and ruthlessly attractive business partner at his uncle’s contracting firm. Forced to either sacrifice his hard-won integrity or leave behind the one thing that brings him true happiness, Cole must make a decision that could cost him both. A decision only complicated by the sexy, inscrutable woman he can’t stop thinking about. A woman who just might be as intrigued as he is to cross professional boundaries.
Chapter 1
“So, tomorrow’s the big day, hot shot. How’s it feel?”
Cole chuckled into his brand new BlackBerry, and dropped a ten dollar bill on the bar. He didn’t have the heart to tell Jake the truth, about how he’d contemplated hopping on the next bus back to Sweetwater every night since arriving in the city three days ago. But there were people back home pushing him to live the life they didn’t have the chance to, especially his best friend.
Cole listened while Jake professed his jealousy at length, sipping at the Sam Adams the bartender had set down in front of him and growing more homesick by the second. The cool, bitter liquid flowed down his throat with each swallow, a balm to his growing anxiety about being hours away from everything that mattered to him and having no clue what awaited him. He clung to the sound of his friend’s voice as if those words were his last tether to all he’d ever known, having lived in a small, close-knit town for much of his life.
“Hello! Are you still there?” A loud tapping sound came from the other end of the receiver.
Cole cleared the lump of apprehension from his throat. He was definitely still there, far away from where his true heart resided. Still stuck in Mason, a trendy, up-and-coming city just east of Toledo. Still dreading the idea of starting a new job in the morning that he didn’t really want.
“Yeah. Still here. For now.”
Jake groaned his obvious disappointment at Cole’s lack of enthusiasm. “Goddamn it, Cole. I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat. I would kill to get the fuck up out of this small, pissant town, and the opportunity to leave is pretty much dropped in your lap.”
More like forced down his throat, but Jake wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t. Having experienced a rougher slice of life in Sweetwater, he didn’t possess the same sentimental ties Cole had to home.
“Sorry, man,” he mumbled, the persistent knot of guilt twisting in his gut. He should be grateful for the opportunity to work at a successful contracting firm. Any architecture graduate’s wet dream – a dream that, oddly enough, had never been his.
“Dude, don’t be sorry, just enjoy the shit out of this chance enough for the both of us.” Jake called him out on his promise. The day Cole had left for college, his best friend, who had neither the means nor the grades to do the same, had made him promise to make the most of it. No regrets. No pity party. As he had then, Cole wished they could somehow switch places, giving Jake the opportunity that he knew in reality his best friend was too scared to take.
Cole forced a smile even though his friend wasn’t there to see right through it. “So long as you keep an eye on my little sister while I’m gone. And I mean just an eye.” They both knew Lacey had a small crush on Jake, and she had often struggled to formulate coherent sentences when around him, so Cole’s idle threat managed to coax a laugh from the both of them. “All right, I’m gonna finish my beer and then get some sleep.”
“No, wait! You still haven’t told me where you’re staying. Is it nice?” Jake asked.
Cole chuckled at his friend’s obvious attempt to drag the phone call on further. “What, no date tonight? What happened to Candy?”
“Carmella,” Jake corrected.
“Wow, I’m surprised. You did remember her name.” Cole grinned, enjoying the chance to give his best friend shit regarding his inability to stay in a relationship for longer than it took to pull his zipper up. Carmella was a new waitress at Sweetwater’s popular hangout, Charlie’s, a burger and bar joint nowhere near the sophistication of Cole’s current surroundings. By the end of Carmella’s first night working, Jake had her number written on a Charlie’s napkin in apple red lipstick.
“This call is not about me. Stop stalling and give me the deats on your new crash pad.”
Cole gave in with a soft groan. “One of my uncle’s apartments. He’s renting it to me – he claims for half the cost, but I wouldn’t know.” He cringed, realizing his answer would only give his best friend more ammunition against his desire to haul ass back to Sweetwater. “Still more than what it’s worth, in my opinion. Nothing fancy. A shoebox with some furniture.”
“Holy shit,” Jake snorted. “You truly are one lucky bastard. You know that, right?”
“Right,” he agreed with a heap of sarcasm.
Cole sure didn’t feel lucky. When Jacobson’s, his family’s lumber company, had run into trouble after his father’s unexpected death, Cole’s uncle Robert had swooped in to offer his mother financial aid, like a vulture arriving on the scent of fresh carrion. But not without reiterating the risk he took by getting involved. The price was Cole’s promise to return the favor someday, no questions asked. Cole didn’t have the heart to refuse – Jacobson’s meant too much to him. And too much to his mother, who had still been mourning the loss of her beloved husband. It was his father’s legacy, and to be honest, he wasn’t ready to let it go either. But now that his uncle was calling in the favor, the price seemed too damn high.
Pained by the memory of his father and Sweetwater, Cole couldn’t derail the call soon enough. “Take care of yourself, Jake.”
“I always try.”
“Night.”
“Later.”
Cole hit the end call button and set his phone down next to his half-empty beer bottle, tracking his finger through a ring of condensation and a small mound of discarded peanut shells. When Jacobson’s had first shown signs of concern, he had offered to turn down his full scholarship to the Ross County Institute of Technology and help get the struggling lumber business back on its feet. But Robert had always remarked on wanting Cole’s talent at his firm and had stressed the importance of a degree. Cole had suspected even then that his uncle was well aware the arrangement could one day work in his favor – that his investment in his brother’s company might actually pay off in the end. Not a horrible scenario in most cases, but Cole knew just how conniving his uncle really was and couldn’t expect Robert to have his well-being in mind.
A tray of something grilled and delicious passed behind Cole, shifting gears on his depressing drive down Pity Lane. He turned to catch the platter of sizzling morsels disappear into a small group of people mingling with brightly colored drinks in their hands. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that all that waited in the studio’s cupboards was a deluxe package of ramen, a going-away present from Jake. Cole reached across the bar and grabbed the menu propped up against the peanut trough he’d been putting a dent in since his arrival. The short list of items listed in delicate script contrasted with the humble snack and appeared far too fancy for his taste buds.
“The pork belly pinchos are my favorite.” A low, silken voice cut through the loud hum of the crowd.
Not in the mood to make casual conversation, Cole ignored the unwanted suggestion and returned the menu to its rightful place. His stomach was far too knotted up to eat anyway.
“Do you mind?” the voice continued.
“Sorry, but I’m not interest–”
Cole shot a derisive glance over his shoulder and found himself struck speechless. He felt his tongue swell up against his teeth, barricading the rest of the sentence from leaving his mouth. His unwanted company was a dark-haired beauty wearing a red silk dress that hugged her curves tighter than an Italian sports car at full throttle on the Autobahn. Plump lips a shade deeper than the dress rounded and
opened slightly, revealing a set of perfect pearly whites. A dark, slender brow arched up, beckoning an answer from him. Breaking away from her entrancing eyes, the color undeterminable in the dim light, he finally noticed her finger pointing toward the bar.
“Oh, uh no. Go ahead.” Cole cleared his throat and shifted slightly, almost knocking himself off his unsteady perch, unable to peel his eyes away from the woman who was sliding into the tight space between him and the next stool. One thing he knew for sure: they didn’t build women like her back in Sweetwater. As he inhaled the clean, sweet floral of her perfume, she summoned the bartender with the flick of a delicate hand tipped with short, jet-black nails. No wedding band. Although Cole wasn’t sure why he cared enough to notice.
“Check,” she replied curtly to the bartender before the short, burly man could even ask the question.
“Allow me,” Cole blurted out, not sure what the hell had possessed him to offer to pay her tab. But there was no way to take back the proposition, his words dripping with a fresh coat of asinine sauce.
The woman laughed, obviously sharing his second thoughts on the matter. “Thanks, but you don’t want to do that. Trust me.” Her voice was warm, sultry, and laced with the bold assuredness of top-shelf bourbon.
Cole attempted to insist, his ego stepping up to the plate to pinch-hit for stupidity, but he was interrupted by a second female voice on the opposite end of the pleasure spectrum.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Her bare, light brown shoulder brushing his, the woman turned, and Cole’s head followed. A lanky blonde stormed up, hands planted on her narrow hips. She bore a disturbing resemblance to some Victoria’s Secret model whose name Cole couldn’t access through the lingering fog of lust, and he blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t the actual model in the flesh. Maybe if she’d been standing there in only her bra and panties, like the models in the catalogs he sometimes swiped from Lacey, he could have been more sure.
Caramel Beach (Lessons in Pure Life Book 2) Page 9
