Passionate Kisses

by Various

  She yelped in surprise. Sophie didn’t recognize the voice. She couldn’t even tell if it belonged to a man or a woman. Low and gravelly, it sounded like half the people she’d exchanged hellos with over the last three days. New England accent. Middle-aged. Probably, though not definitely, a smoker. The person waved the flashlight in her direction, and Sophie ducked to avoid getting caught in its beam.

  She backed away without a word, a handful of steps, so she could keep her eye on the person and the flashlight. But after a second or two, it clicked off. The next words came in the dark.

  “I know this beach better than you do.”

  Sophie turned around and ran. Whoever the hell was behind her, she wasn’t hanging around to find out. She pumped her arms and broke into a dead sprint. Footsteps–were those footsteps behind her? Maybe, but she didn’t dare turn around to see. The thudding sound could have been the tide or the sound of her own pulse hammering inside her head. She kept going. The rain hadn’t gotten any heavier, but it hadn’t let up either. Her hair swung across her face, hitting her cheeks every few steps.

  “You shouldn’t have come down here,” the faceless person panted, clearly out of breath. But more out of breath than Sophie was? She couldn’t tell.

  Curiosity got the better of her, and she slowed to peek over her shoulder. Just a second. A single step. But long enough for her to misjudge the way the ground rose up near the road. Pin-wheeling, arms spinning, she fought for her balance, caught it and then lost it a second later. With her hands out in front of her, she fell to her knees. Something popped in one ankle, and it took everything she had not to yell out loud in pain. Heat swelled from her toes to her calf, and she hoped she hadn’t broken something.

  She heard laughter behind her.

  Sophie spit out a mouthful of sand and pushed herself to a stand. The road was less than a hundred yards away, and on the other side lay Francine’s bed and breakfast. She could make out the front steps, the porch light, the mailbox with its patchwork pattern matching everything else in the goddamned house. She tried to hobble the last few steps and almost fell over again. Hell’s bells. The pain shot up from her ankle to her knee. She gritted her teeth and fought for another step. Another. One more. She found by almost-hopping, by keeping nearly all her weight on her good leg, she could make steady progress. Not fast, but steady.

  Out of breath, soaked from the rain that hadn’t quit and feeling more and more like a damn flaming python was squeezing all the life from her ankle, Sophie made it to the shoulder of the road before she stopped. Tears leaked down her cheeks, and she scrubbed one arm across her face. She couldn’t move one more inch. Her chest burned with the effort of drawing a full breath. Behind her, around her, a light flicked across the sky. The flashlight? Lightning? She couldn’t tell, and she didn’t care anymore. Sophie dropped to her knees.

  Headlights splashed across the ground, and a car door opened and closed. With her last ounce of energy, Sophie looked up. Raindrops fell into her eyes, and she blinked hard to keep them from fogging her vision. A giant figure blocked the moon, the stars, the entire sky above her.

  “Lucas?” She could have wept with relief.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” He sounded angry. Really, really angry.

  “I– What are you doing here?” He’d left Francine’s hours ago.

  “Finn was driving home, thought he saw you. He called me and–” His voice broke up, and he leaned over her. “What happened?”

  She shook her head. Too much to explain. He pushed the hair from her face, but not exactly gently, more like she was a little kid who’d screwed up. Then he lifted her into his arms.

  “Listen, you don’t have to carry me.” She craned her neck to look behind her, but the beach was empty.

  Lucas didn’t say a word. Cradling her to his chest, he walked toward the road. She could see his truck parked at a crooked angle, blocking half the right lane. As if he hadn’t taken the time to pull off properly but just slammed to a stop and rushed into the darkness to find her.

  “I can walk.” She wriggled in his arms.

  He said nothing.

  “Take me back to Francine’s,” she said. “I think I sprained my ankle. Twisted it or something. I’ll put some ice on it.”

  Still not a sound.

  “Lucas, come on. Put me down.”

  Finally he grunted. “Forget it. This time you’re coming home with me.”

  Chapter 21

  Sophie woke to the smell of bacon and coffee. She opened her eyes and stared at a room she didn’t recognize. “Hello?” A red plaid quilt covered her. Soft white curtains at the windows kept most of the morning light at bay. A cozy-looking easy chair by the door, a dark wooden dresser and matching bed table. No patchwork anywhere. No pictures either. No identifying faces, no photographs, just a well-decorated guest room. Where the hell was she?

  She threw off the quilt, swung her feet over the edge of the bed, and stared down at herself. Somewhere between last night and this morning, her clothes had disappeared, and instead of her own pajamas she wore a long, flimsy nightgown and fuzzy white socks. A bandage was wrapped tight around her injured ankle, and though it had started to throb when she sat up, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as she’d thought it would last night.

  She rolled her head, neck popping with the motion. What had she gotten herself into down on the beach? She looked around for a phone, a landline, even a peace pipe to send smoke signals with at this point. She needed to talk to Lon. Pronto. She was pretty sure Lucas had filled him in, but she knew Lon a lot better than her cameraman did, and right now she was pretty sure her producer was pacing, chewing gum, and swearing to fire her with every step he took.

  Fair enough. She’d been an idiot. A big one. Goosebumps raised along her arms. In the daylight the whole thing seemed a little more ominous than it had last night. What if the mysterious person had hurt her? Had he wanted to hurt her? She shivered. Nothing bad had happened, she told herself. No reason to worry now. Still, if Finn hadn’t caught sight of her, and Lucas hadn’t driven out there, she might be waking up in a far less pleasant place than this sunny bedroom.

  Never mind. She refused to think about it. Everyone in the business took chances. That was part of the profession. Lindsey Point wasn’t the first place she’d gone exploring, wasn’t even the first place she’d twisted an ankle, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. She ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth. Yuck. Tasted like dried blood and dirt. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A shower, some clean clothes, and she’d be fine. As soon as she figured out exactly where she was.

  Sophie looked around the room again. Funny, but some mushy part of her had thought Lucas would be taking her to his apartment, where he’d wash her wounds and tuck her into bed beside him and have breakfast waiting when she opened her eyes.

  “Sophie?” Someone knocked on the door.

  But she definitely wasn’t in his apartment, and she didn’t recognize the voice calling her name. She glanced down at herself and crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on in.”

  A woman with Lucas’s face and dark curls walked into the room, with a breakfast tray in her hands holding enough food for Sophie’s entire crew and then some. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Mrs. Oakes?”

  “Katie.” She set the tray on the dresser. “And I imagine you’re a little surprised to be waking up in our guest room.”

  Sophie nodded.

  “Lucas brought you here last night. We only live a few blocks from the beach.”

  “But it was so late.” Sophie looked at the bed, embarrassed.

  Katie Oakes waved away her words. “We’re night owls. My husband loves the late-night talk shows.”

  “Oh.” Sophie wondered how much of an excuse that was. It must have been almost midnight by the time Lucas had arrived with her in tow. And his parents hadn’t even blinked an eye?

  “I wasn’t sure what you ate, so there’s a mixture of thi
ngs.” Katie pointed to the tray. “Would you like to eat in bed? Or it might be easier to sit at the table.”

  Sophie hadn’t even seen the tiny round table tucked into the bay window at the back of the room, but she nodded. “Oh, the table. Thanks.”

  Lucas’s mother took the chair across from her, and only for a moment did Sophie’s cheeks flame. She wondered what Lucas had told her. Sophie had no idea how close they were, though if he’d brought her here in the dead of night, they must have a fairly open relationship.

  “I appreciate you taking me in here.”

  “Oh, it’s fine. We have a couple of empty bedrooms with the kids grown and out of the house, so it’s no problem at all.” She took a sip of coffee. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

  “It won’t be past today,” Sophie said around a mouthful of scrumptious blueberry muffin. She wondered if Lucas’s mother cooked or if Charles’ Cafe delivered. “I mean, I have a room out at Francine’s. And we’re only in town a couple more days, to finish up filming.”

  “Ah.” Katie Oakes nodded over her mug, expression a little quizzical, as if she meant to ask something but then thought better of it. “As I said, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

  “Thank you.” She finished the muffin and picked up a fork. Scrambled eggs with cheese. How long since she’d indulged? Two sausage links and a bowl of fresh fruit waited on the side, and suddenly Sophie wondered if she’d be a total pig by downing every last piece of food in front of her. “Is Lucas here?”

  “No.” A shadow of something flicked across Katie Oakes’s face, maybe a question, maybe concern. “He said something about meeting your producer out at Victoria Fortunado’s this morning?”

  Oh, shit. The interview. Her fork clattered to the floor, and Sophie pushed back her chair. “Shoot. I’m supposed to be there too. What time is it?” She didn’t have her phone, a clock, clothes, nothing.

  “Honey, I think you missed it.” Katie rose too. “Lucas said they were meeting early this morning. Eight, I think. He stayed here instead of going back to his place, but he left at seven-thirty.”

  Sophie wondered where his place was a fraction of a second after she wondered why he hadn’t taken her there instead of to his parents’. Didn’t want her there? Didn’t trust her there? Or didn’t trust himself?

  “What time is it?”

  Katie checked her watch. “A little after eleven.”

  She sank onto the bed. “You’re kidding.”

  “Lucas told me to let you sleep.”

  Sophie scowled and wondered whether those instructions had less to do with recovering from the night’s adventures and more with keeping her out of the way.

  “I can drive you back to Francine’s anytime you’re ready,” Katie went on. “I put your clothes in the wash, but they should be done soon.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Sophie fell back onto the pillows. Now that she knew she’d missed the interview, she almost didn’t care. Staying in this quiet, cozy home sounded like a perfect way to spend the rest of the afternoon.

  Katie stood in the doorway. “I’ll bring your things up when they’re out of the dryer.”

  Sophie nodded. The sun warming the room and the heaviness of the food in her belly made her yawn. “I might take a little nap in the meantime.”

  “Fine, that’s fine. No rush.” The door closed with a soft click, and Sophie heard nothing. No waves lapping the shore. No footsteps pacing the parlor beneath her. Not even a voice inside her head saying she should get up, get dressed, go find out exactly what Lon was doing and saying and planning without her. She rolled over and pulled the sheet up to her shoulders.

  Eleven o’clock or not, interview or not, sleep called her, and this time, she went to it.

  * * * *

  The next time Sophie opened her eyes, she heard voices downstairs. She leaned up on her elbows. She wasn’t hungry, not after her enormous gourmet breakfast, but she still felt like she’d run a marathon last night. Body ached. Ankle had turned from sore to stiff. And her head pounded with the telltale signs of dehydration.

  “I gotta get up. Gotta get back to Francine’s.” Her fingers twitched, needing to call someone, text someone, find out exactly what she’d missed in the last twelve hours. She spied her clothes folded on the chair beside the door. She shook them out and found a fraying hem on one pajama leg and a torn knee on the other. Not bad for a night of running on the beach. No bra, but she pulled on the rest of her clothes, warm and smelling like dryer sheets, and left the borrowed nightgown on the foot of the bed.

  For the first time all morning, she hobbled over to the dressing table in the corner and looked in the mirror.

  “Holy hell!” Worse than she’d imagined. Way worse. Dried blood smeared across one corner of her mouth, either that or yesterday’s lipstick, and if there was one thing Sophie was religious about, it was skin care. She never wore makeup to bed, ever. So that was definitely blood. And there was no saving the rat’s nest atop her head. She tried to finger-comb the waves into places but gave up and shoved it all behind her ears instead. She needed a shower, two or three shampoos, and her leave-in conditioner. Pronto.

  Sophie peeked out one of the windows. Nothing but a tree-lined street. Two-story homes with wide front porches. Manicured front lawns. No view of the ocean from this pleasant narrow lane that could have been plucked from anywhere in the country. She let the curtain drop into place. It sounded like the conversation downstairs was in full swing, male and female voices she didn’t recognize, but she couldn’t wait any longer. She slipped out into the hall and found herself across from a half-bath. Perfect.

  She ducked inside and locked the door. She couldn’t perform miracles without any of her own things, but she might be able to look a little less like something out of the Night of the Living Dead. She scanned the medicine cabinet and the shelves below the sink. No comb to help her hair, but she took a swig of mouthwash and helped herself to a towel hanging over the toilet. At least she could wash the grime and salt from her face.

  Sophie bared her teeth and made a face in the mirror. When they got back to the city, she was treating her stylist and makeup artist to a day at the spa for making her look so damn good on camera. She drew a circle in the air around her face. “Because this is terrifying.” She checked the medicine cabinet, found some deodorant, and rolled it on. She’d toss it in with her things and buy Katie a whole case of it tomorrow.

  There. Almost presentable.

  She headed for the staircase, stopping only to glance in the last bedroom on the right, and only because the door stood wide open.

  Lucas’s room.

  Or at least, the room he must have had while growing up in the house. And probably the room he’d slept in last night. Her cheeks warmed. Twin bed under the window, dresser, full-length mirror, shelves running around three of the walls. Everything was decorated in navy and forest green, and though no leftover football trophies or pin-up posters remained from his teenage years, a high school diploma hung near one window. Next to it was a picture frame with twelve tiny pictures inside it. Sophie walked closer and realized it was Lucas’s annual school picture, first through twelfth grades.

  Her heart squeezed as she looked at it. One of her friends from grade school had the same sort of thing hanging up in the family room, and she’d always envied it. Sophie didn’t even think she had her own school photos. Her mother had replaced the eight-by-ten frame on the mantel with the newest one each year, but had she kept the old ones? Sophie didn’t have the faintest idea.

  She touched the glass with the tip of a finger and watched Lucas grow up in the span of a heartbeat. Same dark eyes, same curly hair, even as a little boy. An overbite corrected somewhere between sixth and eighth grades. A black eye for his ninth-grade picture–Mom must have been thrilled about that one–and an impossibly handsome, younger version of his current self in the final circle, senior year. In that photo, he boasted a wide smile she hadn’t seen too o
ften in the last couple of days. He’d been dating Shannon then, Sophie realized, and she wondered if he’d been thinking of her at the moment the photographer snapped the picture. Or had it been Sarah instead, his best friend, his girl Friday, always by his side until the day she suddenly wasn’t? Sophie wondered if the picture had been taken before the plane crash or after.

  She turned away. Silly to care, silly to even think about it. She hadn’t known any of them. But she did owe Lucas a huge thank you for last night, along with an explanation. She hoped the interview had gone well this morning and Nutty Nellie had given Lon and the guys something juicy to work with. It would make the afternoon’s inevitable scream session a little less biting.

  Sophie retraced her steps, walked downstairs, and found four people sitting around a coffee table: Katie Oakes, an older man the mirror image of Lucas, and two women somewhere close to Sophie’s age. One she didn’t know. Curvy, cute face, silver rings on every finger. A bubbly smile and a pretty pink sundress she’d poured herself into. They might have crossed paths at some point in the last couple of days, but they’d never met.

  The other woman, the redhead with the perfect makeup and the perfect smile, Sophie knew. Oh, she most certainly did. But she wondered what the hell Shannon O’Brien was doing in the middle of the Oakes living room, smiling and chatting with Lucas’s parents like she belonged there.

  Chapter 22

  “Sophie!” Katie stood up from the sofa as soon as she saw her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good. A lot better. Thanks so much for breakfast.” She stayed by the stairs, half-wondering if there was a back way out of the house. No chance for discretion since she’d been seen, but still.

  Shannon looked over and blinked, and her smile slipped away for a moment. She took in Sophie’s torn pajamas, her bandaged ankle, the uncombed hair. Then she blinked, and the smile was back. She turned in her chair, though she didn’t get up. “We met the other day,” she began.