by Kim Boykin
“You’re working for Declan?”
“Yes. Jeez, Shelby, I tell you all of that, and that’s all you have to say? I thought you’d be excited for me.”
Her baby sister would be posing for Declan Enright, the male siren of Magnolia Bay. Hell no, she wasn’t excited. Chelsea was just getting herself together; the last thing she needed was daily exposure to Declan Enright. Exposure?
“Naked?” Shelby barked.
“Not at first. He says he just kind of goes with whatever he’s feeling. But, at some point, maybe.”
Shelby downed her wine and poured another glass. Chelsea had always been the strong-willed one. The surest way to get her to do something was to argue with her, but Shelby couldn’t let her do this. “NO.”
“What?”
“You can’t sit for him.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Shelby. You’re not the boss of me.”
Shelby was twenty-three when their parents died. She’d settled the estate, made sure Chelsea graduated high school and got into a good college. She’d advised her sister countless times along the way whenever asked, but it had been a long time since she’d said no and meant it. “To be clear, no. You’re not doing anything for Declan Enright.”
“Why not? I admit, I’ve been a little crazy lately, but I’m excited about this, Shelby. It’s so different from my old life, and I want different.” Chelsea had tears in her eyes. “I need different.”
Damn Matt. Why couldn’t he just suck it up and adopt a couple of kids with Chelsea and live happily ever after? Maybe Chelsea did need this, but Shelby was going to be there with her every second.
“Okay. I’ll go with you,” Shelby said, bracing for a protest.
Silence. Big teary blue eyes. “Would you?” Shelby smiled and nodded. “I’m trying to move on, but it’s harder than I thought. If I could just do this one new thing—; if you could just be there—”
“I will always be there for you.”
Chapter Three
It was just before daybreak when Declan walked over to the marina and boarded the Lazy Jane. His dad had spent the last six years polishing the old tub, and it was pristine, for a shrimp boat. When he was a kid, the earthy, fishy smell had at times turned his stomach and was always a reminder of the life he never wanted. Now, the scent was barely there, but what was there was surprisingly comforting about the old tub.
He sat down on the deck and eyed the marina parking lot. A few minutes passed, and his dad’s ancient Ford truck pulled into the lot. He got out of the truck slowly, his body ravaged with arthritis, among other things, and still he was drawn to the docks. He started toward the Lazy Jane, favoring the hip he’d shattered to bits last year when he fell.
Another shrimper had come upon the boat that was adrift, found him and got him to the hospital. Declan’s friend, Connor Ritz, an ER doc at Charleston Memorial had called Declan, and he’d been on the next plane to Charleston. Declan had been surprised at how anxious he’d been, how relieved he’d been when he’d finally seen the old man was going to be okay.
“What are you doing here?” his father had spat when he awoke to find Declan at his bedside.
“Connor called. Said you’d taken a fall. I wanted to see for myself you’re okay. Help, if you’ll let me.”
“Go back to your fancy life; you don’t belong here.”
When Declan didn’t leave, the old man went nuts and was so agitated, the nurse ordered him out of the room. A doctor, who was also a friend of Connor’s, had intercepted Declan and pulled him into an empty lounge down the hall.
“I know you want to be here for your father.” Really? That felt had like the last thing he wanted. Yet, there he was at a hospital in Charleston, and the old man had had him thrown out of his room. While that hadn’t surprised Declan, not even a little bit, it didn’t make it hurt any less. “Your dad’s hip will heal with time. He’ll spend several weeks in rehab, maybe as much as two months. But it’s the cirrhosis that’s the problem.”
“Is there anything I can do for him?” Declan asked.
“I’ll be honest, there’s no medical explanation for your dad living, much less functioning at the level he is. Even though he quit drinking years ago, his kidneys are shot to hell; he’s refused dialysis. The only reason he is alive is sheer will.” No shit. The old man didn’t do anything unless it was on his terms. But Declan was no different. “If things don’t change, if your presence continues to agitate him to this degree, it would be in his best interest for you to monitor his condition through the nurses’ station.” He pulled out his business card. “Or you can call me anytime on my cell.”
Declan nodded, surprised that between the years and the distance, his dad could still make him feel like he’d been punched in the gut. That same aching, hollow feeling he’d had when his mom died. He thanked the doc and headed down the hallway; he introduced himself to the nurses on his way out and gave them his contact information and caught the next plane back to the city.
After the debacle with Elizabeth, it had shocked the hell out of Declan that he’d signed a long term lease on a house overlooking Magnolia Bay; even more so that he’d leased his apartment in New York for a year. He wasn’t running from the hoopla in the city. Was he? No, he’d always loved the Renault house; it was a good temporary home and would be a great investment if he decided to buy the place.
Besides, he was just trying to be a good son. Not that the old man had done anything to deserve Declan’s love or care, but nobody deserved to die alone. Not even his father.
“Get the hell off my boat.” His father barked the same order he had every morning he found Declan waiting for him, but his tone was a little less gruff. Was that progress? His father ignored him, limped up the gangplank and took the helm.
“I’ll get the lines,” Declan said, as his father brought the old boat to life and pulled away from the dock just as Declan towed in the last line.
The sun coming up over the Atlantic was spectacular, the sky was awash with purple and red, turquoise and orange. Birds followed the boat until they realized there was no catch to pilfer. It was just Declan and his dad, and the boat. As a kid, he didn’t understand how his dad could be two people, so at peace when he was out on the ocean. Maniacal the moment he pushed through the front door of their modest home, already drunk, and itching to let off steam. Back then Declan was just trying to survive, trying to take care of his mom, who couldn’t do anything right in his father’s eyes.
But looking at the old man’s tired, weathered face, Declan wanted to know why his father had always been so unhappy when he wasn’t on his boat? Why had he wanted to hurt the people who loved him most? And the worst, why had he taken his anger out on Declan’s mother and had never laid a hand on Declan?
Truth was, he didn’t have to. His father could slice most anyone in two with just a look, and when he had something to say, he made sure the words were as barbed and painful as taking a fishhook in the eye.
The boat headed due east until Declan couldn’t see the mouth of Magnolia Bay. His father killed the engine, took his place on the little bench at the stem of the boat, packed some cherry tobacco into his pipe, and lit it. Declan picked up the pouch, opened it, and inhaled. When he was a kid, that scent could make him tremble with fear, knowing his father was nearby. Now, all he smelled was the musky smell of tobacco and sweet cherries.
“You still waiting on me to die?” the old man snarled. Declan didn’t answer. “I told you I don’t want you on my boat.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m here, Dad. So how about both of us just shut up and enjoy the view?”
There was a part of Declan that would always feel at home on the open sea, which made no sense. Working for his dad when he was a kid shouldn’t have endeared anything about the ocean to him. Maybe the sea was in his blood as much as it was in his father’s.
“How are you feeling, Dad?”
The old man glared at him and then turned his gaze back to the waves rolling across the
surface of the water. “I thought you were going to shut up.”
“I care.” Although he had no idea why. Will Enright had been a shitty father when Declan was growing up and was twice as prickly now.
“Zip it or you’re fish bait.”
Declan wanted to laugh at the words he’d actually believed as a kid. Then, his dad had backed up the words with a look that had haunted Declan long after he left home. But now, his dad was like an angry storm that had lost its strength from spending too much time on land. So, Declan stretched out on the deck, pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes, and let the waves rock him to sleep.
The engine came to life, startling him. His dad was back at the helm, the boat pointed toward the bay. He looked at his watch; it was just before nine and already getting hot. There was blistering, sweltering hot, and then there was Lowcountry hotter-than-the-back-door-of-Hell hot, and today would be the latter. Declan got up off of the deck and perched on the bench his father had occupied earlier on the bow of the boat.
A pod of dolphins, maybe a dozen or so with two calves, escorted them toward the mainland. The colors of the sunrise had dissolved into a cloudless sky that reflected off of the gray Atlantic, making it appear Carolina blue. A large school of pelicans dive-bombed for their dinner; while, in the distance, a half dozen shrimp boats trawled with their nets down. Declan let out a deep sigh, and scratched his head. As much as this place shouldn’t feel like home, it did.
When they reached the dock, he set the lines and watched his dad wobble his way off the boat. Declan knew better than to offer to lend a hand, but he walked behind him close enough so if the old man teetered too much one way, he could catch him.
“Get your ass back to your fancy house and stay off my boat,” his dad growled when his feet were finally on the dock. If he really wanted to, his dad could ditch Declan and put an end to these morning outings, but, so far, he hadn’t. What the hell did that mean?
“See you tomorrow. Same time.” Declan waved, and the two men went their separate ways.
Declan was finishing up his coffee when the doorbell rang. A good sign. His new model wasn’t just on time, she was fifteen minutes early. He’d seen so many models over the last week, he’d lost count. Most of them had been art students from the College of Charleston, but they were too young. Others were from an agency, but they looked too plastic.
He’d taken one look at Chelsea Baker’s face and knew she wasn’t the one, but she was a hell of a lot closer to what he was looking for than the others. She didn’t have a portfolio and actually showed up with a resume. When he saw she had an IT background, he knew she probably wouldn’t accept what he was willing to pay. So, he’d offered her what he’d paid models in New York and was surprised when she accepted the job.
The doorbell rang again. Impatient little thing. But he’d putzed around long enough and was as ready to get to work as she seemed to be. He opened the door to see his lovely model. And Shelby Worthington.
“Declan,” she said, not nearly as friendly as when he saw her last week in Florida.
“Uh, hi Shelby.” He gave her his best crooked smile. That always seemed to work, but she was still giving off a weird vibe. This felt a lot like the time Holly and Denise, two of his Magnolia Bay exes, had serendipitously ended up at his apartment at the same time, but this was different. He’d never been involved with either of these women, and yet Shelby seemed poised for a catfight. “Chelsea and I have some work to do, but if you want to stop by later, I’d love to catch up.” Still the vibe. “Oh, I’m sorry. Shelby this is—.”
“My sister,” Shelby bit out.
“I didn’t know. She said her last name was Baker.”
“Hello. I’m right here, and I forgot to tell you I’m married. Was married for like five minutes.” Chelsea pushed past Declan. “So, where do you want me?”
“Just a minute,” Shelby snapped. “Can I have a word with you, Declan?”
“In the studio, Chelsea.” He nodded toward the stairs. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Are you coming, Shell?”
No, she wasn’t coming. He always had to have things a certain way to work. Some people called it summoning the muse, other called it anal or compulsive, but it was always just him in the studio. Sometimes with a model, sometimes not, but he hadn’t had someone watch him work in years, and he hated it.
“Yes. I’ll just be a minute,” Shelby said, and waited until Chelsea scooted up the stairs. “I thought you were a landscape artist.”
“I am, but that’s not all I paint. Why are you so angry at me?”
“I tried to talk my sister out of taking this job, but she thinks she needs it. I’m here because she’s fragile. She just split up with her husband, and I’m not leaving her alone with you.”
“Shelby, you’ve known me for years. I don’t know what the hell you’re thinking, coming in here like this, but you’re not staying.”
“Wrong.” She drilled her finger into his chest. “I know how you are with women. You’ve been that way forever.”
What the hell? Okay, he loved women and maybe they had a thing for him, but he hadn’t done anything to warrant this. Had he? “Look, I don’t know what you think a model does, but if it makes you feel any better, I’m not attracted to your sister.”
“Bullshit.”
Man, when she narrowed those hazel eyes at him, he didn’t know if he wanted to paint her or kiss her. Maybe slather paint all over her. Naked.
“But my sister wants to do this, so I’m staying.”
When he’d seen her at the gallery in St. Augustine, her long brown hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and she was wearing short shorts and a gold-colored top that made her hazel eyes the truest shade of amber he’d ever seen. But the blue top she had on now made them green with little flecks of gold. Her long willowy body was as much of a turn on as her anger. And her ass.
Okay, he’d stood at the gallery window that day and pretended he wasn’t watching her walk back to her car. Just as she folded those long legs into the driver’s side, she’d caught him looking. He’d waved nonchalantly and then turned to inspect his paintings, but all he’d thought of the rest of the day was her.
But that was then; she couldn’t just march into his home and tell him what to do, but damn, he didn’t want her to go. He wanted to paint her. Now.
“Hey, I’m lonely up here,” Chelsea shouted from upstairs.
“Keep your pants on. Literally.” Shelby gave him another look and started up the stairs. “I’m coming.”
His consolation swayed in front of him as she made her way upstairs.
He’d turned the biggest bedroom that faced the bay into his studio. The light was always perfect there, except for today. But he wasn’t about to stop. He had Chelsea wrapped in yards of ivory-colored tulle, sprawled on her belly on the peacock blue chaise. Shelby sat off to the side, scrutinizing his every move while he mixed colors. When he was satisfied with the palate, he adjusted Chelsea for the nineteenth time.
“Okay, I’m going to start now. You’ll sit like a stone for twenty minutes and then you’ll have a ten-minute break to get up and move around.”
“That’s okay, I’ll just power through.”
“You’ll regret it if you do. Your body was made to move.” Shelby glared at him. Okay, no talking about little sister’s body. “No one’s body is meant to be still for long periods of time, but once you are posed, you can’t move until I say so. Understand?”
Chelsea nodded her head. He sighed and repositioned her. Again.
Chapter Four
Okay, so Shelby may have overreacted a bit about her baby sister’s new job. After watching Declan, he seemed very professional, and also like he was still a good guy. More importantly, he was downright businesslike, studying Chelsea like she was a wine bottle or a bowl of fruit.
The more Shelby watched him, the warmer she felt. Thankfully, Declan didn’t seem to have that effect on Chelsea. Every once in a while, h
e would look at Shelby and smile, and, when he did, boy, oh boy, how her heart did that thing that made it feel like it had sprouted wings and was flying away. His way.
Legend said that Declan had always had this effect on women. Good thing Shelby was here, just in case Chelsea happened to come to her senses and notice how dangerously hot he was. But Shelby noticed, big time. He was barefooted, dressed in jeans that looked so thin, she wanted to rub her cheek over them to see just how soft they were. How hard his well-muscled thighs were. He was tall and built like someone who worked the docks, with a face that could make her forget herself. And he had the most delicious-looking dimple on his chin that made her want to taste it and not stop there.
Sweat beaded on her forehead. She turned her water bottle up, her eyes still trained on him.
“Hot?” he asked, making her choke on her water. She blushed hard. Chelsea reached over to slap her on the back, and Declan reminded her to stay put.
“Excuse me?” Shelby wheezed.
“If you’re warm, I can turn the temperature down.” He was so freaking gorgeous in this light, in any light. Yeah, just in case her sister came to her senses and wanted to climb this guy like a tree, Shelby had better stay put.
“No. Thanks. Water just went down the wrong way.” She turned the bottle up again as if to say, “See, I can drink like a normal person.” He laughed as a thin stream dribbled down her chin, dripping onto her chest, and trailing south. Yeah, this guy didn’t miss a thing. He went back to painting, working quietly, something neither Shelby nor Chelsea were very adept at.
Declan was glad Chelsea seemed to have fallen into the job after the first few minutes, and there was an expression on her face he wanted to capture. She was sad, that was for sure, wounded, and then it was like a mask went up and the look was gone. He hadn’t seen any of that when he’d interviewed her, but that was usually the case. People let you see what they want you to. He was a master of that.
