On Shadow Beach

by Barbara Freethy

  “Those days are long gone.”

  “But you still feel the draw,” he said, his gaze clinging to hers.

  “I don’t want to feel it.” She wasn’t just being pulled back to the town, but to him. He stepped forward, putting his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened, then relaxed as he began to work the tight muscles in her neck. She was walking a dangerous line, but she couldn’t seem to get off of it.

  “When we were young, you always smelled like cinnamon,” Shane mused. “I got high just smelling your hair.”

  “And here I thought it was me.”

  He smiled and her heart beat a little faster. The moonlight danced off his face, highlighting his beautiful eyes, his strong jaw, and his full lips. She really shouldn’t have come here. She’d never been good at saying no to Shane.

  Shane tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then his finger slipped down the side of her face in a gentle caress. “It was always you, Lauren. You got under my skin, and I’ve never been able to get you out.”

  She put a hand against his chest as he moved closer.

  “It’s just a kiss.”

  “It’s never ‘just’ a kiss where you’re concerned.” She licked her lips and saw his gaze follow the motion.

  “Now you’re not playing fair,” he whispered.

  She didn’t want to be fair or responsible or practical. She’d had a hell of a day—make that a week—make that the last thirteen years when she’d had to grow up overnight. She’d tried to forget Shane, locking the memories away, but now they were clamoring to get out.

  Maybe she needed to get him out of her system, to confront her past.

  “Oh, to hell with it.” She pressed her lips against his. The heat of his mouth sent her pulse into overdrive. It had always been that way. No slow buildup; one touch and she went up in flames.

  She slid her hands up his arms, feeling the power in his biceps. He was bigger, stronger than she remembered, and so deliciously male. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. She loved the way his mouth moved on hers. She loved the way he tasted like salt and beer, the way her body wanted to melt into his. She felt tight, achy, desperate for him, for his hands all over her body, for his bare skin rubbing against hers. And she was tired of fighting it.

  Shane’s hands slid under her jacket, his fingers flirting with the undercurve of her breasts. His touch was warm, and she shivered.

  Shane broke away, his breathing rough. “If you’re planning to say no, you might want to do it now.”

  She should say no. She should run like hell. But her feet didn’t want to move. This moment had been coming since she’d driven into town. It had been inevitable. She wanted Shane just one more time . . .

  “Why don’t you show me the cabin?” she suggested.

  She held out her hand and he took it, his fingers squeezing tightly around hers, as if he were afraid she’d change her mind. Then he led her down the stairs.

  The cabin was intimate and dimly lit with one small lamp by the bed. The galley came first, then a double-size bed that was tucked into the walls beyond. “It’s cozy.”

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  She shook her head, seeing the question in his eyes. He was giving her time to call things off, but that was the last thing she wanted to do. She slipped off her jacket and tossed it on the bench, then she drew her knit top up over her head. Shane’s gaze ran down her face to her breasts, barely covered by her lacy bra. She flushed a little, wondering what he thought of her now. She wasn’t a teenager anymore. She had a few more curves than he probably remembered.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured.

  Her heart flipped over. She moved forward and undid the buttons on his shirt, helping him off with it, then she ran her hands over the solid planes of his body. He was hard and tan. She loved the smattering of dark hair that ran down the center of his chest, the ripple of his abdominal muscles, the strength of his arms. Shane smelled like soap and the sea, a heady mixture that made her head spin. She stood on tiptoes, her mouth searching for his once again.

  Shane’s hands moved from her shoulders to her back, caressing her bare skin. With one quick flick, he opened the back clasp of her bra and slipped it off. His hands palmed her breasts and a jolt of fire ran from her chest to her thighs. His mouth roamed across her lips, her cheek, his tongue tracing the line of her collarbone, dropping lower . . . swirling around her nipples until she gave a cry of pleasure.

  She dropped her hands to the snap on his jeans. He returned the favor. They kicked off their pants, coming together skin to skin in delicious abandon. His hands ran up and down her back, cupping her buttocks, pulling her against his hard groin.

  “Lauren,” he whispered harshly, his mouth coming next to hers. “I want to go slow, but I don’t think I can.”

  The same fire burned in her. “We’ll go slow the next time.”

  Her words unleashed a passionate fury. His kiss was hot, hard, demanding, the kiss of a man, not a boy. And she was no longer that shy, hesitant girl. She was a woman who knew what she wanted.

  She pulled him down on the bed, feeling sizzling heat everywhere their bodies touched. His mouth roamed across her breasts, down her belly. His hand slid between her legs, making her tremble. Then his mouth followed, sending her over the edge. She cried out his name, fisting her hands in his hair as he loved her. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to get closer, wanted that connection she’d been missing for so long.

  When Shane reached for the drawer by the bed and pulled out a condom, she helped him roll it on. Then he was on top of her, inside her, moving the way she remembered, only much, much better. There was no past causing her pain, no future making her worry, just the present. She had Shane and he had her—and she didn’t want it to end.

  * * *

  It took Shane a long time to catch his breath, to slow his pounding pulse, to absorb what the hell had just happened. He would have thought it was a dream, but Lauren’s head was on his chest, her arm around his waist, her leg entwined with his. It was very, very real, wonderfully real. He breathed in the scent of her hair and tightened his arm around her.

  She’d been pretty at seventeen, but she was beautiful now. He liked how she’d grown up, how she’d come into her own. He wanted to spend months exploring every inch of her body, showing her what he couldn’t give her with words.

  But Lauren wasn’t going to stay. This wasn’t the beginning of something. Hell, maybe it was the end. Maybe Lauren had just wanted one last fling, one last memory to finish it off.

  “Your heart is beating really fast,” Lauren said, her fingers playing through the hair on his chest.

  “That’s because you almost gave me a heart attack.”

  She lifted her head and smiled. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue, languid and filled with sweet satisfaction. “I could say the same about you. That was even better than I remembered.” She turned on her side, pulling the pillow under her head. “You’ve learned a few things.”

  He rolled over to face her. “So have you.”

  “We were so young. Do you know this is the first time we’ve had sex in a bed? The first time, we made love on the beach; then we did it in the treehouse; and then we went back to the beach the night before . . .” She paused, her smile fading. “We can’t do this again, you know.”

  “Why not?” His fingers slid down her arm, drawing a line of goose bumps along her skin.

  “Because there’s nowhere for us to go. I’m not staying . . . and who knows what your plans are. I just wanted to know what it would be like to be with you again.”

  “I wanted to know, too,” he admitted. “It was good.”

  “We have a chemistry that I’ve never had with anyone else.”

  “No one else?” he asked, surprised. But Lauren had never been able to lie to him. She’d always worn her heart on her sleeve; she’d never played games. It was one of the many things he liked about her.

  “No,” she said, n
ot looking too happy about her admission. “But I’m not done looking.”

  He wanted her to be done looking. He wanted her to be with him—which scared the hell out of him. They weren’t kids anymore, dreaming of happily ever after. And he’d never believed in the one woman, long marriage, white-picket-fence kind of life. At least, that’s what he’d told himself. The truth was that Lauren had always made him want things he knew weren’t possible to have.

  He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

  “What did I say?” Lauren asked, her eyes solemn as she propped her head up on one elbow. “You’ve gone to that dark place again.”

  “I’m just tired.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve seen this look before, Shane. When I was young I thought you were mad at me—but I think you’re angry with yourself, and I don’t know why.”

  “I’m not mad at anyone. I don’t know why women always have to analyze men.”

  “It’s our calling,” she said lightly. “You’re not going to tell me what you’re thinking, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then I’ll talk. I went to see Joe Silveira yesterday after I left you.”

  He tensed, waiting for her to go on.

  “I didn’t tell him you were at the law offices with Abby, though I still might. It depends on what else comes out.”

  “It’s up to you.”

  “It would make it easier if you would just tell me why you went there, what you were looking for and who you’re protecting.”

  “I can’t, Lauren.”

  She let out a sigh of frustration. “Why can’t you trust me?”

  “It’s not about you.”

  “This secret that you keep—it’s what puts the shadows in your eyes, isn’t it?”

  “You sure talk more than you used to,” he grumbled, wishing he could get her off the subject.

  “Because when I was young, your scowl used to make me nervous. Now I’m just curious.” She paused. “Will you ever let me all the way in?”

  “Why would you want me to? You just told me this was a one-night thing.”

  She frowned. “I hate it when you’re right.”

  He smiled. “Then you must hate me a lot.”

  She punched him on the arm.

  “Ow, that hurt.”

  “Good. So, if we’re not going to talk and share our feelings,” she added with a mischievous grin, “I have another idea.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, turning to catch the wicked sparkle in her eyes.

  “We could do some of the things we never did as teenagers.”

  “Really? Feel like showing me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She flung one leg over his waist and straddled him, her beautiful hair swirling around her equally beautiful breasts, and he was lost again.

  Lauren woke up to the light of early dawn. She could hear the boats heading out for the morning run. It was Monday, the start of the work week, and she wondered if Shane had a fishing charter. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get up. He was snuggled behind her, his face buried in her neck, one of his legs pinning hers down. He was deliciously warm and when his fingers stroked her abdomen, she felt the same jolt of electricity that had kept them up half the night. She’d told herself she’d get her fill of him and then it would be done, her curiosity satisfied.

  Ha! Now she remembered exactly how well their bodies fit together, how much she loved his touch, how much she loved him . . . She put the brakes on that thought. It wasn’t love—it was lust. There couldn’t be anything more. Even if she weren’t leaving, how could she be with a man who kept secrets from her—a man who always had one foot out the door himself?

  “Stop thinking. You’re getting tense,” Shane murmured.

  “I have to go.” She slipped out of bed before she could change her mind and dressed as quickly as she could, aware of Shane’s intense gaze on her the whole time. She glanced over at him and then wished she hadn’t. He looked endearingly handsome with the dark stubble on his jaw, the sexy waves of his hair, the fullness of his lips, his incredibly wonderful mouth . . . She swallowed hard. Why the hell did he have to be so good looking?

  “What’s your hurry?” Shane asked. “It’s not even six.”

  “I want to get home before my dad wakes up.” She pulled on her shirt. “I’m sure you need to get on with your day. Don’t you have some fish to catch or something?” In the moonlight, it had been easier to lose herself in the fantasy of her and Shane. The morning sun reminded her that the fantasy was over.

  Shane got out of bed, pulled on his boxers and jeans, and came toward her. “You don’t have to run out, Lauren. Let me make you some coffee.”

  “I’ll get some at home.”

  “What are you afraid I’m going to say?”

  She was more afraid of what she would say. “I’m not very good with morning-after conversation. We both know that last night was just a fling for old times’ sake.”

  “Are you sure that’s all it was?”

  “Yes. We blew it. We hurt each other. And now we want different things, different lives.”

  “Are you sure you know what you want, Lauren?”

  “I am. And it’s not you,” she said, then she ran.

  TWELVE

  To the most beautiful girl in the world: these reminded me of you. Call me. Andrew.

  Charlotte set down the card and stared at the bouquet of yellow daisies Andrew had sent to her office. The man was definitely making the effort to get her back. He’d never had to work this hard to get her the first time around. Was she a fool to keep pushing him away? Her mother would say she was, but her mother didn’t know the whole story of their love affair.

  She picked up the phone, then hesitated and set it back down. She didn’t have time for this today. She had a full schedule of patients to see, especially since her associate, Harriet Landon, had just gone home sick for the day.

  She stuck the card in her drawer and headed down the hall to the first examination room. She grabbed the file off the door, gave a knock, and entered. The woman sitting on the edge of the examination table in a paper robe was none other than Erica Sorensen, the coach’s wife. Erica was an attractive but tired-looking woman in her late thirties, who’d just given birth to her third child a few months earlier. She was officially Harriet Landon’s patient, and Charlotte had only seen her once for a brief blood pressure check.

  Erica didn’t appear at all happy to see her. “Where’s Dr. Landon?’

  “She just went home. She wasn’t feeling well.”

  “I should reschedule, then.” Erica frowned.

  “I’m happy to do the examination, if you like. Is there anything in particular that’s bothering you today? Or is this just a checkup?”

  “I can’t talk to you—you know too many people.”

  “I can assure you that anything we discuss in this room is confidential,” Charlotte said.

  Erica gave her a long, hard look. Finally, she said, “I’m concerned I might have an STD.”

  “What kind of symptoms are you experiencing?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s just that . . . I was pregnant, then the baby came, and I haven’t been getting any sleep. So I haven’t felt very much like having sex, and—and I’m afraid my husband might have had an affair.”

  Charlotte remained calm, though inwardly she was reeling. “Well, let’s check it out.” She washed her hands and put on her gloves. “Lie back on the table.”

  Erica didn’t move. “I know that girl, Annie, is staying with you. She used to clean my house. She was supposed to come once a week, while my husband and I were at work, but once I came home early and she was talking to Tim. They were having tea. He made her tea! He never makes me tea.”

  Charlotte sensed where Erica was going, but she didn’t intend to help her get there, so she remained silent.

  “Has Annie told you who the father of her baby is?” Erica asked.

  “I can’t answer that
question.”

  “A lot of men would find it hard to resist a girl like her, especially if their wife wasn’t available. It’s difficult for a wife to compete with a beautiful young girl who has a perfect body and hasn’t had kids, hasn’t had to juggle a house, a job, and a marriage. Do you know how hard that is? No, you’re not married. Of course you can’t understand.”

  Charlotte was beginning to understand that Erica was very much on edge. She was jittery and anxious, and her eyes were a little too bright. While Erica rambled on, Charlotte read Dr. Landon’s notes from the last visit. Dr. Landon had broached the subject of postpartum depression but Erica had refused to see a psychiatrist, saying she was fine, just exhausted and overwhelmed.

  “I’m afraid the father of Annie’s baby might be my husband,” Erica finished in a rush.

  “Did you ask your husband about it?” Charlotte asked quietly.

  “Of course not. How could I?” Erica slipped off the table. “I want to wait for Dr. Landon to examine me. You won’t say anything, will you? I shouldn’t have talked to you. I was stupid.”

  Erica’s breath came in quick, short gasps, and she put out a hand toward the table to steady herself.

  “Breathe,” Charlotte ordered, helping her into a nearby chair. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

  “I’m just scared,” Erica said. “I don’t know how to handle all this.”

  Charlotte squatted down in front of her. “You should talk to a psychiatrist. Dr. Raymond is excellent; she could be very helpful to you.”

  “You think I’m crazy.”

  “I think you’re very stressed. You’ve had a baby recently and your hormones are still settling down. You’re not sleeping. Sometimes problems seem bigger than they are when you’re feeling overwhelmed.”

  “I am tired. That’s probably all this is. Tim is a good husband. He takes care of us. I just feel guilty that I haven’t been much of a wife lately. I’ll think about seeing Dr. Raymond, but I want to go home now.”

  “All right. And please, Erica, don’t worry about what you’ve told me. Our conversation is completely confidential.”