On the Rocks
Bed, Breakfast, and Betrayal Series
Lisa Carlisle
ON THE ROCKS
Copyright 2013 Lisa Carlisle
Cover by Lisa Carlisle
The right of Lisa Carlisle to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
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Acknowledgments
As always, I’d like to thank the people in my life who encourage me to make up stories and share them with the world. My husband, family, and friends, and children, you are all awesome. Thank you for putting up with me when I check out into my writing world and ignore all else.
I am thrilled to have found a fantastic editor and critique partners who read the different genres I write in and let me know what works. Nothing like finding people who are your kind of crazy.
Chapter 1
Paolo had suggested we leave our condo south of Boston and go away for the weekend. We’d both been working late into the evenings for the past few weeks, so we promised no work, only play. We needed time to reconnect and have a dinner together where we weren’t too exhausted for conversation.
“How about Cape Ann?” he suggested.
Cape Ann was just over an hour north. It seemed silly to pay for a room so close, but the image of the rocky New England coast deserted in the wintertime was too enticing to resist. In the summer, the area was chock-a-block with tourists nursing ice cream, but in the winter, we could take long walks cuddled up on the beach.
“Perfect. Let’s find a bed and breakfast in Rockport. I’d like nothing more this weekend than to sleep in with you and have someone make us breakfast.”
We both left work early to avoid the brunt of the Friday afternoon traffic. Our B&B was located a block from the beach. Although we didn’t have a view, we had privacy as our room was detached in a carriage house behind the main building.
The main house was a traditional Victorian like others we had stayed in. One of the proprietors, a gray-haired woman named Marta, gave us the tour of the common area, which had two floral sofas and mismatched armchairs. Two bookcases reached to the ceiling, overflowing with old hardcover books and recent paperback bestsellers.
“Ooh, this looks wonderful,” I cooed as my eyes scanned the titles, focusing on a collection of New England ghost stories that would be perfect to read in this old Victorian.
The comfy seating lured me to settle in and escape into the book. I visualized sipping a hot cocoa while reading, but I had to resist. The weekend was about reconnecting with my husband.
I glanced at Paolo, who was scrutinizing the beams above. “Those are beautifully built.” He pointed up. “And solid. What year was the house built?” Paolo worked in carpentry and was fascinated with New England architecture. On our first date, he showed me many styles in the Boston area. Although I wasn’t as interested in this topic having grown up here, the animated way he could describe the details of a Victorian or a Colonial drew me in.
“We’re not sure of the exact year, but we think it dates to the 1880s,” Marta replied.
Paolo redirected his attention out a picture window while Marta continued.
“Breakfast is served in the dining area from seven to nine.” She led us into a sunlit room filled with picture windows. Different sized tables and wooden chairs with cushioned seats were set with a variety of china sets atop bright tablecloths. “Tea, coffee, and juice will be on this table and you can help yourself.” She pointed to one set with a sugar bowl and teabags. “We’ll have fresh muffins and fruit here as well and a few main dishes you can choose from.”
“I’m getting hungry already,” Paolo rubbed his stomach and grinned widely, revealing his perfect teeth. His smile was one of the things that hooked me. He could charm almost anyone when he flashed it.
“I could fix you up a sandwich if you’d like,” Marta said.
I wondered if she offered all her guests this special service, like a grandmother fawning over kids to make sure they had enough to eat. Or was she, like many others, reacting to Paolo’s irresistible smile.
“No, thank you. We’ll get something to eat later. I’m looking forward to breakfast though.”
“One moment, dear,” she said and shuffled into the kitchen. She returned a few moments later with a basket of muffins spurting with blueberries. “Have a couple to keep you going.”
Marta grabbed a key from a hook behind her desk and then led us out back. The carriage house was painted white with black shutters like the main house, but on a miniature scale. She unlocked the door and welcomed us in to a room with floral and striped wallpaper. A queen size bed with a thick white comforter and four oversize pillows caught my eye. I planned to spend extra time there catching up on sleep and more romantic activities with Paolo. Scanning the rest of the room, I noted the Victorian-style loveseat and bureaus.
Marta pointed out the bathroom. “There are towels under the sink, but if you’d like extra, I can get some.” She then opened a closet to show extra blankets and pillows. “If you need anything else, just call.”
We thanked her and she left.
After dropping my bag on the floor, I plopped onto the bed. “This is perfect. How did you find this place?”
“A B&B site online,” he replied.
He took some hangers from the closet and opened our suitcase. “After I hang my clothes up, you want to go for a walk?”
Since it was February, most restaurants were closed, and the beaches were barren. We ducked into a cafe and watched the seagulls peck for food among the shells scattered along the water’s edge. The wind was unusually strong today, forcing the ripples to rush to shore.
“Are you in the mood for anything in particular for dinner?” I asked.
“I’ll let you choose.”
“I read a recommendation for a seafood restaurant in the paper.”
“Can’t go to Cape Ann and not have seafood.” He grinned.
I couldn’t imagine a better way to start weekend. Everything was perfect.
Having it begin on such a positive note seemed extraordinarily cruel.
The restaurant was within walking distance from the B&B. The interior was more functional than decorative, squeezing as many tables as possible into the small space with a few paintings of ships and fisherman on the walls. What it lacked in romance, it made up in aromas as the heady scent of cooked seafood made my mouth water. After we placed our order to share a fisherman’s platter, we poured two glasses from our bottle of Chardonnay.
“To new beginnings,” I toasted.
“A new start,” Paolo said.
We clinked glasses, and I took a sip.
“Paolo, you have to take a
sip. It’s bad luck if you don’t.”
Did they have that superstition in Brazil? Since Paolo only lived in the U.S. for three years and we were together for less than two of them, we still were learning each other’s customs.
He didn’t answer me, but cocked his head slightly to the side, watching me over the glass. He’d given me that look a few times before, and I still didn’t know what it meant. Was he trying to understand the cultural differences? Or was it something more?
He took a slow, full sip, his dark eyes peering at me over the glass.
His gaze was so intense, I’d swear it could penetrate through the wood paneling. My heart pounded both from fear and excitement.
“You’re looking at me in that way again.”
“In what way?”
“The one that makes me want to rush through dinner so we can get back to our room.”
“Let’s not rush.” He watched his glass as he lowered it to the table. “You know I like to take my time.” He reached for a bread roll and ripped off a piece with his teeth.
My breath hitched. After all these months, he could still excite me with those eyes and that rich accent. He even managed to make my unsexy name sound seductive as it rolled off his tongue, “HEA—therrr.”
“Unless you think we’re running out of time?” He raised his dark eyebrows.
“No, you’re right. Let’s take it nice and slow this weekend.”
I squeezed his hand and smiled.
When our dinner came, our conversation focused on how good the food was. We devoured the seafood platter in minutes, both so ravenous. Although we were stuffed, we made room for dessert. We shared chocolate cake and apple pie with vanilla ice cream over another glass of wine.
“This is going to be an unforgettable weekend,” I said. “I can feel it.”
“Oh, it will be,” he promised with a twinkle in his eye.
“What shall we do after dinner? Find a place to get a drink?”
“And share you with other people?” Paolo shook his head. “I want you all to myself tonight.”
“What do you suggest we do then?” I beamed.
“Let’s get another bottle of wine and go back to our room.”
Chapter 2
The next morning, I woke up to find Paolo without any blankets on. He was still nude and had his back toward me. My eyes raked over the muscles in his broad back. Then I pulled the covers over us both and snuggled close.
“Good morning.” I kissed his shoulder. “That was some night.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Mmmm,” I cooed. “It’s a good thing we’re not in the main house. They might have called the police for a noise disturbance.”
“I wanted to make it—“ he paused while searching for a word “—unforgettable. As you said earlier.”
“Well done.” I raised my eyebrows. “If that’s how we make up for not seeing each other lately, it makes staying late at the office a more enticing prospect.”
“You work too much.”
“I know. We both do.”
“And life is short to waste in an office.”
Paolo oozed the charm for Marta over breakfast by praising the meal. She paid extra attention to him over the other guests. Even her husband, Charles, wasn’t immune and took a break from cooking to ask Paolo how he liked his omelet.
We left the B&B after breakfast and walked to Bearskin Neck, a narrow strip of land jutting into Rockport Harbor that lured tourists in with a number of small restaurants, art galleries, and quaint shops. We darted in and out of some to check out the cute displays we spotted from outside. They were filled with unique items we didn’t need, and in the moment, I decided I had to have a couple. The cast iron garden accent pieces were adorable and although I didn’t have a garden, I might someday.
After stopping to warm up with clam chowder, Paolo and I drove to Wingaersheek Beach to walk it off. The winds had calmed enough for us to be able to spend more than a few minutes at the beach. We still had to bundle up and wear thick gloves. After a clumsy attempt at romance trying to hold his hand through the warm barrier, I gave up. We nodded to the few other brave (or foolish?) souls walking dogs.
“Did we take care of all the bills before we left?” he asked.
“Yes, whatever was due.”
“The mortgage?”
“Check.”
“The loan payment.”
“Check.”
“The insurance premiums?”
“I did that last week.”
“Credit cards?”
“I could only manage the minimum payment, but yes.”
“So we’re all set this month?”
“Yes.” I ran my fingers through my hair to brush it out of my face, which turned out to be a fruitless effort as the breeze immediately blew it back. “This is supposed to be a romantic getaway, remember? We’re supposed to leave all that reality stuff at home.”
“You’re right.” He buried his hands in his jacket pockets.
“Don’t worry about bills and money right now. We’re going to be okay. We have our plan to get out of debt, but it will take time. “
“I know. I can’t help but worry. We lost a lot of money in that investment.”
I winced at the reference. The investment turned out to be a pyramid scheme. One of my cousins told me about it and convinced me we’d be foolish to let this opportunity slip by. Although he was family, he often went for the get-rich-quick schemes, buying into late night television infomercials such as flipping houses for massive gains. I should have known better, but I didn’t. I let the excitement about paying off the hefty wedding costs overrule good sense.
“Lots of people did. We’ll recover.”
“When my mind wanders and I start to worry, I often think about that.”
I’d apologized about pushing us to invest many times. Since it was supposed to be a romantic weekend, I tried a different route. Mustering what I thought was a naughty smile that beckoned come hither, I lowered my voice to a sultry tone. “Does it wander to other things?”
My brief attempt at seduction fell flat. He gaze was focused on the ocean with an unreadable expression on his face. I studied his profile; his forehead eased over a strong, well-proportioned nose down to sculpted lips. His black wavy hair went a tad past his ears. Although he was beautiful, he possessed something else that attracted people to him. A dark sensuality evoking a little danger. When he wore a leather jacket or black motorcycle boots, my insides fluttered in appreciation. And the appraisals I caught from other women indicated they were just as taken by the bad boy look as well.
“Things on my to do list,” Paolo answered.
I had been so distracted by his looks I forgot my question. Scanning my mind, I remembered I’d asked him what else his mind wandered to. Trying a more upfront tactic, I purred. “The only thing I want on your to do list right now is me.”
Paolo flashed his toothpaste commercial worthy smile and glanced my way. “I have something special in mind for you tonight.”
My eyes widened at the suggestion. “If anything can top last night, I’ll be mighty impressed.”
“Oh, you’ll be surprised at what I’m capable of.” A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes showing he could give off the bad boy vibe without the jackets or boots.
“In that case, I can’t wait to see what you have in mind.”
“You’ll have to wait until later?”
“When?”
“After dinner. Once it’s darker out.”
“I’ll just have to wait then.”
Paolo said he needed to make some arrangements for this evening. “Why don’t you find a book to read and I’ll be back in the hour.”
After he left, I settled in the common room with the book of ghost stories. Although I knew they would terrify me, I couldn’t resist reading them. Horror and the paranormal were my favorite genres to read or watch. Paolo didn’t get it since I always ended up spooked, but something about the fe
ar excited me.
My heart beat rapidly as I tore through one story, neglecting my hot cocoa. When it reached a terrifying climax, my heart slowly returned to normal, but when I took a sip, I found it was now cold. Glancing out the window, I noticed light snow falling. It wasn’t dense enough to stick, but enough to make the ground wet. Most of the snowflakes melted as soon as they touched something, but a few held on, adding charm to my picturesque view of the pine trees outside.
Oh well, might as well keep reading. The next story was even scarier as it detailed bad spirits and the destruction they’d caused to innocent people’s lives.
A noise of someone entering the room made me jump. Luckily, I stifled the shriek so it only came out as a small cry. When I glanced up, I saw Paolo. A few snowflakes clung to his dark hair and he wore a curious expression.
“What are you afraid of, Heather?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said, closing the book as my cheeks burned and my heart pounded.
“Reading spooky stories again?”
“You caught me.” I raised the book. “Ghosts.”
“You know you won’t be able to sleep.”
“I know. Maybe you can help me with that,” I said flirtatiously to mask my terror. My pulse still raced. I scanned the room, wondering if this B&B could be haunted. “Did you happen to hear anything about ghosts when you found this place online?”
He laughed. “You get spooked so easily.”
“Ghosts are scary. You can’t defend yourself against them.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Ghosts? That would be the last thing I’d be scared of. They’re dead.”
“But still here.”
“A live person can hurt you more than a dead one, don’t you think?”
“I know it’s an irrational fear. But there’s a reason people like scary stories.” My pulse was almost at its normal level now. “So did you take care of whatever it was you had to do?”
“Yes. And then I talked to Marta about what restaurants she recommended. I wanted something a little more romantic than last night.”
“Did she have one in mind?”
“Yes. She told me about a good Portuguese restaurant,” Paolo said. “Let’s try that tonight.”
On the Rocks Page 1
