Widow’s Walk
Genevieve Ash
When Lindy, an American romance writer, inherits a craggy house by the sea in Cornwall she expects to sell it and use the proceeds to fund her career. But upon arriving in England she discovers long-forgotten love letters chronicling her Great-aunt Emmaline’s ill-fated romance with a sea captain.
Entranced by the story the letters tell, Lindy starts pining for her own impossible love and meets Tom, a charter-boat captain who lives nearby. Despite Tom’s intense travel schedule, they start an affair fueled by heated emails and phone calls.
When Tom suggests that Lindy join him on a trip to Spain, their virtual relationship soon becomes very real indeed. A week of sensual delights and romance leads to passions that cannot be denied but past hurts have made Lindy and Tom cautious about commitment.
Can history repeat itself with a much better outcome or is this romance destined to be washed out to sea?
Inside Scoop: Lindy’s journey contains female/female sensual exploration.
A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Widow’s Walk
Genevieve Ash
Dedication
A kiss for you, my darling.
Chapter One
The wide-bodied jet picked up speed and Lindy sighed as the wheels left the tarmac. Heading off to Cornwall might have been a bit rash but once Lindy set her mind on something she did it. What’s the worst thing that could happen?
When her mother had passed away she inherited her Great Aunt Emmaline’s dilapidated old cottage on the southern coast of England. She wondered how quickly she could sell it and use the money to support her “nasty habit”, as her mother had called it—her writing habit. Sure, she wrote her romances on the spicy side but didn’t people in love have sex—lots of it?
Once the plane reached cruising altitude Lindy let out the breath she hadn’t remembered holding. Flying over the Atlantic, she was looking forward to some time away—time away from grieving over her mother’s death and time away from seeing her ex-boyfriend Stephen with his perpetually happy fiancée. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time finding another woman. Knowing Stephen he probably had been seeing Rachel long before he and Lindy had split up.
Forget it. This is a new beginning, an adventure! Lindy lifted the tiny window shade and let the sun blind her. For the first time in months she was excited about something. She loved to discover new places. She knew there was a story in each and every one of them. She would clean up the old place, relax a little—maybe even start a new novel just as soon as she finished the current one. A summer by the sea might be just the break she needed.
Lindy had never met Emmaline but had read some of the letters she had sent to her mother. Her mom had promised they would visit one day but the plans were lost in years of pain, promises and disappointment.
The documents from the attorney contained her only real link to her deceased aunt. A note in a spidery hand in the margin read, “This house is magical. Open your eyes and allow it in. Do not be afraid of whatever it brings you.” Lindy’s natural cynicism reared up and she scoffed at the silly note but her romantic nature overruled it and she shivered, suddenly very afraid indeed.
* * * * *
The taxi dropped her at the top of the road. The Italianate structure had been somewhat of an amusement when it had been built over one hundred years ago. Emmaline’s father had been a sea captain and had traveled the world. The house was a combination of all the beautiful places he had seen, mashed together in a gingerbread confection of wood, slate, copper and glass. Quite unusual compared to the drab stone boxes that lined the beaches of Cornwall. The weather-beaten gate swung softly in the breeze, its rusty hinges begging for oil. The pampas grass in the dunes waved a welcoming hello. Lindy pulled the pointless shrug closer around her shoulders. It is almost June for crying out loud! Why is it so cold?
Her carry-on slipped off her shoulder as she dragged her suitcase behind her down the twisted walk. She could just see the gabled roof rising high into the pale sky above the sea grass and she smiled when she noted the widow’s walk at the top. Well that was a familiar sign of home. Her parents’ home in New England had boasted one of the most intricately wrought walks in the area.
When Lindy was a young girl she would wait until everyone was asleep and she would carefully climb the attic steps and crawl though the cupola window. Standing at the wrought-iron rail, she would look out at the water, pretending that she was waiting for a handsome sea captain to return to her. She made up glorious stories in her head using scenarios from the constant stream of romance novels she’d read.
If her parents had known she was up there she would have been punished. But she loved to daydream and the romance novels she sneaked in to her room would have only added to her punishment. Her rather patrician parents, a couple of academics, would not have understood.
After her father had passed away, her mother became lost in memories and Lindy had the freedom she had always craved. One day while visiting her mom in the hospital, she told her the story about the widow’s walk and how she had recently been writing stories of her own. Her mother had smiled and said, “Such a dreamer, Lindy.” She would not accept the fact that her daughter was a writer. What she wrote didn’t count, she had said, published or not.
Lindy’s heels wobbled in the worn grooves of the rotting timbers that lined the path to the door and she cursed at her choice of shoes. Why do I always insist on dressing for the occasion? In her mind this was a romantic adventure. Her flowing sundress and strappy sandals added to the magic of the day. Who knew what she might find in this place?
As she reached the front steps to the porch her mouth fell open. The wooden screen door hung haphazardly on a single nail, flapping in the breeze. She wasn’t sure how she would maneuver the decaying steps to the door without falling through the boards. The attorney had said the house needed some work but this was worse than she thought.
Leaving her suitcases on the walk, she removed her heels and carefully stepped near the outside edges of the planks until she reached the porch. The skeleton key slid into the keyhole and turned around and around in circles. Shoulder against the jamb, she rested her hip against the door and gave it a shove as she turned the knob.
Screaming with years of neglect, the door moved slowly until it caught momentum and then flung Lindy roughly into the main foyer. She landed square on her bottom. Dress around her hips and legs in the air, Lindy lay on the smooth tiled floor and laughed. Quite the welcome, that!
The soft chuckle floated through the air and Lindy froze. A man stood in the open doorway, his gaze travelling the length of her exposed pale legs. Lindy was sure her telltale blush showed her embarrassment as she yanked at the fabric bunched around her thighs.
“I beg your pardon, miss.” His tone was as formal as his words. “I saw you struggling with your bags and just thought I might lend a hand.”
Lindy looked at the well-tanned hand reaching out to her as if it were a snake. The light-golden fuzz on his knuckles and strong-looking fingers made her want to take it but she was hesitant. Looking up, she smiled warmly to try to excuse her poor manners.
His grin was wide—bright teeth and sensual lips, the warmth of it reaching his sparkling eyes. A mane of sandy hair lightened by the sun framed his face, not quite reaching to his broad shoulders. Lindy thought she must be describing a hero in her head but this guy was seriously hot.
When she looked into his eyes she shivered. Blue-green like the sea outside the door and for a moment, she thought she saw the whole world floating within them.
Taking his hand, Lindy stood beside him. “Thank you. Much obliged,” she said politely.
“Ah—an American.” Lindy thought she
picked up some smugness in his voice.
“Why is it you Brits always seem to say ‘American’ with such disdain?” she asked with equal smugness.
“Why is it you Americans are so paranoid?” he replied, laughing. “Captain Thomas Phillips at your service.”
“Well, pardon me. Miss Lindy—Belinda Ann Reddington—of America,” she added caustically.
“Well Miss Belinda Ann Reddington of America, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He took her outstretched hand, effortlessly pulling her up from the floor. Lindy saw the corded muscles in his forearm bunching under the tanned skin. He was saying something and she looked back into those ocean-deep eyes. “Looks like you have your work cut out for you here.”
“Yes, it certainly does,” Lindy sighed, the dejection filling her heart as she turned slowly in a circle.
“Would you like me to stay until you have taken a walk-through?”
“No! I mean no thank you. I can manage.”
“Of course, strong woman and all.” She might have mistaken the disdain but his patronizing tone rang clear as a bell.
“Well, strike two for me. Nothing wrong with self-reliance, Captain.”
“Tom will do—Lindy.” Was it the familiar way he used her nickname that made her tremble or the gleam in his eyes as he said it? Lindy looked at him intently, wondering what his story was, her mind writing him a steamy history with a girl in every port.
The sudden flutter of wings startled them both as the blackbird swooped through the foyer and quickly headed back out the broken window. Lindy squealed and without thought grabbed on to Tom, pressing her face into his broad, welcoming chest. His faded t-shirt was soft on her cheek and she took a deep breath. He smelled fresh and clean, like a green forest after a summer rain, making her want to snuggle even closer before realizing what she was doing.
“Umm, oh sorry,” she said, extricating herself from his arms that had snaked protectively around her shoulders. “I don’t like things that flutter about.”
“Not a problem, I assure you.” He let his arm drop slowly, sliding his hand down her back, lightly brushing the curve of her hip. His fingers were warm on her skin through the thin material of her dress and Lindy shivered inside, enjoying his touch.
Lowering her eyes in embarrassment, Lindy couldn’t help but notice the tightening fabric at Tom’s crotch. It would seem he liked feeling her as well.
“If you’re sure I can’t be of assistance?” Tom raised a brow, the low tone of his voice like warm honey trickling down her spine.
“No thanks. I’ll be fine.” Lindy tried to keep her voice from quavering as she put a little distance between them. What is wrong with me? It must be jet lag or dehydration or not having had sex in far too long!
“If you look just down the beach to the south, you’ll see my place. The one with the Siren masthead hanging from the eaves. Can’t miss it—if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Tom. Really, I am grateful.” Lindy extended her hand once more, not to be polite but because she needed his touch.
“Not a problem. Take care, Lindy.” Her name rolled off his tongue in a whisper. He held on to her hand just a little longer than was necessary, strong fingers wrapped around hers. Lindy could imagine them on her body, stroking, squeezing.
Tom spoke, preventing her from sinking deeper into her reverie. “You might want to fix that first.” Removing his hand from hers, he pointed at the octagonal window above the door. She saw the star-shaped hole where the glass was missing, letting the sun burst through. She groaned at the thought of the weather it must let in as well—as well as fluttering creatures.
Tom’s whistle seemed to carry an air of superiority as he walked across the porch and deftly maneuvered around the missing boards in the steps. “Damn Brits, think they know everything!” she muttered as she walked to the door.
She found herself on the porch watching the sun glinting off his golden hair. Lindy let her gaze linger on the denim tightly stretched across his taut, muscled ass, the shorts clinging like a second skin and moving with him as he walked away. She wondered what it would feel like to cup her fingers around his bottom and pull him closer…
Oh forget it! I did not come here for complications.
After the initial walk-through Lindy wondered if she shouldn’t just check into a hotel. The house had sat empty for years and the task ahead was daunting. She wanted to sit in the middle of the kitchen floor and cry. She yawned and trudged into the parlor, her footsteps slowing, her arms limp at her sides. She was tired and jet-lagged. She needed to at least find a spot to sleep.
A little elbow grease and a lot of disinfectant and she could manage for tonight. The antiquated plumbing and wiring might need a bit more care but it was kind of quaint and Lindy liked quaint. She had always entertained romantic notions about the past and now for a while she could pretend she was living there.
As twilight approached, she pushed the round nub on the wall switch to illuminate the kitchen. Nothing. She had asked them to turn on the electric… Too late to call now. Besides, she’d better save the battery on her cell for emergencies.
The sea breeze was fresh and invigorating as she gathered some driftwood from the beach. Back in the dim house, she lit a fire in the parlor and found a few candles to chase away the gloom. Digging in her purse, she came up with a protein bar and a half of a bottle of warm water. It would have to do. Too tired to care, she pulled the dust cover from the old camelback sofa and sent up a silent prayer that the bugs were long dead. Pulling the dusty, gray sheet over her, she slept.
Chapter Two
Morning brought sunshine and that always improved Lindy’s mood. She flung the cover back with a renewed sense of determination, anxious to begin her day. Finding an old galvanized bucket, she set it in the deep square porcelain sink.
The cog-shaped brass handle squealed in protest as she turned it, the air belching in the pipes. The thick rust-colored sludge plopped into the bucket with little enthusiasm. Lindy opened the cupboard beneath the sink and futilely banged on the pipes with a butter knife. What she thought that might accomplish she didn’t know. She turned the other handle. The spigot coughed, sneezed and then let go—covering her face and neck with a brick-colored mess just as the lights came on.
Lindy might have cried if she could. But instead she sat on the floor and laughed hysterically. Tears were something she could not seem to manage anymore. When Stephen had deceived her and she’d walked away from their relationship she had cried for days. Not because he was gone but because she had let herself be fooled into thinking he loved her.
They had lived together for over a year and she was sure he was going to propose marriage on that weekend trip they’d taken to see his parents. She had found the ring, after all. She had invested so much in him, planned a future, given herself unreservedly to him but he had casually dismissed all of that.
Perhaps she had cried herself dry? When her mother had passed there had been again nothing—dry as a desert. She tried to cry, really she did, but…
A rapping sound and the creaking of the screen door shook her from her budding hysteria.
“Everything okay in here?” Tom stepped cautiously into the kitchen, peering around the open door. Lindy looked up and saw in his expression that he wanted to laugh but was much too polite to do so.
“Good morning, Captain,” Lindy said as seriously as she could muster.
“Uh—good morning. I was running on the beach and thought I heard you screaming. Sorry to barge in.” Tom walked slowly toward her as though she were a scared rabbit poised to flee.
His tight shorts were molding to his form, exposing more than they concealed. A thrill began deep down between her thighs as his bulging crotch filled her field of view. Her fingers curled involuntarily as she wondered what it would feel like to stroke him there. Reaching over her head, he turned the water off.
Tom lifted his t-shirt over his head. Lindy couldn’t tear her eyes from his tightly muscled torso
, dusted with golden hair. His chest was broad and his tiny nipples peeked out from their well-defined home. He sat on the floor in front of Lindy and began to wipe the dirty water from her face with his shirt.
She wanted to feel awkward about this stranger’s kind gesture but for some reason she didn’t. The well-worn cotton was soft as he smoothed the makeshift towel against her cheek.
Lindy knew she was staring at him, but she couldn’t help it. Who the hell is this guy? Gosh, they sure know how to grow ‘em over here!
“Lindy, close your mouth.” Tom smiled warmly and wiped casually in the rounded scoop of her neckline. Her nipples were starting to pucker from his touch.
Lindy hadn’t realized that her mouth had been gaping. Embarrassed, she grabbed the shirt from his hand and reaching for the edge of the sink, she hoisted herself to her feet.
“Well Captain, you certainly have a way of saving the damsel in distress.”
Tom stood, keeping his body close to Lindy’s. She could feel his warm breath on her face and still-damp neck. She was annoyed with herself a she shivered at the caress.
“Lindy, a capable gal like you certainly doesn’t need saving, does she?”
Lindy backed up a step, wanting to take back her personal space but found the hard edge of the sink digging into her bottom, making her lean back, her hips pushed forward. It made her feel vulnerable, open.
“Certainly not but I appreciate the offer.”
Tom countered with a half of a step forward, invading her space again. Lindy was very conscious of the heat of his naked torso so close to hers. “I wasn’t offering, merely stating the obvious,” he said as his head moved closer.
Lindy arched her back slightly to pull away but realized too late that all she had accomplished was to pushing her braless breasts practically into his face. He might be a gentleman but he was a man.
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