by Meredith, MK
Larkin’s mouth opened then closed as she forced down the knot in her throat. “I was never lost.”
“Says you. When’s the last time we picnicked on the beach? Judged at the annual Holiday Ice Sculpture contest?” She grabbed Larkin’s hand and squeezed with a wink. “Look, I’m ecstatic this guy has lit some sort of fire under you. It’ll be even better if you win and get laid in the process.”
Larkin shivered. “Seriously, you have got to stop. The last thing that man wants to do is hook up with the woman trying to take his home.”
“Good point. You may need to rethink this.”
Larkin laughed.
Blayne pulled her into her arms. “I love you, Lark.”
“Me, too.”
The front door chimed and Blayne released her to greet the customer. “Good afternoon, welcome to—”
“I forgot my…” Claire Adams froze with her decorative bag raised to chest level and her voice trailed off as her eyes fell on Larkin.
Blayne’s clerk walked up. “Here’s your receipt, ma’am. Sorry about that.”
Claire fumbled with shaking hands as she tried to stuff the receipt in the bag and nodded her head in thanks.
Larkin’s heart wept for the woman; she knew all too well the pain she suffered. “I’m…” She wasn’t sure what to say.
Claire threw her hand up. “Don’t.” Tears welled in her eyes. “At least you got to have your baby and your husband for a little while.”
Larkin sucked in a breath and spoke without thinking. “And it only magnified my pain. How can you—”
“But you had them. You didn’t have your dreams shattered before you got the chance.” Claire wiped at a tear on her face with a mortified look at her hand and hurried out the door.
Larkin tried to pull in a breath and the roaring returned in a crescendo in her head. She blinked back the tears and swallowed hard.
Blayne wrapped her in a tight embrace, a look of sorrow in her eyes, as Larkin spoke through trembling lips. “No, I just had my dream shattered after holding him in my arms.”
“Oh God. Lark, I’m so sorry.”
Easing herself from the comfort of her friend, she sniffed and lifted her head. “I’m fine. Really. We’re both hurting.”
“Maybe, but she had no right.”
“She has the same rights I do. It was both men fighting to take the bridge first, it was both men who careened their cars into the steel sides at the entrance. But it was my baby boy who paid the price. And Miss Adams and I were left to pick up the pieces.”
She pressed her shaking hands together and pasted a very fake smile to her face. “It was such an awful waste, you know? It didn’t have to happen.”
“I know. It isn’t fair.”
Larkin twisted her lips in a wry smile. “We know life often isn’t. How long have you wanted to go home?”
“This isn’t about me.” Blayne’s face remained blank but she couldn’t quite mask all her pain.
“Look. I’m fine. Just a little beat up for a second. I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
It was easier to be alone with her thoughts than to have to hear them spoken out loud. How many times had she listened to the description of the crash, listened to the explanation that her boy had died on impact? At least as often as she thought about it and pictured the gruesome sight in her mind. It was too much.
The look that had crossed Claire’s face when she’d recognized Larkin had been like looking at her own reflection. They needed to find a way to move past the pain and live again. She stared in the direction of the woman’s receding vehicle.
And the answer might just begin with Claire Adams.
Larkin waved goodbye. She stashed her goods on the passenger seat, got in, then closed the door. The sudden vacuum of silence hit her ears and she dropped her forehead against the steering wheel. Claire’s words echoed in her mind. She was right in a way. Larkin’s memories were torture but, at the same time, she couldn’t imagine living without them.
She pushed back and looked at her wrists, then her hands, with their white-knuckled, boney grip on the wheel. How had she let it get this far? Her once-golden skin held a muted yellow hue and the striations of muscle she usually saw running the length of her forearms were replaced with sharp lines and hollows. But that was all going to change.
It was a day for new possibilities. Larkin relaxed her grip on the steering wheel. She’d taken action and set a plan in motion. One that included the Cape and living again—and she was going to pull Miss Adams along for the ride.
Chapter 6
Monday morning came way too early as far as Ryker was concerned. But he had a lot to accomplish if he had any hopes of keeping the news of the stay on his property from reaching the ears of his antsy investors. One whiff of instability would have them jumping ship.
And that he could not have.
So he was up with the seagulls just as the sun was peaking over the white-crested waves of the Atlantic, trying to find the energy to make coffee.
He sat, half-laying on the marble top of the island, with his face in his hands. A cup of coffee would surely revive him from a night of tossing and turning against the teasing sex dreams of the woman bent on taking his home. He had blue balls the size of Maine.
He had to hunt down Judge Carter at the courthouse and persuade him to drop the stay. Apparently, the man maintained an office on the business floor of the old building. For some reason that fact pissed him the hell off.
The doorbell sounded like it was ringing from inside his head.
“Goddammit.”
He tightened the string on his sweatpants as he made his way across the cool tiles to the front door. I’m going to strangle Grandmother’s neck.
Yanking open the door, he opened his mouth to tell Maxine just that and froze.
The subject of his dreams, with her full lips and creamy skin, stared back at him from beneath the brim of a trucker’s cap. Her eyes dropped to his bare chest and widened while holding out a cup of coffee boasting the Flat Iron Coffeehouse logo.
“Good morning…” Her words trailed off on a gust of breath as she shoved a cup into his hand.
There was no mistaking the look on her face and his dick woke up before his brain did. Apparently, some parts of him didn’t need coffee to function. Clearing his throat, he dropped his other hand casually in front of his sweats and tried to think of his grandmother, her friends, then a group of nuns. But with the color of Larkin’s cheeks warming and her lips parting on an inhale, his body decided not to cooperate.
The fact her shorts showed off miles of toned thigh and her top revealed the swell of her breasts between the edges of her unzipped army-green jacket did nothing to help in the least. What the fuck was the matter with him? She was a widow and trying to screw him out of his plans.
“What are you doing here?” He didn’t mean for his voice to be so low or gravely, but he was still attempting to straighten out his tied up tongue.
Pulling her shoulders back, she blinked a few times then breezed past him into the house. “I brought coffee and wanted to invite you on a walk this morning.” She turned around to face him as he closed the door. “Before you say no…”
Smart girl.
“Since I have access to your property to perform my analysis, you’ll feel more comfortable knowing where I’ll be and what kind of work I’m doing. I don't want to hide anything from you.”
She darted her eyes around, seeming to have trouble looking him in the eye. The idea that his naked upper half might leave her feeling restless was a bit of a consolation to the debacle going on in his pants. Unfortunately, the knowledge didn’t help ease his growing discomfort. Quite the opposite. Christ.
He rubbed his chest on a cynical chuckle. “You don’t want to hide anything? Like what, going behind my back to see Judge Carter and using my grandmother as a character witness?”
She had the grace to wince a little. “I had to do something. And you wouldn’t eve
n consider my offer to buy it.”
He stalked toward her, pleased when she lifted her chin and held her ground. Stopping close enough to see the individual yellow flecks in her eyes, he took a moment to absorb the tension that flowed between them whenever he was close, silently congratulating her when she didn’t back up. Her cheeks still held their flush and her pupils dilated. He dropped his gaze to her lips, reminding himself of fifty different reasons why he couldn’t taste them and why he didn’t want to. Though he seriously could not come up with even one reason for the latter. Then, without a word, he sipped from his cup and headed into the kitchen. He’d bet his most valuable New York portfolio that her taste beat that of the coffee, hands down. And the coffee was fucking delicious.
“How’s your side?” Her voice was breathless, making him grin.
He absently ran his fingertips over the scabs. “Sore, but getting better.” Stepping closer, he raised an arm over his head and gave the large scrape a glance. “Your nursing helped. See?”
Her fingers just barely brushed the uninjured skin along the edge of his abrasion then dropped back to her side.
She swallowed hard.
Hell, so did he. The sensation of her touch sent a wash of goosebumps along his side.
Eventually, he’d take pity on her and throw on a shirt, but he liked her off-kilter, especially when she currently had the upper-hand.
“So you want to show me the Cape? You do know I grew up here. There’s nothing you can show me that I haven’t already seen.”
With a nod, she sipped from her cup. “I know you think so, but let me show you the Cape how I see it. Please. I don’t have to take up too much of your time, but…”
He went over the list in his head that was already being delayed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Hell, so much for hunting down the judge before lunch.
“Please.”
“Fine. But only so I have an idea of what the hell you’ll be doing on my property. And don’t forget that fact, Larkin. This is my property. I should be able to do with it as I please.”
“I know.”
He sighed. “Then why are you doing this?’
Her gaze dropped to the floor and, with a small shake of her head, she raised her hands in a shrug. “Because I have to. I can feel Archer here. And this land is special. Saving the habitat and endangered species found here will make a difference. It’s important to this area. I know you can’t understand that, but this is something I have to do. I have to try at least.”
He dipped his chin. “Fair enough. But I have to do what is right for me, too. So don’t get your hopes up, cupcake.”
It was funny how the challenge washed the sadness from her face and replaced it with an arrogant rise of her brow. Or maybe it was the nickname. Good. He preferred that look. It was easier to fight back against her when she wasn’t reminding him that her son died.
“Cupcake?” She questioned him with a haughty lift of her chin.
“Call it like I see it. You stole mine.”
She blushed and mumbled, “I did not. You offered. Besides, they’re damn good cupcakes.”
Exactly his point. “Let me throw on a shirt.”
“Yes, please.”
“What was that?” He smirked, extraordinarily pleased by her unintentional admission.
Her eyes popped open wide. “Oh, nothing. Just…yes. Of course. I’ll wait for you on the porch.” She hurried past him and once again his eyes followed, snagged by the sensual curve of her ass and the long lines of her legs. His body snapped to attention.
The woman was going to be the death of him more than the Cape ever could.
A few minutes later, he met her outside, now covered in a Metallica t-shirt with running shoes on his feet. “Thanks again for the coffee. I’ve looked everywhere for a cup as good as Miss Shelly Anne’s at the Flat Iron but never found any. One highlight to coming back to town.”
Shelly Anne Mills owned the local coffeehouse. She was one of the South Cove Madams, which made her a direct rival to his grandmother and the North Cove Mavens, but he didn’t care. Her coffee was glorious.
“It is the best, North and South Cove feud notwithstanding.” She giggled, grabbing the towels and Windex at her feet.
“What’s that for? Going to scrub my bad memories away?”
“I wish I could.” She held his gaze for a beat.
If only. But he had a few ideas about how she could try.
“Did you leave the decanter set on my porch over the weekend?”
She studied the bottle in her hand, pretending to tighten the top, but the blush creeping up her neck gave her away.
“Why didn’t you just knock?”
Tucking loose strands of hair back from her face, she shrugged. “I figured you needed some space. I thought it would be a nice peace offering of sorts.”
“A nice peace offering would be to drop this conservation analysis.”
She shrugged. “I thought you might feel that way but I hope you like the set all the same. It’s one of a kind.” Her voice lifted with a hopeful lilt at the end.
They made their way toward the tip of the cape. The stone lighthouse rose above them, its family of seagulls calling good morning overhead.
She pulled in a breath then sighed. “I love the salty morning breeze off the coast. Just look at all the colors.” She dropped her supplies, and they picked their way carefully over the craggy rocks. “Over here,” she called.
Her movements were sure as her muscles flexed to lower to a seated position on the flat surface of a large rock. This was not the first time she’d watched the sun rise off the Cape.
Settling in next to her, he caught her light scent on the breeze. It was clean and fresh. A bit of lemon but with a hint of something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But it filled his head with visions of those legs tangled in his sheets, his scent mingling with hers, and he forced himself to focus back on the sun rising over the ocean.
“I used to come out here with my grandfather. We’d get up early to do his morning check on the apiaries. Before we made our rounds, we’d sit here, and he’d tell me stories from his time in the Vietnam War. Most were sad, some shocking, but I’ll never forget how after, he’d put a smile on his face and move ahead into the day.”
He could feel her eyes on him as he spoke. It had been years since his morning sunrise ritual with his grandfather had come to mind. The man had been his hero when his own father was anything but.
“You miss him.”
He held her gaze until she looked away. Tendrils of her hair fluttered about her face under the brim of the cap. The breeze off the coast always did have a mind of its own.
“Of course I do. But I’m not one to live in the past. It’s my future I’m trying to shape.”
Pushing up from the rock, he offered his hand.
She hesitated then slid her soft palm into his. The sensation traveled up his arm and he clenched his teeth against it.
He stepped back, taking her with him, and she stumbled.
She fell against his chest, laughing. “I’m so sorry. I can run all over these rocks, and the one time I let someone help me, I almost knock him in the ocean.” Her face was bright as she found her balance in his arms.
The idea of him falling in from the weight of her made him chuckle. Her frame was so slight it raised all his protective instincts, and the feel of her in his arms roused all sorts of other instincts. What the hell was it about her? Her sweetness appealed to him as much as her audacity with the conservation analysis frustrated him. And he was never one for roller coasters.
Her body pressed into his and he felt the push of her breasts and the cut of her hips all at once, then she stepped away, leaving a chill in its place. Another time, another woman, and he would have taken advantage of the opportunity and pulled her back into his arms to taste her.
She ducked her face as she made her way to the grassy, level land away from the water’s edge. She pointed up toward the seagulls.
“Did you know that seagulls are attentive parents? The mom and dad mate for life. They take turns incubating eggs and feeding and protecting their chicks.” Her ass lifted high as she picked up her towels and Windex.
He should look away, but fuck. Scrubbing his fingers through his scruff, he focused on the spiraling design of the stones forming the cylindrical shape of the lighthouse.
“Did you know that seagulls sometimes eat younger members of the species? ‘Cause I don’t think cannibalism is a compelling argument to keep me from developing the property.”
Her face blanched. “Ohmygosh. You are awful. I was not trying—“
“The hell you weren’t.” He chuckled and followed her up the stairs. Her calf muscles tightened to a little ball with each step, pulling him along like he was on a leash.
They wound their way through a living room then a kitchen followed by two bedrooms until they reached the ladder leading to the lantern room. He’d always loved the little home inside the lighthouse. His grandfather’s best friend, Henry, had lived there for years, even after the need for a lighthouse caretaker had passed. And once it sat empty, Ryker had only made the mistake of hiding from his father in the lighthouse once. There was no place to hide once you made it to the top.
The beating he’d received that night had made it hard to navigate the stairs back down. It was difficult to see when your eye was swollen closed. His fingers curled into fists, but he forced himself to shake them out along with the ugly memory as he stepped next to the large Fresnel lens. It dated back to before he could remember, but the shine from the glass assured him it was being well taken care of.
“Wow. I’ve always loved this view. Archer would always tell me he could see the whole world from up here. I can see him clear as day, staring out the window, a huge grin on his face, and Puzzle squirming in his arms.”
