by Meredith, MK
She maintained eye contact, but her periphery was busy taking in his broad, muscular chest, the dark stamps of his perfectly-shaped man nipples, and the mounds of his shoulders rising like Mount Katahdin.
“Fine. I’ll look at it.” She grabbed her cards, keeping her fingers crossed for a royal flush. If she could keep her damn eyes from straying to his bare torso every five seconds she’d be more than thankful. At this rate, she was worse than a starry-eyed schoolgirl ogling her first crush.
“What’ll it be, MacCaffrey?” The arrogant tilt to his lips did not bode well for her modesty.
He slapped his cards down. Straight flush.
Shit.
He rose one brow…slowly, and her stomach quivered with the suggestive gesture.
With a sigh of resignation, she considered her options. Too bad she already slipped off her shoes. That would have covered two losses.
She braced herself. Hell no. No more losses.
Pushing to her feet, she unzipped her skinny pants, shooting Jamie a warning look. “Don’t get too comfortable.”
He pressed his lips together as she pushed the fabric down her thighs.
“Comfortable is not the word I’d use.” Clearing his throat, he shoved the cards across the table. “You’re up.”
Seeing him squirm was incredibly satisfying. And wasn’t that the point?
They went over the board of directors and committees, and she threw her hand on purpose. She’d get him completely distracted then take the game right out from under that sweet, hard ass of his.
Next to go was her checkered top. His eyes landed hungrily on her chest as she exposed her pink bra one button slide at a time. She let her shirt fall to the floor and hesitated, giving him a good view of what he’d walked away from ten years ago. Her pink bra topped a pair of hip hugger panties. Years of skating gave her a core to die for, and she was never more thankful than this very moment.
“Are you going to deal or what?” she quipped. Forcing her tone to remain neutral, every second reminded her of all the things she’d missed about him. How safe she’d felt; how easy it had been to follow him across an ocean. How much she’d loved him. Truly loved him.
His eyes were taking in every square inch of her with such intensity that she had to look down to make sure she wasn’t naked. Taking advantage of his preoccupation, she grabbed a card and slid it into the band of her undies at her low back.
Cheating may not be respectable, but all was fair in bylaw war.
She held back a grin and snapped her fingers. “Jamie.”
With a jerk, he swallowed hard. “Yeah?” He coughed. “Oh, yeah.”
He appeared confused and, for a brief moment, the innocent look on his face reminded her of the deep, burning love she’d never really gotten over. With a vicious surge of self-control, she strengthened her resolve against her one weakness.
James Alexander Wilmington Astor III.
Now was the time to slam down the hammer.
Arranging her cards, she prepared for her big win. The bylaws were hers. The control was hers. It was time to put Mr. Astor in his place.
She lengthened one long, toned leg, turning it to put her tattoo in clear view, and flexed her foot. Jamie followed the intended target, tracing her ink with his eyes, as predicted, and she slowly slid her hand behind her back to retrieve her card.
His attention snapped away from her long-limbed temptation and landed on her with suspicion. “What’re you doing?”
She froze. “What? Nothing. I had an itch.”
Gray eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, trying to see behind her.
“Seriously, Jamie. Knock it off.” Her pulse raced as he raised to his jean-clad knees, his abs rippling with the movement.
“What’re you hiding behind your back?”
“Nothing.”
“Blayne.” He crawled slowly around the table, his muscles bulging with each advance.
She swallowed hard, the crackling fireplace and crashing waves a backdrop warning her of the dangerous position she was in.
Desperate to keep him at a distance, she threw her hands up. “Stop.” She really couldn’t trust herself if he got to close.
His biceps flexed with each move toward her, and her mouth went dry.
Crossing her arms, she tried to distract him by pushing her cleavage together. He didn’t bite.
Shit. The card began to stick to the skin of her lower back as she broke into a cold sweat. Jamie couldn’t find out she’d been cheating; he’d never let her live it down. Trying her best to keep her cool, she straightened her leg until the ball of her foot met the firm and warm skin of his naked chest.
“Show me what you’re hiding, woman.” His low growl sent a shiver of need through her body.
Panic raised the pitch in her voice to a squeak. “There’s nothing to show!”
In one fluid movement, he pushed her leg to the side and lunged. Hot, heavy man-body along with ten years of repressed orgasmic memories pressed her into the floor, and a swirling starburst of sensations shot out from her center.
“Let me see,” Jamie demanded with the rumble of a chuckle.
“No!” She shoved the card farther down her underwear, hoping he wouldn’t go foraging for it, then wrestled to get him off her. Not because she wanted him to move away but because she wanted him to stay.
God help her crazy-ass heart.
They struggled for control. He tried to roll her over, but she held him in a vice-like grip with her legs.
“Good God, Bean, you’re strong.” He gasped with effort.
“Damn straight.” She applied pressure in just a way that had him rolling with her on top until, finally, she straddled his waist in victory. She almost shot her fist up to celebrate her win.
But the undeniable evidence of his own arousal pressed hard against her.
She froze.
Then dropped her forehead to his. It would be so easy to give in, to get him out of her system once and for all.
His breathing was heavy and mixed with hers in a torrent of lush red wine and heady lust. His lips parted. Hers inched closer, hovering, promising…
“Ahh ha!” Warm fingers slid the card from the beneath the edge of her panties, then held it high in the air above their heads. “You cheated!” His look of shock would have been hilarious if it didn’t mean she just lost by default.
Her control, her plans were slipping away like the tides of the Atlantic.
And she almost just kissed the one man with the power to break her.
Again.
Chapter 5
Monday morning came with the feeling of a new beginning and a surge of purpose. Kind of like the Cape lighthouse. It went from a money pit to a lucrative investment. The month had opened up, allowing Jay to rent it until he figured out what part of town he wanted to call home.
He shoved his wallet into the pocket of his jeans, rehearsing the points about the donor program he’d prepared for Mayor Sebastian Marth. He needed to confirm a few city requirements before he finalized his plan.
Marth was the youngest mayor the town had seen, and in Jay’s favor, one of his buddies from school. That was the nice thing about growing up in a small town. Chances held that you were friends with the mayor.
He navigated down the old steps of the lighthouse one by one, just as he did the unfortunate events of the day before at the Cape house with Blayne. And on top of it all, his dad decided he wanted to expedite Jay’s takeover of the company—something about the second honeymoon his parents had been meaning to have. Jay shuddered. He wanted no part of that conversation. He was glad his folks were happily married, but he didn’t need to know anything about how they achieved that level of happy.
Only that reaching a level of success that enabled him to take over the family business finally allowed him to consider that he was finally worthy of fighting for Blayne.
Pushing through the side door to the cape grounds, he sucked in a deep breath of the crisp, salty air blow
ing in off the choppy waves. He loved the rhythmic crashing against the rocks and the scent of sea spray. He’d missed a lot being away. There was nothing quite so spectacular as the coast of Maine in spring.
He looked about with a satisfied nod.
It was time to step into his father’s position in the Astor company and let the man retire so his parents could go on as many honeymoons as they wanted. And it was about time his mom didn’t have to live so much of her life alone. There was no telling how many anniversaries and birthdays were missed due to business. Duty was the root word of every Astor name.
But more than anything, it was time for Blayne. He had to man up and fix the shit of a mess he’d made years ago. He didn’t deserve her, he knew it then and he knew it now, but she did deserve to be happy. If she ever gave him the chance, he’d work every day for the rest of his life to make sure it happened.
For a woman who at one point jumped blindly into love, he’d been shocked and relieved to find out she was still single and doing nothing to change that fact—especially when they used to dream of a house full of kids together.
He wasn’t quite as surprised to find out she’d managed her career with the kind of badass success he’d come to know and love from that woman.
He rubbed his chest. She was an enigma.
Seeing the memories reflected as heartache on her face filled him with a need to protect her, to fix his wrongs, and make her see what a future together could look like.
However, she’d made it all too clear what his chances were.
Fuck. He’d just have to show her.
As he stepped through the gate toward town, he glanced down the length of the cape. The lighthouse was off, but later in the evening, the lamp would boldly cast a glow as far as the eye could see.
Ryker had brought it back to life when he and Larkin had met. Pretty telling for a guy bent on selling the place.
Jay laughed out loud, watching his cold breath float away from his face in a puff as he walked toward town. Apparently, he’d missed quite the show when Ryker and Larkin had met. From the tell of it, Larkin seemed quiet and unassuming until someone got in her way. Then nothing would stop her.
Blayne was like that.
He didn’t try to resist her image floating along the perimeters of his brain. It was always more than simply memories. He could hear her voice and lose himself in her intoxicating scent as if she stood in front of him, and his body immediately tightened with awareness. It had been a constant phenomenon since he’d caught a glimpse of her at the pub the night they’d met.
Having her close now was like shoving a man out of a sensory deprivation tank right into the middle of a Metallica concert.
Jay stopped at the thought and let his head fall back. The Celtic inspired iron sign of Eclectic Finds mirrored her tattoo and swayed gently on its hinge with a gust of wind. The sign croaked as it moved back and forth, and he couldn’t tell if it was a warning to run or challenging him to go inside.
He’d heard about her store, but he hadn’t seen it yet. Possibly because he’d been busy but mostly because he wanted to keep his nuts. Lately, she seemed bent on destroying them—literally and by wearing her damn cheek-framing derby skirt, teasing him with glimpses of the tattoo she knew drove him wild.
His hands itched to slide underneath, stripping her panties off and tormenting her as she’d been tormenting him. Her sharp tongue was as much an aphrodisiac to him as the cape’s bee balm plants were to honeybees.
How the hell was he going to be able to win her back if every time they were together he couldn’t stop wanting to either rip her clothes off or shake her senseless?
He had to find a way for them to work together. Step one might need to be keeping his hands to himself. Once she remembered how well they worked as a team, maybe she’d be open to at least talking about them as a couple.
With a death wish, he pushed through the door. The first thing that hit him was her scent. It was light and fresh and reminded him of the ocean. He breathed in deeply once more, letting memories of her wash over him.
Everything from housewares to culinary specialties lined the shelves with the promise of one of a kind and never boring behind every item. As he walked along, one particular set of salt and pepper shakers caught his attention, and he laughed, loving her spunk. Only Blayne would promise that table accessories wouldn’t be boring. He turned a generous pair of breasts over in his hand, then set them carefully on the shelf.
He rounded the end of the aisle just as the woman in question stepped through a door labeled Eclectic Staff Only. Her head was down, and she worried her berry-colored lower lip with her teeth. He’d never get used to it—the sight of her was a swift punch to the gut. He remembered how those lips felt, how they tasted…
“I’m sorry, we’re closed.” She stopped dead in her tracks, her crystal green eyes going wide. “Jamie.” Her tone was breathless with surprise.
He’d never tire of hearing the Irish lilt in her voice when she called him by the nickname. He looked around with a nod. “I found myself outside and had to come take a look. You have something special here.”
“Yeah, I do.” She hesitated, studying him closely. “I worked hard for it, too.”
“Larkin told me you put yourself through school. That couldn’t have been easy.”
Pressing her lips together, she pulled in a breath, her nose flaring in that adorable way he’d always loved. She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder and said, “Look, I have to get back to work. My stock doesn’t unload itself.” She nodded toward the front of the store. “You can let yourself out.”
He had two choices. The smart choice would be to do as she said and leave, but when it came to Blayne, his intelligence was in serious question and usually found just above his balls. Following her through the small hallway flanked by a small office on one side and a break room on the other, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the way her ass swayed beneath her fitted skirt.
Her style drove him wild, and her current attire was no exception. He perused the line of her long, shapely legs down to her impossibly sexy high heels. “How the hell are you unloading boxes with six-inch heels holding you up?”
She spun around with a startled look on her face. “I said let yourself out, not in. What are you doing?”
“I’m helping.” He looked around at the stacked boxes and table full of merchandise. “I’ll unload and unpack, you inventory.”
“I don’t need your help, Jamie.”
“No, you don’t. But you’re going to get it.” He stepped beside her, noting how she stiffened with his nearness.
He stiffened too, but in a completely different way. And to the point that he shifted from one foot to the other, hoping his unwieldy erection would settle in a more comfortable position.
He hauled a box off a stack then carried it to the table. Grabbing a box cutter, he flicked up the blade with a swipe of his thumb against the small, textured lever. “Look, Blayne. I’m here. You might as well make use of me.” He heard it as soon as he said it.
And realized he meant it.
She ran her eyes from the tips of his shoes to his crotch—please, God, he cleared his throat—then on up to his chest, and finally his face.
“What’s the American saying? Been there, done that?”
His bark of laughter echoed off the walls, and her painted lips quirked up at the corners.
With a sigh, she rolled her eyes. “Fine. Unpack each box, carefully handing me one item at a time. This job is about accuracy and care, not speed. Got it?” One perfectly arched dark brow raised with her question.
Something settled in his chest. It meant something for her to give in, to let him stay. “Got it, boss.”
She scoffed. “Take that to the center, and I’ll let you help me here any day.”
He sliced through the tape of one box. “In your dreams. We’re partners at the center, but I will give in to your demands here.”
“Give in to my demands?” Her qu
estion sounded anything but innocent. “All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Anything?” Her eyes dilated.
Fuck. Me.
“Completely.” Adrenalin rushed through his body. The heat of her made him want to reach out and yank her in until her breasts flattened against him. It was as though his breathing stopped with his heart as she leaned toward him.
So close, her silky hair, her porcelain skin. Those damn lips that left his dick begging to feel her warm, wet heat wrapped tightly around him.
Then just as quickly, she stepped away, her fingers gripping a silver paperweight in the shape of an inchworm. She slapped it into the palm of her other hand, and he winced. “Perfect.”
He narrowed his eyes at the victorious gleam in her own.
Two could play at that game.
With a clap of his hands, he scanned the stacked boxes, taking a small measure of satisfaction when she jumped at the noise. “Well, Blayne MacCaffrey, let’s get to work.”
Shrugging off his jacket, he kept his gaze on the table, purposefully avoiding her eyes. He grabbed the back of his black, sweater and pulled it over his head.
“What are you doing?” A hint of panic raised the pitch of her voice.
With the self-control of a monk, he resisted the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth and grabbed the first box. “Getting to work. I imagine you don’t want to be here all day, Bean.”
Bean.
One syllable and the world reversed to a time the future held promises that were kept and declarations of love that were believed.
Blayne turned her thigh from side to side, showing off her newly acquired tattoo, the yellow petals of the two roses were bright against the black shaded Celtic knot. “What do you think? The Celtic knot means we’re all connected. No matter where we are. In life and in death. The roses were my ma’s favorite. One for her and one for my da.” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “Or one for you and one for me.”
He pulled her into his arms, his scent wrapping her in a haze of lust and undying love. “Bean loach.”
