by Meredith, MK
“For the kids,” she added. For a second, she was sure he’d say yes.
“I’m not someone you want to get too close of a look at. I think I’ll pass.”
She pushed back from the table. “Well, of course, I don’t. You’re about as deep as a saucer and sleep around like you’re in a contest, but I need to make sure this is ready.”
“Finally, we agree on something. Because the way I see it, you’re not ready. Especially if you’re going to be standing in judgment toward every kid who walks through those front doors like you do with me.”
Indignation heated her face. How dare he? “I do not. You’re...”
Yes, she did. Her annoyance was quickly replaced with shame. She had to stop snapping at him all the time.
“I’m what? You seem to have me all figured out, but you’re the one you should be looking closer at. You’re rude and often a little brat. Not exactly who the kids of Cape Van Buren need as a role model.”
And then he opened his mouth, and all she wanted to do was throttle him.
Well, that wasn’t the only thing she wanted to do.
But it was the only thing she’d be honest enough to admit.
* * *
Standing in the checkered foyer of the Cape house, Mitch grinned. He loved watching Claire’s skin pinken with anger. At least, the skin left visible from her skinny jeans and oversized knit sweater. He imagined the flush in her cheeks was close to what she looked like right after being well and thoroughly fucked. Not that he’d ever be the lucky man to serve her. She wasn’t a love-her-and-leave-her kind of woman.
And that was the only kind of female he’d let himself get close to. A woman only interested in a bit of fun.
She opened her pretty mouth to respond, then closed it, pressing her lips together in a tight, straight line. His dick twitched as his body tried to imagine how those lips would feel around him.
Fuck me.
There was something about her that pulled him toward her as strongly as it warned him to stay away. The very reason he had to keep a distance—her vulnerability, her tragic past—were the same things that made him want to wrap his arms around her and make sure nothing ever hurt her again.
What the hell was wrong with him?
It was damned confusing.
He was not a protector or a forever kind of guy, and that was who she needed.
He scratched at the scruff on his chin. Always on the wrong foot with her, he sighed. “Look.”
She put a hand up. “No, you’re right.”
Nothing could have surprised him more than those three words out of her mouth. “Excuse me?”
A small grin pulled at the corners of her mouth, and he felt a weird pop in his chest—as if a seal broke. He probably went too heavy on his chest presses the other day at the gym, he thought, rubbing at the spot below his collarbone.
“I said, you’re right.”
He leaned against the door frame, trying to figure out what she was up to. “Can I get that in writing?”
She moved past him toward the kitchen. “Shut up.” Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she added, “And don’t get used to hearing it. This is a one-time occurrence.”
He grunted. “We’ll see.”
In the kitchen, she pulled out a pan of cupcakes from the commercial-sized refrigerator.
Curious and secretly hoping he’d get one, he slid onto one of the black leather stools at the large, white granite island in the middle of the kitchen that mirrored the tin-tiled ceiling above.
Adding a pre-whipped bowl of icing to the table top before him, she pushed a spatula into his hand. “Here, help me ice these, and I’ll let you have one.”
Confused didn’t even begin to explain how he felt as he wrapped his hand around the handle. He was momentarily distracted by Puzzle, who chose that moment to jump into his lap.
He helped the cat settle against him as Claire arranged the items on the table. “Hey, buddy.” The cat’s purr was soft, and the vibration that hummed against him was comforting.
He wouldn’t say it out loud, but it almost seemed she were offering him a truce of sorts. It was a step in the right direction anyway. He was tired of everyone placing bets on who he’d close his next “deal” on, as if his personal life were no different than the deals he made for his clients in commercial real estate.
At the top of his field, he should be flying high, but ever since working on the changes to the Cape with the conservation center, he’d been left feeling restless. He needed more.
He grabbed a cupcake. “Did you make these?”
Claire nodded, her blond hair, pin-straight, brushing past her chin with the movement. When she bent over, her oversized sweater gaped open just enough that the lace edge of her bra showed against the swell of her breasts.
He enjoyed breasts like anyone else, but what really turned him on when it came to Claire was her impossibly tiny waist and the sexy-as-fuck flare of her hips. The combination created the most perfect heart-shaped ass he’d ever seen encased in a pair of jeans.
“I did. Evette shared one of her recipes with me,” she said softly. “Baking helps me think, so I made a batch of her lady lemons while ironing out a few details of my program this morning.”
So that’s why the house had smelled like lemon cookies when he’d come in.
Evette Kingsley was the owner and baker at North Cove Confectionery. Her cupcakes would make the sweetest soul turn black for just one more bite.
With a flick of his wrist, he added icing to his spatula and, while spinning the cupcake in one hand, added the white icing to the top.
Claire paused, watching him in surprise. “Ummmm...how do you know how to do that?”
With a shrug, he picked up another cupcake. “Evette and my mom are both North Cove Mavens. I’ve helped make more cupcakes, tend more gardens, and brew more moonshine than any other man I know. Even Ryker. His time away saved him a bit.” He chuckled, warmed by the memory.
That’s what happened when a man was raised by a bunch of women. Had his dad stuck around, maybe he’d have developed different skills, but he’d never give up what he had with his mother.
She was a very special woman.
Finishing another cupcake, he eyed it, then placed it back in the pan. He was good at a lot of things, but what really gave him pleasure was the pro bono work he’d been doing for the Cape.
He wanted more, but no one thought of him when they were setting up projects to serve the community.
The hard truth of the matter, if he was honest about it, was he couldn’t blame them completely. He was a man of his own making.
Even if it was only to protect those around him.
Claire rounded the island. “Show me how to do that.”
He raised a brow at her demand but scooted back from the island and turned toward her. Puzzle lifted his head from his resting place, and she ran a hand from between his ears to his tail, coaxing the cat’s eyes closed. Mitch was jealous of a damn cat.
Stepping close with bright-eyed interest, she waited expectantly.
In slow motion, he showed her how he iced the cupcake, then handed his spatula to her. “You try.”
She tried to duplicate his movements but ended up with more icing on her fingers than the cake. He had a million different ways to help her with that problem, and ninety percent of them involved his tongue.
Ignoring the direction of his thoughts, he stood, dislodging Puzzle, who shot a look at him that surely wished him straight to hell, and reached around her. “Here, like this.”
The warm scent of her perfume hit him with a punch. He was expecting something floral like spring but instead was surrounded in a seductive haze of amber. With his hands on hers, he guided the cupcake under the spatula until the icing covered the top in a smooth cap.
But all he could focus on was her back against his chest, and how he could tuck her head just beneath his chin.
His blood rushed in his ears, but he forced himself to focu
s. She tried again, biting her lip between her teeth in her concentration. Her hands moved under his, and the silk of her skin glided under his palms.
With a squeal of excitement, she almost bounced in his arms. “That’s it. Look!”
She spun, holding the cupcake out between them, delight sparkling in her blue eyes. He’d never noticed how clear they were. Little darker blue specs could be seen in a spiral around her pupil like a kaleidoscope.
Using the deep reserves of his self-control, he resisted the urge to congratulate her smiling lips with a kiss.
He cleared his throat and stepped back.
“You need to date.” His words jumped from his mouth without explanation, and he clamped his jaw closed to stop any more from following. But as the idea formed, the more he warmed to it.
Her smile twisted into a grimace. “Excuse me?”
A snappy and irritated Claire was fun to tease and sexy as hell, but a happy and bubbly Claire was far too irresistible.
He had to get her dating—one more layer to keep her out of reach.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Besides, it would all work toward his new and improved reputation. A man to turn to for help, an upstanding citizen of Cape Van Buren. He’d get Claire out of her hermitage while helping her prepare her program, and if all went according to plan, it would enable him to dive deep into more pro bono work around Cape Van Buren.
“Let me get you up to speed on dating again, and I’ll be your guinea pig for your Coping through Art program.”
She blinked twice.
“I do not need help on getting up to speed with dating. I don’t want to date. It’s as simple as that.”
“You’re afraid to.”
She popped her hands to her hips. “I am not afraid of anything.” But her eyes shifted high left, before returning to his face.
He grabbed one of the iced cupcakes and took a large bite, studying her while he chewed, enjoying the explosion of tart lemon in his mouth. “Prove it.”
Snatching the cupcake from his hand, she took a bite herself.
“Hey!” He tried to take it back, but she hopped away with a little skip.
Sometimes, she was the cutest damn woman he’d ever met. “You’re afraid. Whether it’s of the commitment or the process, I’m not sure yet. But dating doesn’t mean you have to marry the person.”
She snorted. “You would know.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re right. I would.”
Chapter 3
Claire wrung her hands together at her waist, trying to disperse the nervous energy that did nothing but produce sweaty palms and a sour stomach.
You can do this. You can do this.
Slowing in front of the Flat Iron Coffeehouse, she peered through the large front window of the cafe. Sitting on the corner of Garden Parkway SW and Van Buren Blvd, it was directly across from the North Cover Confectionery and had a brilliant view of both the town center and the Atlantic off the tip of the Cape.
There he was. Just as he’d said. Jeans and a blue sweater. Clean-cut, not bad looking but nothing compared to Mitch Brennan’s gorgeously chiseled features and powerfully muscled physique. Crap.
Why the hell was she thinking about Mitch? It was his fault she was even in this mess to begin with. He had to challenge her about not knowing how to date.
Well, the hell she didn’t. Her problem wasn’t dating. It was a whole lot more complicated than enjoying a coffee and conversation.
Squaring her shoulders, she smoothed down the fabric of her dress, took a deep, bolstering breath, then pulled open the door of the shop. With purpose in her stride, she walked toward the man sitting at the coffee bar. He glanced up with a look of interest as his eyes traveled the length of her.
As she got closer, she made eye contact, smiled, then walked right past him toward the bathrooms at the back of the shop.
What the hell would they even do? She hated small talk, there was no way she was going to tell him about herself, and besides, she’d gotten old over the past few years. Being an almost widow was not the best for her complexion.
Eyeing herself in the mirror of the coffeehouse bathroom mirror, she stuck her tongue out in a show of disgust. She swore the roadmap of Cape Van Buren was all over her face at this point, at the corners of her eyes and the lines beside her mouth.
She dug her nails into her palms. What the hell was wrong with her? She did not shave her damn legs to just run scared of a simple coffee date.
I am not scared.
You’re scared.
“Oh, shut up.”
“Excuse me?” A lady Claire recognized from over at the courthouse stared at her from the reflection in the bathroom mirror. She’d exited one of the bathroom stalls and now stood with a backdrop of coffee bean plants behind her.
Claire waved her hand. “No, sorry.” She chuckled. “I was just talking to myself.”
I have got to stop doing that.
The woman gave an indulgent smile that was more pity than understanding as she did a quick rinse of her hands before leaving the bathroom.
Claire grimaced, washed her own hands with soap just to feel cleaner, then dialed Larkin. “Hey! I need you to come over to the Coffeehouse.”
“What’s up?” Larkin’s said, her voice breathless.
“I made a date—”
“Whoooo!” Larkin’s excitement felt like it pierced her eardrum.
She yanked the phone away for a second, then once it was safe, brought it back to her ear. “Anyway, I bailed. And now I’m stuck in the bathroom.”
“You are not.”
“I am.”
“Claire, just go have coffee with the guy. Who is it?”
With a shake of her head, she studied her lip-gloss in the mirror, fixing one edge where it was smeared. “One of the partners down at the boathouse. Evette had introduced me.”
“You’re going to have to go back out there. I just put Max down for her nap and Ryker is over at the Center working with Mitch.”
“Damn Mitch. This is all his fault.”
“How is this Mitch’s fault?” Larkin asked, a curious note to her voice.
Crap.
“Hey, I gotta go. Kisses to baby Max for me.” The three-month-old was a beautiful torture. Her scent and the feel of her in Claire’s arms every time she nestled that precious baby close reminded her of everything she’d lost, but she wouldn’t give it up for the world. She was one of Max’s aunties now. And that was a responsibility she wouldn’t flake out on.
Claire ignored whatever Larkin was saying and disconnected the call. Her friend was no help, but that was par for the course with a new mama. Blayne was in New Zealand with Jay on their honeymoon, and there was no way in hell she’d call Maxine.
She was on her own. And standing in the bathroom of the Flat Iron Coffeehouse, surrounded by cappuccino art, she felt that fact more acutely than ever before.
And didn’t like it one bit.
Tucking her clutch under her arm, she kept her eyes down and made a bee-line through the cafe to the front door.
“Claire?”
She heard the masculine voice, but she didn’t pause for a second. Once outside, she walked toward the Cape, the heels of her boots echoing a getaway song along the sidewalk bricks past Dine on the Vine, over South Cove Ave and through the gates to the Cape that read, The Archer Conservation Park of Cape Van Buren, the answer to life’s puzzle is love. And as they did every time she saw it, her eyes filled, but she kept walking.
It was one of those fall days where the air was cool, but the sun was warm. She breathed in the salty breeze that floated in off the Atlantic as if it was a lifeline to freedom. Mortification rolled through her from running away like a coward, but she let it reach her fingertips, then dropped it to the pebbles at her feet.
Maybe Mitch had a point. She’d been out of the game long enough that she couldn’t remember how to start back up.
Knowledge was her best friend at
this point. She knew she didn’t want anything long term. No one was going to settle so deep in her heart that losing them would hurt her ever again.
Arm’s length and casual was her new middle name. Well, maybe that was too long for a middle name, but it was certainly her new stance on relationships. It was that or nothing at all, and nothing at all was taking its toll.
Because damn, she wanted to be held, to feel a man’s hands sweep up her naked sides and cup her full, aching breasts in his palms. She wanted his warm lips and the rock-solid weight of his chest pressing into her. She wanted to feel Mitch’s scruff rub against the sensitive peaks of her...
Whoa.
No way.
She blinked in surprise, catching her toe on a rock in the driveway, and almost falling on her face.
Not Mitch. Where the hell did that come from? Everything associated with sex did not have to lead her to that man for God’s sake.
But she did need his help. If she couldn’t get over herself and cope with her past enough to have a cup of coffee with a guy, how the hell could she expect to be able to teach children to muster the courage to move beyond the things that may hold them back?
Making her Coping through Art program successful was one of the most important things she’d ever do. If she couldn’t be all in, then she shouldn’t be there at all. The town deserved better than that.
Taking the front steps of the Cape house two at a time, she threw open the door and charged into the office to find Mitch.
“I’m in.”
* * *
Mitch could only stare.
Claire’s hair was windblown, her cheeks flushed pink, her cleavage straining against the crisscrossing tie at the front of her dress that kept her breasts locked and loaded.
He’d been wrong before.
This was how she’d look like after being well and properly fucked. And nothing could have shocked him more than the surge of raw, irrational jealousy at the thought.
“I’m in,” she repeated. Marching up to him, she threw her clutch on the desk between them and continued. “You agree to work through my project—”
