by Meredith, MK
The better-than-thou tone of his voice washed away the tiny nibbling teeth of guilt, making her lie easy. “The story goes that if you can withstand the freezing waves of the Atlantic, you can withstand anything. Sailors and lobstermen originating from the Cape have done it for centuries to give them good luck before setting sail.”
She unzipped her fleece and kicked off her athletic pants. His eyes roved slowly up her body, and her nipples peeked against the material of her swimsuit in resentment of the cold rather than the heat of his gaze. She was sure of it.
Normally there’d be no way she’d be caught dead in a bikini in freezing temperatures, but she was determined to sell this North Cove plunge and put Mr. Edwards in his place.
He blew hot air in his hands and rubbed them together. “That’s quite the story.”
“Our town is full of them.” She pointed to the farthest peek off the cliff across the waters. “See that overlook at the very tip of the land over there? The one that begins the North Cove? It’s known as Truth Point. Anyone looking for the truth, with a pure heart, can figuratively attach the question to a rock and ask for the truth to be revealed as the rock is thrown into the sea.”
His loud laugh caused an answering call from a few seagulls.
She stepped up next to him trying not to give him the same once-over as he pulled the thick sweatshirt over his head. But her eyes refused to listen to reason and devoured every inch of smooth skin. As he shoved the running pants over his hips, she swallowed hard. And every memory of that kiss slammed into her.
Suddenly the cold Atlantic breeze wasn't cold enough, and she felt like she needed the ice-cold plunge herself.
Shaking the silliness from her head, she shook her hands. “This is it!”
She was counting on his strong sense of competition for her little prank to be successful.
“Okay, on the count of three.”
“I'm ready,” he said. “But for the record, you Mainers are crazy.”
She laughed with a nod. “Wicked crazy. Don't you ever forget it. One!” she shouted.
“Two!” And pulled her arms into running position.
“Three!” She shoved off her back foot in a sprint toward the water. Her burst of speed got him moving, and as suspected, he shot ahead of her.
She pulled up short and watched, enjoying the view of his back muscles contracting with each pump of his arms, and his calves bunching into mounds the size of softballs as he pushed off the gravelly sand.
He was a fine specimen.
Running through the water, he shouted in shock but still dove through the waves.
She grabbed her sweatshirt, reveling in the look of surprise on his face as he surfaced to find her still on dry land.
“What the hell?” He put his hands up and immediately trudged toward the shore.
She was laughing so hard she doubled over at the waist. “The look on your face!”
Success!
“Are you kidding me? You could have given me hypothermia.”
Tears of hilarity ran down her face as she said, “You look fine to me.”
“What the hell was this all about?” He stormed towards her over the sand.
“I don't know Mr. High-and-Mighty-City-Slicker, but it looks to me like you just got played by a simple, small town…girl.”
Suddenly, she was yanked against his chest, her sweatshirt falling to the rocky ground.
On a squeal, she grabbed onto his shoulders. “Hey!”
“If I’m cold and wet, you’re cold and wet, you little brat.” But instead of being pissed, he sounded amused, and her heart turned over. Resisting her struggles to get free, he even laughed. Not many men she’d come across over the years would ever have taken such a prank so casually.
Her grandfather had always told her to look out for a man with a sense of humor. “Humor is a sign of a good man, Hershey Kiss.” With the soft echoing memory of her grandfather’s voice in her head, she blinked twice, then focused on Parker’s face.
The feel of his hard chest against hers and his scent clouding her head, left her feeling a bit high and thinking impossible things.
Like how much she didn’t want him to let her go.
Instead of leaving her cold, his ocean-cooled skin and the Atlantic winds were a much needed relief from the fire raging in her body. Her little prank hadn’t taught him a lesson at all. But it sure as shit taught her one.
He didn't leave her cold at all, only wet.
* * *
Two days later, Sage had to bite her lip to keep from whistling as the wanting to be held in Parker’s arms again grew at a steady, relentless pace. She still couldn’t believe how well he’d taken her little joke. Or that she’d been successful.
“I was afraid you were avoiding me.”
He snorted. “Where are we going anyway? I don’t trust you for a minute.” Parker walked up in a pair of worn jeans that hugged his thighs, and Sage would bet her cartoonist salary—measly as it was—that they celebrated his ass, too.
“Aww, come on. You know you deserved it. Your cocky level has been sky high since you got here.”
He stopped short. “My cocky level?”
“Okay, okay. Point taken. But I have a good reason,” she said, pushing down any residual guilt from her prank.
“So do I.”
Dipping her chin in acknowledgment, she slid her arm through his, relieved when he didn’t pull away. She was treating him to one of Claire Adam’s, soon to be Claire Brennan’s, art lessons at the new center out on the Cape. Claire’s program, in addition to her event planning business, had become so popular across all ages, she hadn’t been able to teach general classes as often as she’d like, so this was a special treat. And one more way for Parker to see how the paper was significant to the Cape Van Buren’s way of life.
“I’m glad you wore some casual clothes. But we’re going to have to do something about that button-up.”
He glanced down at his light blue designer shirt, brushing his hands over the front. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”
“Not a thing as long as you keep rubbing it that way.” Her eyes popped wide. Damn it! “I mean, aren’t you afraid of getting paint on it? I’m not sure Armani goes with candy apple red acrylics.”
He visibly blanched.
Laughing, she grabbed his hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something.” At least, she hoped she would, anything besides how good he tasted and better he felt. She couldn’t get the damn mind-numbing experience of kissing him or being held in his arms out of her head, and they were going on over forty-eight hours since her lady parts had started singing hallelujah. It was distracting.
He’d taken Sunday for research—or so he’d said. Sage had worried the whole time he was avoiding her because of the kiss or the joke. Or both. She was sure the last thing he wanted was to get sexy with a small-town cartoonist, but damn if she didn’t wish it anyway.
Then Yesterday, he’d been holed-up with the board in meetings in the morning and then in the evening. She’d seen him for all of two hours mid-day at the Cape lighthouse alongside a gaggle of kids who’d been visiting on a field trip. Thank God the kids had been there because every time she stood too close to him, her lady parts leaned his way like a damn divining rod. The only thing keeping her from making a complete fool of herself was the threat of jail for indecency in front of minors.
In the end, the extra hours alone left her a lot of time to work and too much time to think. She’d planned a new series of greeting cards and had made progress on the week’s comics. Unfortunately, her apartment studio’s walls were also now beginning to look like some weird stalker’s altar of worship with the different profiles of Parker she’d drawn. But there was something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place just by looking at him—so she’d needed to draw him. Pencil to paper in multiple shades was where she got her answers.
Thanks to the success of Saturday’s picnic, there were so many hearts floating about her head that e
ven her comic gorilla, Edward, was behaving himself—somewhat, anyway. The Sunday edition showed the big oaf kissing the townsfolk while being chased down by Moby the Moose, and Monday’s edition was Edward playing hide-and-seek with the children in the lighthouse.
That one really got to her. When she’d taken him out there to show off everything Larkin and Ryker had accomplished, she never imagined he would actually interact and play with the children, and even look like he enjoyed it. Her heart had gone a pitter-pattering, rudely refusing to listen to reason, common sense, or any words, period.
She sighed and directed him up the front steps of the Victorian and into newly renovated Cape house, noting that his jeans did, in fact, celebrate his ass and gave a small fist pump of victory.
Holy shit on an apple stick, how did a man in business get a body like that? She fanned her face, dropping her hand quickly as he turned toward her.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, dipping his head to find her eyes.
Which now stared at his fully packed crotch instead of his round and ready ass. It took all the X chromosomes she possessed to drag her eyes up to meet his. “Oh, of course. I was just, um...”
“Great, you’re both here.” Claire hopped up from her desk in the large front room washed in neutral tones and hints of the sea to meet them, and Sage made a mental note to thank her later. “The kids are so excited to meet Edward. I mean, Mr. Edwards.”
But Parker hadn’t missed the joke and shook his head with a lopsided grin. “If you guys are honestly teaching these kids that I’m the gorilla, you two are bad influences.”
Sage giggled behind her hand. “Oh, I almost forgot. He can’t get paint on his shirt, and with these kids, that’s like saying don’t breathe. Any ideas?”
Claire looked him up and down with a gleam in her eye. “Follow me.”
They marched through the foyer to the bathroom at the backside of the house. “Take your shirt off.”
“What?” Both Sage and Parker said, simultaneously. Though Parker also leaned forward with a look of pure confusion on his face.
“Your shirt. You don’t want it stained, take it off.”
He blinked at Claire.
“Oh, for sweet carrots and brussels sprouts, I’m not going to photograph you for the Eclectic Finds next underwear ad, I’m going to give you a smock.”
“Sweet carrots and brussels sprouts?” Sage asked.
Claire rolled her eyes. “Don’t you start with me, I have to keep up the habit so I don’t slip around the kiddos.’”
Parker joined it. “I gotta side with Sage on this one.”
Sage’s heart warmed. “Even after what I did?”
“What did you do?” Claire asked.
With a shake of his head that said, these women are crazy more than it said I should stay quiet, Parker released the buttons of his shirt, revealing solid mounds of tanned, smooth muscle from underneath.
And with each button let loose, Sage lost another breath.
“Sage.”
Damn, she thought he was sexy before, but this was beyond anything she’d ever imagined.
“Sage,” Claire said a little louder, holding out a smock. “Help him out instead of eye-banging him.”
“Ohmygod! What happened to sweet carrots and brussels sprouts? There are kids out there.”
“Exactly, and the more time I spend in here, the more likely they are to tear the place down.”
Sticking her tongue out, Sage grabbed the smock. It was one of the many hospital gowns donated from Van Buren Memorial. Wanting to die of abject mortification, Sage twirled a finger at Parker, handing him the cover-up. “Put this on, I’ll tie it in the back.”
He remained generously quiet as he shrugged into the foam green material. Every striation in his back stood out with each movement, and Sage had to swallow—hard. “That’s ah…I mean. You must work out.”
What? Why did she keep opening her mouth? She needed one of Grandie’s to shove in it to keep her quiet.
Grabbing the ties, she threw them into a knot, then turned to flee, but Parker stopped her with a hand to her wrist. “It’s the gym. I work out to release stress. And you have the worst poker face I’ve ever witnessed in a human being before. I gotta say, it’s kinda adorable.” The soft rumble of his voice skittered up her spine.
Great. She held back a sigh. She was adorable. Like a damned puppy.
“Shut up.” She scowled, but only halfway before a grin joined it. “Come on.”
All the kids hailed the new arrivals with the excitement and acceptance that only the single-digiters knew how to do.
Claire introduced the class to Parker and Sage, then got everyone moving along. The sharp, clean smell of acrylic hit Sage’s nostrils, immediately making her feel at home. When she sat down to work, she most often used a black, felt-tip Flair pen on twenty-four pound Southworth bond paper, but acrylics on poster board worked for her, too.
She peeked at Parker to find him making faces at a little girl with a face full of freckles and two missing front teeth. Her cheeks were rosy with delight as she stuck her tongue out, pulling her lips wide with her fingers at the same time.
“Miss Maggie, are you going to play or paint?” Claire asked, then turned toward Parker. “I’m hoping you won’t be a distraction, Mr. Edwards?”
The whole class giggled as Parker replied, “Yes, Miss Claire.” Then, he threw a wink toward Maggie and picked up his brush.
Sage applied bright yellow paint to her brush, then added her first stroke to the blank page. The first mark was always the most exciting one and carved the path for the rest to follow.
She’d seen so much more of Parker in such a short period of time, and it was becoming more and more difficult to envision him as her adversary. Especially with those bedroom eyes, and that sexy as heck grin. He was hardworking, kind and open. He played with the children and flirted with the likes of Evette and Maxine. And even though Jade and every other eligible card-carrying estrogen oozer followed him around like he was the newest lobster on a stick at The Lobster House—not that Sage cared, of course—he’d politely offered a hello, then had moved along.
Sage couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever seen Jade stare forlornly; that was a woman who got what she wanted when she wanted it. But Sage saw it Saturday.
“Where do you draw?” he asked, pulling her from her daydreams and back to the much less interesting present—as far as reality went, anyway. He found her adorable. Great.
“I have a studio in my apartment.”
“So, did you share the hobby with your grandfather?”
Gripping her paint brush to keep from throwing it at him, she bit her lip. Art wasn’t her hobby; it was who she was. How could he miss that?
“Can I see it?” he whispered, oblivious to how close he’d come to being throttled.
She stared at him, distracted from revenge by his question, as Claire continued to give instructions and “ooh’d” and “aah’d” at every student’s masterpiece.
Sage never let anyone but Alora in her work space, and a tight sensation wrapped around her chest. It was too personal, too intimate, too special—with more than her work. It held all the best memories of her childhood with her grandfather. Not to mention the new art on her wall. But something in her wanted to show Parker. He really seemed to be understanding the importance of the paper to Cape Van Buren. And to her. Even if he didn’t understand the importance of her art.
Maybe, if she let him in, he’d really see the light. As soon as she removed the drawings of him, of course.
And she wasn’t too blinded by her own agenda to miss the struggle Parker had with his grandfather. She didn’t understand exactly what was going on, but the old man sure didn’t seem to hold his grandson in very high regard, which only made Sage think the poor thing was going senile.
Claire clapped her hands. “Thank you so much for this special treat. It’s nice to see you all improving since the last time I taught. Remember, it�
�s not the art you make, but the you made by your art.”
As the children cleaned their work stations, Claire hurried up to Sage. “Hey, can you lock up, Blayne called and needs me to pop over to the store real quick.”
Sage nodded. “Of course.”
Clearing the space and organizing the paintings with eight children was like herding cats through a catnip field, but eventually, Sage shut the front door and took in the beautiful Atlantic view out the front window. “Phew,” she said with a hand to her brow.
“It’s been a busy week,” Parker said, leaning against the archway leading into the kitchen.
She nodded, suddenly aware of the intense look in his eyes, the fact that he’d dropped the smock, and the decadent sensation of being alone with him sending goosebumps along her skin. “Hopefully, you see how important this place is.”
She stopped before him, threw her arms out to the sides, then let them drop. Her fingers itched to trail along the fine hairs running from his navel down to his belt buckle.
“What do you say about showing me your studio?” He tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
“I’d say I’m scared.”
His eyes held hers while his thumb traced her lower lip.
She shivered but didn’t back away. “It’s like stripping naked.”
His hand dropped to her shoulder, then snaked around the back of her neck. “I really want to see you naked.”
He did?
Drawing her to him, he walked them toward the back hallway and pressed his mouth to hers.
His skin was smooth and seared her fingertips in the most delicious way. She wanted her hands everywhere and all at once.
He was hot, sweet, and demanding. His tongue stroked against her own, and his hands roamed over her back and down her hips until they grabbed her bottom through the smooth fabric of her silk skirt, forcing a small whimper of “oh my God” to escape her mouth.
With his hands massaging her ass like that, her panties would never be the same again.
Her body tightened with need, and as his fingers slid up her side and covered her breast with a delicate squeeze, she groaned into his mouth. This was everything and so much more. Apparently, being adorable was a good thing.
