Inappropriately Yours

by Cara Dee

  "Don't think about what you stand to lose, brother." I put on my jacket and adjusted the collar. "Focus on what you can gain. At least, that’s what I'm doing with Isla."

  And I was ready to continue.

  "Think about it, Adam." I rapped my fingers on the bartop and then walked over to Isla and Alessia. "Are you ready to go?"

  "Yes. Alessia boxed our dessert for us." Isla's eyes were sparkling from the strings of lights in the ceiling and too much wine. "Guess where we'll eat it."

  Oh, our bed. Naturally.

  I winced internally, catching myself with the mention of our bed. Mother of Christ, I needed to calm myself.

  She and I weren't an us, but damn it if I didn’t have hopes after this weekend.

  "Come on, then." I drew her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Let's go home and share that dessert."

  She exhaled and kissed my sternum. "I might need to work off some calories first. Can you think of any inappropriate ways to work up a sweat?"

  With her as my muse?

  Yeah, I was fairly certain all my suggestions where she was concerned would be inappropriate.

  Part II

  13.

  Aiden Roe

  I feared I knew the type of mood swings women experienced every month now. Since I'd had enough of my daughter's messages, I'd alternated between seething and planning my former friend's murder, and feelings of betrayal and hurt.

  That roller coaster provided more turbulence than the flight to Seattle did.

  After standing in line for forty minutes to get a rental, I threw my duffel in the car and punched Camassia Cove into the GPS. The gadget recognized the shithole of a town, though we'd see if that changed by the time I was done tearing the place apart.

  I supposed I was back to livid.

  "Completely justified," I muttered to myself.

  Trees flashed by as I ventured farther north, yet all I could focus on were Isla's texts.

  It's going great! Jack is teaching me so much. I'll have to send you some snippets of what I'm working on.

  "Teaching me so much," I mimicked. "Oh, I bet."

  They'd seemed innocent at first. I'd only been happy she was getting back into the groove. She had it in her. She was a born storyteller, and I was proud as hell. If her writing technique needed adjusting, that could be done.

  I might stay another week. Jack's helping me with character development now.

  Jack was a terrific editor and knew a lot about quality writing, but why was he doing this? Why was he going to such great lengths to help Isla? It had taken them a day or two to go through all his notes for what she'd published, yet she'd been up here a month and a half now.

  "It doesn't add up…" I slowed down, stuck behind a truck carrying lumber. "Jack's almost a recluse. Not by my standards, but…" I sighed and glared at the truck. "Come on, Gandalf, let a man pass."

  First, it was a week extra. "Two, tops."

  I've been inspired to start my next novel! Since I'm in the zone, I don't want to ruin it with a whole day of traveling. Jack said it was okay I stay a bit longer. Love you, Dad!

  I knew the zone, and it would've made sense if Isla and Jack were actually close. They weren't, though. At least, they hadn't been.

  I cringed at the thought of what could've changed.

  Memories took me back to when Sarah was alive and she'd wanted to set Jack up with her friends. We'd have barbecues and game nights, and Isla would lock herself in my study to get lost in a book. Of course, she'd been a child then. Now she was a beautiful young woman.

  I wasn’t fond of the times she introduced me to boyfriends. Thankfully, there hadn't been many.

  "Jack's not going to be the next one," I said irritably.

  Did they think I was stupid?

  Jack was magically unavailable and couldn’t take my calls. His texts were vague and short. Because I knew the fucker. He used to be a good man and probably had some of his conscience left. He was feeling bad for screwing my baby girl.

  I punched the wheel.

  "Motherfucker," I whispered.

  It would be my pleasure to burst their little bubble. It wasn’t a conversation to have on the phone, and it wouldn’t have gone over very well, regardless. No, I wanted to see for myself. I wanted Jack to be a man and look me in the eye and admit he'd crossed a major line.

  *

  I'd left LA in a hurry. Good grief, I barely knew what I had thrown into my duffel before heading to the airport. In that hurry, I had forgotten to get Jack's address, which I had somewhere in my study. But I'd already had a feeling this wouldn’t be a five-minute fight that resulted in Isla coming home with me. So I had made reservations at a local inn for two nights.

  In that time, I would find Jack's address, I would confront them, and I would bring my daughter home with me.

  I reached Camassia Cove a little before seven and spent the next hour or so driving around aimlessly, hoping against hope I'd see Isla and Jack.

  "At least this was easy to find…" I squinted out the window, slowing down at the end of a street. A large white Victorian house was nestled in a cul-de-sac between two rows of townhouses. Cedar Inn. The low hedge had been trimmed recently, revealing a lawn that stretched far around the house on both sides.

  There was a big front porch. On another day, I would've appreciated the beauty and even gone so far as saying I could picture myself sitting there with my laptop.

  My stomach tightened, reminding me I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Just as well. I could get dinner and explore the town a bit more before I checked in.

  14.

  Chloe Nolan

  "No, no, no, it's okay, sweetie." I shifted the phone to my other ear as I took off my heels. "I was actually thinking earlier it'd be nice to have a night in. Don't worry about dinner."

  "You sure?" Gray asked hesitantly.

  "I'm sure." I managed a smile even though he couldn’t see me, and I unzipped my new dress. "School's more important."

  That was no lie. My nineteen-year-old devoted so much time to hockey that he was falling behind in school. If he had a test to study for, I refused to stand in the way of that.

  "I feel bad, though." Gray got quiet. "I wanted to celebrate you on your birthday."

  "Better we save that for this weekend instead," I assured him. "Your brothers will be home then, too."

  Gray went to college here in Camassia and shared an apartment with a couple teammates, whereas Gage, my eldest, had recently graduated in Seattle. Only the twins were still living at home. Gabriel and Gid were just fifteen, and they were on an end-of-the-year school trip in Vancouver. It was all right. Birthdays in the middle of the week were useless, anyway.

  "Okay, but Saturday's all ours," Gray said. "Gage told me he's driving up early."

  "I can't wait." It would be fun. It'd been a while since I had all four with me. My boys led busy lives. "Go study, Gray. I'll order in and—"

  "Work," he muttered. "That’s what you'll end up doing. You'll let the staff go home, and then you'll spend your fortieth birthday working and preparing for that wedding thing on Sunday."

  I clucked my tongue and picked out a knee-length gypsy skirt from my closet. Multicolored made me happy. A snug white tee and matching flats followed. It would do until I could veg out in yoga pants and an old tee.

  "So you think you know me, huh?"

  "I know I know you." That smug little bastard. Only, not so little. Twelve was the age all the boys had grown taller than me.

  "Yeah, well." I huffed and snatched a tissue from the box on my nightstand, using it to wipe away my lipstick. "It's my damn birthday, so I think I'm entitled to do what I want, kid. Go study and bring home a good grade for your mommy."

  *

  Leaving the house on the back of my property, I crossed the garden and entered the big house people saw from the street.

  It was the bane of my existence as much as it was the love of my life. I'd wanted to run a bed-and-breakfast for as long as
I could remember. Now…I regretted it most of the time. I was past the years of being in debt, though. That made life marginally better.

  Maybe someday I'd make a profit, too.

  Only four of the nine rooms were occupied this week, so Gray was right. I let my staff of two go home, and I took the night shift myself. An elderly couple was enjoying dessert in the dining room. The kitchen was spotless, aside from tomorrow's breakfast preparations, and a woman was reading a book in the common room.

  The check-in desk was placed near the front door, and I was heading to the staff room behind the counter when a newlywed couple returned from a day of sightseeing.

  "Did y'all enjoy your day?" I asked with a smile.

  "Very much." Mrs. Norton beamed and launched into a colorful retelling of everything they'd seen on their group hike up to Coho Pass.

  I nodded and added comments in all the right places, and when they moved on to discuss dinner plans, I occupied myself by checking the planner. I was surprised to see we were expecting a guest to check in soon; late arrivals weren't that common. Everything was in order, though, and the Ocean Room had been prepared for his two-night stay.

  I made a note to have his room cleaned the moment he checked out on Saturday, because I had guests checking in two hours later.

  The Nortons eventually decided to freshen up and then go out, so I wished them a pleasant evening and disappeared into the staff room. There was a ratty, comfy chair with my name on it, and my e-reader was charging on a stool next to it.

  *

  Fuck, I wanted to travel. One day, I kept telling myself. With a sigh, I put down my e-reader and the story of a man who'd taken a year off to see Costa Rica. The bell had dinged and my late-night arrival was here, so I stood up, smoothed down my hair, and went out to greet him.

  It was amazing how fast I could go from lazy bookworm to peppy innkeeper.

  I had him pegged instantly. He was a large man, possibly even taller than my sons, and he looked like a vagabond in loose-fitting cargo pants and a hoodie. I was fond of wanderers and the stories they had to share.

  "Good evening, sir." I smiled and got a proper look at his face as he lifted his gaze from a stand of local sightseeing maps and pamphlets. Someone was attractive as hell.

  "Hello. I'm checking in." For as rough around the edges as he appeared, his voice was warm and kind. He pushed down his hood, and my knees got a little weak. I'd never found men with long hair that appealing, but if it went up in a loose bun, it was sexy. Add in strands of gray mixing with the rich brown and a few days' worth of scruff… Yeah, that fucking worked.

  "Mr. Roe, yeah?" I double-checked. Seeing his name in the planner now, I was positive I recognized it. Perhaps he'd been here before. "Is this your first stay in Camassia?"

  "Yes, and hopefully last." He was patting his pockets, presumably searching for something, so he didn’t see my eyebrows lifting. In fact, he'd barely glanced at me. "I apologize. That was rude." He sighed heavily and placed a credit card and his driver's license on the counter. It was also when he decided to look me in the eye. "Um." His lips parted before he closed his mouth again.

  "Somethin' wrong, sir?"

  His brow furrowed, and he shook his head minutely. "Do I know you?"

  That threw me. I knew I recognized his name, but…

  "I doubt it," I answered carefully. "I've lived in Camassia the past twenty years."

  "No, I'm sure of it," he insisted. "May I ask your name?"

  I smiled self-consciously at his polite manners. "Chloe. Chloe Nolan."

  "Nolan," he murmured. I couldn’t read his expression. "It can't be. Have you ever lived in Louisiana?"

  Whoa.

  I laughed uncomfortably, my gaze flickering between him and the door. I was missing something big. "When I was little, yeah—yes. My dad was stationed near Shreveport."

  His hazel eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked younger. "I can't fucking believe it. You're Gypsy Girl."

  "I'm who now?" I didn’t understand a thing.

  "You're—" He chuckled and gave a shake of his head. "I'm not making any sense, I know. I was born in Shreveport, and I was terribly shy and awkward as a kid. I think I was eleven or twelve… You couldn’t have been more than eight when you moved in across from us."

  "Oh, wow." I couldn’t say I recalled very much. Back then, my parents had been arguing a lot and tried a semi-separation of sorts. Dad had stayed on base, while my mother had taken my little sister and me and rented a house in Shreveport. It hadn't been easy. I remembered being angry and sad.

  I cocked my head. "Did you nickname me Gypsy Girl because we didn’t stay long?" If I wasn't mistaken, we'd only lived there for a year and a half.

  "Not quite." He grinned faintly. "Can I interest you in a drink? It's a bit of a story."

  "I, um—well—" That flustered me. Two minutes ago, he hadn't looked happy about being here. Now he wanted to have a drink with me? "I'm working the night shift, so I can't really leave…" Which was a damn shame all of a sudden. It wasn’t every day a handsome man like Mr. Roe walked into my life. "How about we get check-in out of the way first."

  I needed something to do, so I swiped his credit card and logged in to the computer.

  Something dimmed in Mr. Roe's eyes, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with me. The way he looked around himself, only to frown, made me wonder if he'd just been reminded of why he was actually here.

  It wasn’t to reconnect with a neighbor from back in the day.

  "What brings you to Camassia Cove, Mr. Roe?" I wasn’t comfortable with the silence, and I had to admit I was curious about the man who had a nickname for me that was thirty-two years old.

  "Aiden, please," he responded, hanging his duffel over his shoulder. "I guess I'm here to start a war with my daughter. If you don't have children, Ms. Nolan, consider yourself lucky—Ah, sorry, is it Mrs.?"

  I pursed my lips, tickled, and added his information to the form. "Ms. And it's Chloe." I couldn’t help but slide him a quick smirk. "A bit too late for your warning, I fear. I have four boys."

  "Jesus," he muttered. "Only one here, and she's responsible for every gray hair." Then he shook his head and sighed. "That’s a ridiculous lie. Isla is the light of my life, and she's probably done more for me than I have for her."

  "Then I understand why you're starting a war," I teased. "There's something seriously wrong with children who are a treat to have around."

  His mouth twisted up a fraction. "She's a treat, all right. It's possible a friend of mine thinks the same." He gave me a pointed look that left nothing to be confused about. My lips formed a small "o." He nodded. "Exactly. He lives around here somewhere. She was only supposed to come up for a weekend so he could help her with—I'm rambling." For a second, he was frustrated with himself. I thought it was endearing. "What a spectacular first impression I make."

  I grinned and grabbed the key to his room, and then I rested my arms on the countertop. "You're a worried father. That’s sweet."

  "Worried, homicidal—what's the difference?" he said quietly, seemingly to himself.

  Without having a single clue where my courage came from, I found myself saying, "Hey, I may not be able to leave the place tonight, but how about a couple welcome drinks tomorrow? My treat." I extended the key to him.

  He smiled and accepted it, then pocketed his cards. "Count me in."

  15.

  Aiden Roe

  What a day.

  I sat down on the bed in my room with a heavy breath and dropped my bag on the floor. My mind had entered sluggish mode, which it did sometimes when I had a lot to process. It was unbelievable, though. Gypsy Girl—I never thought I'd see her again. Hell, she hadn't even been on my mind in years.

  I'd felt it the second I saw her downstairs moments ago.

  For a year or two, I had watched her from my bedroom window. I'd seen her around school, too. A fierce little girl who'd stood up to bullies and had the most heartwarming giggle. I'd als
o seen her cry and argue with her mother. I'd watched her drive her baby sister in a doll stroller.

  I'd never—not even once—spoken a word to her. Except for now, and she wasn’t a little girl anymore. Christ, she was pretty.

  I rolled my eyes. "Pretty? You write for a living, and the best you can come up with is pretty?"

  Stunning was more like it. Her dark eyes had always had the ability to knock the air out of my lungs and make me fumble like the boy I'd been; only I was better at recovering these days. And these days, her mahogany waves, brown eyes, and dimpled smile came with a body that was all sinful fucking curves.

  Standing up, I kicked off my shoes and wriggled my toes. My body was stiff and tired after traveling all day, though I doubted I'd fall asleep anytime soon.

  "After all these years…"

  Chloe.

  I hadn't known her first name before. Only a last name painted on a mailbox.

  I smiled and rubbed my jaw, imagining the boy in the book—based on me, unbeknownst to everyone—testing out her name. Whispering it shyly, maybe.

  A lot had changed since then. I wasn’t awkward anymore, though I supposed I had my moments, what with me being an inept recluse and all.

  Chloe couldn’t possibly know the impact she'd had on my childhood. Without many friends, I had created my own and gone off on adventures in my head. Gypsy Girl had without any doubt been my favorite, and the book had all but written itself.

  I wondered if they were anything alike, Chloe and Gypsy Girl. And I couldn’t help but hope I'd get the chance to find out. Would it be too forward to ask her to dinner? She'd mentioned drinks already. Actually, I had brought it up. She'd upped the ante to a couple drinks.

  "Distracting," I muttered. I was here to be livid and tear Jack a new one, then storm out like a caveman with my daughter thrown over my shoulder.

  I was cursed with the inability to stay focused—unless it was imaginary, of course. I had no issues concentrating on fictional worlds. I'd been like that from birth. Often called loner, dreamer, or the less flattering, uncaring.