The Cottage Next Door

by Natasha Moore

  It’s tough to grasp a second chance at love when you’re holding on to the past.

  After his wife died in a car accident, bestselling author Hunter McCaffrey stopped writing—and stopped living. He’s rented a beachfront cottage to try to get his head on straight, and start the long climb up from his pit of despair.

  Instead of pounding out a first draft, though, he runs the beach, drinks away his pain, and tries to ignore the vibrant woman in the cottage tucked next to his.

  Still floundering months after the loss of her adventure-junkie husband, Sylvie Chase hopes some beach relaxation will help her decide what to do with the rest of her life. Instead she’s wondering what to do about her unexpected attraction to Hunter, who makes her body long for the feel of his arms around her.

  As Sylvie drags Hunter back to the land of the living, soon they’re agreeing to a short fling. Just to get past their sorrow, not because it means anything. But when emotions get in the way, it’s a struggle to leave the past behind and dare to love again.

  Warning: This story has plenty of sun and sand, with an energetic golden retriever thrown into the mix. Prepare to laugh and cry and cheer for two people who deserve a second chance at love.

  The Cottage Next Door

  Natasha Moore

  Dedication

  To my real-life hero who walks the beach with me and indulges my love of sand and sun.

  Chapter One

  It’s said once a man hit rock bottom, there was nowhere to go but up, but Hunter McCaffrey knew that was a goddamn lie. He snagged another beer from the cooler beside his chair and popped the top. He’d been wallowing at the bottom of a dark pit for twenty-two months now, and he figured he’d probably die there.

  It was no less than he deserved.

  Riley nudged Hunter’s elbow with his big golden head. Hunter absently stroked the retriever’s soft fur as he stared out at the ever-rolling waves. Riley had been Jenny’s dog. All she’d had to do was bat those big blue eyes and Hunter had given in to a big dog in a tiny apartment. He’d given in to almost anything she’d wanted.

  He hated dogs but he still couldn’t bring himself to get rid of the damned mutt. Riley had only been a puppy when—

  The memory brought Hunter lunging to his feet. Riley woofed excitedly and dashed down the stairs from the deck to the sand. The dog loved running the beach as much as Hunter hated it. But he did it every day.

  Today he ran hard. Pounded the packed sand with each step. The ocean wind whisked the sweat from his skin but nothing could wipe out the memories. The crash. The screams. The blood. The big blue eyes staring up at him.

  He’d rented the cottage for six months. He’d been there five already. He was supposed to be getting his head on straight. Getting some inspiration for book number six in his surprisingly successful detective series. But he hadn’t written a word since Jenny died. They didn’t come. He didn’t even care anymore.

  Hunter ran past families splashing in the surf. Children building sand castles. Pasty-white vacationers trying to pack a summer’s worth of tan into a long weekend and ending up as red as lobsters instead. He got his share of appreciative looks from girls in tiny bikinis. He just kept running.

  He didn’t belong here with the Florida sunshine and the laughter and the reminders of the family he’d never have. But he also didn’t want to go back to the tiny apartment full of memories he’d shared with Jenny in Brooklyn. He didn’t belong there anymore either. He didn’t belong anywhere.

  He kept running.

  Riley kept pace, dashing into the surf now and then with a delighted bark. When the heat overtook him, Hunter joined the dog for a quick dip in the water before heading back the way they’d come.

  By the time he got back to the cottage, his lungs ached and his legs felt like rubber. Hunter pulled up short when he saw movement on the deck of the cottage next to his. The two small cottages sat so closely side by side that he could be lounging in his chair and reach out and touch the railing on the neighboring deck. A woman, her short dark hair ruffled by the breeze, smiled and lifted a hand in greeting. Hunter frowned, then stomped up the steps, past Riley already lapping a drink from his water dish, and into his cottage to find his phone.

  He had Fletcher on speed dial. “What the hell’s going on?” Hunter growled when his friend answered. “There’s someone next door. You promised, Fletch. You wouldn’t rent it out while I was here.”

  “Her name’s Sylvia Chase. She needed to get away for a while. Just like you did.” Fletch paused for a moment, as if Hunter knowing she was messed up too would make a difference. “Sylvie’s nice. She won’t bother you. I told her you wanted to be left alone.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “If you want to leave, I’ll refund you the last month’s rent. You can come back to New York. I’ll take you out to lunch.” He paused. “How’s the book coming, by the way?”

  His agent knew there was no book. There would never be another Hunter McCaffrey book.

  “You’re going back on your word?” Hunter kicked an empty beer can across the floor. “I thought you were my friend.”

  “I’m her friend too,” Fletch said softly. “Sometimes shit happens. You should know that better than anyone.”

  Hunter disconnected the call without saying good-bye. He had four more weeks here. Why couldn’t she have waited four more weeks? He had no idea what he was going to do then, but that was beside the point.

  Riley was waiting on the other side of the door, tail wagging, tongue hanging out of his mouth. Hunter stepped out onto the deck and Riley rubbed his wet fur against his bare leg. That was the problem with dogs. Always so glad to see you. Always wanting attention. Wanting to play. Wanting affection.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Hunter noticed the deck next door was vacant. He let out a sigh of relief and sank onto his deck chair, beneath the shade of a striped umbrella. Riley plopped down on the floor beside him. Hunter closed his eyes. Maybe he’d get a nap in. Nights never brought him much sleep.

  Then Riley made a soft woof and got to his feet. Hunter slit his eyes open and looked over to the neighboring deck. There she was. She was smaller than he’d thought, her body compact and athletic. Khaki shorts showed off her tan legs and a white tank top hugged her slender body. Her short brown hair had streaks of gold and curled in wisps around her head. Her dark eyes looked big in her narrow face. Then her plump lips spread into a wide smile and he realized he’d been staring at her. Checking her out.

  Fuck.

  “Hi,” she said. Her voice was soft with a Southern lilt to it. “You must be Hunter. I’m Sylvie.”

  Riley, attention hog that he was, rushed up to the railing and she leaned over to pet him. And then, shit, Hunter found his gaze focused on the shadow of the cleavage between her small breasts. And when was the last time he’d done that? When was the last time he’d even cared?

  When he didn’t say anything, Sylvie turned her conversation to Riley, who was spraying water around as his tail whipped back and forth. “And who are you? Fletcher didn’t tell me I was going to see such a handsome boy.”

  “Riley, get back over here. Come. Now.”

  The dog dropped his head, turned from the interloper and took his place back on the floor by the chair. Hunter rested his head back again and pretended there was nobody standing on the deck next door, staring at him, probably calling him a rude asshole under her soft Southern breath.

  He closed his eyes and pulled the brim of his ball cap down over his face. Hopefully, she’d take the hint.

  Hunter McCaffrey is a rude asshole.

  Fletcher
had warned her that he wanted to be left alone, but Sylvie hadn’t realized that meant even the basic pleasantries were off-limits. She’d been here a whole week and he still hadn’t said one word to her.

  She sipped on her ice water and watched the infuriating man toss a Frisbee to his dog on the beach. Too bad he was such a fine male specimen, tan and firm where it counted. For someone who seemed to do nothing more than lounge around drinking beer, his pecs and biceps were sculpted, and his abs were a solid six-pack. To be fair, some of that grunting she heard through the cottage walls every morning might mean he was working out. And he took a grueling run every morning. Sometimes late afternoon too. She often timed her beach walks to coincide with his runs, but while Riley always seemed glad to see her, McAsshole never even acknowledged her.

  She hadn’t come here to make friends or have a quick fling. Fletcher had seen she was floundering and offered one of his beach cottages like the good friend he’d always been. She was supposed to be here to relax and decide what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Instead, she sat around watching a man who pretended she didn’t exist. And damn if her body didn’t react for the first time in almost two years.

  Maybe a quick fling wasn’t out of the question after all, she thought as she let herself enjoy the view. Enjoy the possibilities. A fling by definition wasn’t serious. It wouldn’t mean anything, but it could take the edge off this need she hadn’t expected to feel yet.

  Hunter knew she was there, dammit. Maybe he didn’t like it, but she’d felt his eyes on her over and over again. Their gazes had collided more than once and her heart had raced like a schoolgirl’s. Maybe it would be smarter to keep up this charade, but she’d had enough.

  She started the grill and threw on steaks for herself and a rude asshole who maybe was hurting as much as she was. Fletcher hadn’t told her Hunter’s story but Sylvie knew there had to be one. Had to be a reason he was miserable here in a place most people would call paradise.

  Sylvie stepped inside to grab some plates and saw her cell phone sitting on the counter. Her fingers itched to pick it up and Google his name. Find out for herself what had happened. But she’d resisted so far, and as curious as she was, she couldn’t do it. She’d inadvertently invaded his privacy already, and she couldn’t bring herself to intentionally snoop into his personal life. She’d have to hear it from him. She’d find a way.

  Matt had always told her she should leave well enough alone. Should keep her nose out of other people’s business. But Sylvie wasn’t built that way. For all his yearning for travel and adventure, her husband hadn’t been a people person. Sometimes she wondered how they’d ever got together. Stayed together.

  Love was crazy sometimes.

  Sylvie set the table on her deck for two. She adored the colorful, heavy Fiesta ware plates she found in the kitchen. No paper plates when you were dealing with a steak knife. She flipped the steaks, and the mouthwatering aroma carried out onto the beach. She hoped. She ducked inside the cottage to throw a quick salad together.

  Hunter was climbing the steps to the deck, Riley on his heels, when she came back outside carrying the salad bowl. The breeze ruffled his wavy, sun-streaked hair. He didn’t meet her gaze; instead he walked right by her, heading for the cottage.

  “Hi,” she said as brightly as she could. “Come on over for dinner? I could use some help eating all this steak.”

  He stopped, then spun to turn his dark glare on her. His intense gaze didn’t intimidate her. No, it was something entirely different, something unexpected that made her shiver. The first sign of passion she’d seen in this man was directed at her, and it made her body throb with a need she hadn’t felt in years. She swallowed. Couldn’t speak for fear she’d say something totally inappropriate like “Take me”.

  His gaze raked over her body as if his fingers were dragging their tips along her skin. She wore a tank top and shorts but felt completely naked in that moment. Her nipples prickled and her breasts ached. He was wearing only baggy swim trunks, his torso bare and tan. She couldn’t stop her gaze from following the dusting of hair across his chest as it narrowed down his abdomen and disappeared beneath the waistband.

  Sylvie didn’t know how long they stood there, staring at each other. No words came out of their mouths, but their bodies were speaking volumes. Riley barked, and that finally broke the spell they both seemed to be under.

  Hunter swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Not interested,” he growled. He turned away, leaving her to wonder if he was talking about the dinner or something else.

  “Fletcher didn’t say you were a coward,” she shot back at him.

  He whirled back around, then advanced on her. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  She resisted the urge to step back. “No. I don’t. Only that you’re not brave enough to sit down with another person and share a steak and maybe have a civilized conversation.”

  His eyes sparked. “Bravery has nothing to do with it.”

  “Prove it.”

  He took another step closer. “I don’t have to prove anything to you.” His voice was suddenly deeper, the words slower.

  That shivery feeling shimmered over her skin again. “Coward,” she whispered.

  Another step closer and there were only the railings of the two decks between them. He could reach out and grab her if he wanted to. The knowledge made her heart race, her knees shake. God, she wanted him to.

  When he didn’t move, didn’t speak, she felt the need to goad him some more. “Well, then can Riley come over and play? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing—”

  “I have to change first.”

  “Okay.”

  After Hunter disappeared into his cottage, Sylvie sagged against the railing. What just happened? When had she ever wanted a man to get…forceful with her? Matt had been the adventure hound, always craving the next extreme sport, but he’d never been anything but gentle with her.

  She hated extreme sports, the need her husband had for them and the inherent dangers they entailed. Her heart pounded with the realization that she’d always longed for her husband to unleash some of that hunger on her.

  Sylvie rushed over to the grill when she realized the sizzle she heard wasn’t her blood boiling in her veins. She caught the steaks before they got scorched in the inevitable flare-up. She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made a mistake goading Hunter. Would she get burned if she allowed the passion between them to flare up as well?

  Hunter still didn’t know how he’d let Sylvie Chase get under his skin, or how she’d gotten him to agree to have dinner with her, but as he stepped into a pair of shorts and tugged on a T-shirt, he was struck with a strange sense of anticipation. The steaks smelled amazing. His stomach growled. He was getting tired of the crap he’d been living on for the past few months. Yeah, that was the only reason he could think of why he’d agreed to join her for dinner.

  When he stepped back out onto his deck, he saw she’d taken the steaks off the grill. She stood beside the decked-out picnic table, looking a little apprehensive. Maybe she’d realized she was out of her mind to invite a jerk like him any closer.

  His gaze skimmed over her skimpy top with the thin straps and the hard nipples poking at the fabric, drawing attention to her perky breasts that obviously were not being restrained by a bra of any sort. He swallowed and let his eyes drop over the shorts hugging her narrow hips and down the tanned legs until he saw the bright purple polish, the same deep purple as that tiny top, sparkling on her toenails.

  “Hungry?” Her voice wasn’t much above a whisper. She cleared her throat and then louder said, “Come on over.”

  Dinner. He was coming over for dinner. Hunter’s mouth watered when the scent of the meat hit him again. He grabbed a couple of cans from the ever-iced cooler beside his chair. “Beer?”

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  He handed her
the cans over the railings, then boosted himself over to join her. Riley barked and ran down one set of stairs and up the other. At Hunter’s command, the dog curled up on the floor beside him.

  Sylvie gestured to one side of the picnic table. It was shaded by an umbrella and covered with a long cloth splashed with flowers of red, yellow and blue. A bright orange salad bowl sat in the middle, and the steaks had been placed on heavy green plates. He wasn’t surprised to see she liked lots of color in her life.

  They sat down on opposite sides and their knees bumped under the narrow table. They shifted so they no longer touched, then looked at each other. Looked away. Looked back. She didn’t have a stitch of makeup on, but she was just about the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

  No, that wasn’t true. Jenny had been pretty too. Beautiful. She’d been beautiful but in a different way, with long blond curls and a pouty mouth and full breasts he got lost in. But even as he thought about his wife, he couldn’t help but notice the light sprinkling of freckles across Sylvie’s cheek. How could fucking freckles be sexy?

  He grabbed his beer and chugged. When he set the can down, she was watching him. What did she see? He had to look pretty rough. When was the last time he’d combed his hair? He ran his fingers through his too-long hair then absently rubbed his jaw. Jenny had always complained he felt like sandpaper when he didn’t shave.

  “Don’t want the food to get cold.” Sylvie shot him a small smile. “Dig in.”

  Dinner. Right. Hunter nodded his thanks and cut into the tender steak. He shoveled the first piece into his mouth and moaned in appreciation.

  He noticed she ate with quiet efficiency, cutting her steak one piece at a time, then eating it before she cut another piece. She didn’t use the steak sauce she’d put on the table, but then neither did he. The good stuff didn’t need any extras. He glanced up and caught her licking some juice off her lips, and he felt a stirring in his shorts he hadn’t had in a long, long time. Her lips were wet and shiny, and when a groan slipped past his, he stuck another piece of meat in his mouth and let her think the sound was in appreciation of the meal.