by Marie Force
“Thanks.”
“Steph—”
“Don’t. Please.” She held up a hand. “Don’t say something you think I need to hear. Just go. Do what you need to do. I’ll see you when I see you.” Going up on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “Travel safely.”
Before he could summon the words he wanted to say to her or the reassurances he wanted to leave her with, she was back in her car and giving him a jaunty little wave as she pulled away from the curb.
Abby’s voice echoed through his head, reminding him that he could write anywhere in the whole world. And the only place in the world he wanted to be was with Stephanie.
Suddenly, it wasn’t all right that she was leaving without knowing how he felt. Why hadn’t he told her when he’d had the chance? “Because you’re still an idiot,” he muttered. “Steph! Wait!” He chased after her car, but either she didn’t hear him or she chose not to stop. He hoped it was the former.
Racing back to where he’d left his bag on the curb, he shouldered it and flagged down a cab.
“I need to get to Point Judith,” he said when he was settled in the backseat.
The driver turned to him. “For real?”
Grant withdrew his wallet and tossed two one-hundred-dollar bills through the window that separated the front seat from the back. “Drive. Please. And quickly.” Adrenaline had Grant’s heart beating fast, his lungs straining for air and his hands damp with sweat. Realizing how close he’d come to once again doing the exact wrong thing had finally sobered him up.
“At least this time you figured it out before it was too late,” he said, earning a wary glance in the mirror from his driver. At least he hoped it wasn’t too late.
He had about an hour to formulate a plan. Withdrawing his cell phone from his pocket, he got to work.
Chapter 25
With a loud blast of its horn, the two-thirty ferry to Gansett Island pulled out of Point Judith. Stephanie had expected it to be more crowded on the Saturday afternoon of Labor Day weekend, but she was relieved not to have to share her picnic table with anyone who might wonder why her eyes were red and swollen.
She pressed a cold paper-towel compress to her eyes, needing to get herself together before she was forced to confront Grant’s family when she got back to the marina.
They were covering the docks in shifts, so it could be anyone from Mac to Evan to Big Mac waiting to greet her. Even Ned and Owen had taken turns so Grant could go with her to the mainland. They were good to each other that way, a family—and friends—anyone without such things would envy.
The thought of never seeing any of them again once she returned to Providence only drew more tears from eyes that should’ve been fresh out of them by now.
Determined to stop crying and get her head together, she withdrew her iPod and a notebook from her bag and began making a list of fourteen years of motions and copies of legal documents she needed to send to Dan Torrington as he prepared to file an emergency motion for a new trial.
“Is this seat taken?”
Absorbed in her music and her work, she shook her head. As a regular on the ferry, she was used to people invading her personal space even when it was obvious that she wasn’t interested in company.
“What’re you doing?”
Astounded by the rude question, she finally dragged her attention off the notebook and found Grant sitting across from her.
Stephanie’s mouth fell open as she tugged the buds from her ears. “What’re you doing here?”
“Funny thing happened when you dumped me at the curb and drove off leaving a cloud of dust behind you. And P.S., you drive like a maniac.”
Frowning at his description of their parting and her driving, she said, “What funny thing happened?”
He leaned into the table, took the pen from her hand and linked their fingers. “I discovered I don’t want to be without you. Not even for the three days I’d planned to be in LA.”
Stephanie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “But… But what about the job? You need the job! You can’t just blow off the meeting.”
“Before I get into that, Uncle Frank called.”
A shaft of tension traveled through her. “And?”
“Judge Seymour will hear new evidence in Charlie’s case on October 31. He wants to hear your side of the story—the same story you told me and Uncle Frank.”
She was so shocked by news she’d waited half a lifetime to hear, she felt like she’d been electrocuted. “How did that happen?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Uncle Frank told Judge Seymour that he’d recently had the opportunity to speak with you and hear your story. Because he has a family connection to you, Uncle Frank can’t hear the case himself.”
“What ‘family’ connection does your uncle have to me?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute. Anyway, he asked his colleague, Seymour, to look into it. Apparently, there’ve been several of Dugan’s old cases that fall into the same questionable category as Charlie’s. They’re anxious to right any of the old wrongs that might’ve occurred when Dugan’s illness was in the early stages.”
Stephanie needed a minute to process it all. “I can’t… I mean…” She took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his gaze. “Thank you. I’ll never be able to properly thank you for this.”
“You don’t have to. All I did was make a couple of calls.”
“You did a lot more than that, and you know it. But you didn’t have to chase after me to tell me this. You could’ve called. You need to be at that meeting in LA! It’s such a great opportunity.”
“Yes, it is.” A smile stretched across his face. “But here’s the thing—I don’t want to write that movie. I want to write your movie, the story that gave me the first buzz I’ve had in years. In the next few days, you’ll get a call from my agent with an offer for the rights to your story. He’ll make the same offer to Charlie. It’ll be for a lot of money—the kind of money that’ll set you both up for life. I’ve discovered I have a taste for producing my own stories rather than waiting for someone to take a chance on me. I’m taking a chance on you and your story, and I’m feeling the buzz big time, baby.”
He looked so high on life that if she didn’t know him so well, she’d think he’d been smoking something illegal. And even though her heart beat a wild staccato, she eyed him warily. “And you have that kind of money?”
Raising an eyebrow into a positively rakish expression, he said, “Do you have any idea what houses in Malibu are going for these days?”
Stephanie shook her head. “I know what you’re doing.”
Amusement danced in his gorgeous eyes, which nearly caused her to lose her train of thought. “And what’s that?”
“You’re trying to make sure I’ll be okay without you.”
His smile faded. “Wow, I really buried the lead here, didn’t I?”
“What the heck does that mean?”
He reached for her other hand and held both of them tightly. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I want to marry you and live with you and write our movie and maybe have a couple of kids together—with lots of drugs in a hospital. I want everything with you, Stephanie.” He brought her hands to his lips. “The only question, my love, is do you want everything with me?”
She stared at him for the longest time as his words worked their way through the fog in her brain to settle in her heart. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said, flabbergasted by the turn of events.
His brows knitted with confusion. “What wasn’t supposed to happen?”
Damn if her eyes weren’t full of tears—again! “You, me, the happy ending. That only happens to other people. Not to me.”
Grant released her hands, got up and came around to her side of the table. When he had her arranged on his lap the way he wanted her, he kissed the tears off her face. “You know what the best part about being a writer is?”
She shook her head.
“You ge
t to finesse the ending any way you want, and I say this story ends with a happily ever after. Are you with me on that?”
“Yes,” she said, hugging him fiercely. “Yes, I’m with you.”
“Good.” He held her just as tightly. “And was there something else you wanted to tell me?”
Smiling through her tears, she met his gaze. “I love you, too, and yes, of course I want everything with you. And then some.”
“I couldn’t have written it any better myself.”
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Turn the page for a sneak peek at Evan McCarthy’s book, Hoping for Love.
Hoping for Love Excerpt
Chapter 1
This moment had been a long time coming. Since fourth grade, if Grace was being truthful. That was how long she’d been madly, passionately, insanely in lust—at the very least—with Trey Parsons. Of course, she couldn’t have chosen to give her heart to a mere mortal. No, she’d set her sights on a god among men, a four-sport athlete she’d had no choice but to adore from afar all through middle school and high school. While he’d been the star of field and court, she’d been known as “The Whale,” and not because of her swimming skills.
Now, ten years and a hundred and twenty pounds later, she was getting busy with her own personal god—that was if she didn’t wet the bed first. Her bladder was going to explode any second now, which, from what she’d heard about “the act,” was not the part of her that was supposed to explode.
They were in the V-berth of his father’s fancy boat, tied up at McCarthy’s Gansett Island Marina for the night—the night she would part with her virginity if it was the last thing she ever did. And while she wished she could focus on the divine feeling of his lips and tongue on her nipple, a more pressing need had her full attention.
She pushed on his shoulder. “Trey.”
He raised his head. “What?”
“I need to get up.”
Taking her hand, he flashed a sexy grin and pressed her palm against his pulsating erection. “I’m already up, babe.”
Grace pulled her hand back. “Not you. Me. I have to pee.”
Frustrated, he flopped on the bed. “Hurry up already.”
She reached for his discarded T-shirt and started to put it on.
“What’re you getting dressed for? Just go.” He took the shirt from her. “You don’t need this.”
The Grace Ryan who’d never been naked in front of another living soul clung to the shirt. But the Grace who was more than ready for a whole new life let him take it from her.
He caressed her face. “Go on. It’s okay.”
The tender—and unexpected—gesture gave her the courage she needed to slide off the bunk and duck into the tiny head without obsessing too much about what her backside must look like to him. As she sat on the toilet, wondering if he’d hear her peeing through the wall almost made it impossible for her to go.
Oh, I’m so not cut out for this, Old Grace thought. Yes, you are, New Grace replied. You have as much right to a hot night with a hot guy as any other girl. You’ve certainly earned it.
That much was true. With her arms crossed over her abundant breasts—the one part of her that hadn’t benefitted from the weight loss—she took care of business and stood just as the phone Trey had left on the counter chimed with a text message.
Honestly, she didn’t intend to look at it, but he was Trey Parsons after all, the stud king of Mystic, Connecticut, and she didn’t trust him as far as she could spit him. So, she looked.
From “Quigs,” or Tom Quigley, Trey’s best friend since grade school:
Did u nail the whale yet? Remember $500 in it for ya if you bring back proof of the cherry bomb.
Grace was suddenly chilled to the bone, frozen with shock and horror. It had all been a big joke! Weeks of dates and flowers and “romance” had all been a big, fat joke! And to think she’d almost given him her virginity so he could use it like a trophy to impress his asshole friends! Red-hot rage the likes of which she’d never before experienced surged through her.
“What the hell are you doing in there?” Trey called, no doubt impatient to seal the deal so he could collect his prize money.
Grace wished she could storm out there and tell him off, but the fact that she was naked made it hard for her to think about anything other than the fact that she was naked—and humiliated. Again.
Staring in the small mirror, she forced back the pain, focused on the rage and opened the door.
“I thought you just had to pee.” Had she ever noticed that he pouted like a petulant child when he didn’t get his way? “You were in there so long I lost my boner.”
Grace threw the phone at him, narrowly missing his head. Too bad. “You left it in the bathroom.” She pulled on her clothes with frantic, jerky movements, desperate to cover herself and get out of there.
“What’re you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
His blond hair was mussed from her fingers, and his blue eyes shot daggers at her. What had she ever seen in him anyway? “Why?”
“I’m going for a walk.”
“What the hell? I thought we were having sex here.”
“Were is the key word. I need more time to think about it.” What she needed was to figure out a way home that wouldn’t involve calling the parents who hadn’t wanted her to go on this overnight in the first place.
“You gotta be freaking kidding me. We’ve been dating for weeks! How much more time do you need?”
“I don’t know.” She grabbed her phone and headed for the cabin door. “I’ll be back.”
“Don’t rush on my account.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed him staring at his phone. Good. Let him figure out that she was on to his sick little plan. As she climbed off the boat onto the pier at McCarthy’s, her hands and legs trembled from shock and anger. On her way up the dock, pain overtook the anger. After everything she’d been through—years of obesity, the huge decision to have gastric bypass surgery, and all her hard work to lose the weight—and keep it off for more than a year—she was still “the fat girl” to people like Trey who’d never known her as anything else.
Thank goodness she’d discovered what a total asshole Trey was before things had gone any further. When she thought about being naked in bed with him and how close they’d come… “Ugh!” She sank her fingers into her hair, wishing she could scrub the images from her brain.
While they’d been frolicking aboard the boat, the sun had set over Gansett’s Salt Pond. A crowd was gathered at the Tiki Hut, where two guitarists played old favorites, not that Grace paid much attention as she walked past the bar. She had far more pressing issues—such as getting as far away from Trey Parsons as possible.
“Excuse me,” she said to an older man who leaned against a cab reading the newspaper.
He glanced up at her, a friendly smile on his face. “How can I help ya?”
“I was wondering—what time does the last ferry leave?”
“Ya just missed it. Left at eight.”
Grace sagged under the weight of the realization that she was stuck on the island until morning. “Can you recommend a place where I might be able to
get a room for the evening?”
He let out a guffaw. “On Labor Day weekend? Hate to tell ya, doll, but everything’s been booked for months. There’s not a room to be had on the entire island. Biggest weekend of the year, ’cept for Gansett Race Week.”
Grace conjured up an image of the camper-size sofa in the boat’s salon. It was small, but it would do for one night. “Thanks for your help,” she said.
“Any time.”
Since she had no choice, she turned and made her way slowly and reluctantly back to the boat, taking her time to avoid Trey for that much longer. On the way, she spent a moment appreciating the two supremely handsome men who were performing at the Tiki Bar. One of them had shaggy blond hair and a smile that wouldn’t quit. He seemed in his element playing the guitar and singing for the appreciative crowd.
The other had dark hair—Patrick Dempsey hair, she decided—a muscular build and a face that belonged in movies. He too seemed right at home on stage and sang with his partner as if they’d been performing together for years.
Leaning against the gift shop building, Grace hummed along to “Brown-Eyed Girl” and “Turn the Page” before she reluctantly continued down the pier to deal with Trey. As she approached the spot where the boat was supposed to be, she did a double take. It was gone.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “That bastard!”
She stared at the empty spot at the dock for a long moment before the truth sank in. He’d left her there alone, taking her purse and clothes with him. She was stuck on Gansett Island with no boyfriend, no place to stay and no money. In the span of an instant, she went from hurt to angry to scared and then to sad. What was supposed to have been one of the greatest nights of her life had turned into yet another disaster.
This, Evan McCarthy thought, is as good as it gets. Strumming his guitar in perfect harmony with his best friend from childhood on a warm late-summer evening at the docks where he’d spent an idyllic childhood. Playing the home crowd at McCarthy’s Gansett Island Marina beat any stage in any venue, and he’d played his share of stages and venues.
