Her House Divided (Beach Haven Book 1)

by Goode, A. J.

"You dog!" Sean bellowed, elbowing his way past Ethan. "How long have you been keeping her a secret? Tara, a beautiful woman like you deserves way better than this joker. Dump him and run away with me."

  "We're not—"Tara started to say something, but stopped with a confused look on her face. "Have we met before?"

  "I'd never forget meeting you," he said.

  Ethan didn't like the way they were looking at each other. He told himself firmly that he was not jealous because he had no interest in Tara himself. Well, there had been that kiss in the kitchen, but that had been a mistake, hadn't it?

  "I thought we were going to Jake's," he said. "Let's go, Sean."

  Sean looked at him as though he had grown three heads. "Are you kidding? You can't leave your girlfriend here alone just to be my wingman."

  "I'm not his girlfriend," Tara stated firmly.

  "She's not my girlfriend," Ethan insisted at the same time.

  Sean looked puzzled.

  "I'll explain on the way," Ethan told him. "Let's go. Now."

  Sean drove the short distance to Captain Jake's, and Ethan explained the situation on the way. He deliberately avoided telling his friend anything about that one kiss or about how attracted he was to Tara. Instead of sympathizing with him, however, Sean was amused.

  "Your grandma always was a matchmaker," he chuckled. "So you're both living there as roommates until one or the other of you gives up and buys out the other. And since neither one of you has any money, that's probably not going to happen. Which means you're "stuck" living in a small house with a gorgeous woman? Gee, I'm trying to feel sorry for you, Pal. I'm really trying."

  "I don't want to talk about it. Let's just go in and have a beer, okay?"

  Ethan was determined to have a good time, if for no other reason than to prove to himself and Sean that he wouldn't really rather be home with Tara. He tried not to imagine what she was doing there alone. Maybe she was taking a bubble bath. He could picture her leaning back in the bubbles, eyes closed, naked body relaxing in the hot, steamy water…

  He wasn't usually much of a drinker, but he kept ordering fresh beer each time his mind strayed to those disturbing mental pictures. He really shouldn't drink, he knew; the last thing he needed was to run into a parent of one of his students.

  He watched Sean move from woman to woman, collecting phone numbers and flirting outrageously, and wondered vaguely why he wasn't interested in doing the same. There were plenty of beautiful women here; some had already shown interest in him, but he just couldn't shake the image of Tara or the memory of the way her body had melted against his during that kiss.

  Eventually, it dawned on Ethan that he was drunk. Stupid drunk. Embarrassingly drunk.

  "Sean, Buddy, I think I've had a few too many," he mumbled.

  "I noticed."

  "I think…"he stopped for a moment to try to focus. Nope, he could either speak or open his eyes, but he wasn't going to be able to do both. Not unless the room decided to stop spinning, and he really wasn't up to arguing with the room. "I think I might need to go home," he said carefully, keeping his eyes closed.

  "I think so, too. Can you walk at all?"

  "Not by myself."

  Sean hauled him to his feet and helped him stagger through the crowd toward the door. Even this late at night, the hot humid air hit him in the face as soon as he stepped outside. "Sean, are you okay to drive?" he managed to ask.

  "I'm not drinking tonight. I figured you were doing enough of that for both of us."

  * * *

  Tara took advantage of her Ethan's absence to explore her new home. She searched out every cupboard and closet and familiarized herself with every inch of the house except Bea's room -now Ethan's- and the attic. She was tempted to see what sort of things Bea had stored up there, but she wasn't sure if she was quite ready to navigate the narrow, pull-down stairs. Stairs of any kind were still difficult for her under the best of circumstances.

  She wasn't ready for the attic, but she was ready for that fabulous bathtub, she decided. The main bathroom had only a basic shower enclosure that wouldn't do a darn thing for her aching body. No, she told herself, Ethan may have won the coin toss for the master bedroom, but she owned half of this house and she was going to take full advantage of that tub.

  Once she had settled into the rose-scented bubbles, Tara leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and tried to think of anything besides Ethan's kiss.

  Trying not to think about Ethan made her think of Randy, which made her sink more deeply into the bubbles. They had been together for three long years, engaged in theory but without a wedding date. She had thought his eagerness to share an apartment and buy furniture together meant that he was ready for a commitment, but she realized now that Randy had never had any intention of marrying her. He had been perfectly content with things just the way they were, and she was too caught up in her own wedding fantasies to realize that things weren't moving forward.

  Until everything changed with a car accident that stormy May night.

  Tara grimaced as those memories flooded her mind. She could still hear the thunderstorm that had popped out of nowhere; she could see the trees whipping back and forth in the wind, illuminated by the jagged spears of lightning that cut through the dark sky. She felt the impact again and listened to the glass breaking and metal crunching . . .

  With a small sob, Tara forced herself to open her eyes and look at the smooth white tile walls of the bathroom until her breathing slowed. The accident itself had been bad, but what happened after was worse in some ways. Randy deserted her, unable to cope with the extent of her injuries. When she was finally released from the hospital, she discovered that he had taken everything from their apartment. The furniture, dishes, everything but her clothes. Worse, she soon learned that had not only skipped the rent payment in her absence, he had also cleaned out their joint bank accounts.

  She had nothing. And she had no way of starting fresh, because her injuries made it impossible for her to return to work as a cosmetologist. The neurosurgeon had made it clear to her that she was lucky to be alive and able to walk at all; standing on her feet for eight or more hours per day was out of the question. As her bills piled up and her recovery seemed to slow down, Tara could only wonder how she was ever going to be able to dig her way out of this mess and find a way to support herself.

  The Seashell was a Godsend, even if it meant she had also inherited a roommate. Ethan seemed to be a nice enough guy, she admitted to herself. As long as she they kept things on a friends-only basis. No more kissing.

  Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Crap, she thought; the whole "friends-only" thing was not going to be easy if he walked in and found her naked in his bathroom. She made a panicked grab for her towel. Moments later, she emerged from the bathroom to see Sean helping a semi-conscious Ethan to the couch. "Is he hurt?" she cried, after tightening the belt of her robe to make sure she was covered.

  "Nah, just drunk," Sean told her. He dropped his friend on the couch. "Can you get him some water while I get his shoes off?"

  She nodded and hurried toward the kitchen. When she returned, Ethan was shoeless, grinning foolishly at her while Sean just shook his head. "He's not usually like this," he told her, taking the offered glass and handing it to his soused friend. Ethan managed to swallow most of the water, although a great deal of it landed on his shirt as well.

  "I hope not," Tara muttered.

  "I've only seen him drunk like this a couple of times, and we've known each other forever. He's going to be really embarrassed tomorrow."

  "And hung-over."

  "And hung-over," Sean agreed. "Listen, I—" he stopped as a sudden high-pitched tone rang out. "My pager," he explained. "Will you be okay with him like this?"

  "I can handle it. Go ahead."

  ". . . 'bye, Sean!" Ethan called out to his friend, after the door had closed. He smiled up at Tara.

  She wasn't sure what to do next. With Randy, she would h
ave worked his arm over her shoulders and helped him into the bedroom, as she had done countless times during their years together. But Ethan was so much taller than Randy, and she was so much weaker since her accident; she seriously doubted that she could move him anywhere without injuring one or both of them. And in all honesty, she didn't trust herself anywhere near a bedroom with him, not after the way her body had reacted to his kiss.

  "Guess you're sleeping on the couch tonight, big guy," she muttered. He had closed his eyes and seemed to be either asleep or passed out, with his head tilted back at an awkward angle. Sighing, she retrieved a decorative pillow and was leaning over him to place it under his head when she felt his hands on her breasts.

  Startled, she looked down and saw that her robe had fallen open and he had reached up to gently cup a breast in each hand. He had an expression of sheer wonder on his face that would have been funny under any other circumstances.

  "Nice," he murmured. He brushed his thumbs across her nipples, which tingled against the flimsy fabric of her nightgown.

  "Ethan—" even to her own ears, her voice didn't sound right.

  His left hand slipped inside the robe and around her waist, gently drawing her near, between his legs. With his right hand, he tugged at her gown to reveal a breast. His fingers traced slow, easy circles around her nipple.

  She tried not to moan with pleasure. Everywhere his fingers touched was deliciously on fire. She felt a crazy need to have him touch more of her, to explore more of her body.

  Ethan pulled her even closer and she felt the bulge of his erection. He raised his head and flicked the tip of his tongue across her nipple he had been teasing. The warm, wet sensation set off explosions inside that made her knees feel weak.

  "Wait," she whispered, unsure if she was talking to herself or to Ethan.

  "Wait for what?" he rasped. Without waiting for an answer, he switched his attention to the other breast—caressing and teasing every bit of over-sensitized flesh. She sat on his leg and leaned into him, feeling again the bulge inside his jeans.

  He made a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a groan. Tara didn't resist when he twined his fingers in her curls and pulled her face toward his, seizing her lips in a strong kiss. His tongue pressed her lips apart, and she tentatively met it with her own while his other hand slid down from her waist to toy with the hem of her gown.

  Tara tasted the beer on his breath and suddenly realized just what a fool she was. The man was drunk, so drunk that he very likely didn't know what woman he was feeling up. He probably wouldn't even remember this encounter in the morning.

  At least, she hoped he wouldn't.

  Regretfully, she pulled away from the kiss. Both hands planted firmly against his chest, she pushed him back against the couch cushions and tried to stand up.

  "No… don't go," he said. He caught her wrist and looked up at her with such pain and loneliness in his eyes that she almost lost her resolve.

  Then she remembered Randy's words when he left her at the hospital. "Why would I want to spend the rest of my life with you now? I can't have a crippled wife."

  "Stop. This is a mistake," she told Ethan, prying his fingers away from her wrist. "Trust me; I'm not what you're looking for. Not after the beer wears off."

  Chapter Six

  Ethan woke up to an insistent pounding in his head, almost as if there was someone knocking at the door. He groaned and buried his face against the back of the couch until it gradually dawned on him that someone really was knocking on the door and he was waking up fully clothed on the couch at his grandmother's house.

  "Hang on," he called. It hurt to sit up. Standing was worse. Yeah, he was definitely getting too old for mornings like this.

  He staggered to the door and wrenched it open.

  Two elderly women stood on his doorstep, looking positively scandalized by his rumpled appearance. He recognized them as friends of his Grandmother's, although he couldn't quite remember their names. In all honesty, he would have been hard-pressed to remember his own name at the moment.

  "Lenora, he's forgotten all about it," the taller of the two women announced.

  "Oh, dear. Bea would be so disappointed!" the smaller one wailed. "It's too late to reprint the maps. What are we going to do?"

  "Terribly irresponsible. Just like everyone in his generation."

  "Um . . . can I help you ladies?" he managed. He wondered if the sun was this bright every morning and he had just never noticed it before, or if the light was somehow reflecting off of the righteous indignation of the two old ladies.

  "The Tour, Ethan," Lenora told him. "It starts in an hour, and you haven't hung the signs or opened your door, or—"

  "The Seashell has been part of the Tour for a decade. What a shame to have to skip over it this year. I should have known he wouldn't follow through."

  "Vernabelle, what are we going to do?"

  "I just don't –oh. Oh, my. Lenora, we've come at a bad time." The elderly woman's face softened into a sly, knowing smile. "Perhaps he hasn't forgotten about the Tour. He's just been . . . distracted."

  Lenora gasped, and then giggled. "We should go," she announced in a loud stage whisper.

  "Yes. Yes, we should. We'll take care of the signage, and all you lovebirds have to do is be dressed and ready by nine o'clock sharp."

  Ethan found himself staring at the inside of his own front door as it closed in his face. "What just happened?" he wondered aloud.

  "We just started some gossip," Tara told him. She sounded suspiciously close to laughing.

  He turned, and at least part of the conversation became clear to him. Tara stood in the entrance to the living room, wearing a short flowered robe. Her tousled hair and flushed cheeks made it obvious that she had just gotten out of bed, and he knew that he was probably looking pretty rough from his night on the couch.

  "They thought we were—"

  "Yep." She nodded.

  "And the Tour? Any idea what they were talking about?"

  "The annual Homes Tour," she said. She tugged at the neckline of her robe, and he realized he was staring. There was something familiar about the pattern, something that tickled at the edge of his memory. For some reason he suddenly thought about roses.

  "H-Homes Tour?" He tried to focus on her words, but his mind started wandering to thoughts of soft, rose-scented skin pressed against him while his fingers pushed silken fabric out of the way. He stepped toward her, barely realizing that he was moving.

  She stopped him with a firm hand against his chest. "Shower," she said. "You need a shower. I'll make the coffee while you get cleaned up, and then I'll explain about the Tour."

  One very hot shower and two even hotter cups of coffee later, he was finally starting to understand. The Homes Tour was a day-long event that was a part of the Blueberry Festival. Twenty local homes were selected and put on a map that was then given to anyone who purchased a ticket to walk through them. Some of the houses were brand-new, some were unique in some way, and others had historical significance.

  "All proceeds go to local charities," Tara finished. She had dressed in a simple green cotton top and a khaki skirt, and pulled her hair back into a long ponytail, and Ethan found that those strange memories were quickly fading. "You'd be surprised at how many people are willing to pay just to walk through and see the inside of some of the houses."

  "So why is the Seashell on the list?"

  "Probably because it's one of the last of the original beach cottages on Lake Shore Drive."

  He nodded. Most of the others had been remodeled into modern showplaces or knocked down and replaced with vacation rental units, which was exactly the fate his ex-wife had planned for his grandmother's home.

  "So, what are we supposed to do today?" he asked.

  "Open the door, put on our best smiles, and prepare for the invasion, I guess."

  They soon discovered that their early-morning callers had made good use of their time, hanging a sign over the front porch rai
ling and taping another to the wall near the courtyard entrance. Both signs were emblazoned with the words "Proud Member of Beach Haven Homes Tour!" in red, white and blue letters.

  “Wow, they really go all out for this, don’t they?”

  Tara chuckled. “It’s one of their most successful fundraisers. The only one that brings in more money is the Fall Ball in October. It’s a formal event held at the Yacht club and the tickets are absolutely astronomical, so they really haul in the big bucks with that one.”

  Ethan stifled the tiny flash of jealousy at the thought of her attending a fancy ball with another man. “Must be fun,” he muttered.

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never gone to it. I usually volunteer on the decorating committee, but I could never get my f-- I could never get anyone to go with me. I actually splurged on tickets for this year, but . . . well, I doubt I’ll go now.”

  The first visitors arrived then, and continued in a steady flow throughout the day. Ethan watched Tara play the part of the perfect hostess, greeting strangers and guiding them through the house. She smiled and chatted easily with everyone, answering questions or deferring to him when she didn’t know the answer. She was charming and vivacious in a way that he hadn’t seen her before.

  Most of the tourists were sincerely interested in the beautiful old cottage, and had plenty of questions about its history. Many of them, having met Bea in previous years, were quick to express their sympathies or share their memories of her. A few visitors were realtors and developers who had heard of her death and wanted to check out the property.

  Vultures, he thought.

  Tara had disappeared out onto the back patio with another group when he saw a familiar figure strolling through the door toward him. He stifled a groan.

  "What are you doing here, Jacqueline?" he asked.

  His ex-wife smiled and waved her map. "I bought a ticket, just like everyone else," she said smoothly. "It's such a good cause, don't you think?"

  "You've seen the inside before."

  "Ah, but I haven't seen it since you turned it into a little love nest." She wagged a finger in his face. "Really, Ethan, I'm a little embarrassed for you."