by Donna Alward
Today he’d seen the reddish-blond head, and he’d had enough. The moment she’d pulled out her camera and started taking photos, he was ready to put on his boots. But when she turned to take a picture of the house? That was the clincher. He valued his privacy far too much. So far reporters hadn’t found him, as they had in New York. But it was only a matter of time. She didn’t seem like a journalist or a paparazzo, but he couldn’t be sure.
He watched a gull buffeted by the wind and sighed. She was right; he’d been a jerk about it. And part of that was because she’d been trespassing, and the other part was because he’d immediately realized how pretty she was. Early thirties, he’d guess, with blue eyes that had golden-green stripes through the irises, making them a most unusual color that deepened when she got angry, as she’d been with him when he’d demanded she delete her pictures. A dusting of freckles dotted her nose, pale, but enough that it made her look younger than she was. But there were shadows there, too. And the fact that he’d been curious at all set him on edge.
He started back to the house, turning over the encounter in his mind. Jessica Blundon, she’d said. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was a reporter.
Once inside, he went to his “den,” a round-shaped room on the bottom floor of the house with windows all the way around. There was a fireplace there for when it was cold or damp, as it had often been during the end of the winter when he’d moved in. A huge bookcase was near the door, the shelves jammed with a mixture of keepers, books on writing and stories he had yet to read. The furniture was heavy and well-cushioned, perfect for curling up with a book. He picked up his laptop and hit the power button, then started an internet search.
It wasn’t difficult to find her. The first hit was her website, and the second was for a gallery in Chicago. Her site had her picture on a press page, but also a catalog of her paintings. He wiped a hand over his face. She was good. Really good. The gallery page brought up a press release from a showing she’d done...nearly two years ago. He flipped back to her site. It didn’t appear to have been updated recently.
Had she not been painting all this time? Or had she been secluded away, working on something new?
Something sharp slid through him, and he recognized it as envy. He wasn’t sure he’d ever feel whole enough to write again, and his agent had got him an indefinite extension of his contract, with his publisher saying he could turn in a manuscript when he wanted. Hell, at this point his publisher had more faith in him than he did in himself. The only thing keeping him from paying back the advance and killing the deal was that he was in his thirties. What else was he going to do with his life? At least with the open contract, there was something left ahead for him. More than just picking away at his trust fund, and existing.
And here she was, with her messy hair and bright eyes and pink cheeks, living life and standing up to the ogre.
Because that was surely what he’d become, and he hated himself for it.
But he was certain he didn’t deserve any better.
He lowered the cover of the laptop and set it aside, then picked up his coffee and took a cold sip.
He’d stopped drinking. But nothing else had changed. And that scared him to death.
* * *
Jessica looked around the gardens of Jeremy and Tori’s house and let out a happy sigh. The property didn’t have the wild restlessness of the one with the lighthouse, but the scent of the ocean was strong and the burgeoning perennials added bursts of color. Tori had invited her to dinner, and now they sat outside, listening to the ocean and having tea. Tori held her three-week-old baby in her arms, the tiny bundle making small noises as she slept. Jessica held back the spurt of jealousy. She’d had a chance at a husband and family once, and had blown it. She’d been all of twenty-four and had wanted to travel and paint and not settle down yet.
He hadn’t waited. Broken heart number one.
Now she was in her thirties with no relationship on the radar. She’d started to accept that a partner and family was not in the cards for her. It seemed that everyone important in her life always picked up and left in one way or another, and after a while a heart got tired of taking all the risks and never reaping the rewards.
It didn’t stop her from getting wistful and broody around Tori’s newborn, though. And when Tori asked if she’d hold the baby while she popped inside for a light blanket, Jessica had no choice but to say yes.
Little Rose was a porcelain doll, with pale skin and thick lashes and a dusting of soft, brown hair. Her little lips sucked in and out as she slept, and she smelled like baby lotion. Jess cradled her close, looking down at her face and marveling at the feel of the warm weight in the crook of her arm. She did like babies. A lot.
When Tori came back, Jess held out her hand for the blanket, unwilling to give the baby up just yet. “She’s comfortable here and it’ll give you a break.”
“You mean I’ll get to drink my tea while it’s hot?”
Jess chuckled. “Exactly.” She tucked the crocheted blanket around the baby and leaned back in the chair. “Thank you again for asking me to dinner. The food at the inn is lovely, but a home-cooked meal was very welcome.”
“It wasn’t anything fancy.”
They’d had salad, grilled chicken and some sort of barley and vegetable side dish that had been delicious. Jeremy was now inside, catching up on some work while they enjoyed the spring evening.
“It was delicious. Besides, I was hungry. Someone made me angry today, and I went for a run on the beach after to burn off some steam.”
Tori leaned forward. “Angry? Who? Not one of the staff, I hope.”
Tori had resigned her position at the Sandpiper Resort, but she was still close with the staff and popped in on occasion to help with events or answer any questions the new assistant manager had. That was how Tori and Jess had met, and they’d ended up chatting and then sharing lunch on the resort patio.
“No, not staff. You know the lighthouse you told me about? I went to see it. Get some pictures...it’s gorgeous, just like you said. I got that tingly feeling I haven’t had in a really long time. And then the owner showed up. Man, he was a jerk.”
She expected Tori to express her own form of outrage, but instead her eyes danced. “So you met Bran.”
“You know him? Like, personally?”
“He’s Jeremy’s friend.”
Jess lifted an eyebrow. “You might have warned me. What an ogre. Hard to imagine him being friendly to anyone.”
Yet even as she said it she recalled the flash of vulnerability in his eyes. And while his hair was in major need of a haircut, it had been thick and wavy, a rich brown tossed by the sea breeze. Roguish.
“Bran’s been through a lot. He just moved here in February, too. The house is lovely, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t get to see much of anything. I took some pictures of the lighthouse, and then he stomped out and growled at me and made me delete all the photos I’d taken.”
Tori frowned. “He’s usually not quite that grumpy.”
“He was downright rude.” She sighed. “That lighthouse was it. I got the rush I get when I’m particularly inspired. If I could have kept one photo, I could have at least started a sketch.”
Except she did have one photo. The one she’d taken of “Bran,” now that she knew his name. Facing the ocean. She’d looked at it after her run, and had felt his loneliness.
Something else jiggled in her memory. “You said his name was Bran?”
“Short for Branson.” Tori leaned forward. “Do you want me to take her now?” She held out her hands for the baby.
“She’s asleep and fine here as long as you’re okay with it.”
“Are you kidding? When she’s sleeping I get to relax.” She sat back in her chair. “I just don’t want to take advantage.”
Jessica turned
the name over and over in her mind. Branson. The dark hair, the eyes...
“Branson Black,” she said, her voice a bit breathy. “That’s him, isn’t it? The author?”
Tori frowned. “He keeps a very low profile here. No one in town really knows who he is.”
“Of course. It’d be like having Stephen King as your neighbor.”
Tori laughed. “Not quite. He’s not that famous.”
Jess tucked the blanket closer around the baby. “He’s pretty famous. And he hasn’t published anything since—”
She halted. She remembered the story now. Since his wife and infant son had died in a car crash.
It all came together now. His isolation. Desolation. Growling to keep people away. He was buried in grief, a feeling she could relate to oh, so well. A pit opened in her stomach, a reminder of the dark days she’d had after Ana’s death. And a well of sympathy, too. How devastated he must be.
She met Tori’s gaze and sighed. “It was in the news.”
Tori nodded. “I don’t want to betray a confidence, you understand. But yes, he’s been struggling with his grief.”
“And values his privacy. I understand now.” And her frustration melted away, replaced by sympathy.
“Do you?” Tori’s eyes were sharp. “Because he’s one of the best men I know. He’s one of the reasons Jeremy and I are together.”
Jess stared into the flickering fire. “A few years ago I lost my mentor and...well, the best friend a person could have. I’m just now starting to paint again. So yes, I get it. Grief can destroy the deepest and best parts of us if we’re not careful.”
Silence fell over the patio for a few minutes. Then Tori spoke up. “I’m sorry about your friend. And I agree with you. Which was why I sent you over there in the first place.”
Jess’s head snapped up. “You did?”
Tori nodded. “He needs someone to stir him up a bit. Looks like you did.”
Jess wasn’t too sure of that. But her heart gave a twist, thinking of what he’d lost, what he was suffering and how alone he must feel. Because she’d been there. And she’d come out the other side.
He hadn’t. And that made her sorry indeed.
CHAPTER TWO
BRAN HAD BEEN up for a walk at dawn, made himself breakfast, had thrown in a load of laundry and was now left with most of the day stretching before him. Each day he had the same ritual. Walk, eat, some sort of menial chore. Check email. Anything to procrastinate so he wouldn’t spend hours staring at an empty document. He got through those daily rituals just fine, but the moment he opened up a new file on his laptop, he froze.
He wrote mysteries, and right now, anything dealing with a murder and victims was too much. Even though Jennie and Owen had been in a highway accident and not victims of violence, he just couldn’t deal with the idea of dead bodies. The grief was too much. His memory was too vivid.
Instead, he went upstairs and out on the balcony. The fresh air bit at his cheeks, carrying the tang of the ocean as the sky spread blue and wide above him. The lighthouse stood sentinel at the corner of the property, and he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, thinking of yesterday and the woman who’d shown up uninvited.
She was right. He’d been a jerk. Right now he didn’t know how to be anything else. But he was slightly sorry for it. Maybe would be more sorry if she’d been hurt by his gruffness. Instead, she’d been annoyed, and her eyes had sparked with it. It was hard to be sorry for that. She had beautiful eyes, annoyed or not.
He’d been standing there for twenty minutes when a movement caught his eye, just off the shore. He frowned. Was that a boat? He squinted; the sun glinted off the water in blinding flashes, but yes, there was definitely a boat out there, maybe a few hundred yards off the coastline. Certainly no farther. The sea was still rough, and he watched the boat bob and rock, at the mercy of the waves.
Foolish person. The boat couldn’t be more than maybe fifteen, sixteen feet. On a calm day, and with a skilled pilot, a boat like that could fare pretty well in open water. He’d certainly gone fishing in his and had no trouble at all. But today wasn’t calm. The surf had been high since the storm earlier in the week, and whoever was at the wheel wasn’t looking very competent, either. He frowned, and turned to get his binoculars from downstairs. When he returned, the boat was closer to shore, and still bobbing as it drifted.
He lifted the binoculars, focused in, and cursed.
What in hell was she doing? Foolish woman! Out there in a boat, camera around her neck, trying to take stupid pictures! Had he not made his point? He ran his hand through his hair and lifted the binoculars once more. A rolling wave hit the boat sideways, throwing her off balance. She fell, and his heart froze for a few moments as she disappeared from view. Had she hit her head? Was she okay? He held his breath until he saw her struggling to stand again. She turned the craft into the waves, and he hoped to God that she was going to give it some gas and get out of there. But she didn’t. She wanted her pictures too badly. As she lifted her camera again, another heavy wave crested and knocked her to the side, while water splashed over boat and woman. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be knocked overboard. Or worse...she’d be swept in toward the jagged rocks at the point. The lighthouse was there for a reason, after all.
Another wave swamped the boat and panic settled in his gut. He took off the binoculars and raced down the stairs, out the front door, and to the natural steps leading to his beach and the private dock. It took only a few moments for him to throw on a life vest and start the engine of the boat that was only slightly bigger than hers. He drew away from the dock and opened the throttle as he made his way toward her, his heart pounding as the boat lifted and bottomed out with each rolling wave. If she wasn’t swept overboard, she was going to hit the rocks, and neither outcome was particularly appealing. The water was freezing, and while he was confident in his piloting skills, he wasn’t so sure about his rescue ones. The only option was to get her out of there.
He got close enough to see that Jessica’s delicate pale skin was even paler, her eyes wide with fear. Her jaw tightened as she saw that he was behind the wheel, and she waved him off. “I’ve got this!” she called. “Go away!”
His fear disintegrated and anger took its place. “Are you kidding me?” He pulled as close as he dared without danger of them crashing together. “You’re either going to fall overboard or run into those rocks! Do what I tell you.”
Her face flattened. “No man is going to tell me to—”
He swore, and loudly, and Jessica’s mouth clamped shut in surprise. “I’m going to tow you back,” he shouted. “No arguments. Now shut up and let me help.”
When she didn’t argue, he figured she’d either finally seen common sense or was too scared to do otherwise. It took several minutes for them to secure her boat to his, with the ominous cliffs of the point coming ever closer. Bran gritted his teeth and pushed the throttle forward, taking up the slack between the two boats as the motor labored to take them both into the oncoming waves and away from shore. Jessica, to his relief, had finally done what he’d told her and was sitting obediently in the captain’s seat. The chop smoothed out as they got closer to the tiny cove sheltering his beach, and once they got close to the dock, he stopped, put down his anchor and pulled Jessica’s boat close enough he could board. She stood, avoiding his gaze, and stepped away from the wheel.
He stepped in just as a wave sent her off balance and crashing into him.
She was damp from spray, and yet warm and soft as he caught her in his arms and their bodies meshed together awkwardly. Bran put his hands on her upper arms to steady her and push her away. But the damage was done. Her gaze caught his and her cheeks—already rosy from the wind and water—reddened. His gaze dropped to her full, pink lips and his irritation grew. It was bad enough she was a thorn in his side...it was too much that she was also adorable. She bit down on her l
ip, and he nearly groaned. Adorable wasn’t quite the right word. Infuriating and...sexy, dammit.
He pushed his way around her. After disconnecting the towrope, he guided her little boat into his dock and secured it. He left her on the wooden platform and, ignoring the freezing temperatures, dove into the water. Perhaps it would help cool his temper, which was still raging.
The icy shock definitely cleared his mind. He wasted no time climbing the little ladder into his craft, then started the engine and guided it in to the dock. Soaked and shivering, he jumped out and glared at Jessica, who was standing on the dock, looking quite chastised and embarrassingly repentant.
He would not let that get to him. He would not. He focused on tying the knot and not on her frightened face and big eyes.
“Get your things and come to the house,” he ordered, and he didn’t wait to see if she followed or not. She would if she had any sort of sense at all.
But he didn’t check; he heard her feet scrambling up the stone steps behind him. He hurried to the house and stripped off his shirt the moment he got in the door. Within five minutes he’d dumped his wet clothes in the tub and had on warm, dry jeans. He was walking toward the front door with his sweatshirt in his hand when he stopped short.
She’d come inside, just into the foyer, and stood staring at him and his bare chest. Her cheeks blossomed an awkward shade of pink, and she bit down on her lip as he shoved his arms in the sleeves and pulled the shirt over his head. But something strange threaded through him at her silent acknowledgment of...what? Attraction? Awareness? What a ridiculous thought.
