CHAPTER FIVE
He wanted to admit that he was afraid of her, of falling hard and fast, of getting his heart trampled and his hopes crushed.
Instead he shoved the hope down deep, and went for something safer. “What am I afraid of? My family. Well, specifically my parents. And if you want to narrow that down further, mostly my mom.”
She wiggled her toes and her bare feet drew Stone's attention.
Small, delicate, with hot pink polish on her toenails. His gaze skittered from her toes up to her smooth bare legs, and the memory of her soft skin under his hands and the vivid image of her naked in bed nearly made him forget that she was sick.
Stephanie looked up from her feet then, innocence gleaming in her gaze, and reached out to rub a thumbpad across his upper lip. But behind the innocence, there was the look she’d gotten that night, the one that she’d had every time she’d looked his way. He was surprised they hadn’t scorched a few people in the fire they’d created.
As the color began to return to her pale cheeks, she prodded him to continue. “You’re afraid of your parents? Aren’t you a little old for that?”
“Yeah.” Stone rubbed the back of his neck and felt his face heat. “Let’s just say there’s a reason why they’ve lived most of their married life apart.”
She sent him a saucy smile and walked her fingertips up his pant leg. “They don’t get along?”
He squeezed her calf, his mind going soft at the memory. Yeah, this was how to keep his distance. Let her turn his mind to mush. “Brace yourself, babe. You’re about to be introduced to the marriage from hell.”
Her gaze held his. “My parents’ marriage is perfect. Or at least, that’s what they want everyone to think. But the truth of the matter is, my mom runs their life, and Dad runs to do her bidding. Doesn’t sound much like a partnership to me.”
“Yeah, partnership.” He scratched his chin, noticed that he needed to shave before he left whisker burn marks on her delicate skin. “Being there for each other, through hard times and easy times, through sickness and health.”
She blinked back at him, and as his brain clicked into gear, he realized exactly what he had said. Except that she smiled, that naughty smile that had first caught his attention. On closer inspection, it wasn’t so naughty as crooked and self-depreciating.
“Stone Kincaid, are you a closet romantic? That sounds eerily like you were quoting from a marriage ceremony.”
“Well, it is why people get married, isn’t it? To support one another?” He felt his face flush again. “So how did you end up as a wedding planner?”
“Mmmmm, that’s a story for another day.” As though she’d realized what she said, she got all flustered. “Don’t worry. I meant it when I said I’m not out to trap a man. While I love brides and all of the magic of a wedding, I actually have this aversion to marriage. It drives my mom nuts. She can’t figure out where she went wrong with me.”
Curious, he found himself asking, “And why would a wedding planner have an aversion to marriage?”
“Speaking of weddings…” She glanced at her watch, straightened her skirt, and pushed to her feet, suddenly all efficient and closed in. “Well, I guess if we’re going to go, we should go. Sitting next to the commode chatting with you is fascinating, but it doesn’t get a wedding planned, does it?”
As Stone scrambled to help her up, he made a mental note to dig into this oddity further.
Out of the depths of her purse, she once again produced toothpaste and a toothbrush. “I’ll—um—freshen up before we head into town.”
“I’ll grab the truck keys and meet you out front.”
But as he watched her slather the toothpaste on the brush, squeezing right in the middle where he hated it the most, he got an image of waking up to this scenario every morning for the rest of his life.
It made him want to squirm.
He resisted the urge to lean down to kiss the spot right below her very sexy ear. Something in him warned him that he could get used to having her around all the time. Grabbing her, touching her, whispering sweet assurances in her ear. Then later…
Down boy.
Stone turned his back on her, opened the bathroom door, and came face to face with his mom.
For the barest of moments they stared at each other, him flushing red as though he were still thirteen and caught making out in the closet, his mom with her hand raised to knock on the door, startled by his presence.
He was the type of guy who never brought women home for the parents to meet. And as he’d explained inside, there was a damn good reason he kept his personal life personal.
As his brain started working again, and he found the sense to step out of the bathroom and close the door behind him, he grabbed her elbow and steered her toward the kitchen.
Grace took a breath, her voice tight. “You have lipstick on your mouth.”
Hell. He resisted the urge to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth and decided he needed to be more careful.
“For goodness sakes, Stone, she’s the hired help. Keep your zipper closed and—”
“She’s sick, Mom. I’m taking her to town to see the doctor. That’s it.” And then maybe, if his luck held, he’d get laid. He forced that thought out of his head and as they reached the key rack, he rifled throughout the keys.
“I’ve got your room all ready for you at the house.”
He grabbed one off the rack for himself, then grabbed a second one for his assistant. “I’ll be staying in the Three-For-Shot cottage.”
“Hole-In-One. Two-For-Birdie. Three-For-Shot,” Grace complained as she tapped one foot on the floor. “They were your father’s idea. Those stupid names and that even stupider golf course.”
Stone kept his silence and searched for the truck key.
“It’s because of that wedding planner that you’re staying at the guest cottages instead of the house, isn’t it?”
“No,” he said and kept his tone reasonable. “Wanda will be in the cottage next to me. We have work to do, and with all of the activity up at the house this week, I need the privacy.”
“You know my rules.”
“Yes, I do, and despite the fact that your rules are outdated and unnecessary, I have full intentions of keeping my distance. Weddings always make single women think about catching their own husband.”
And despite Stephanie’s assurances, he couldn’t help but believe he should keep up his guard.
But the scent of Stephanie swirled through his head, and the memory of her fingers walking up his trouser leg encouraged his body to stand up and take notice.
And as he drove around to the front of the house where Stephanie stood waiting for him, scarily he discovered that he felt good taking care of her.
She climbed into the cab with a wan smile on her lips, took one look at his face, and let out a heavy sigh. “It’s just sex, Stone. I’m not looking for a ring on my finger or for a guy to take care of me. In fact—” And when she hesitated, and kept hesitating, he finally looked over at her and saw her waggle her eyebrows. “In fact, I can take care of most things all on my own, if you know what I mean.”
Stone felt his body tense up in an entirely different way.
With any luck, and despite his mom’s rules, there’d be a week of very hot sex in his immediate future.
CHAPTER SIX
Jim Kincaid snugged the tie of his housecoat, rocked back on the heels of his golf shoes, and eyeballed the mid-afternoon sun.
This was the life, he thought as he lifted the coffee mug to his mouth and took a drink of the dark rich brew. Yes sireee, the good life, the only life, the rest of his life-life.
Overhead, a small flock of Bananaquit birds zipped past in search of sweet nectar, their yellow breasts brilliant against the lush green vegetation surrounding the course, their musical chirp a pleasant sound compared to the shrill trill of an unhappy wife who—thank you God—spent more time on the Mainland than she did on the island.
Ye
p, he thought to himself as the warm ocean breeze rustled the leaves behind him, and he tried to ignore that something inside of him which shriveled and congealed and settled in the vicinity of his heart. This was a hell of a way to spend his retirement. The good life indeed.
His longtime friend, Harry Strom, standing on the tee off area of Jim’s brand new nine hole golf course, swung his club back, then forward. The momentum of the swing and the weight of the club combined into a powerhouse of energy. As the head of the club connected with the ball, Jim heard the ping of the perfect shot, and his heart stuttered in his chest.
“Go, baby, go,” he muttered as he instinctively clutched his chest, and watched the white ball arch through the air and gently curve over the fairway toward the green where it landed decisively at the top edge of the plush lawn. “Hell of a shot, Harry. Have you been practicing?”
“All week. Sandy’s giving me hell. Wants me to till the garden and help her dig up the flowerbeds instead.”
Jim stepped up to the tee area, bent at the waist, and shoved his tee into the ground. “She should get a job, like my Grace. It’ll keep her so busy, she won’t have time to nag you.”
Andy Johnson, standing to Jim’s right, shielded his eyes against the sun, and chortled. “Who’d iron his underwear then, Jim?”
Ned Strom, Harry’s twin brother, pulled his golf ball out of the wash and dried it on a towel. “You’re a fine one to talk, Andy. Your wife greets you every night at the door with a drink in her hand, supper on the table—”
Andy’s chest puffed out. “Wearing nothing more than an apron and her birthday suit.”
Jim, along with the other two men, stopped to stare at Andy. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Been doing it since the last of the kids moved out.” Andy shrugged, a ghost of a smile flirting with his mouth as he eyed the tree line. “It’s a nice treat, but nothing beats being on the golf course. Wish I could afford to retire and spend the day out here with you, Jim.”
No you don’t. Jim shut down his emotions and focused.
“Wind’s pulling to the east today, Jim. Might want to adjust your aim.”
“Thanks.” With a frown of concentration, he bent and set his ball on the tee, eyeballed the sightline to the green and the flag in the distance, then straightened. He worked his shoes into the grass—proper stance, just right grip—and took a practice swing. His club whistled through the air and a shiver worked up his spine.
Perfect stance.
Perfect swing.
Perfect golf course.
Perfect life.
And maybe if he said those last two words often enough, he’d start to actually believe them.
He stepped up to the tee, positioned his feet the right distance apart, loosened his too tight grip, swung the club back and up, and let the weight carry it back down again—
Harry’s voice broke his concentration. “Did anyone catch Grace's show today?”
The club head sliced into the soft turf, the force of the connection shuddering up the club, through the handle, into his hands and arms. The only thing that went flying through the air was a huge clump of dirt.
“Look what you made me do, Harry,” Jim grumbled as he stomped off to retrieve the ragged piece of turf.
One of these days, he thought as he jammed the grass back into the spot it had come from, then just for good measure, gave it a stomp, he was going to quit inviting his friends over to play golf with him. His course. His rules. Yeah, and if Grace were here and could read his thoughts right now, she’d give him hell for being no more mature than a five year old.
“Well, did you?” his soon-to-be-ex best friend demanded.
“No.” Jim reset the ball on top of the tee and ground his teeth together. “I haven’t watched the show ever. Why would I start now?”
“Well, with you being newly retired and all, I just thought—”
“Don’t think, Harry. Just shut the hell up so I can hit this blasted ball.”
The three men on the course exchanged a look, then backed up a step.
Okay, so maybe he was being a whiny-assed butthole, but hell, he’d worked his tail off for the last thirty-some years, with plans of doing exactly what he was doing right now. Play golf on his own course. His retirement gift to himself last year.
Except his bad heart had forced him out the door of the New York Stock Exchange earlier than planned, and now he’d been relegated to the ranks of old age long before he was ready.
A sharp pang in his chest caught his attention and he went perfectly still. He sucked up a deep breath of air through his nose and exhaled through his mouth.
Stay calm. Focus. Remember to breathe and stay loose. No damn excitement.
He was invincible, a rock, and he refused to see himself as anything less. It was why he’d kept his heart condition from everyone, including his family.
What had the specialist said?
Learn to relax and you’ll have a lot of good years left.
If he didn’t keel over and die from the boredom of it all first.
He pushed away the ever present threat of depression and focused on the sport he loved.
He shook out his arms, rotated his shoulders, planted his feet apart, weighed the club in his hands, then braced himself for another practice swing. Yeah, he could get used to this life of leisure, which is why he wore his bathrobe and little else to his afternoon games.
The sensation of eyes drilling a hole into the back of his skull brought him around, and he peered through the trees toward the house.
No, it couldn’t be…she couldn’t be. According to his calendar, Grace wouldn’t be back on the island until Friday, mere hours before Liz’s wedding.
Jim decided he was being paranoid, and as the mid-afternoon shadows moved in, he gripped the handle of his club. “Gentlemen, this conversation is over. Let’s golf.”
He ground his shoes into the turf for what he hoped was the last time, pulled the club back and—
Briiinnng.
Off-kilter, the head of the club connected with its mark and the ball lobbed fifteen feet down the fairway. Gripping the club in his hand, he jerked around.
Ned Strom, the best insurance agent on the island, grabbed his cell phone off his belt, leaned on his three-iron, and grimaced down at the display. “Sorry. I gotta take this. It’s the old ball-and-chain.”
Jim yanked another ball out of his pocket and tossed it onto the ground. “Rule number two, Ned. No cell phones on the course.”
“I like rule number one the best,” Andy stated.
Jim nodded in agreement and lined up his shot. “No women allowed.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Grace Kincaid watched Liz’s wedding planner climb into the truck with Stone, and made a mental note to stop whatever was going on between the two of them.
She wasn’t so ancient that she didn’t recognize lust when she saw it and her son had been full of it when he’d opened the bathroom door. And while Stephanie Goodwin might be dynamite as a wedding planner, she was not the type of woman Grace wanted for a daughter-in-law. The moment Liz had informed her of her choice, Grace had done her homework and had her checked out thoroughly.
For Liz’s sake, she’d kept her mouth shut, but once the wedding was over, the girl was gone. In the meantime, she had to make sure that her son didn’t get carried away with lust and start believing that it was something else entirely.
Because marriage was not always forever and if she could prevent her own children from marrying the wrong person, then at least she’d have done something worthwhile in her life.
There’d been no mistake the flash of affection on Stone’s face. Or the genuine concern he’d shown for her illness. Maybe it was just sex. After all, her son was a healthy male. Still, she frowned and made a mental note to nip whatever was going on between the two of them into the bud before it got out of hand.
As the truck and its occupants disappeared down the driveway, she turned her attention to
the eyesore out her home office window where she saw Harry, Ned, and Andy clustered together like a small pack of beer cans.
Thank God she’d never married any of them. They’d of had her chained to the house, with no thought of her own but what they wanted her to think. Like the empty-headed housewives they’d married.
Then the breeze shifted the leaves on the trees and she saw Jim.
In the scheme of her professional life, Jim’s golf course made not an iota of difference, and yet, she hated it more than the insomnia and the hot flashes that had plagued her since the onset of menopause.
She’d arrived at the estate early this morning, in plenty of time to meet with Liz to finalize the wedding plans, thrilled to be back on Serendipity Island after a month in the studio. She’d even planned for a short nap to get her through the day.
But she’d taken one look at the man sprawled out all over the bed like he owned it, listened to his chainsaw snore-snort-snore, and felt her temper spike.
This is what a long term relationship turned into, and it wasn’t anywhere close to the fantasy she promoted on her show.
Life—and living—had robbed Jim and her of the first flush of love, and they’d ended up pursuing their careers instead of each other. And as busy as her life was, she hadn’t given the growing distance between them a single thought.
Until he’d announced his retirement last year and turned into the schmuck who never climbed out of his housecoat unless he planned to hog the bed.
Grace turned her back on the annoying view, brewed a cup of herbal tea, and sat down at the desk to deal with the unopened fan mail. She grabbed an envelope, sliced it open, and scanned the contents.
Dear Dr. Grace,
I’ve watched your show my entire life and believed that there was one perfect man out there for me. When I found him, I married him without a second’s thought. Yesterday, I came home from work and found him in bed with another woman. He says he’ll never do it again. Should I believe him and give him another chance? I still love him and can’t imagine life without him at my side…
Caught Between an Oops and a Hard Body (Caught Between series Book 2) Page 5
