Summer at Seaside Cove

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  Forcing a smile, Jamie poured the coffee. Stuck one of the emergency candles she’d found her first night at Paradise Lost in the cake. Lit the wick. Sang the traditional song. Ate cake. Tried to keep the conversation from lapsing into awkward silences by telling about her visit to Oy Vey Mama Mia and her introduction to the negroni. The minutes passed as if she were on autopilot—the words coming out of her mouth, but she didn’t really know how.

  “I like the sound of the negroni,” Laurel said, setting down her empty plate on the snack bar. She turned to Jamie. “Maybe we could take your friend’s recipe and make it a drink special at Newman’s.”

  “We’re not looking to add anything new to Newman’s menu right now,” Jamie’s mom said to Laurel in a cold, stiff voice before Jamie could reply. “And as for taking the recipe—haven’t you taken enough things that don’t belong to you?”

  Silence, as thick as quicksand and just as suffocating, descended. All the color drained from Laurel’s face.

  Heather slammed her plate and fork onto the counter. Twin flags of color rose on her cheeks as her gaze scanned everyone. “That’s it,” she said, her voice shaking. “What’s going on here? What’s wrong with everyone? Do you think I’m stupid? Or blind? You’re all pretending that everything is fine but it obviously isn’t. Aunt Jamie’s talking like a robot, Maggie looks totally pissed off, Alex and Nick have barely said a word, and Mom—I have no idea what’s up with you.” With each word her voice grew louder until she was yelling. “I know you’re all pretending for my benefit and I hate it! I’m not a baby!”

  She fixed her gaze on Laurel. “What did Maggie mean? What did you take?”

  Laurel shook her head. “Nothing. I—”

  “Why are you really here, Mom? And acting so … nice?”

  Laurel looked as if she’d been slapped. “It’s your birthday—”

  “Like you care!”

  Tears swam into Laurel’s eyes. “Of course I care, Heather! I’m your mother—”

  “Who for months has been too busy for me. So why are you really here? Why aren’t you with your boyfriend? Did he dump you or something?”

  Laurel’s face paled even further. She swallowed, then jerked her head in a quick nod. “Yes.” Her gaze flicked to Jamie. “As a matter of fact, he did.”

  Another thick silence descended, although Jamie missed it due to the buzzing in her ears. Raymond had dumped Laurel. That was … karma. Sickly funny. Completely ironic. And unheard of. Men didn’t dump gorgeous, skinny, rich Laurel. Either it was a mutual parting of the ways, or she did the dumping. Her mother muttered something that sounded like, “What goes around …”

  She looked at her sister and was surprised to note Laurel’s hands were shaking and her bottom lip was quivering.

  “Now I get it,” Heather said with a harsh laugh. “You came because you had nothing better to do.”

  Laurel sucked in a breath. “That’s not true. I came because I missed you. Because I wanted to see you on your birthday.”

  She reached out to touch her daughter, but Heather backed away. Laurel slowly lowered her hand and briefly squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, she said quietly, “You’re angry. I get that. I’d like to talk with you about it—see if we can fix this rift between us. But not like this, when you’re being deliberately hurtful. And not with an audience.” She paused for an audibly shaky breath, then asked Heather, “Can we go for a walk? Maybe on the beach? And talk?”

  Heather’s bottom lip trembled, but her eyes were filled with mutiny. “Why, Mom? Whenever I talk, you never listen. So what’s the point?”

  “I’ll listen,” Laurel said. “I promise. Give me a chance.” She reached out again and this time touched Heather’s arm. “Please?”

  Once more Jamie was tempted to blurt out Who the hell are you and what have you done with Laurel? “Please” was not a word she’d often heard pass Laurel’s lips. Jamie wasn’t convinced her sister was sincere, although there was no denying she sounded that way.

  Heather’s gaze cut to Jamie, clearly looking for guidance. Jamie nodded and mouthed, “Go. Try.”

  Heather rolled her eyes and heaved a put-upon sigh. “Fine. Whatever.” She shot a scathing glance at her mother’s shoes. “Too bad you don’t have flip-flops.”

  “I have a pair of sneakers in one of my suitcases,” Laurel said. “I left my luggage downstairs.” She turned to look at Jamie. “I tried to book a room, but couldn’t find anything available online. Is there somewhere nearby you can recommend?”

  Jamie looked into Laurel’s eyes. The unspoken question hung between them, as loud as if Laurel had shouted it. Can I stay here? And Jamie had to wonder why she hadn’t asked. Actually, she wondered why Laurel hadn’t simply announced she was staying. She normally took what she wanted—as evidenced by Raymond. This hesitant, diffident Laurel—who’d been dumped—was someone Jamie was having trouble recognizing.

  Still, here was her chance. Her opportunity to say, Too bad, there’s no room available here, either, you backstabber. Have your talk with your daughter, then get back on your broom and fly home to New York.

  But she couldn’t say it. Maybe she could—to her sister, if they’d been alone. But she simply couldn’t to Heather’s mother—especially not in front of Heather. So clearly she’d have to take one for the team.

  Shit.

  But that didn’t mean she needed to stick around and endure Laurel’s company. She’d come to see Heather and Jamie wouldn’t stand in the way of that, but that’s as far as she’d go. There might not be another place for her sister to stay—but there was for Jamie.

  “Everything around here is completely booked,” Jamie said. “There are twin beds in Heather’s room. You can stay in there with her.”

  “But then where will you sleep, Aunt Jamie?” Heather asked.

  “Nick has a spare bedroom.” She turned to him. “Mind if I make use of it?”

  “Not at all.”

  She honestly expected Laurel to wrinkle her nose at the less-than-five-star accommodations, but instead she nodded and said quietly, “Thank you, Jamie. I appreciate it.”

  Jamie frowned. Seriously, who was this person? She could not recall ever before hearing those six words pass Laurel’s lips. She gave her sister a long look and noticed for the first time the pale violet smudges of fatigue under her eyes. She looked tired and drawn—totally out of character for her normally inexhaustible sister, who could party hop and schmooze until the wee hours and then show up at Newman’s the next day looking as if she’d just spent hours at a day spa—which she probably had.

  Laurel’s gaze bounced between Alex and Nick. “Do you think one of you guys could help me get my luggage up those stairs?”

  Alex glanced at Maggie, who shrugged. “Sure. I’ll give you a hand.”

  Needing a moment alone with her mother, Jamie turned to Nick. “Would you mind helping them?”

  “Not at all.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze and then followed Laurel and Alex outside, the screen door slapping closed behind them.

  “This sure turned into a strange birthday,” Heather grumbled. She looked at Jamie. “Is Mom acting weird or is it just me?”

  Not just you. But in an effort to help her niece, Jamie said, “I think she’s really trying to make an effort. So meet her halfway. She said she’d listen. So talk. Calmly. Tell her how you feel, everything that’s bothering you. Then return the courtesy and listen to her. And try to remember—just because you disagree with someone doesn’t mean you have to be disagreeable. She’s your mom and deserves some respect, okay?” Jamie gave her a quick hug. “Love you, kiddo.”

  “Fine, whatever, love you, too,” Heather mumbled, her face burning bright. “I need to grab my flip-flops and text Lindsey before the big mother-daughter beach walk. Yippee.” She walked into the bedroom she’d shared with Jamie and would tonight share with her mother and closed the door.

  The instant the door closed, Maggie turned to Jamie and said in her lo
ud whisper that wasn’t at all a whisper, “I can’t believe you said she could stay here.”

  Jamie’s last nerve stretched to the breaking point. “What was I supposed to do, Mom? She’s Heather’s mother and today’s her birthday. And that comment you made about Laurel taking things that aren’t hers—”

  “Was completely true.”

  “I know. And I appreciate your loyalty, but please don’t do it again. For Heather’s sake. It’s not your place, or mine, to say anything to drive a wedge between them.”

  “Laurel seems to have managed that all by herself.”

  “Yes. But it seems she’s trying to fix that. For Heather’s sake, I hope so. And for Heather’s sake I don’t want to interfere with that in any way.”

  “You’re being extremely understanding about all this, I must say.”

  “No, I’m not. I’d like to toss her out on her skinny ass and tell her to never darken my doorstep again. My stomach’s tied in knots, my head is pounding, my skin feels hot and blotchy, and I’m a heartbeat away from screaming and ripping out handfuls of my hair. But my love for Heather is stronger than my anger toward Laurel.” She pulled in a shaky breath, then continued, “But I’m not staying in this house with her.”

  “So you’re abandoning me? Why do I have to entertain her? I have enough of my own problems to deal with.”

  Jamie pressed her fingers to her temple to ward off the headache brewing there. “You don’t have to entertain her. She’ll be out with Heather and then they’ll be sleeping on the opposite side of the house. Take your man and go to bed.”

  Her mom’s lips tightened. “I wasn’t planning to sleep with Alex tonight. We had a disagreement. Which I wanted to talk to you about. He’s asked me to marry him. What do you think I should do?”

  That question snapped Jamie’s last frayed nerve and the composure she’d fought to hold on to disintegrated. “Here’s what I think, Mom,” she said, her voice low and throbbing with all the frustration she’d been holding in for what felt like forever. “I think I traveled seven hundred miles to take some much-needed time for myself. To solve my own problems. To get some perspective on my own life. And instead I’ve had to deal first with you and your drama, then your boyfriend, then a teenager, and worst of all, now my sister, who is the one person I most needed to get away from.

  “I think that you’ve leaned on me so much since Daddy died that you’ve forgotten how to stand on your own. Do you have any idea how much pressure that puts on me? It’s absolutely exhausting. I think—and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told you this since you barged into what was supposed to be my peaceful haven—that only you can decide what you want and what is best for you. I will support whatever that decision is, and frankly, I don’t see what the hell is so difficult. If you love Alex, then be with him. If you don’t love him, tell him so and let the poor guy go. And for God’s sake, quit expecting me to make your decisions for you because I’m done.”

  Without another word she stalked to the door and hurried down the stairs. Alex, Nick, and Laurel were halfway up with Laurel’s luggage, but she didn’t pause. She squeezed around them on the staircase, mumbled good night, and kept going, praying that she’d make it to Southern Comfort before her shaking knees gave out and the tears thickening her throat and pushing behind her eyes burst through.

  She took the stairs at Southern Comfort two at a time and relief filled her that Nick hadn’t locked his door. She let herself in and paced the length of the house, trying to corral the tumult of emotions battering her.

  God, she felt so … frustrated. Tense. On edge. And so damn tired of dealing with everyone and their issues. She craved a reprieve. A break from the drama and stress.

  Footfalls sounded on the stairs. The door opened and Godiva dashed in, followed by Nick. Nick, who’d offered support and friendship and concern. Whose steady presence had made the unbearable tension at Paradise Lost somehow bearable.

  Their gazes met and a bolt of desire unlike anything she’d ever felt before struck her. The need to touch him, be touched by him, feel his hands and mouth on her, hers on him crashed over her, stealing her breath. With her gaze steady on his, she walked toward him. Based on the fire that flared in his eyes, her intent was obvious. And fine with him.

  When she reached him, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. And was gratified to note he was already hard.

  “Want you,” she whispered, grazing his neck with her teeth. “Need you. Now.”

  Based on the speed with which he swept her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom, they were once again in agreement.

  Chapter 25

  The first thing Nick became aware of when he awoke was the lush feminine body fitted against him. With his eyes still closed, he shifted closer to the soft warmth and nestled his morning erection more firmly against the delicious curve of Jamie’s bare bottom. He breathed deeply, filling his head with the delicious scent of fresh-baked cookies.

  She stirred, and his arm automatically tightened around her waist. He skimmed his hand up her torso to fill his palm with the softness of her breast. His thumb lightly circled her velvety nipple, which instantly pebbled beneath his touch.

  He briefly slit one eye open. Sunlight streamed through the windows, announcing the arrival of morning. The morning after another incredible night with Jamie. The intensity of their lovemaking had blown him away. He’d had great sex before. This was better than that. More than that. More … intimate. Even more so than the last time they’d been together, and that had been pretty damn spectacular. Yet last night had been even better. He couldn’t explain how, he only knew it had been.

  And now as he lay with her in his arms, listening to her deep, even breaths, the troubling thoughts he’d shoved aside last night came roaring back, and he knew they could no longer be ignored.

  He had to tell her the truth.

  With a sigh, he eased away from her and slid from the bed. Stepping over their scattered clothes, he unconsciously counted the empty condom wrappers littering the floor as he headed toward the bathroom. One, two, three, four … Jesus, five of them. And that fifth time … damn. That fifth time—so slow and lazy and deep—had left him shaking. And feeling as if he’d emptied his soul into her.

  But he hadn’t. There were parts of his soul, or at least his past, he hadn’t revealed. And he needed to fix that. Before things went any further.

  After making use of the bathroom and brushing his teeth, he slipped on a clean pair of boxer briefs, then made his way to the kitchen. Godiva greeted him with tail-wagging joy, and after giving her a good rubdown, he opened the door and she scrambled down the stairs and headed for her favorite patch of grass. He put on a pot of coffee, and as the kitchen filled with the scent of fresh-brewed java, he changed Godiva’s water bowl and opened a can of her favorite dog food. When she gave a quiet woof at the screen, he let her in and couldn’t help but grin when she practically inhaled her breakfast.

  “You don’t see Cupcake doing that,” came Jamie’s amused voice from behind him.

  He turned and his heart kicked at the sight of her. With her tousled hair, eyes still a bit droopy with sleep, and wearing one of his white T-shirts, she looked sexy as hell.

  He leaned his hips against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “Cupcake doesn’t eat?”

  “Oh, she eats. But daintily. Not like a vacuum cleaner.”

  He pushed off from the counter and walked toward her. “Sometimes you’re just so hungry for something, crave it so much”—he snagged her hand and yanked her against him—“you can’t help but devour it.” He buried his face in the warm curve where her neck and shoulder met and pressed his open mouth to her soft skin. Never had any woman ever smelled as good as she did.

  “Hmmm …” she murmured, tilting her head to give him better access. “I can’t deny you proved last night—several times in fact—that being devoured is a reeeeeeally good thing.” She ran her hands down his back
and slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs to skim over his butt. “Definitely wouldn’t mind being shown again.”

  And God knows he wanted to. But in the light of a new day, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to be sidetracked—not until he’d told her the truth.

  “Definitely looking forward to that,” he said against her neck. Then he forced himself to raise his head. “But first, we need to talk.”

  Her exploring fingers stilled on his butt and wariness crept into her gaze. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

  Since he was pretty sure she wasn’t going to like what he said, he couldn’t argue with that. Instead he gently eased her hands from inside his briefs, entwined their fingers, and led her to a stool at the snack bar. “Why don’t you sit and I’ll pour us some coffee.”

  “Oh,” she said in a tiny voice. “So, um, it’s not only that we need to talk, but I need to be sitting down and fortified with a caffeinated beverage?”

  He laughed, but the effort sounded forced. He quickly poured the coffees, then carried them to the snack bar. After setting them on the counter, he sat on the stool next to her, swiveled until he faced her, then loosely linked their hands.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his gaze steady on hers. “I should have told you already but—”

  “Oh, God.” Her face went pale. “You’re married.”

  “No. I’m—”

  “Out on parole.”

  “No.”

  “You really are a hit man.”

  He gently squeezed her hands. “No. And if you’d stop with the crazy guesses, I’ll tell you.” After she pressed her lips together and nodded, he continued, “Remember I told you about my family’s business?”

  “The bed-and-breakfast.”

  “Right. Well, I sort of underplayed that. A lot.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not exactly a bed-and-breakfast. It’s more like an exclusive luxury boutique hotel. And there’s not just one. There’re actually two hundred and eighty-four of them. Spanning sixty-two countries. And it’s growing every year. You’ve probably heard of them—Luxe hotels.”