Castaway Cove (2013)

by JoAnn Ross

  He cupped his warm hand at the back of her neck, then closed the gap between them.

  This wasn’t their first kiss. She should have known what to expect. She’d told herself that she could handle Mac Culhane. After all, as the song lyrics from Casablanca—another movie she would’ve added if she’d cheated like he had and gone for four instead of three—went, “a kiss is just a kiss.” Right?

  Wrong.

  The instant his mouth claimed hers, hot, hard, demanding, she realized she’d miscalculated. And even as she told herself this was crazy, that she barely knew him, she lost her ability to think and was clinging to him as if he were a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea, which it felt like as their tongues tangled and her heart started beating so hard and fast she wouldn’t have been surprised if it had burst out of her chest.

  She had so miscalculated. This kiss was not just a kiss. And the rough male groan that rumbled from his chest as his open mouth moved down her throat was definitely not just a sigh.

  Oh, wow! The man could kiss.

  Really, really kiss.

  A blaring sound reverberated through the roaring in her ears.

  “Damn,” he muttered against her mouth, “the bridge is going back down.”

  Now that was a sigh as he pulled away, refastened his seat belt, and started the engine. A deep, ragged sigh that, as she shoved her glasses back onto her face (which didn’t do a whole lot of good because her vision seemed to still be blurred from rampant lust), assured her she was not the only one who’d felt on the verge of drowning.

  “Okay,” she said after they’d crossed over to the other side, when her head had stopped spinning and she was pretty sure she could speak again without sounding like Minnie Mouse. “You win. That kiss in the store? It wasn’t a fluke.”

  “I’m taking that as a compliment,” he said. “But it takes two. And, sweetheart, you are one hot babe.”

  She knew women who would have taken offense. There’d even been a time, when she was struggling to become a proper Washington Junior League matron, that she would have at least attempted to pretend annoyance.

  But not today. Because today, for the first time in her life, she actually felt like a hot babe.

  “We’re still not having sex,” she felt obliged to warn him.

  “That’s your call. But may I ask a question?”

  She didn’t entirely trust him. Oh, she knew she was in no physical danger, but she’d already heard the way he had of getting people to say things they’d never told anyone else. Hadn’t she done exactly that herself when she admitted to at least partially blaming herself for the breakup of her marriage?

  “All right.”

  “Are you talking about a sex moratorium for this afternoon? Or no sex ever?”

  “Ever. I told you, I’m not into the idea of a friends-with-benefits relationship.” At his arched, disbelieving brow, she said, “All right. You’re right.”

  “Did I say anything?”

  “No. But you were thinking that if we keep this up, we’re going to eventually end up in bed.”

  Or on a floor, or up against the wall, like in that flash of a fantasy, or on the beach, beneath a sky of whirling stars . . .

  “I sure as hell wouldn’t object if you take me up on that offer to use my body for sex.”

  “I’ve given up men.” She wasn’t sure which of them she was trying to convince. Him or herself.

  “Not that I want to get into an argument on such a nice day, but I don’t think you’re doing real well with that game plan,” he said easily.

  “It’s you,” she muttered. “You mess with my mind.” Not to mention her body.

  “Join the club. And, just in case it’s slipped your mind, you called me. I was just sitting there in the dark, in a shitty mood, trying to do my job on the radio, when Sandy from Shelter Bay gave me a reason not to hate that Saturday night.”

  In the hormonal fog that had clouded her mind, Annie had forgotten that he’d sounded depressed and all alone that night when he’d asked the question. The same way she’d been feeling when she’d picked up her phone and made the call.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Someone once told me life’s messy. And often random. Which, by the way, I’d pretty much figured out for myself. Before you had me feeling like a sixteen-year-old with a perpetual boner.”

  “I didn’t like you at first,” she said, still struggling for a lifeline to avoid getting in over her head. “I don’t mean when I called in. I meant when I ran into you at Still Waters.”

  “You didn’t want to like me,” he corrected as he turned onto a narrow, sandy road. “But, like we’ve both already discovered, you don’t always get what you want.”

  And wasn’t that the truth?

  But today, for just this stolen moment in time, Annie wanted Mac.

  And for now, she decided, as this time she was the one who reached across the console and put her hand on his jeans-clad thigh, it would be enough.

  29

  “Oh, it’s lovely,” Annie said after Mac stopped the truck at the edge of a beach she hadn’t even known existed. Stretching out in both directions, the sun-gilded ribbon of golden sand was completely deserted. “You hung out here with Sax and his brothers?”

  “Yeah. His grandfather built that picnic table,” he said, pointing toward the grayed wooden table and benches. “Although the weather’s done a number on it over the years, you can still see where he and Cole and J.T. carved their initials in it.”

  He didn’t mention that his were there, too. Along with Jared, Kara Douchett’s first husband’s, who’d been Cole’s best friend in high school and had gotten himself killed on a domestic call as a cop after returning safely home from Iraq. Proving that life wasn’t always fair and often sucked.

  One memorable night, before Cole and Jared had graduated from high school, they’d snagged some beer from Bon Temps, which the Douchetts had owned at the time, gotten drunk, and sworn to be best buddies for life. Whatever might happen, wherever they’d end up, they’d always be there for each other.

  And there were other nights. . . .

  “What’s funny?” she asked, making him aware that he was smiling at the memory of the night he and Sax had double-dated and, after a movie he couldn’t remember, had driven out here for a make-out session. That was the night, in the backseat of Sax’s Camaro, when Mac had rounded second and nearly gotten to third base with Debbie Henley. He might’ve made it, too, if Kara’s father, who’d been sheriff at the time, hadn’t pulled up behind them and flashed his red and blue cruiser lights.

  “Just remembering old times,” he said.

  “I suspect I’m not the first girl you’ve brought here.”

  “Hey, I was in high school.”

  “Which answers the question.” Instead of appearing offended, she gave him a knowing smile. “I always used to envy people like you,” she admitted.

  “You didn’t know me.”

  “You all seemed the same, as I was looking from the outside in. Confident, having a good time, going steady, breaking up, living like you were all part of the cast of Happy Days.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  Mac thought back to Kara getting pregnant her senior year of high school, and Lucas and Maddy breaking up. And, how, if they’d actually been living a Happy Days life, Sax would’ve been the Fonz. On steroids.

  “I suppose so. But there’s such a sense of continuity about you all. Of connection.” She sighed. “This probably is a terrible mistake.”

  “I’ve made mistakes a helluva lot worse,” he said. “It’s just a kiss.”

  “We’ve already kissed twice. In the store and on the bridge.”

  “They don’t count.” He brushed a thumb against her lips, which parted slightly at his touch. “The first was public, so I couldn’t really do my best. And the second was just a test. Let’s see what happens when we both really put our minds to it.”

  “If my mind was even halfwa
y working, I wouldn’t have come out here,” she complained.

  She dragged her hand through those thick curls and looked out over the water. Fishing boats were chugging along the horizon, while another trio of boats, with tourists standing on the decks, had gathered around what he guessed was the pod of Shelter Bay whales. The familiar scents of seaweed and salt rode on the air.

  Being the father of a six-year-old had taught Mac patience. So, although it wasn’t easy, he waited, as seagulls whirled noisily over the boats and pelicans flew by the windshield.

  After what seemed like forever, apparently having made a decision, she unfastened her seat belt, then leaned toward him, touching her fingertips to his cheek.

  Her eyes were as fathomless as the sea. A stormy sea as turbulent emotions swirled in those gray depths. Feeling himself drowning as she moved closer to him, Mac cupped her chin in his fingers. Then tangled his hands in her hair and tilted her head, covering her lips with his, kissing her lightly at first, nipping, teasing, tasting.

  A low moan of arousal trembled against his mouth as she parted her lips, offering more.

  Being male and human, Mac needed no further invitation. His mouth conquered hers as he hauled her onto his lap, held her tight against him, and deepened the kiss.

  He’d known there would be pleasure. But never before had a kiss brought him pain. For the first time in his life, every atom in his body ached. His blood heated, pounding in his head. Boiling in his veins.

  The passion that had been simmering since that first kiss in her pretty little store surged through him. As she responded, hands grasping the front of his shirt while her avid mouth drove him to the brink of sanity, Mac was struck with an almost overwhelming urge to touch her. Everywhere.

  But the one thing he’d learned since returning from Afghanistan was that sometimes a guy just needed to be a grown-up. Which was why, instead of ripping her yellow and white dress apart, sending those little heart-shaped buttons flying all over the cab of his truck, with hands that were not as steady as he would have liked, he cupped her bare shoulders and set her a little bit away, breaking the heated contact.

  “The deal was a kiss,” he said, as her unfocused eyes stared into his.

  “That wasn’t just a kiss.” She glanced down at her hands, which were still clutching his shirt, and slowly loosened her fingers. “That was foreplay.”

  “Sweetheart, if you think that’s foreplay, your ex wasn’t doing it right. That was like a warm-up to the preview of foreplay.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you can be more than a little arrogant?”

  “Sure. I took it as a compliment.”

  “You would.”

  “I may be arrogant, but you’re lethal.”

  He could tell that surprised her. “I am not.” She shook her head. “Damn. I knew this was a mistake. It can’t go anywhere.”

  “Here’s a surprise for you. . . . You’re not going to get any argument about that. You deserve a guy who can put you at the center of his life.”

  He’d already suspected it from their phone conversations. But what she’d said over lunch had pretty much nailed his belief that he really should stay away from this particular siren call. Which didn’t explain what he was doing here with a woman who represented trouble.

  “To treat you the way you deserve to be treated,” he continued. “Right now, Annie, I’m not that guy.”

  She lifted her chin, surprising him by seeming annoyed at that. “Did I say anything about wanting to be at the center of anyone’s life?”

  “No. But face it—you’re not the kind of woman who’ll settle for a hot one-night stand or booty calls. You’re a settle-down-in-a-nice-little-house-with-a-picket-fence type of woman.”

  “As it happens, I already have a very nice house,” she said. “Which also has a picket fence. So, if you think I need you to provide one—”

  “No, that’s not what I was trying to say. And I know I’m going to regret turning down anything you might be inclined to offer, but you’ve got a point about chemistry not being enough. Not for you. And right now, that’s all I can offer.”

  “And to think that I actually liked chemistry in school,” she muttered.

  His body was aching and his mind was engaged in a full-scale war between what he wanted to do and what he should do. Because he was tempted, too tempted, he merely said, “We’d better get you back to work.”

  “I suppose so.” Her annoyance faded, like morning fog lifting, as she scooted over and fastened her seat belt. “What are we going to do about the Fourth?”

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t want to bail on spending the day with Emma.”

  “We’re grown-ups.” He was reminding himself as much as her. “It isn’t like we’ll be having any hot make-out session on the lawn in front of everyone. There’s no reason we can’t still be friends.”

  “As long as we stick to being together in public,” she amended, revealing that she was every bit as tempted as he was.

  “Deal.”

  As they drove back to town in silence, Mac decided that the Fourth of July was looking to be a very long day.

  • • •

  As Mac and Annie were leaving the beach, they passed a white Subaru that was just arriving.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Aimee Pierson asked.

  “Looks like Midnight Mac and Ms. Shepherd, from the scrapbook store,” sixteen-year-old Matt Templeton said.

  “I’ve been hearing they’re an item.” Aimee glanced back over her shoulder at the black pickup truck. “What do you think they’re doing all the way out here?”

  Matt grinned. “Probably the same thing we’re doing.”

  “That’d be cool.” When she smiled back, Matt decided he had to be the luckiest guy on the planet. “Annie Shepherd’s really nice. She deserves to be happy.” She reached across the space between the bucket seats and took hold of his right hand, which had been resting on the knob of the gearshift. “Like us.”

  He’d nearly lost this girl due to his own stupidity, but fortunately, after he’d done some major apologizing, she’d taken him back, and now that he had his driver’s license, he no longer had to depend on her driving him around in her mom’s old Volvo.

  When his mother had first dragged him from Beverly Hills to Shelter Bay last fall, he’d hated the small town with a passion as hot as a thousand suns. Now, as he brought the birthday car his mom and new dad had bought him to a halt at the sand’s edge, Matt decided there was nowhere else on the planet he’d rather be.

  30

  Since he’d told his dad he’d be bringing dinner home, Mac stopped by Bon Temps after taking Annie back to Memories on Main. It was the slow time between the lunch and dinner crowds, so the restaurant was empty, with just Sax behind the bar, washing glasses.

  “Hey, cher. I’m glad you stopped in,” Sax said. “I was just about to call you.”

  Mac claimed a barstool. “What about?”

  “The Fourth. Do you want a beer?”

  Mac figured that after fighting back the urge to have crazy hot sex with Annie Shepherd, he could use something to cool him down. And he still had several hours before he had to go on the air.

  “Sure. Make it Double Dead Guy Ale.”

  “That bad a day?” Sax reached into the cooler, pulled out a dark bottle, popped the top, and handed it over with a frosted glass.

  “Actually sort of mixed. So, what about the Fourth?” he asked after taking a long drink of the ale straight from the bottle. Which cooled his throat, but did nothing for other vital parts of his body, which could heat up just at the thought of Annie.

  “We lost Ollie Nelson last night,” Sax said.

  “Damn. That’s a shame.” The former vet was a favorite down at the VFW, being one of the few who would actually talk about his days in the war. And not just any war. The big one. WWII. “But he was, what, ninety?”

  “Ninety-three.”

  “He looked okay when I sa
w him the other day.”

  “He died in his sleep.” Sax pushed a bowl of what Mac knew to be red-hot beer nuts his way. “Seems his heart just quit beating.”

  “That’s a bummer, but isn’t it the way we’d all like to go?” Mac asked as visions of that arm with the blue Cub Scout uniform sticking out of the pile of bodies in the Afghan market flashed through his mind.

  “I’d rather not go at all.” Sax dipped another glass into the sink, swirling it around in the suds. “But it sure as hell beats a lot of stuff we’ve both seen.” He rinsed the glass and dried it with a towel. “Ollie was going to ride on the parade float to represent his generation. He and your grandfather were the last Shelter Bay vets to have fought in that war.”

  “That’s a sad milestone. To be down to one. I guess there’s going to be a funeral?”

  “A memorial service. Tomorrow. One in the afternoon at Genarro’s, interment in the vets’ section of the Sea View Cemetery, then a funeral lunch/supper thing back here.”

  “I guess I’d better tell Pops. Given that they were close friends.”

  “Yeah. You wouldn’t want him hearing it from someone else. So how is Charlie these days?”

  Mac shrugged as he snagged some nuts and felt the roof of his mouth burst into flame. Knowing that Sax saved the really hot ones as a test, he refused to let on that he felt on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

  “He has good days and bad.” He took another, longer drink of the ale, ignoring Sax’s cocky, satisfied look. “He seems better with Emma. I swear his short-term memory goes up on the scale when he’s talking with her.”

  “Interesting. Then again, little girls have a way of making everything seem better. Speaking of which . . .”

  Mac saw this coming as Sax put down the towel, reached into his pocket, and pulled out an iPhone.

  “We had Grace’s six-month photos taken last week. I still can’t believe she’s mine.”

  He turned the screen toward Mac, showing off the photo of the six-month-old baby, her head covered with a red fuzz a few shades lighter than Kara’s strawberry blond. Her eyes were enormous, seeming to take up much of her small face, and, while they were blue, rather than Kara’s green, he saw her mother’s serious nature in them. In contrast, her toothless grin was as wide as a slice of summer moon.