My One and Only

by Iris Morland

  Gwen wrinkled her nose and took a bite of her muffin. In the two weeks since Lucy had arrived on Hazel Island, she’d become friends with Gwen. It wasn’t hard, considering that Gwen had a natural way of making people feel comfortable. It went with the territory of running a bed-and-breakfast and dealing with the public on a daily business.

  “Is Hayden staying here?” said Lucy, trying not to sound too eager.

  “If he were, I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Aw, come on. I won’t tell. People will find out anyway.” Lucy wasn’t above begging at this point.

  Gwen’s lips twitched. “Sorry to disappoint, but he’s not staying here. We aren’t exactly five-star, so I’m not offended. Plus he probably has bodyguards or whatever else famous people need. And what if there are paparazzi?” Gwen shuddered. “No thanks.”

  “I doubt there will be paps all the way up here.”

  “But there will definitely be fans with phones posting stuff online.” Gwen leaned forward. “So, tell me. Do you get to kiss him?”

  Lucy blushed. “Kiss who?”

  “Now you’re being coy. You know who I mean.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  Gwen let out a squeal that made everyone in the room turn toward their table. Lucy covered her face.

  “I’m so jealous. I think I’ve seen every movie he’s ever been in. Going Home is my favorite. When he comes walking through the fog and tells Janie that he loves her, I cry every single time,” said Gwen.

  Lucy refused to admit that she’d watched that particular scene so many times she’d lost count. Not because it was romantic, but because Lucy had marveled at Hayden’s acting throughout the movie. Going Home had taken his career to the next level and had gotten him that Oscar nomination.

  “I love that scene, but I also loved the ones where he takes his pants off,” quipped Lucy.

  Gwen choked on her coffee and then laughed. “You’re bad, which is why I like you. Just don’t think about his butt when you’re doing scenes with him.”

  Lucy groaned, knowing that was exactly what she was going to think about now.

  When Lucy went to get another cup of coffee and considered what she’d like to do on her day off, she froze when she saw him. No, not Hayden: Carter Roberts. Of all people…

  Carter entered the dining room like he owned the place. When he spotted Lucy, he grinned lazily.

  “Good morning,” he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Sleep well last night?”

  Lucy refused to get snippy with him. That was exactly what he wanted: a reaction. “I did, thank you.” She returned to her table, hoping that would put an end to the conversation.

  But Carter apparently didn’t get the memo as he stood over the table.

  “Did you sleep well?” said Gwen to Carter.

  “I did, yes. You have a great place here. When did you open it?”

  “Five years ago.” Gwen shot a look at Lucy, then said, “Would you like to sit down? I can pull up a chair for you.”

  Carter glanced at Lucy, then drawled, “No, that’s fine. I just wanted some coffee to go. Have a nice day, ladies.”

  When Lucy finally looked over at Gwen, Gwen raised her eyebrows. “What in the world was that about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Really? So why do you look like you wanted to claw out his eyeballs?”

  Lucy sipped her coffee. “I have no interest in Carter Roberts’s eyeballs.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, he seemed like he’d love to enjoy more than your eyeballs, if you catch my meaning.”

  At that statement, Lucy choked on her own coffee. “Are you serious? He just wants to mess with me. I don’t know why. I guess he’s bored or something.”

  “So, there is a story to this. Spill, woman.”

  Lucy sighed and told Gwen about what had happened yesterday: Lucy not recognizing Carter and thinking he was an assistant; how she’d embarrassed herself in front of the cast and crew; how Carter had seemed intent on driving her crazy.

  “He’s the most arrogant, irritating jerk I’ve ever met, and if I didn’t like you, I’d go find another place to stay so I didn’t have to be near him,” finished Lucy in a huff.

  “Wow, and all that from yesterday. I’m impressed.”

  “There’s nothing impressive about him or this situation. And if you’re just going to be annoying—”

  Gwen put up her hands, laughing. “Don’t flounce off in a huff. I’m teasing you. Although I don’t know why you’d be mad at somebody like Carter Roberts flirting with you. Did you look at him?”

  “Handsomeness doesn’t erase his terrible personality.”

  “Honey, he has more money than God, he’s hot, and he’s got muscles for days. Who cares about his personality?”

  “I had no idea you were so shallow.” Lucy smiled, though, and after telling Gwen for the thousandth time that Carter had not and would never flirt with her, she left to wander around downtown.

  It was a perfect June day: cloudless blue sky, a light breeze blowing off the water not even a half mile away. Hazel Island was small enough that it consisted of one single town, and its downtown area encompassed five blocks total. The shops were like something from fifty years ago: ice cream shops, bookstores, and independent grocery stores. A clockmaker on one corner and a handmade jewelry boutique on another.

  Tourists and locals alike mingled and strolled. The area was particularly busy lately due to the influx of cast and crew working on The Last Goodbye.

  Lucy wandered into the local bookstore to peruse the shelves. The interior smelled like ink and paper, and a fat gray cat lounged in a bed near the old-fashioned cash register. When Lucy scratched behind the cat’s ears, its tail swished but it kept its eyes closed.

  A few other people were inside, but it was so quiet that Lucy felt like she was entering some kind of sacred shrine. Or a library on steroids.

  When she reached the romance section, she had to restrain a squeal of delight when she found an array of old-school romances from the seventies and eighties in their bodice-ripping glory: in rainbow hues, the covers depicted men with bulging arms, their shirts open to the wind as women swooned in their arms. Some of the women stood in the strangest poses; Lucy had to cover her mouth to keep from giggling like an idiot.

  She looked up and saw a romance from one of her favorite authors that was out of print. She stood on her tiptoes to reach it, but she was too short. She growled under her breath. This was one of many instances where she hated being short. Where was a tall person when she needed one?

  She stood on her tiptoes one last time to try to reach the book—as if by sheer force of will, she’d grow three more inches in the process—when a voice said, “Let me get that for you.”

  A man’s arm reached over her head and plucked the book from the shelf. Turning, Lucy was about to thank the Good Samaritan when she came face-to-face with Hayden Masterson himself.

  Hayden. Masterson. Standing in front of her with a book titled Seducing His Wicked Virgin.

  He looked as good as he had a year ago when Lucy had met him briefly: his hair fell over his forehead at the perfect angle to amplify his eyes, and his jaw seemed like it was cut from marble. When he smiled, it was like getting hit in the chest with a missile.

  “You know, I don’t know much about book titles,” he said in that voice that had seduced so many women across the world, “but isn’t ‘wicked virgin’ kind of a contradiction here?”

  “Um,” was the only reply Lucy could come up with.

  “Although since I don’t read romances, maybe you could explain. Is the virgin supposed to be wicked?” He gave her a wink that she was pretty sure made her burst into flames.

  She was wondering why no one was running for the fire extinguisher when she realized she hadn’t even responded to his question. “Um, usually the heroine becomes wicked once she meets the hero. It’s like an awakening.” Her face flamed. God, she sounded like an idiot.

  “Now I’m intrigued,�
� he said. He leaned against one of the bookshelves, all handsome nonchalance. “Maybe I should read one.”

  “More men should read them.”

  He chuckled. “What’s your name? You seem familiar, but I never forget a pretty face.” When his gaze slowly traveled up the length of her body, Lucy wasn’t entirely certain how she was still standing. She also didn’t want to point out to him that he had already met her. It would only make things more awkward.

  “My name is Lucy Younger,” she stuttered. “I’m actually your costar in The Last Goodbye.”

  His eyes widened. “What? That’s where I know you from! Christ, I’m sorry. I’m an ass. You should’ve told me right away.”

  “It’s fine. I wouldn’t expect you to know who I was,” she said honestly.

  “No excuses. I need to make it up to you. How about we get a drink sometime? I think there might be two bars here. We could figure out which one is better.”

  “Okay,” she said, sounding so breathless that she’d feel ridiculous about it if she were more coherent.

  By the time Hayden said goodbye, Lucy was pretty sure she had died and gone to heaven. Hayden Masterson had asked her out. On a date! Well, not a date date. Just a drink between castmates. She shouldn’t get too excited about that.

  But excitement raced through her veins until she did a little happy dance right there in the stacks. She didn’t care if she looked like an idiot. Hayden Masterson had asked her out for a drink! The man she’d been dreaming about for an entire year! She couldn’t believe it. It was too good to be true.

  After she’d paid for her new favorite book, Seducing His Wicked Virgin, Lucy stood outside the bookstore and smiled so widely that her cheeks hurt. She headed back to the bed-and-breakfast to tell Erin and Gwen about how she’d seen Hayden Masterson when she noticed a crowd had formed about a block away, near the grocery store.

  Lucy hurried toward the crowd, thinking it was Hayden, but she stopped in her tracks when she realized the crowd wasn’t there for Hayden: it was Carter Roberts.

  Chapter Four

  Carter was no stranger to people coming up to him and asking for autographs and photos. When he’d first started playing for the Seattle Orcas, he’d always been surprised whenever someone had actually recognized him. But in the years since he’d first been drafted, he’d gotten used to the attention. It came with the territory of being one of the best ballplayers in the league.

  “Can I take a selfie with you?” a boy who looked maybe ten years old asked. He already had his phone out.

  “Sure,” said Carter. He draped his arm over the boy’s shoulder, took his phone, and snapped the photo for him. That resulted in the crowd growing larger, with more and more people asking for photos.

  “When are you going to play again?” a man about Carter’s age asked him. “The team’s playing is shit without you pitching.”

  Carter’s good mood vanished at the reminder of his injured shoulder. “That’s all the autographs and stuff for today. Thanks, guys.” He waved and stepped around the perimeter of the crowd. Luckily Hazel Island simply didn’t have enough people here to mob him, and they were too polite to follow him—except for the same guy who had asked him about his return.

  “Do you think you won’t ever play again?” the man asked, clearly on a mission to get an answer. “I’ve heard rumors that you tore your rotator cuff so bad that you won’t ever throw again. Is that true?”

  Carter, refusing to be baited despite his great desire to punch this guy in the face, said, “I know as much as you do.”

  “So is that a yes? Or a no?”

  Carter stopped, the man almost bumping into him. “How about I tell you that it’s none of your damn business? Does that clarify things for you?”

  The man blinked. He finally nodded; he didn’t follow Carter when he stalked away. Anger bubbled inside him: anger about his injury, about how he really didn’t know if he’d ever get to play again.

  Baseball was his life; it was in his blood. It had gotten him to where he was today. Without it, he would’ve been just some poor kid struggling to survive in a broken family. He’d probably be some alcoholic bum like his father—the father that had also seen the talent in his son and had pushed him to play baseball in the first place.

  Carter had walked a block when he saw Lucy Younger. Based on her expression, she’d seen and heard everything that had just happened.

  Putting on his easy grin, Carter approached her. “Following me, spitfire?” he quipped.

  She shot him a confused look. “If I am, I’m obviously not very good at it.”

  She looked up at him through those absurdly long eyelashes she had, and it almost made Carter forget his anger. He didn’t know what it was about this woman, but she was like some fairy creature he wanted to bottle for himself.

  “Admit it, you’re obsessed with me,” he said.

  “Good Lord, you’re amazingly arrogant.” She shot him a strange look. “What was that all about?”

  “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “That guy following you. You looked like you were about to deck him.”

  “So what if I was?”

  “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

  That made him genuinely smile. “Only with you.”

  Lucy ran her finger along the spine of a book she was carrying, catching Carter’s attention. He snagged the book from her grasp before she could protest. He laughed as he read the title.

  “Is this what you’re into? I’m surprised,” he said. “Isn’t ‘wicked virgin’ an oxymoron?”

  Lucy tried to grab the book, but Carter dangled it over her head. She growled like an angry cat. “Give me my book back.”

  “Only if you ask me nicely.”

  Her green eyes sparkled, which only further improved Carter’s mood. He hadn’t had this much fun with a woman since…well, he couldn’t remember. He’d always preferred that his women be beautiful and not much else. And there were always plenty of beautiful women around when you were an athlete. Carter had gotten to the point that he hadn’t cared if a woman wanted to share in his fame or had been attracted to him because he had more money than God. They’d always had arrangements that had suited Carter’s nomadic lifestyle.

  “I’m not asking you nicely. Give me my book back,” said Lucy. She put her hands on her hips.

  Carter considered. Feeling generous, he finally returned her book to her. “You’re welcome,” he said.

  “Yes, thank you so much for returning the item you stole from me. You’re the height of chivalry.” Rolling her eyes, Lucy waved a goodbye and headed in the opposite direction.

  Carter took in her lithe figure, the way her slim hips swayed as she walked. Her hair was the color of autumn, he realized: golden tinged with red. It was such a ridiculously maudlin thought that he snorted. She’d tear your eyes out before she’d let you touch her anyway.

  Carter wandered downtown for a while before he finally ended up near one of the cliffs that overlooked the water. Waves lapped against the shore far below while seagulls screeched and dove into the water. A boat sat in the water not far off from the cliffs’ edge, most likely a fisherman.

  No one else was around; the silence enveloped him, forcing thoughts to the surface that he’d prefer to bury deep underground.

  The day that he’d injured his shoulder was branded into his memory forever. He was one of the best pitchers in the league. With a throw of ninety-eight to one hundred miles per hour, there were few who could manage to hit a ball with him throwing. But Carter had always wanted to be better, faster, stronger. He hadn’t been able to surpass one hundred miles per hour, and it drove him insane.

  It didn’t help when a newbie pitcher drafted into the Los Angeles Bears made the news when he’d thrown faster than Carter ever had. Carter began to practice harder than ever before. His trainer had cautioned him that he would hurt himself if he didn’t let up, but Carter hadn’t listened.

  He wished
he’d listened. Christ, he’d been so fucking stupid.

  It had been at practice. Carter had thrown multiple pitches at his average speed, over and over and over. Frustrated over the article about the damn Bears pitcher, Carter threw what would end up being his last real pitch.

  He remembered the popping sound the most, even more than the searing pain. He’d thrown that damn ball with all of his strength—and then a pop, a tear, and so much pain that he’d fallen to his knees in agony.

  Carter rubbed his aching right shoulder. It always ached these days, especially when it was damp. Ironic, given that he lived in one of the dampest regions in the United States.

  He’d done as his orthopedic surgeon had told him and had let his shoulder heal. He’d taken it slowly with physical therapy. He’d played by the rules for a year, but during his last checkup, his surgeon had shaken his head and told him that it wasn’t looking good for his return.

  I’m giving it another few months. We’ll see how you keep healing. But I doubt you’ll be able to throw like you used to.

  Those words haunted Carter. His career, his livelihood, everything—over in the blink of an eye. Over because he’d been arrogant and pigheaded and had thought he was invincible.

  A burst of anger made him pick up a rock and throw it into the water. But since it was using his left arm, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he’d hoped. He threw a few more and felt slightly better. But then his right shoulder started aching more, reminding him that if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up right back where he’d been a year ago.

  Carter nursed his third beer of the night. It was the only way he was going to get through this cast party, where Hayden Masterson was the main attraction. The entire cast and crew were gathered around him like he was the second coming of Christ. He was surprised no one was drooling or weeping at the actor’s feet. Then again, the night was young. He’d give it an hour before someone burst into tears.

  If Carter was honest, his eyes weren’t so much on Hayden but the little spitfire hanging on his every word. Lucy Younger wore a little black dress that somehow managed to be both modest and sexy at the same time. It showed off her toned arms and legs, and the black set off the creamy paleness of her skin. A light blush colored her cheeks, and when Hayden said something, she threw her head back and laughed.