Gansett Island Boxed Set Books 1-16 (Gansett Island Series)

by Marie Force

  “I didn’t go to college because by the time she died, my scholarship was long gone, and I had a choice of holding on to this place or paying for school. Since I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, I chose to keep the house.” He finally looked her right in the eye. “I’ve never regretted that.”

  “This is a great place. I totally get why you’d want to keep it.”

  “I know your parents think I’ve been standing still all this time, working the same job I did as a kid, but that’s not the case. I paid off that second mortgage—and the first one—years ago. I own this place free and clear.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me.”

  “It matters to them.”

  “They just want what’s best for me. I told them they have to trust me to figure that out for myself.”

  He released a frustrated growl and rolled his hands into fists that he propped on his hips. “I really want to touch you right now, but I’m filthy.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Smelling of varnish and paint thinner, his hands framed her face and tilted it up to meet his intense gaze. He kissed her forehead, her nose, and then her lips. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure your happiness, to make you smile, to hear the laugh that seems to come all the way from your toes.”

  “Luke...”

  “I don’t know if I’m what’s best for you. Only you know that. But I guarantee you no one else will ever want you the way I do.”

  Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips found hers in a hungry, desperate kiss that had her clinging to him. Then, he slowed it down, softening his lips and teasing with his tongue.

  Sydney dipped her fingers under his T-shirt, finding the warm skin on his back. A tremble rippled through him, and she loved knowing she’d had that effect on him.

  He tore his lips free and turned his attention to her neck, sucking gently on her skin and running his tongue back and forth. “I want you, Syd.” His raspy whisper sent goose bumps down her spine, and she strained against him, needing to get closer. He withdrew from her, grabbed her hand and made for the garage door, stopping on the way by to scoop up her backpack.

  Sydney half ran, half walked to keep up with him as he closed the distance between the garage and house. She’d never seen him quite like this before, and her heart beat fast with excitement and anticipation.

  “Luke, I—”

  The moment they were in the house, his mouth came down hard on hers, stealing the words right off her lips. He moved fast to get rid of clothing until they were both naked and trembling. While his hands moved over her reverently, he kissed her as if he’d never get enough.

  Sydney gave herself over to him, willing to go anywhere he wanted to take her.

  With his hands on her bottom, he lifted her and drew her nipple into his hot mouth as he walked them into the bedroom. He lowered her to the bed and came down on top of her, feasting on one breast and then the other.

  Sydney raised her hips, seeking him.

  Suddenly, he stopped, rested his head on her chest and took several deep breaths.

  She ran her fingers through his hair. “What is it?”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I’m being too rough with you.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I put a mark on you,” he said, tracing a finger over a red spot on her breast.

  “I don’t care.”

  He followed his finger with his lips. “I do.”

  “Don’t treat me like I’m fragile, Luke. Please don’t.”

  “You’re not fragile.” Brushing the hair back from her face, he kissed her. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m not. I fall apart over the slightest thing.”

  “Coming home to find your dog gravely ill is not a slight thing, and you didn’t fall apart. You held it together all night long.”

  “And then I fell apart.”

  “Which is perfectly normal.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I say so,” he said, drawing her into another heated kiss.

  “Make love to me, Luke, and don’t hold back.”

  “So you want it hard and fast?” he asked with a sexy grin.

  “I’ll take whatever you want to give.”

  He kissed his way from her lips to her neck to the slight abrasion on her breast. “Is that so?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  As he sucked her nipple deep into his mouth, he slid two fingers into her and pressed the heel of his hand against her clit, teasing and pressing and backing off until she was out of her mind.

  The combined sensations built and grew and finally burst, sending Sydney spiraling into orgasm, sharp and hot and intense. By the time she returned to earth, he hovered above her, his cock poised at her entrance.

  “Welcome back,” he said, looking down at her with amusement dancing in his eyes.

  Sydney reached for him and tugged his mouth down to hers. “Now, Luke. Please.”

  “How can I say no when you ask me so nicely?” He flexed his hips and sank into her in one deep thrust.

  Sydney gasped and clutched his backside to hold him still as she struggled to accommodate him.

  “Babe,” he said through gritted teeth.

  When she released him, he withdrew and then pounded into her.

  Sweat beaded on his brow and his breath came in short pants, but he never let up in the fierce possession.

  “Come for me, Syd,” he urged. Reaching between them, he coaxed another explosive climax from her before he threw his head back and let himself go.

  For a long time afterward, he rested on top of her, breathing hard.

  Syd wiped the dampness from his brow and kissed his forehead. “Thanks for taking me in.”

  He grunted out a laugh. “It’s a terrible hardship, but somehow I’ll get by.”

  Chapter 16

  Grant knew there was nothing to be gained by drinking himself into a stupor, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Whatever it took to find some relief from the relentless pain that had started when he saw his Abby with another man who seemed to think he had some sort of claim on her.

  With the wave of his hand, Grant ordered another beer.

  Chelsea, the bartender at the Beachcomber, set the bottle down in front of him. “You’re really slugging them back tonight, Grant.”

  He graced her with his most charming smile. “I’m thirsty.”

  “How’re you getting home?”

  Shrugging, he took another big drink of beer. “I’ll call a cab.”

  She scooped up the keys he’d left on the bar—keys to the motorcycle he’d borrowed from Mac. “I’ll hang on to these. Just in case you forget.” Leaving him with a saucy grin, she moved on to other customers.

  Grant ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating the complete mess he’d made of his life. The more he drank, the worse he felt and the more he realized he had no one to blame but himself. He’d taken it all for granted—his career, his relationship with Abby, his future. Everything.

  He had no idea how long he sat there staring at his beer bottle before someone slid onto the stool next to him.

  Chelsea put a bottle of light beer down in front of the newcomer.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  Jarred by the familiar voice, Grant turned to find his father sitting next to him. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Heard you were attempting to tie one on over here and figured I’d rather come get you here than bail your ass out of jail.”

  “You’ve never had to bail my ass out of jail. That was Mac and Joe.”

  Big Mac snorted and took a swig of beer. “That’s right. You were always my good boy—the smart one.”

  “For all the good it’s done me.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, my life has gone to shit.”

  “How so?”

  “Really, Dad, do I ha

ve to spell it out for you?”

  “I guess you do. Catch me up. Last I knew, you were flying high with an Oscar in one hand and the girl you loved holding the other. What happened?”

  “Wish I knew.”

  “If you don’t know, who does?”

  “I fucked up, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m a total and complete fuck-up.” Grant grabbed his bottle, finished off the beer and signaled for Chelsea to bring him another one.

  She looked to his father, who shook his head.

  “Goddamn it, Dad! You can’t do that. I’m not a child!”

  “Then quit acting like one.”

  Grant couldn’t remember his father ever using that particular tone with him. With Mac, Adam and Evan, yes, but never with him. Suddenly, he was stone-cold sober, and the pain resurfaced with a relentless disregard for his desire to forget all about what he’d seen earlier—his woman with her new man. His eyes burned, and Grant knew he had to get out of there, or he was going to lose it in front of the most important person in his life.

  He tossed some bills on the bar and walked out. The cool air blowing in off the ocean helped to further sober him up. Clearly, he hadn’t had anywhere near enough to drink if he was still focused on Abby’s indifference toward him earlier. After all they’d been to each other for most of their lives, how could she look at him the same way she would a stranger off the street?

  A hand on his arm stopped him from staggering down the stairs from the Beachcomber’s back porch.

  Grant spun around, prepared to do battle, but all the fight went out of him when he saw his father towering over him. “Let me go,” he said, attempting to wrench his arm free of his father’s grasp.

  “What’s going on, son? This isn’t like you.”

  “It’s more like me than you think.” He’d been drinking way too much lately, and he knew it. But he had to so something, anything, to numb the pain.

  “Come on, pal. Let’s go home and get some sleep. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

  Because he couldn’t think of a better plan, Grant allowed his father to propel him to the truck, which was parked on the street.

  “I forgot to get the keys to the bike from Chelsea,” Grant muttered as they went past Mac’s motorcycle in the parking lot.

  “I got ’em.” Big Mac held the truck’s passenger door for Grant and then walked around the front to the driver’s side.

  Grant tipped his head back, hoping he could make it home without puking. That would be the perfect end to a perfect day. When his father reached across him to buckle his seat belt, Grant felt like a total moron. “Sorry.”

  “Ain’t no big thing.”

  The sound of laughter outside the truck caught their attention.

  Big Mac gasped. “What the...”

  Grant and his father stared at the duo walking past—Ned, arm in arm with a woman, totally oblivious to anyone watching them as they were deep in conversation peppered with frequent laughter. Grant had never seen his father’s best friend looking so animated.

  “Is that Maddie’s mother?” Grant whispered, as if they might hear him.

  “Sure is. Well, I’ll be damned.”

  After Ned and Francine were past the truck, Grant glanced over at his father, who looked like he’d been struck by lightning.

  “What’s going on with them?” Grant asked.

  “I have no earthly idea.” Big Mac snapped out of his stupor to start the truck. “But let me tell you, if he’s somehow managed to work things out with her, there’s certainly hope for you, boyo.”

  The comment struck Grant’s funny bone, and before long, his father joined in. A good laugh with his dad was exactly what Grant needed.

  Ned had never been happier than he was during the evening with Francine. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The last time he’d been this happy was the last time he’d been with her. She just did it for him, and she always had. It was that simple.

  He’d taken her for a fancy dinner at Domenic’s and let her fuss over the prices as he plied her with seafood and wine. Afterward, they came back to town and took a walk along the waterfront. They’d talked about everything—except the one thing Ned most wanted to know. How had Bobby Chester managed to make her forget all about him during the course of one weekend?

  He couldn’t exactly blurt out the question over clams and white wine. And after such a wonderful evening, he was terrified of scaring her off by reopening an old wound.

  They approached the driveway that led to Francine’s place, and Ned slowed his steps to prolong their time together. All too soon, they reached the foot of the stairs that led to her place.

  “Would you like to come up for a cup of coffee?” she asked

  “Sure.” Relieved their evening wasn’t over quite yet, Ned followed her up the stairs into the small apartment.

  “Maddie lived here a few years,” Francine said as she measured the grounds and poured water into the coffeemaker. “She was living here when she met Mac.”

  “I remember,” Ned said, amused to realize she was nervous and chattering to fill the empty spaces.

  As the coffee began to brew, Francine turned and leaned against the counter. “You haven’t asked me about Bobby.”

  Ned suppressed a gasp at the sudden introduction of the one topic they’d avoided during their hours together. “I don’t figure it’s any of my beeswax.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, if I hadn’t met him, perhaps I would’ve been married to you these last thirty or so years.”

  Uncertain of what to do about his sweaty palms, Ned jammed his hands into his pockets. “Ya reckon so?”

  Francine tipped her head to study him. “You were going to ask me, weren’t you?”

  “Mighta thought about it. Once or twice.”

  Her smile was sad and didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t regret marrying him. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have my girls. Even though we had it kind of rough after he left, somehow we made it through, and they’re good girls.”

  “I don’t know Tiffany, but Maddie’s a lovely gal. She’s made my friend’s boy very happy, which makes me happy.”

  Her lips flattened with displeasure. “You’re in awfully tight with those McCarthys.”

  “Big Mac is my best friend. Has been since long before I first laid eyes on ya. His kids are my kids.”

  “His wife had me thrown in jail.”

  Ned kept his tone gentle when he said, “Now, Francine, we both know better than that, don’t we?” He knew full well that Linda had reported Francine only after she passed a fifth bad check in the bar at McCarthy’s Gansett Inn, and that Linda had agonized over the decision. But he kept that information to himself, knowing it wouldn’t matter much to Francine after spending three months in jail.

  She turned away to reach for coffee mugs. “I should’ve known you’d side with her.”

  “I ain’t on no one’s side. Shit happens. The past belongs in the past.”

  Facing him again, she said, “If that’s the case, why’d you come here today?”

  Cornered, Ned had no idea how to answer that. “Well, I, uh...”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, he closed the distance between them and was gratified when her eyes widened in surprise. “Does matter.” He reached out to touch the soft hair she still dyed red. “I came here today because I never stopped thinking aboutcha or that summer we spent together.”

  “Oh. Really?” That last word came out more like a croak.

  “Really.”

  “Even after I married Bobby?”

  “’Specially then. Never could understand what ya saw in that smooth-talking charmer.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. He was the opposite of you in every possible way.”

  “I know I wasn’t as handsome or smooth or full of sweet talk the way he was.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  Ned didn’t want to be offended, even after all this time, but there it was.

  She rested her hand on his chest, and he wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was beating. “You were loyal and faithful and kind. I learned the hard way that those qualities are far more important than handsome or smooth or sweet-talking.”

  “Why didn’t ya come to me? After he left, why didn’t ya come?”

  “Aw, Ned. I couldn’t have done that to you. I walked away—left you without so much as a howdy do. I can’t believe you expected me to show up at your doorstep with two little girls in tow after what I did to you.”

  “I woulda taken ya all. I woulda given you and yer girls everything.”

  Her eyes sparkled with tears. “Don’t say that. You don’t mean that.”

  With his hand on her chin, he compelled her to look at him. “I mean that.” Before he could talk himself out of it, he brushed a soft kiss over her lips and drew her into a hug. “I mean it.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.

  “Foolish pride,” he said with a rough chuckle. “Stupid, stupid pride. For all the good it did me.”

  “I had my pride, too. I was convinced he’d come back. I probably would’ve sent you away.”

  “And now?” He drew back so he could look down at her upturned face. “Are ya still waiting for him to come back?”

  She shook her head. “Not anymore, but Tiffany has been trying to find him for a while now.”

  The statement sent a shaft of shock and fear through Ned. “Is that so?” he managed to ask.

  “She has no memory of him. I suppose it’s natural she’d be curious.”

  “Does Maddie know she’s looking for him?”

  Francine shook her head. “Maddie remembers him. She remembers him leaving. The poor thing sat in the window watching the ferry landing for weeks, hoping he’d come back. I don’t think she’d be happy to hear her sister is looking for him.”

  “Do ya hope she finds him?”

  “I want Tiffany to get the closure she needs. Beyond that, I don’t hope for much of anything anymore.”

  “It don’t have to be that way, Francine. Ya got lots of years left to live yet. No reason they can’t be happy years.”

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