Unsuitable

by Lavinia Kent

  Unsuitable is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2019 by Lavinia Kent

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Loveswept is a registered trademark and the loveswept colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN 9780525479925

  Cover design: Carrie Divine/Seductive Designs

  Cover illustration: Viorel Sima/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

  v5.4

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Dedication

  By Lavinia Kent

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Would you like to dance?”

  Jordan turned at the question, taking a steadying breath. Her mood was foul after her conversation with Ms. Simpson—for some reason the young woman always left her feeling insecure—and she did not need to blister some poor man. Trying to find equilibrium, she let her eyes linger. As she scanned the man beside her, her mind ran a quick check. No, she didn’t know him. Or, at least, she didn’t think she did. Sometimes it was hard to be sure. Tall. Fit. Well muscled, but lean. Mid-thirties, close enough to her age. Dark hair, short, but curly. Clear brown eyes. Quite attractive—hot even. He was completely her type, only her body didn’t seem to agree. Despite the steady ache that had taken hold of her girly parts these last weeks, there was not a single tingle.

  “No,” she answered.

  He blinked, liquid eyes staring straight at her. Her reply was unexpected.

  She checked her girly parts again. Not a twitch. Should she give him a chance anyway? It had been so long. Her body wanted sex. It reminded her each night as she drifted off to sleep.

  Still…

  If there was no spark, there was no spark. It couldn’t be forced no matter how much she might wish—and she knew it was not just her mood.

  She met his gaze levelly.

  He stared back, clearly not believing her, waiting for her to change her mind.

  And she couldn’t really blame him. She’d been standing by herself staring across the crowded dance floor, watching the whirl and wonder of colorful summer dresses under the large tent. She gave him a light smile, then shook her head again and glanced away, dismissing him. An explanation was not required. No man wanted to be told that you just weren’t into him, not that she seemed to actually be drawn to any man these days.

  “Can I get you a…?” His eyes dropped slightly, focusing on the curve of her breasts rising above the white cotton of the off-the-shoulder top.

  “No, thank you.” She cut him off, holding her barely touched flute of prosecco in front of her face, drawing his gaze back upward.

  He met her eyes, saw the finality of her response, shrugged and turned away, likely searching for a friendlier target.

  A movement to the side caught her attention. A tall, stately brunette in a slinky red dress strode toward her, amusement flashing in chocolate eyes. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  Jordan shook her head, loose hair brushing her cheek, at Veronica’s approach. “Sometimes I don’t feel like being nice. And I wasn’t actually rude. It’s always better to say too little than too much.”

  Veronica’s eyes moved to where the man stood across the tent, chatting up a young redhead. “But he was cute. Why…?”

  “Don’t I want to dance?” Jordan turned toward the dance floor, staring past it, through the gathering dusk, down to the long lawn to the sea grass and the gray ocean in the distance. “Do I actually need a reason? Can I just not feel like it? I did have an unpleasant conversation about the foundation a few minutes ago, but that wasn’t the reason. I simply didn’t want to dance.”

  Veronica sighed, audible even over the beat of the dance music. “Come on, we’re not talking about dancing, Jordan. And if it were one time I’d accept that, but it’s been years since I’ve seen you dance, seen you look happy.”

  Jordan lifted her wine and sipped it. “That’s not true. We have a good time on our TV marathon nights and I had a wonderful time at Ellen’s baby shower. I’m happy, don’t pretend otherwise. And you know why it’s been so long since I’ve danced.” She copied Veronica’s exact intonation.

  Veronica rolled her eyes in exaggeration. “Yes, I know. Your husband was sick and passed away. We’ve had this conversation a dozen times. I understand. I was there with you through all of it, but it’s been over two years since his death and I’m starting to worry. Yes, you may have happy moments, but only if you’re taken out of yourself. I want to see you happy all of the time.”

  Another sip. Another gaze down to the water. She wished she could hear it over the band. “Nobody is happy all the time. But you know…I woke today and I heard the waves out my bedroom window. I’ve heard them every day for years, maybe for my whole life, but today I really heard them. I just lay there listening for twenty minutes, feeling the peace that they brought. I mean, they’ve always brought me peace, but today…I heard their individuality. When I listened, I could hear just how different they were. Some splash. Some rumble. Some lap. Some pound.”

  Veronica wrinkled her brow. “Okay…what does this have to do with you not dancing with a cute man? I know you’ve read some shape-shifter romances, but I do hope you’re not waiting for your own selkie to rise from those rumbling waves.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t complain if one walked up nude from the beach. And don’t pretend you don’t read them, too. But no, I’m not expecting a selkie. I was just trying to explain that I’m feeling more alive and maybe soon I’ll be ready for hot men someplace other than in the pages of a book. It might not even be that long. I’m actually starting to dream about men—very vivid dreams. I just haven’t found the right one in real life.” She tried to look reassuring. It was hard when it had been so long since she’d seen a man, a living man, and wondered what his lips felt like, what his hands could do, since she’d let her eyes drop to the front of his pants and imagined. Her body might wake in the middle of the night, screaming with need, but it refused to respond to anyone she met. It was hard to imagine kissing an actual man. “I’m sure I’ll feel like dating again soon.” And she really hoped she would. She did want to find men, real men, interesting men, men who made her feel attractive, men who made her feel smart.

  Veronica wasn’t buying it. “Come on, you know as well as I do that if I don’t push you, you’ll never get out of that big chair overlooki
ng the sea. How often have I found you there with your nose deep in a book? Books are wonderful, but they are not life.”

  And wasn’t that true. In books when the heroine found the older, handsome man he didn’t die before she turned forty—at least, not in the books she liked to read. And the heroine certainly wasn’t looked down upon for marrying him, made to feel she could never measure up. Of course, they normally got married at the end of the book so who knew what actually happened afterward. But in her imagination, she knew exactly what happened, knew what happily ever after meant. And it did not include becoming a widow at thirty-four.

  “You’re drifting away into your own thoughts again, Jordan. I know the last few years have been hard, but it’s time for you to get your groove back and get out of your head. You need to live.”

  “And if I don’t want to?” The truth was, she did want to, but Veronica was making her feel argumentative and frustrated. “And who says ‘get your groove back’?”

  “So I was watching movies this weekend and it stuck. And it fits. I think a hot, steamy lover is exactly what you need. Don’t give me that look. You don’t have to be ready to have good sex. Okay, yes, you have to be ready, but that’s a physical thing and any man who’s worth it will make sure you’re dripping before…”

  Jordan glanced about, letting her eyes wander over the colorful, happy crowd. Forbidden Cove was not a large town and she was tired of being talked about. She was definitely not going to discuss the fact that she was incredibly horny but she couldn’t find a man who did it for her. “This isn’t the place to talk about it. Look, I promise I’ll think about it. Really, really think about it. I don’t want to stay locked in my castle forever. I’m not an ice princess. You know that better than anyone. Just give me a little more time.”

  Veronica glanced across the tent, froze for a moment, then turned back, a fixed smile on her face. “I’ll give you time, but not much,” she said. “I’m going to come over this week and we’re going to talk. If I don’t feel like you’re trying I’m going to start sending strippers to your door.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  Veronica smiled.

  “Okay, you would. Come over and we can take a walk on the beach and then I’ll make some tea.”

  “No. We’re going to go out to lunch and we’re going to drink wine, a lot of wine. If you can dress to come here, you can put on proper clothes and go out during the day.”

  “You make it sound like I don’t shower.”

  “When was the last time you went out for lunch?”

  That was easy. “Last Wednesday. I saw you at Le Chat Noir.”

  “That was a planning meeting for A Place for Family and it doesn’t count. When was the last time you went out just to have fun, to eat something you didn’t cook, to show off a new shirt or new shoes? I assume you still love shoes.”

  Jordan glanced down at her high stilettos. She spent her life in tennis shoes and loafers but she didn’t regret these for a moment. High and red, with thin little straps that crossed up the front. They were a work of art. “I’m not even going to comment on that.”

  Veronica grinned. “I didn’t think you would. I’ll come by your place Tuesday and pick you up.”

  “I might be busy…” Her voice trailed off at Veronica’s look. “Fine. Tuesday. Now why don’t you go find somebody to dance with yourself?”

  Veronica’s eyes moved over the crowd speculatively. “Maybe I will.”

  * * *

  —

  She was here.

  Jordan. Jordan Robinson. Mrs. Robinson.

  Clay could only stare.

  He hadn’t been expecting to see her and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

  When had he last seen her? He wasn’t sure. He knew he’d seen her at her husband’s funeral, but he’d been one man in a crowd offering condolences. He had seen her since then, but only in the most passing of circumstances, the barest of glimpses at a fundraiser or charity event, perhaps once when he’d been leaving a building and she was entering. It was hard to remember exactly; although he’d felt this same jolt each and every time.

  Clay let his eyes settle upon her lush curves, let them caress her as his palms itched to. She was hands down the most sensuous woman he’d ever known. He’d thought so the first time he’d seen her and it was even truer today, ten years later.

  He’d never been quite sure what it was about her, but he’d always found her completely irresistible. Her appearance certainly didn’t hurt. The sleek dark hair that always escaped whatever hairstyle she tried to force it into. The pale skin that made him think of a rich vanilla milkshake—and she had always smelled faintly like cookies baking. Those big green-flecked golden eyes a man could get lost in and never want to be found. Red puffy lips that looked like they’d just been kissed and were ready to be kissed again. His gaze drifted lower, to the hint of full cleavage over the low white shirt, the nipped-in waist—could it possibly be as small as it had once been?—those boyish hips he’d heard her complain about. And those legs. Fuck, those legs. His cock jerked just remembering how endless they’d been when she wore that white bikini at the pool the first time he’d seen her.

  He swallowed, trying to relax, to avoid full arousal.

  Still, his eyes tracked her.

  If anything, she might be even thinner now, and not necessarily in a good way. She looked tired and not as filled with life as he remembered. It was hard to imagine this woman throwing back her head and laughing until she couldn’t breathe, until she turned red and her eyes watered.

  Still, there was something about her that made him want to pull her into his arms and…He had to work hard to push against the images that flooded his brain. When you’d been fantasizing about a woman so long it was hard to let go.

  Fuck. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. He was no longer the boy he’d been when they’d first met, when she’d dismissed him as no more than another teenager.

  That was the past. This was now. And he’d never been a man to avoid risk.

  He put down his empty glass and stepped forward.

  And stopped.

  Shit.

  A curvaceous blonde in a skintight black dress broke from the crowd and came to his side, sliding an arm about his waist, cupping his ass.

  Lydia.

  His date for the evening. The woman who had invited him here.

  “Clay, you naughty man. You are always disappearing just when I need you to refill my drink,” she teased as she held up her empty glass. “Why don’t you make it up to me with a walk down to the beach? We probably won’t be back here again this year and the sound of waves is so romantic. Maybe we can skinny-dip.” She cast him a flirtatious glance.

  Given that he’d never even seen her get her hair wet, that would be quite something. It really was time to make it clear that they were just having fun. He’d seen that certain look in her eyes a few too many times recently—a calculating look, as if she was trying to figure out how many zeroes he had in his bank account—and he didn’t want her to think of him as a prize to be achieved. “Lydia, you know—” he began.

  She cut him off. “Come on, Clay. Grab a bottle of champagne and let’s head down to the water. You can talk to me there—if talking is what you want to do.”

  He looked back toward the corner where Jordan stood, hidden by the crowd. He wasn’t going to talk to her tonight.

  He let his gaze continue about the tent. It was filled with friends and business colleagues.

  Then he looked at Lydia. She was very capable of causing a scene. “Fine. Let’s take a walk.”

  * * *

  —

  Jordan watched as Veronica walked away. She should probably head home. It wasn’t late, but her mood had not improved, and she’d shown her face and talked to almost everyone she wanted to. It wasn’t like there were any new
and exciting men here. That was the problem with living in a small town. Even during the summer, when everyone came out from the city, there truly were no new faces. It was the same people every season. Somehow her world had grown very small.

  That made her laugh to herself. When had her world ever been large?

  Maybe during that first summer after she’d married Mark, when she’d been so busy meeting all his friends. It hadn’t always been fun. She’d overheard far too many comments about their age difference and how she must be after his money. Everything had been so new and exciting—and terrifying.

  Enough. Veronica’s comments had clearly gotten to her.

  There was no hurry. She would find somebody when she was ready. The world worked in its own mysterious ways and at its own pace. She never would have met Mark if it hadn’t been for a dead car battery on a hot afternoon, and if she was patient maybe fate would be equally kind again.

  She turned, looking through the crowd for her hosts, Anne and Jack Petersen. It would be rude to leave without saying thanks, and she wanted to make arrangements to have lunch with Anne; they had always had so much in common. She would take that much of Veronica’s advice; she would get out more.

  Oh, and there was Charles Burke, she really should say hello to him. He’d remained a good friend even after Mark’s death.

  She took a step forward.

  And then she saw him. She paused, almost frozen.

  Her whole body tingled, even parts she’d never been aware of tingling before.

  Her mouth went dry.

  Wavy dark hair, broad shoulders, a high tight butt.

  Dark pants pulled over muscled thighs, white shirt stretched over wide shoulders.