Dockside (22 page)

Greg had changed from the gorgeous slacks and dress shirt he’d had on earlier. This was a good thing, she decided. In the obviously expensive hand-tailored clothes, he looked exotic and impossibly attractive. In his more ordinary cargo shorts and T-shirt, he looked…well, still attractive, but not scarily so. “Trash or treasure?” he asked her, holding up a moth-eaten lampshade.

“Trash,” she said. “The more we sort through, the more ruthless I’m getting about what to keep and what to toss.”

“Ditto,” he said, adding the item to the discard pile. “And this?”

“What is it?”

“Not sure.” He turned it over in his hands. “I think it might be a whetstone. It was in a crate with…hello.” He bent and emerged with a large, rusty blade, posing with arms akimbo. “Check it out.”

“Very
Pirates of the Caribbean,
” she observed.

“It’s a machete,” he said. “There’s an ax, too, and…whoa. I think I found the family arsenal.” Waving a flurry of dust out of his face, he lifted the top off another crate. “These are old black-powder shotguns and supplies. We’re definitely keeping these.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Nina.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He carefully placed the guns and machete back in their crates.

He didn’t seem to realize she was being facetious. She turned her attention to a box of books. The antique volumes would go nicely in the guest rooms and library, adding to the ambiance. She read their quaint titles aloud—
“Dogs and All About Them, The Bedside Esquire, The Housekeeper’s Companion
…ah,
The Hygiene of Marriage.
Fascinating.”

“That is
not
going in a guest room,” Greg said.

“We don’t want our guests’ marriages to be hygienic?”

“We don’t want them thinking about that,” he said.

An old photograph fell from the dog book. Undated, it appeared to be from the 1920s, judging by the people’s clothing. It showed what appeared to be a family and three Labrador retrievers. The people were stiffly posed, though the middle dog had moved its head, creating a blur in the middle of the photograph. The imperfection somehow humanized the picture. She handed it to Greg. “Look at that. Ghosts in the attic.”

He admired the picture and put it on the “keeper” pile. “Are you bothered by ghosts?”

“Not at all. Maybe hinting that the inn is haunted would be good for business. This place has a history, and I’m glad it’s not going to be turned into condos or something.” The words just came out of her. She ducked her head, abashed by the rush of sentiment.

“I would never do that,” he said.

She set aside the hygiene book. “If you don’t mind, I’ll save this for Sonnet. It’s good for a laugh.”

“I guess you miss her a lot,” he said.

“More than I ever expected.”

“You must be pretty proud of your daughter,” he said.

That wasn’t envy she heard in his voice, was it? “Are you kidding?” Nina said with a burst of honesty. “Every day, I wonder what I did to deserve that girl.” It was true. Like all kids, Sonnet had challenged Nina growing up, but at heart, she was a loving daughter with talent to spare—valedictorian of her class, a scholarship winner and now she was spending the summer in Europe. “I miss her so much, though,” she admitted.

“Ironic, huh? Yours left the nest and mine is getting ready to hatch.”

She paused, studied his face, filtered by the dusty light through a dormer window. “Scary.”

“Yeah.”

Nina felt a moment of connection with him, and wondered if it was just her. She suspected that if she pushed, just a little, she could find out. But did she want to? “I have a feeling they’re both going to be fine,” she said, letting the moment ease past, unacknowledged. “Absolutely fine.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.” She felt a beat of nervousness, of hesitation. Not because of the way she was feeling about Greg, but about something else she needed to get out of the way. “Quick question for you. Suppose Sonnet pays a visit to The Hague.”

The Hague was in Holland, a two-hour train ride from Brussels. It was the seat of various world courts, including the International Court of Justice and the International Criminal Court. It was also where Greg’s ex, Sophie, lived and worked.

He stacked the discarded books in an old crate. “And your question is…”

“I just wanted you to know. Daisy told Sonnet to call her mother when she hits town. Sonnet’s going to go and see her.”

“Sophie’s my ex, not a national monument. I hope Sonnet will do more than see her. I’m sure Sophie will show your daughter some incredible things. It’s a great idea for Sonnet to take advantage of that.”

“All right. I wanted to make sure you’re cool with it.”

“Not my call,” he said. “But for what it’s worth, I’m cool with it.” He carried the crate to the top of the stairs, setting it down hard enough to raise a cloud of dust.

Uh-huh, thought Nina.

He wiped his hands on his shorts. “And Sophie’ll show your daughter around better than a native, I guarantee it.”

“That’s good,” Nina said. “I felt a little funny, bringing it up.”

“It’s okay. Listen, I think I can level with you, since we’re friends.”

“Right. Friends.”

“Sophie and I were married for seventeen years. That’s a huge chunk of my life—there’s a whole history between us. I won’t lie and tell you it was one long span of unrelieved misery. We had good times, raised two kids.”

“I know. About the kids, that is. They’re great.” The good times, she’d have to take his word for.

“Sophie and I married under…difficult circumstances,” he added.

“I know,” she said again. Did he remember talking to her at his wedding reception, putting his fist through a wall?

“It wasn’t something we planned,” he went on. “It was something we did for Daisy, and it worked for a long time because we both tried so damned hard. Ultimately, Sophie and I grew apart. Neither of us noticed it happening at first, but we were focused on our careers and stopped paying enough attention to us.”

Nina felt a blush rise in her face. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

He laughed. “I have no idea. Sorry.”

His easy laughter and the unavoidable spike of attraction she felt toward him left her unsettled. “I need to get going,” she said, knowing she’d need to hurry through her shower if she was going to be ready on time.

“That’s right, you’re going out with—what’s his name?”

“Nils.” Nina was surprised by Greg’s sudden tenseness. “I don’t mean to ditch you, but—”

“Don’t worry about me. You gave me a list, remember?”

Her list of things to do. “Look, if you need me to stay—”

“I said, don’t worry.” He waved her away. “I’ll be fine.”

“Y
ou’re a lot better bowler than I thought you’d be,” Nils told Nina as he drove her home from the Fast Lanes.

“Really?” Nina glanced over at him. “I’m way out of practice. Haven’t been in years.”

“I’d never know from that score.”

A group of them had gone bowling, a regular occurrence among her friends around town. It was something Nina rarely had time to do until lately. It was fun getting together with some of her old gang, but it seemed strange, too. These were people she’d known forever. They were her age, but she felt as though she was in an entirely different place than they were. Her daughter was about to start college while most women her age were newlyweds or new moms, trading stories of home decorating, precocious toddlers and scary bouts of croup. Fortunately, a number of her friends were single, Nils included. He wasn’t bad-looking. He’d been pleasant all evening, polite and funny.

“Maybe I got lucky tonight,” she said.

He chuckled, easing the car around a curve in the road. “Maybe so.” He turned at the sign marking the inn, freshly painted and illuminated on both sides, welcoming visitors. The limbs of the sugar maples along the drive had been pruned recently, the surface of the road regraded. With the grand reopening nearly upon them, she found herself checking out the place with a critical eye. Even after 10:00 p.m., it needed to look inviting.

Gaslights lined the walkways of the property and coach-style sconces illuminated the main entrance and porch. There were lights on in the guest room windows. Overall, the property promised retreat and respite. The guests would never know how much thought went into every detail, nor would they know she and Greg had argued about each one, or so it seemed.

She turned to thank Nils for the evening, but he was already getting out and coming around to get the door for her.

“I’ll walk you to your place,” he said.

“Oh! All right. It’s this way.” It was a date, she reminded herself. A freaking date. She’d spent an hour bathing, buffing and getting ready. This was supposed to happen—the guy was supposed to walk her to her door and she was supposed to invite him up.

She remarked on the balmy warmth of the evening. They admired the silvery path of the moon’s reflection on the lake. There was a moment, at a turn in the path, when Nils’s hand brushed against hers and she felt the gentle trap of his fingers.

Just go with it, she told herself. See what happens. She reminded herself that a first date was supposed to be a little awkward, a little nerve-racking. She was supposed to be at least mildly thrilled that he’d taken her hand. Instead, all she could think about was the fact that he wasn’t—

“Hey,” said Nils. “What’s that?”

In the lower part of the boathouse, a blinding shower of sparks erupted. Nina yanked her hand from Nils’s and stopped to stare. “My God, is the place on fire?” she asked.

The moment the words were out of her mouth, she and Nils broke into a run, then skidded to a halt when they reached the boat storage area. It wasn’t a fire; the fount of sparks was flowing from the flame of a welder’s torch. “Greg?” Nina yelled. “What are you doing?” At least, she thought it was Greg. Who else would be out here working at this time of night?

She called his name louder, and he straightened up. His face was obscured by a clear safety shield and he wore a pair of fireproof gloves. If this was a horror movie, this would be the moment the serial killer would lunge, snuffing them both.

Instead, he raised his shield and gave her a boyish grin. “Hey, Nina.” His gaze flicked to Nils and seemed to chill the slightest bit. “Neil, is it?” he said.

“Nils.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Nils. How’s it going?” Greg didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m working on the boat lift.”

“I can see that,” she said. She’d been pestering him to fix it for days. Interesting that he would finally tackle it now. “Greg, it’s ten o’clock at night.”

“I know. I thought I’d be finished before you got back. Didn’t want to bother you with all the noise.”

Uh-huh. A likely story. She turned pointedly to Nils. “Would you like to come up?”

Greg fired up his blow torch again with a blue
whoosh
of flame.

“I’d better be going,” Nils said, taking a step back. “Take care, Nina.”

What about the handholding? she wanted to demand. Instead, she was too startled to do anything but mutter a good-night.

He didn’t bother with a token “I’ll call you.” Maybe the sight of a large man with a blow torch was a little off-putting.

“Thanks a million,” she said to Greg, raising her voice above the hissing torch.

“That’s okay,” he said, lowering the face shield. “I’m just about finished here.”

“Indeed you are,” she said, and stomped up the stairs to her place.

The disruption of her date with Nils was one thing. Nina gave Greg the benefit of the doubt—she
had
been nagging him about the boat lift and he
had
fixed it. With opening day nearly upon them, they’d both been working crazy hours. However, a couple of days later, when she went on a picnic with Marty Lewis and then got home to find Greg using the whetstone to sharpen a machete, an ax and a hatchet, she strongly suspected she was starting to see a pattern. After her third date, a movie with Noah Shepherd, the local veterinarian, she was sure of it. Greg greeted her and Noah on the front porch of the main building. He was surrounded by weapons. Nina recognized the antique guns they’d found in the attic.

“Black powder rifles,” he explained jovially. “They might be collector’s items. I was going to see if any of these was operational.”

Noah looked at his mobile phone. “Got a foaling this weekend. I’d better go check on my patient.”

Nina offered a smile. She suspected the phone’s screen was blank. “Sure, Noah.” He was wildly good-looking in a dark, brooding, Heathcliffian sort of way. He was also down-to-earth and unpretentious, yet much too quiet and circumspect for her, she’d discovered during a strained stop for coffee after the movie. Nina supposed, if she gave it her best effort, she could get him talking. But at this point in her life, she wanted a date, not a project.

Still, she resented the decision being taken away from her by Greg. She gave Noah a hug—it was like hugging a slab of granite—and murmured a good-night.

As he hurried toward his car, she swung back to Greg. “Congratulations. You’re three for three. Maybe even four for four, if we count Shane Gilmore.”

“What do you mean, count him?”

“Technically, it could be traced back to you, since the reason I got so mad at Shane was because the inn was sold to you.”

“Okay, I’m really not following you now.”

She watched the swing of headlights across the parking lot as Noah Shepherd drove away. “I think that might be a record, even for you. He didn’t bother even telling me goodbye.”

Greg smiled at her, all boyish innocence. “What do you mean, ‘record’?”

All through Sonnet’s growing-up years, Nina had hardly dated at all. Now she was trying to go for it, putting herself out there for the first time in her life. Some were acquaintances she’d known for years. With Noah Shepherd, she had done the asking. He was that good-looking. But so far, the only chemistry she’d experienced was the volatile flare of Greg’s black powder. There was something seriously wrong with this picture. To her horror, Nina nearly choked on a ball of tears in her throat. Praying he didn’t notice, she turned on her heel and marched down the path to the boathouse. She didn’t go home, though. She was too restless for that. She veered toward the dock, pacing its planks in frustration.

Greg followed a minute later. “I couldn’t get any of them to work.”

That was probably for the best. She was in no mood to be anywhere near operational firearms. She took a deep breath, forcing anger to evaporate her tears. “You’re doing this on purpose,” she accused, swinging around to face him.

The moon shone from behind him, forming a silver halo around his head. “Doing what?”

“As if you didn’t know. You’re not my guardian. I don’t need you to wait up for me every time I go out.”

“I’m not waiting up for you,” he said. “I’m just…up.”

“And you just happen to be cleaning guns or sharpening knives or welding something when I get home with my date.”

He chuckled. “That’s totally planned.”

She was taken aback by the admission. She’d been prepared to argue with him. “Totally planned,” she echoed. “You mean you intended to be scary?”

“Hell, yes.”

“I don’t get it.”

He closed the distance between them, cupped his hands around her upper arms and pulled her against him. The sudden movement stole her breath, and she stared up at him with wide eyes.

A crazy yearning filled her up, and she flashed on all the times in her life that she had imagined this—being in Greg Bellamy’s arms. There was a soft shock of recognition, and then he was kissing her, and this was something she’d imagined, too, though the reality was nothing like her dreams. It was so much better that she felt herself grow dizzy with sensation, as if she was being taken somewhere, far away. There was nothing particularly gentle about his touch, yet she had never felt so cherished. His kiss was rough, too, with urgency, with possession—yet she’d never found a kiss more thrilling. It made her forget every other time she’d ever kissed a guy.

This had never happened to her before. She’d never been transported in a man’s embrace, and it was like finding the missing piece to an unfinished puzzle. All too soon, it was over and he let her go, stepping back so quickly that she found herself wondering if that amazing kiss had actually happened.

“You’re a smart woman, Nina,” he said, heading back to the path. “You’ll figure it out.”

For a few seconds, she was stunned speechless. Then, finally, she found her voice and hurried after him. “Just a damn minute,” she said. “You can’t do something like that and simply walk away.”

“Agreed,” he said, without even slowing his pace. “I could sling you over my shoulder like a caveman, take you upstairs and ravish you.”

All of which had an undeniable, devastating appeal to her. Shaken, she said, “How politically correct of you.”

“You think I care about political correctness?” He didn’t seem to want an answer; he gave an angry bark of laughter and kept walking.

“I don’t know what you care about, Greg. You’re giving me way too much credit,” she said. “Maybe you think I’m a mind reader, but I can’t figure you out.” She was furious with…what? Resentment? Frustrated longing? She could point the finger at him if she liked. She could say he’d ruined her evening more than once. But the sad fact was, her dates were ruined long before the seemingly inevitable, absurd encounters with Greg. Not by him, but by her, with her inability to start with a basic attraction and deepen it into a relationship. She’d never been able to do that with a man, ever. And it wasn’t Greg’s fault. All he did was hold up a mirror. All he did was kiss her, forcing her to know she’d never come close to knowing what it was like to love a man.

She grabbed his arm, feeling tension hardening his muscles. “Would you please explain to me what you think is happening here? What you
want
to happen?”

He took a deep breath, and anger glinted in his eyes. “Look, if we do this—if the evening goes the way I wish like hell it would go—it’s going to change things between us. Everything will be different. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind a change.”

His candor and intensity nearly undid her. She was still on fire from his kiss. Yet he was offering her a chance to choose. She could keep things as they were, or change everything—right here, right now. He’d opened the door for her to declare that yes, she wanted this, too. Although he didn’t know it, she had wanted this practically from the first moment they’d met, years ago. A moment he probably didn’t even remember.

The temptation was almost more than she could bear. A daring little voice inside her whispered, why not try it with him, see where it went?

Because the stakes were too high with Greg. He wasn’t some guy taking her bowling or to the movies. He was the guy she worked for. The guy she knew she wouldn’t be able to survive losing—so it was safer to simply back away.

She had to wrestle to find her willpower, and finally forced herself to brush past him. “Good night, Greg. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait a minute. Let me get this straight.” Jenny studied Nina’s face. They were in Zuzu’s Petals, shopping for a dress for Nina to wear on opening day at the inn. “He propositioned you?”

“He was pretty explicit, assuming ravish means what I think it means,” Nina admitted.

“He said ravish? Do people even say ravish anymore?”

“People said ravish last night.”

Jenny gave a pleased little shiver. “And here I thought it was something that only happened in old-fashioned Gothic novels. So how was it?”

Nina laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You think I went for it?”

Jenny’s eyes widened. “You mean, you didn’t?”

“I’m not getting involved with Greg Bellamy. Not even if I get to discover the meaning of ravish with him. He’s the enemy,” she reminded Jenny.