Hot Buttered Rum: Standalone Romance (Silk Stocking Inn Book 4) (7 page)

Chapter 12

It was just a thin stream of bright sunlight, a persistent ray that had found its way past the nearly imperceptible opening between the curtains, but it managed to find a path directly to my face as I turned on my pillow. I opened my eyes and lifted my arm in front of them to block the light.

It took me a second to recognize the room and remind myself I was at the Silk Stocking Inn. I turned over and looked at the empty space next to me. The pillow was still concave from his head, and the sheets were twisted around the quilt, but the man, himself, was gone.

Stop, Ginger, no disappointment, I warned myself. You jumped into this fully aware of the consequences. There had never been any commitment made other than the determination to have a good time together. And that we had.

The aroma of rich coffee brought me fully into consciousness. My entire body ached with fatigue as I sat up. It was a combination of rowing a canoe, struggling to stay alive in a storm churned sea and then the wonderfully healing activities that had followed my nightmare in the water. The tenderness between my legs reminded me of just how much activity there had been. I never did anything half-assed, that was for damn sure. With work always my top priority and a severe lack of appealing men in my life, I’d basically given up on ever having a sex life again. But it seemed I’d made up for the last year of celibacy in one extremely titillating twenty-four hour period.

My legs felt wobbly as I stepped onto the cold floor. I took a step and kicked a fluffy pink slipper. Coco had apparently slipped into my room to leave me slippers and a tray of coffee and pastries. How she managed to do these things without me hearing or noticing her, I’d never understand. Just like I’d never understand exactly how I’d managed to end up at an inn and cove that I’d never heard of in my life until now.

The slippers felt like warm clouds as I pushed my feet into them and shuffled over to the coffee. As hard as I tried to keep it from my mind, I knew today was Sunday. I would have to head home and eventually spend a dreary evening in front of the computer catching up on some work. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sipped it as I stared at the empty bed.

Turner and I had spent an hour leaning over the kitchen island, eating hot apple cobbler and talking about our lives. My cynical self kept waiting for him to do or say something that would turn me sour on him, but it never happened. He was all charm and charisma, and he was extremely smart. To have all of that wrapped up in a breathtaking package was almost too hard to believe. I glanced around the room and then out at the crystal blue water of the cove. It was almost as if I’d dreamt up the entire weekend. If it hadn’t been for the tender ache in my pussy and the one in my heart, I’d swear that the whole damn thing had just been an amazing erotic fantasy.

I had no idea what time Coco needed me to vacate the room. Once I did, I had no place to go except home. Would I see Turner again? Was that it? Had he crept out this morning, making sure not to wake me so he didn’t have to say good-bye? That thought left me feeling so deflated, I sat down hard on the chair. I stared at the delicious pastries and wondered if I would be able to work up any appetite. The almond coated bear claw was definitely favoring me with a flirtatious smile.

I broke off a corner, deciding I could possibly choke down a few bites. I shoved it in my mouth, and as with everything Coco baked, an explosion of flavor helped revive my spirits. I had no one but myself to blame for feeling despondent. I knew darn well that this was just a weekend fling, an incredible weekend fling, of course, but I needed to face reality. Turner had obviously calculated that I would be just an overlong one night stand and that as soon as the sun broke on Sunday I’d be gone. It was really the perfect situation for a man like him. No commitment required. A horrible notion that he might have spent many nights in the very same room with other women sent a cold chill through me. What the hell had I done? I dropped the chunk of pastry and slumped back against the chair.

A knock on the door made me sit forward. My heart jumped, and for a brief second, I thought Turner had returned. But Coco’s lyrical tone floated through the door.

“May I come in?”

I cleared my throat to wash away the edge of disappointment. “Yes, of course, Coco. I’m just having some of your delicious baked goods.”

Coco walked inside. Creases around her eyes seemed to smooth away with each step and each step became springier with youth. “How are the pastries?” She looked down at the plate. “Why you’ve hardly touched them. The lemon curd pastry is my favorite.”

I feigned an enthusiastic smile and reached for the lemon pastry. “By the way, the lobster pot pie and apple cobbler made for one of the best meals I’ve ever had. Luxurious comfort food that I won’t soon forget.” Along with the company, I thought to myself.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”

“I’ll just finish breakfast and be out of your way, Coco. I’m sure you need the room.”

Her brows knitted together. “You’re leaving so early?”

“I really should get back home. I need to do laundry and catch up on some things before the start of the work week.” I took a bite and as expected, the pastry was delicious. I washed the bite down with some coffee.

“That’s a shame. Turner will be disappointed.”

My face shot up from my plate. “Turner?” I had to work at tamping down the excitement in my tone. “Is he here?”

“Oh no, he headed out on the
Pickled Pepper
early this morning. Fishing is always best at dawn.”

My shoulders sank. “Oh, I see.” But I really couldn’t make sense of her statement. Why would he be disappointed when he wasn’t going to be around anyhow? I took another bite of pastry, but my stomach was having none of it. “This is wonderful food, Coco, but I ate so much last night, I’m just not that hungry.”

“No problem.” She began shifting the plates on the tray to carry it downstairs.

“I’m just going to hop in and take a shower.”

“That’s fine. I left some clothes for you in the bathroom this morning. You’re still welcome to wear them even if you aren’t going to the island with Turner.”

I stopped halfway to the bathroom and turned around. “Island?”

She stopped her task long enough to look up at me. “Yes, that’s why he’ll be disappointed. He planned to pick you up in the cove and take you on a boat ride to his island.” She smiled. “It’s really more a chunk of land in the middle of the ocean, but he’s doing a really nice job with the beach hut. Should be quite the paradise once it’s done. But since you have to get back home to do laundry . . . I’ll let him know.”

“Uh, maybe I was being a little hasty. I’m sure the laundry can wait.”

“Great.” Coco’s smile radiated through the room. She picked up the tray and I rushed to get the door for her. “Turner said he’d pick you up on the beach at ten.” She winked at me as she walked past. “I’m glad you decided to stay.”

Chapter 13

I leaned against the side of the boat. The wind and salty mist brushed my face. The
Pickled Pepper
was no luxury cruiser, but it was rugged and had plenty of charm, just like its dashing captain.

Turner looked exceptionally hot standing behind the wheel with his dark sunglasses and his black captain’s hat as he steered us toward a small island sitting in the midst of at least a dozen other small islands. Some had quaint houses hiding between the palm trees and shrubs. Others looked completely desolate with no signs of life other than the pelicans and gulls flying overhead.

The roar of the motor fell to a rumble. As we neared a rocky shore, Turner moved a lever and the vessel floated into reverse. I turned to admire his strong forearms as he steered the boat so that the bow was turned away from the rocky shore. He shut off the engine. The only sounds remaining were the occasional screech of the gulls and the far off sound of music coming from a nearby island. Turner pressed a button and gears churned below deck. “I’m lowering the anchor. This is as close as we can get. It’s one of the reasons my dad gave up on making this a vacation spot. My mom wasn’t too keen on rowing to shore.” He pointed to the extremely small dinghy stored under the stern. “Hope you don’t mind a short trip. I’m sure the canoe accident is still fresh in your mind.”

With the boat holding steady in the mildly choppy water, Turner walked over and joined me at the railing.

“Yes, but that incident ended so well, I barely remember the horrifying moments when I thought I would be dragged out to sea and my lifeless body would be eaten by fish and other icky sea things. Really, I’ve hardly given it another thought.” I reached up and flicked my finger against the brim of his hat. “By the way, this is a good look for you. Although I’m pretty sure you could walk out in a bright orange clown wig and it would still be a good look.”

His shoulders relaxed. “I’m so glad you said that. I’ve got the clown wig in my quarters, I just wasn’t sure if I should put it on or not.”

“Awk!” Dexter’s squawk shot out from below deck.

“He’ll want to tag along. There’s a particular tree he likes to perch on. I think it makes him feel like an eagle. Is that all right?”

“Of course, but only if he’ll sit on my shoulder. I fancy myself quite the pirate wench, you know?”

“Oh trust me, I know.” Turner took that as a cue to pull me against him for a long, deep kiss. Dexter’s squawk brought it to a reluctant end.

Turner whistled and the bird flew out with another loud squawk. He landed on Turner’s shoulder, but he spun around so that our arms touched. “You can take a ride on pretty girl today.”

As if the bird understood every word, he bobbed his green head up and down with a nod and scooted over to my shoulder. He was heavier than I’d expected and his tiny talons poked through the cotton fabric of my shirt.

Turner seemed to sense my discomfort. “Are you sure? He’ll only be slightly insulted if you ask him to climb back over to my shoulder.”

“No, I love it. I just don’t wear birds that often. I did have a pigeon land on my head once in a park when I was a little girl. It gave me nightmares for a week. But Dexter is much better mannered than the pigeon.”

Using a pulley and rope, Turner lowered the dinghy into the water. He climbed down into the boat first and held it steady. Dexter’s wings startled me he raised them in a wild flutter. His tiny feet pushed off my shoulder, and he soared into the air and toward the island. Turner looked back to watch as Dexter landed on the top branch of a tall tree growing from the side of the island.

He looked back up at me. “Sorry, he tends to be impatient. But don’t let that stop you from being a pirate wench. I was kind of looking forward to it once I got you up to the house.”

“I am feeling a little less piratey without my parrot, but I guess I can still give it a whirl.”

I threw my leg over the side, gripped the ladder and descended into the tiny boat. The unsteady deck caused me to grab onto Turner, or more accurately he grabbed onto me. “Got ya’.” He kissed me once on the mouth, a short sweet one that was nearly as pleasant as the long, deep one. That might have been because everything about Turner was pleasant. He held my arm as I sat down on the small wooden seat across from him. Then he sat and used the oar to turn the dinghy away from the
Pickled Pepper
. The fabric on his shirt stretched tight over the muscles of his arms as he paddled us through the choppy water.

“We can’t stop here because of the rocks. They are bonus for security because they make it hard for anyone to reach the island. Unfortunately it’s hard for me too. I have to paddle around the end to a small, hidden stretch of beach under some Manzanita trees.”

Hearing Manzanita and sitting at almost water level in a toy boat took me back to the canoe incident. I had to work hard to keep the panic from taking over. I crossed my arms around myself and took deep solid breaths.

Turner dug his oar into the deep, dark water and the tiny boat sailed over the surface. “Ginger, are you all right?” He was already so in tune with my feelings. I couldn’t think of the last time I’d dated a man who knew what I was feeling or thinking before I even mentioned it.

“I’m fine,” I said weakly. “I’ll just be glad when we’re back on solid ground.” I looked over at him as he confidently paddled us toward his island paradise. Just watching his powerful arms drive the oar into the water made me relax some. I didn’t think I’d ever feel scared again if I always had those strong arms to protect me.

I uncrossed my arms and braced my hands against the wood plank beneath my bottom to keep from falling off the seat. With my head clearing and the tingly sensations of a panic attack disappearing, I was able to look around and take in the natural beauty of the island.

The shiny twisted branches of the Manzanita trees jutted out over the water, their roots tucked tightly into the gray rocks that made up the outer edge of the island. It was a thick, lush chunk of land that looked as if it had been sitting there untouched since the days of dinosaurs. Or at least since the days of pirates. I glanced around at the other islands. Most had the same trees and shrubs, but some had been cleared more than others. “Do you think these little islands were connected at one time?”

“Absolutely. Time, weather and ocean have carved them into this little subset of islands. Most are privately owned, like my dad’s. A few of them have really amazing beach houses. One even has a swimming pool. I must warn you that my place is unfinished and not elaborate. I decided to keep it more primitive. Mostly because that was all I could afford and because I thought it would be more fun. I’m not even hooking up electricity. It’s a lot like camping.” The current and his paddling helped the dinghy roll toward the trees.

“Duck your head,” he warned as we passed beneath the gnarled branches.

A long patch of silvery sand sat hidden beneath the trees. With a few more strokes the boat slid up on shore.

“Wait right there.” Turner hopped out of the boat onto the wet sand and dragged the dinghy up farther. Then he offered me his hand.

“Remember, it’s a little rustic,” he reminded me as he led me up a path of rocks.

“I’ll say,” I said, teasingly, “the last personal island a man took me to had a two story mansion with a deck and whirlpool. And the one before that . . .”

“All right, I get it. I won’t disparage my little chunk of paradise anymore.” We hiked through the dense, shady forest of dark green succulents and wide leafed palms until we reached a perfect little clearing. In the center of the clearing sat a small four sided hut with a thatch room and a rustic stone walkway. Sunlight glinted off the round windows.

I couldn’t hold back a smile. “It’s like a hobbit house. It’s absolutely perfect. Who needs a mansion when you’ve got this?”

“Somehow I knew you’d appreciate it.” Turner turned and kissed me. Then he took hold of my hand and led me into the house.

The interior was as quaint as the exterior. A wood burning stove with its long crooked pipe leading up and through a hole in the ceiling stood in one corner. A small bed that was piled high with quilts sat against the opposite wall. A table with a driftwood base and two chairs sat beneath a round window. The window had a nearly panoramic view of the back side of the island and the ocean beyond.

“It gets stuffy in here on hot days.” Turner walked over and pushed open the window. “The bathroom isn’t much, I’m afraid. Sort of an outhouse with cold running water. The real one is a work in progress.”

“It’s wonderful, Turner. I can’t imagine how nice it would be to have something like this to get away from the stress of the real world.”

He walked over to a small cupboard that had been attached to the wall next to the stove. “I’ve only got a few things to eat. Nothing keeps. Whenever I plan to come here for a weekend, I bring an ice chest. So sorry that I’m not much of a host.”

I pressed my hand against my stomach. “Are you kidding? After a day and a half with Coco’s food, I’m going to need to fast just to get rid of the extra pounds.”

Turner walked over and pulled me against him. “Nope, not feeling any extra pounds just all the right curves in all the right places.” His blue eyes glinted in the light coming through the window. “Since I like you so damn much, I’m going to show you my favorite place on the island. But you’ll probably get wet, so you’ll want to leave your clothes behind.”

A laugh shot from my mouth. “Very funny.”

“No really. Unless you want to ride back to the inn in wet clothes. Your choice. But it’ll be a lot more fun naked. No one can see you because we are alone on this island.”

“My gosh, you’re serious.”

“Yep.”

“What about Dexter? He’s up in the trees somewhere keeping his
eagle
eye on the place.”

Turner reached up and started unbuttoning my shirt. “As I’ve said before, that bird can get his own pretty girl.” He parted the open panels of my shirt and pressed his mouth against the swell of my breast. “This one is mine.”