Moondance Beach (14 page)

Her mouth had gone so dry she could barely speak. “Um, yes. That would be nice—but only if Clancy can spare you.”

Duncan smiled, then straightened up and tapped his hands on the driver’s side window ledge. “I was given direct orders by the chief of police to do whatever was necessary to assist our Island Day vendors.”

“Oh.” Lena blinked.

“In fact, his exact words were ‘do what you can to
keep them happy.’” Duncan gestured to the empty passenger seat. “May I?”

“Of course. Yes. Sure.” Lena thought she would pass out.

She drove the five or so miles to the island’s North Shore, U.S. Navy Lieutenant Duncan Flynn riding shotgun. They talked about everything and nothing, and despite the traffic as the day’s events wound down, the time flew by. But all the while Lena kept thinking,
I’m taking him home with me . . . I’m taking him home with me.

*   *   *

Duncan had seen Lena’s compound only at night, from down on the beach. So when the remote-controlled gates opened and he got a good broad-daylight look at it, the scope and style of the place shocked him.

The two-story structure sat on one of the highest points on the island and was a clean combination of cedar shingle, stone, glass, and more glass. He was no architect, but he noticed how it combined ultramodern lines with the traditional New England coastal style. Two giant stone chimneys bookended the house, and all the windows were trimmed with blue-green and white, which stood in bright contrast to the white cedar shakes. He could see a large greenhouse topped with at least six weather vanes of varying height, color, and design. The yard wasn’t a yard at all—it was wild island land. It took a couple minutes to get all the way down the crushed-shell drive.

“Not too shabby, Silva,” he said.

She laughed, and when he glanced over at her, he had to laugh along with her. Since Duncan wasn’t an artsy kind of guy, he couldn’t find the words to describe why he felt this way, but immediately he knew Lena belonged here. This was her place, and it suited her perfectly.

Beautiful. Unusual. Interesting.

She pulled into the attached garage and showed him a storage room off the back where she kept items for art shows.

As he unloaded the trunk, he asked her, “How many of these things do you do a year?”

“A year?” Lena paused, throwing a bag over her shoulder. Only then did Duncan have the time to appreciate the full effect of what she wore—figure-hugging black leggings and a pair of complicated-looking black sandals with a heel. Her floaty blouse was cinched in by a black leather belt that hung low on her hips, and her wrists were stacked with black and green bangles.

Holy shit, that girl is sexy.

“I travel about a week out of every month for media appearances and gallery events. I’m asked to do more, but I need to leave three unbroken weeks of each month to paint. Otherwise, what would I have to show?”

“Makes sense,” Duncan said. “Do you like being out there, having people swarm around you like they did today?”

She laughed, almost as if she were embarrassed. “I do. I love meeting people who like my work, but just between you and me, a little bit goes a long way.” She looked around. “I’m always so happy to come back home.”

Duncan nodded. He found it interesting that her favorite thing was coming home, which was the one thing he had always avoided. He stacked the last box. “So when is that show in Paris you mentioned?”

“October.”

Duncan closed the door to the storage area, feeling her eyes trained on his every move. “I guess you’ll be in
Europe when I’m . . . who knows where. Europe? Central Asia? But neither of us will be here.”

Lena smiled stiffly, breaking eye contact for a second. “Do you know when you ship out?”

“I don’t.”

“Oh.” Lena shifted her weight from one fantastic leg to the other. “So, um, should I drive you back? Would you like something cool to drink first?”

Duncan smiled politely. “Since I’m here, I’d like to see some of your incredible home, if that’s not too pushy of me. And I’d kill for a cold beer.”

“Ah, sorry.” Lena shrugged. “No beer, but I’d love to show you around. I could whip up a margarita if you’re interested. I need one after today.”

“You got yourself a deal.”

Lena went upstairs to change and told Duncan to make himself at home, which gave him a chance to look around without Lena seeing his jaw hit the floor. As funky as the place looked from the drive, the oceanfront side of the house was where the party really got started. The home was perfectly situated for maximum light, and since it was nearly wall-to-wall glass, the view of the Atlantic was spectacular. From where he stood in the huge and open kitchen, he could see most of the first floor. A great room spread out on the west side, dominated by a giant stone fireplace and a killer media setup. On the east side Duncan saw a dining room and sitting room, with a wide hallway leading off to what were probably bedrooms. He didn’t think it would be polite to wander around by himself, so he took a seat at one of the counter stools pulled up to a vast kitchen island. He spread his hands out on the cool, ice-smooth quartz surface and wondered what the hell one petite woman needed with all this space.

Lena returned, now wearing a pair of Hawaiian floral surf shorts and a camisole top. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail and her bare feet slapped against the wood floor when she walked. The earrings and bracelets were gone, but Duncan saw that her toenails were painted a bright pink. This girl was too cute.

“Can we get right to the margaritas? I’m in a tequila state of mind,” Lena said with a smile.

Right then Duncan decided that Adelena Silva had her own version of a sense of humor. Sure, she was subdued and a little eccentric, but occasionally she’d come up with something sharp and funny, like the tequila comment, and it intrigued him. In all honesty, Duncan’s only memory of her was as a mousy, shy girl who’d hung out with him because she didn’t have anything better to do. She had been sweet to him even when he wasn’t sweet in return.

But he certainly didn’t remember her as being funny, or sharp, or gorgeous.

Duncan couldn’t just sit there while she waited on him, so he squeezed the lime and tossed an extra handful of ice into the blender. Lena let the countertop Ninja do its magic. She pointed to where he could find the margarita glasses, and Duncan chuckled as he carried them over.

“Just an FYI—these are bigger than my head.”

Lena laughed. “I’ve never heard anyone say the words, ‘This margarita is too big.’ Have you?”

“Can’t say that I have.” Duncan sprinkled sea salt onto a plate and gave the glass rims a good coating. He offered to pour. When Lena handed him the heavy glass pitcher, his hand skimmed across hers. A jolt of alarm surged through him. He managed not to visibly react, but
he was astonished by how intense his response was. And strange. Lena was perfectly lovely and her touch was lovely, yet the contact made him want to bolt out of there and never look back.

Lena suggested they look around the downstairs first, and she showed him what she called the “guest wing,” which had three bedrooms and three baths, a sitting room, and the main dining room. The great room had enough seating for twenty people and a huge flat-screen TV that doubled as a mirror when the power was off.

Duncan couldn’t help himself—he’d never seen a place more suited to a Super Bowl party in his life. Or for watching Bruins games. Or the Celtics and Red Sox seasons. She almost had to drag him out of there. What one artistic chick needed with a tricked-out man cave he had no idea.

They went outside next, and she walked him out onto a deck that seemed to go on forever. Then she showed him a greenhouse filled with plants, beautiful pottery, and odd-looking metal sculptures. She told him everything was the work of friends from art school.

He pointed up through the greenhouse roof. “Did the sculptor do the weather vanes, too?”

Lena looked surprised that he’d noticed. “No, that’s another friend.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot of artist friends.”

She smiled. “I bet you have a lot of soldier friends.”

Duncan chuckled. “Most are Marines and SEALs, but yes—I do. You and I live in very different worlds, don’t we?”

Lena nodded. “Indeed.”

Next she took him around to the opposite side of the house, to a side porch. Duncan was surprised to find it
was far more traditional than what he’d seen in the rest of the house. The outdoor living space was at least forty feet long and half as wide, screened in, covered by a knotty pine roof, and filled with plants, wicker furniture, and comfortable-looking pillows. There was a long rustic dining table and chairs and a huge overhead fan that looked like it could move some serious air when put to use. But his eyes were drawn to a two-person rope hammock strung diagonally from beam to beam, facing directly toward the beach.

“Whoa,” he said. “One day, before the end of the summer, I’d like to rent out that hammock for a couple hours.” He glanced down and smiled at Lena. “The next time I’m stuck in the desert, I can picture myself here.”

“Of course,” she said. “But in appreciation for your service, I’ll waive the hourly rate.”

“Much appreciated.”

“Why do you do it, Duncan?” Lena’s gaze was open and curious. “I mean, what drives you to keep going back?”

He shook his head, wondering how the hell he’d managed to end up at this particular intersection.

“I don’t mean to pry.”

“There’s no easy answer to that.”

“Maybe we could sit down for a minute?” Lena gestured to the hammock. “I think it’s calling your name.”

One, two, three seconds passed and Duncan could not move. A voice in his head whispered that he knew better than to accept that invitation. A minute could lead to another, which could lead to something more, and something more wasn’t an option for him.

“I won’t bite, Duncan.”

But I might.
“All right. For a minute.”

Lena sat in one of the wicker chairs and Duncan
eased into the hammock with a sigh of relief. He leaned his head back and began to gently rock back and forth, feeling the soft breeze move over his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his whole body melt.

Eventually he said, “I should come clean about something, Lena.” He kept his eyes closed. “I don’t remember very much about you from when we were kids, and now that I know it was you leaving those gifts back then—and now—I feel . . . I feel ridiculous. It never once occurred to me that it was you. You weren’t even on my radar screen.”

“I didn’t intend for you to feel ridiculous.”

He opened one eye and studied her. “What
was
your intent?”

Lena curled her legs under her and took a sip from her margarita. “Well, back when we were kids, I figured you needed cheering up. When you came home after your injury, I figured you needed cheering up again.”

“I see a pattern developing.”

Lena laughed. “Look, I overstepped my bounds these last couple months. I invaded your privacy by putting things in your room, and I apologize for that. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“How the hell did you get in without me hearing you? Did you put a spell on me or something?”

She shrugged. “I grew up in that house, too, Duncan. I know where every squeaky floorboard is and how to jiggle the door open without making a sound—I had a lot of practice. And though Rowan and Ash may have renovated that place from top to bottom, the floors are still the same. The door latches are the same.” She tipped her head to the side. “Did you wake up the night I brought you the clamshell?”

“Nope. I had set my alarm for four a.m. so I could catch the first ferry. Finding you in the kitchen was a complete surprise.”

She nodded.

“I really liked the feather.”

“You did? I’m so glad!” Lena broke out into a smile that commandeered her whole face. “I found it right out there”—she pointed to a patch of wildflowers—“when I was headed out for my morning swim.”

Duncan sat up a bit. “Do you swim a lot?”

“Every morning and every night when the weather cooperates.”

Duncan drained the rest of his drink, feeling the tequila and triple sec flow right through his empty stomach and into his veins. “You’re not worried about swimming alone?”

“Oh, no.” She looked puzzled. “I feel perfectly comfortable. I don’t go very far out, especially at night, and I’ve been swimming on this coastline since I was little. You know how that is.”

Duncan nodded. Of course he wanted to ask her about her late-night skinny-dip, but there wasn’t quite enough tequila in his bloodstream for that conversation.

“You are a kind person, Lena. I have a feeling I wasn’t always kind to you in return when we were kids.”

“You were sick a lot. You were angry at the world.”

Duncan sat up in the hammock and rested his elbows on his knees. “Being sick isn’t an excuse to be cruel. I’m starting to remember that I might have been an ass sometimes.”

Lena looked down at her hands where they cupped the margarita glass. “The good news is, you’re less of an ass nowadays.”

Duncan put his head back and laughed. Hard. It took him a moment to stop laughing. “That was the nicest backhanded compliment anyone has paid me in a very long time.”