Sea of Love: A Bayberry Island Novel (8 page)

Abigail cleared her throat, which meant she wanted to say something she feared would receive a less than stellar approval rating. “I was thinking about that very issue this morning, in fact.”

“The chardonnay?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Only you think of wine over your morning coffee, Polly. I’m referring to the lack of enthusiasm this year. All this infighting has left us exhausted—jaded even.”

“No shit,” Polly said.

Abigail ignored her. “So I was thinking that what this island needs is something to believe in, something big. We need to be reminded of what is special about this place and what connects us, not what divides us.”

“You’re right,” Layla said. Her comment was met with nods and murmurs of agreement around the circle.

Mona had to concur. “We have Annabeth Parker and Nathaniel Ravelle’s wedding this fall.”

“Bigger,” Abigail said, spreading her arms wide to demonstrate. “It needs to be huge and it needs to happen in public during festival week, while the world has its eye on us.”

“The world?” Polly drained her glass. “Let’s not go completely apeshit, here.”

Mona smiled. “I know we’d all love to see the mermaid bring two people together in a made-for-TV moment, but as we know all too well, the magic never happens on cue.”

Suddenly a small, soft voice jolted everyone to attention. Darinda Darswell, who had barely made a peep since she left the fairies and joined the mermaids five years before, had just spoken.

“Sometimes magic needs a little push to get started.”

Everyone looked with stunned expressions toward the tiny woman in the long black wig whose eyes burned in the candlelight like two dark marbles.

“Please go on, Darinda.” Mona reached her way and patted a knee of blue iridescent spandex scales. “We’d absolutely love to hear what you have to say.”

“Well, the Man Grab . . .” Darinda’s focus darted around the room. “He was very handsome, wasn’t he? A kind of elegance to him, I thought. And I know this is going to sound silly, but I swear I saw something in his eyes when he looked up at the Great Mermaid. He seemed, well, I don’t know . . .
in awe of her
.”

Every woman in the living room had stopped breathing. “We’re listening,” Mona said.

“I think something happened when he touched her hand.”

A collective gasp escaped from the group.

“And I’m talking about something
real
.”

Mona placed the heavy Mermaid Society planning binder on the coffee table and leaned even closer to Darinda. “What do you mean by real?”

“I . . .” She stopped. “You must think I’m nuts.”

“No!”

Darinda pressed into the sofa back as if the group’s answer had startled her. Maybe it was just the decibel level.

“Tell us,” Mona said.

“I’ve been carefully watching the Man Grab for five years now, and I’ve never seen someone react the way he did. He was special.”

“I thought he was kind of a dick, really.”

“Polly!” Abigail shook her head and looked up at the ceiling in exasperation.

“Well, I’m sorry, but he acted pissed off. Bored. Like he couldn’t wait for it to be over.”

Izzy grunted. “At least he wasn’t drunk and laughing and making obscene comments like last year’s Man Grab.”

“True enough,” Layla said.

“Polly does have a point.” Mona thought back to the man the kids had brought to the fountain just hours before. He hadn’t been enjoying himself; that much was beyond debate. She’d had to basically threaten him to get him to join in on the fun. She turned toward Darinda. “But what does he have to do with our made-for-TV moment?”

“Ah.” Darinda smiled. “I think we should keep an eye on this guy, just in case the Great Mermaid has something special planned for him this week.”

“But we don’t even know who he is!” Izzy was obviously distressed. “We don’t know where he’s staying!”

“Oh, dear God.” Polly held the bottle of merlot perpendicular to her wineglass and shook it, dramatically forcing out the last few dribbles. “The island is the size of a bar coaster. He can’t exactly hide from us.”

“His name was Ashton.”

Mona looked at Darinda, curious about why the usually silent Mermaid Society member had chosen that particular moment to become Chatty Cathy. “Go on, Darinda.”

“All right. I guess what I sensed about him was that he was empty, completely alone, an island unto himself. And extremely sad. But by the time the ceremony ended, he was filled with a new sense of purpose.” She bit her lip shyly. “As I watched him run off through the rain, I had the feeling I was watching a man running headlong into his destiny.”

*   *   *

She tasted like cranberries and lime. She smelled like rain and summer grass. She felt slippery like satin against his skin. She was the finest vise of velvet around his cock.

How had this happened? Why had he let a legitimate accident turn into this, something that had already messed with his head and twisted his heart into some unknown shape? Who
was
this woman, and what was she doing to him?

At the moment, she was coming all over him again for about the fourth time in the last half hour, which just spurred him on to make sure that this orgasm would not be her last. Ash was aware that Rowan Flynn hadn’t been dating since her scumbag fiancé destroyed her, but the sheer power of her sexual hunger astounded him.

He’d never been with a woman quite like her.

In the back of his mind, he was aware that this was the exact wrong thing to do. His plan was to slowly earn her trust, seduce her with such subtlety that she wouldn’t even notice she was being seduced, and carefully win his way into the Flynn family’s good graces.

What they were doing on the floor of her carriage house apartment wasn’t slow or subtle and it sure as hell wasn’t careful.

It was outright recklessness. It was wild. It would complicate
everything
. Probably destroy it.

Ash clutched her perfect round ass in his hands and continued to give her every inch he had, keeping her in the position he liked best, her legs bent back by the weight of his body. He kept his mouth on hers, because the thunder and lightning had subsided and nature was no longer providing cover for her screams of pleasure.

He felt her fingers on his back. By now he had become accustomed to her touch. Even at its most gentle, it delivered a kind of hot electricity that penetrated into his muscle and bone.

Ash felt her tighten around him yet again, and he felt her lips move under his.

“Ash,” she whispered.

It was the first time he’d heard her say his name. He was sure of it. Despite his request at check-in, she’d continued to refer to him as “Mr. Wallace” even when she came to check on him in the storm. No, she hadn’t referred to him that way in the clutches of passion, but she hadn’t said his name, either. The sound of it now, in her hoarse whisper, made him ripple with delight.

Rowan freed her mouth from his. “You are incredible, Ash,” she whispered, her voice catching as she threw her head back. “So good. I—”

“Shhh.”

“No. You don’t know. You just don’t know.” When he touched the side of her face, he felt tears traveling from the corners of her eyes into her hair. “Thank you, Ash.”

Oh God, it was too much. Her sweetness, her tears, her beauty, the force of her desire. And the way she said his name. Ash put his mouth over hers once more, tasted her passion, then exploded into her.

That’s when the lights came on.

Both of them froze. Ash kept his face buried in her fragrant shoulder, trying desperately to regain his senses, his breath. He felt her body stiffen beneath him, and not in a good way.

Oh shit
.

Slowly, he opened one eye. In the light, he saw golden brown hair. The sharp glint of a small silver earring—one of those dangly things women seemed to like. He saw the barest glimpse of a soft, pink cheek.

What the hell had he just done?

“I should be going,” she whispered.

Ash felt her withdraw. It had been a sudden transition—as soon as the lights came on, the hot, open, and ravenous woman in his arms turned off.

“Rowan.” He angled his face toward her and left a gentle kiss on the side of her neck. He inhaled—suddenly overcome with sadness and dread. He’d just had the best sex of his whole life and the whole thing was wrong. Totally
messed up
. It would likely be the first and last time she’d ever be this close to him, and the thought of that was painful.

“Please. Let me up. I need to get back.”

Ash pushed on his arms, rose over her, and withdrew from her body. He made a point of meeting her gaze, but she glanced away. He felt like a guest who’d overstayed his welcome.

He rolled over, landing on his back on the hallway rug, still gasping for breath. Just then, he realized he had no idea where they’d crash-landed. All his attention had been on the woman, not the surroundings.

She popped up with such speed and determination that Ash half expected to see her do a series of back handsprings across the living room floor. He groaned and threw an arm over his eyes.

Ash remained silent as he heard her open and slam drawers, racing around the small apartment in bare feet, no doubt doing whatever had to be done so she could make her escape. He decided to push himself to a sitting position just in time to see Rowan standing like a crane, with one leg inside her jeans and the other bent in preparation to slide down into place. She wore an unripped T-shirt and a tiny pair of black bikini panties. Despite everything, the sight of her made his dick twitch.

He was a complete dog.

Rowan’s eyes flashed toward him. She looked angry. Disheveled. Well fucked. Embarrassed. And she couldn’t zip her jeans fast enough. She walked right past his naked, slumped form on her way to the steps.

“Please say something to me.” Ash didn’t turn around. He figured it might be easier for her if he wasn’t making eye contact. She stopped walking, but was silent. Ash swiveled around and saw her back. She was breathing hard and had a hand propped against the stairwell wall. She looked so fragile that his heart contracted.

This was nuts. They were both adults. It wasn’t like he’d attacked her. He’d asked at every turn whether this was really what she wanted. Not to mention that she’d been as demanding as he’d been!

He saw her shoulders tremble as she took a deep breath. It sliced him open to think he’d hurt her.

“Rowan, please. Talk to me. Say something.”

“Sure.” Her voice was mechanical. “Breakfast is served tomorrow from seven to ten.” She clomped down the steps. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable.”

Wham!
The carriage house door slammed shut.

Ash suddenly felt as if his body weighed eight hundred pounds, four hundred of which were made of utter confusion and the other four hundred, something he didn’t have the word for.
Lovesick
seemed close. But that couldn’t possibly be right.

“W
hat in heaven’s name is wrong with you this morning?”

Rowan stared at the shattered coffee cup at her feet, Imelda’s question barely registering. She’d already begun strategizing the best way to deal with the complete mess she’d just made. First she’d need the broom and dustpan to get the sharp, broken pieces of china off the kitchen floor and safely in the trash. Next she’d need paper towels to sop up the puddle of liquid.

The other mess—the one she’d made with the guest now eating blueberry scones at table six—that was going to be a little more complicated.

Imelda stood over Rowan as she squatted down with the dustpan. “Are you ill? Did you catch cold running out to the carriage house yesterday?”

Rowan’s head snapped up. She blinked in surprise. Imelda had
seen
her? Oh crap. “I forgot to give Mr. Wallace a flashlight before the storm. I had to get some candles to him.”

“I figured as much.”

Rowan’s heart pounded in her chest. She finished her task in record speed, nearly running to the trash can. Then she threw the broom in the pantry and snagged a handful of paper towels, immediately returning to finish the job. Rowan had already decided to never speak a word to anyone about what had happened with Ash. Maybe not even Annie. But if Imelda were even the slightest bit suspicious, it would be a matter of seconds before her mother was informed.

There weren’t many things in Rowan’s life that were absolutes, except this: Mona and her mermaid mofos would never again get to mess with her love life. One matchmaking cluster-fuck per lifetime was all she could spare, thank you very much.

“All done!” Rowan stood up and smiled cheerfully, noting Imelda’s rather odd expression. “What?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

Rowan laughed. “Uh, no. I’m not all right. I’ve got twenty-six guests in this place—no, twenty-seven—and, thanks to the storm, the yard is full of downed branches and there’s a new leak in the roof. And the parade starts in a couple hours.”

Imelda nodded. “I suppose your mother insists you wear your mermaid costume?”

“Of course.” It was at that moment Rowan realized her head was pounding. It was difficult to pick only one cause for this, since there were so many possibilities to choose from. Was it the vodka? How about the out-of-body and out-of-her-head sex-a-palooza with a total stranger—on the floor, no less? Or was it the knowledge that soon she’d be shoved into a tight spandex mermaid skirt and a pair of shells and forced to wave and smile from her perch atop the Safe Haven Bed-and-Breakfast parade float?

“I need another cup of coffee,” was the only thing Rowan could think to say.

Just then the swinging door to the kitchen opened and Zophie came bounding through, a huge tray of dirty dishes balanced on one palm. She seemed flushed and out of breath. Rowan was almost afraid to ask if there was a problem, since she spoke no Czech. Of course, she didn’t speak Russian or Polish and very little French, so it had been difficult to build relationships with her temporary summer help, all of whom spoke limited English.

“You okay?”

Zophie was a cute and hardworking nineteen-year-old who’d arrived on Bayberry in May looking for a job. Like thousands of foreign students on J-1 visas, she’d picked a sand-and-sea summer vacation spot to try to find work. Rowan had liked her immediately. Her smile was infectious and her laugh was genuine. But at that moment, Zophie looked like she was about to cry.

Imelda threw up her hands. “Is it a full moon? Is everyone on the same female cycle?” The oven timer buzzed, and she marched off to remove the latest batch of scones.

Rowan slowly approached Zophie, placing a hand on her shoulder. She felt the girl’s breath coming hard. Suddenly, Rowan got a very bad feeling about this. Had one of the guests done something? One of the male guests? Her blood chilled in her veins.

“Zophie.” She turned her employee around, to see that her mouth was trembling and tears were in her eyes. Rowan used her finger to push the girl’s chin up so she could make eye contact. “Hurt?” She checked her arms and hands.

Zophie shook her head.

It was moments like these that Rowan wished she knew the Czech words for
Did some asshole give you a hard time?
She sighed and began gesturing for her employee to tell her what had happened.

Zophie shook her head again, then wiped the tears from her face. She dug into the front pocket of her apron and pulled out a wrinkled and water-damaged hundred-dollar bill. She held it up with trembling fingers. “Teep,” she said.

Rowan laughed. This was so much better than what she’d feared. “A guest gave you a hundred-dollar tip?”

Zophie nodded, a huge smile breaking across her face. Rowan hugged her. “That’s so cool! Who was it? Show me!”

Her employee grabbed her hand and took Rowan to the swinging door to the guest dining room. She pushed the door open a crack so Rowan could peer out.

“Him,” Zophie said. “Good, nice man.” She pointed to Ash.

Rowan felt herself go stiff as a mast. She forced herself to smile as she retreated from the door. “That was generous of him.”

Zophie picked up on Rowan’s discomfort and frowned. “I take? Mine? Okay?”

“Of course!” Rowan patted her shoulder.

Zophie thanked her and went back to the sink, where she began to rinse off the dishes, humming sweetly as she worked. Rowan stared at her a moment, unable to move, trying to identify why this development bothered her so much.

Ash was filthy rich. A hundred bucks was a penny to him. So it was nothing to leave a huge tip for a pretty, young girl who barely spoke English but had a smile so bright it could guide ships to shore. What was the big deal about that? Men were mesmerized by the beauty of young women every hour of every day at every corner of the globe.

Then it hit her. She’d seen plenty of rich men come through here over the years, including all the summers she’d done the job Zophie did now—and none of them had been as generous as Ash. It was a private act of kindness, too, not done for show. It would have been easy for Rowan to never learn of his bighearted gesture.

She realized this was what bothered her. Rowan would have preferred to think of Ashton Louis Wallace III as a prick. It would have made it easier to dismiss what had happened with them as a horrible, awful mistake. Knowing he had a decent streak only complicated things.

“Take this into the dining room, please?” Imelda stood next to Rowan, holding out a silver serving tray lined with a decorative white paper doily and stacked high with warm scones. This batch looked like cranberry.

“Rowan?”

“Sure. Absolutely.” She grabbed the tray and slammed into the swinging door with her butt, determined not to look at him sitting alone at a table for two by the south window. Rowan approached the sideboard, then paid attention to the tasks at hand, the way any innkeeper would. She checked the coffee dispensers. The cream, sugar, and half-and-half. She made sure there was enough cereal, cream cheese, fresh fruit, and jams and jellies. Even the chafing dishes of scrambled eggs and sausage were filled, small cans of cooking fuel burning at just the right level. Her staff had done a wonderful job this morning.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stand. She froze.

“Rowan?”

The tiny hairs on her forearms pricked to attention at the sound of that voice. She swore she felt the heat of his breath on her skin. Tingling energy surged up from her toes all the way to her scalp. Before Rowan turned to answer him, she did a quick sweep of the dining room. Seven tables were still occupied, including the annual group of nudists and the unbalanced girls from the Tea Rose Room.

For some reason, everyone was staring intently in her direction, which made her worry that something was showing. Her bra strap? Her nervousness? The brain-numbing lust she possessed for the guest standing at her elbow?

Telling herself she could get through this, she looked up at Ash and smiled politely. “How was your breakfast, Mr. Wallace? Would you care for more coffee?”

The barest frown appeared between his eyes. Those eyes . . . The only time she’d seen them had been in the dim light of the reception hall and then during lightning flashes. When the power came on, she’d done everything she could not to look at him. But now there was no escaping the fact that his eyes were staggeringly beautiful, the deepest, darkest of blues, wide-set and framed in dark blond lashes and brows. But it was the intangible quality in those eyes that knocked the breath from her. Desire. Pain. Confusion. Wonder. Sweeping her face like a lighthouse beam.

“Everything was delicious. Thank you.” His voice was soft and hoarse.

“Wonderful. And was your room comfortable?” Rowan hoped she didn’t sound artificially chipper. After all, this conversation was designed for the guests still staring in her direction. If she had her way, she’d never speak to this man again.

Because talking to him was too unnerving. Too baffling. It brought up too many feelings.

Rowan started to sweat.

“Extremely comfortable,” he answered, the barest smile now twitching at the corner of his mouth. Oh God. That mouth. That wet, searching, skilled, hot mouth of his . . .

“In fact, it was probably the most enjoyable room I’ve ever stayed in.”

Boing!
His words made her head snap up. Had he said what she thought he said?

His smile expanded just the smallest bit, and though she figured she had about fifteen seconds of small talk left in her before she did something incredibly stupid—like hurl herself into his arms—she used a few of those seconds to examine his face. He was a fine, fine-looking man. His forehead was smooth. His cheeks were broad but not cartoonishly masculine. His jaw was just a bit on the square side, and two deep grooves framed his lips when he smiled—which he was doing now. It was a full-on smile that showed his white, straight teeth and pushed his cheeks up into the dusky blue of his eyes. A dark blond curl cupped one of his ears, and Rowan desperately wanted to kiss him there.

All she could think was . . .
Fucking
Frederick
. This was so much like what had happened three years ago. She’d met him in the dining room at breakfast, and he’d had the balls to just sit himself down at her table. And that was it—she’d fallen under his spell and she’d stayed hypnotized while he played her for a fool and her family for everything it was worth.

So, no. Never, ever again. And, yes, she’d made a terrible mistake yesterday, but it was done. It wasn’t too late to pull up the plane.

“Good to hear. Enjoy your day, Mr. Wallace.” Rowan turned toward the kitchen, still feeling the eyes of everyone boring into her back.

“Does the festival start today?”

Rowan stopped. Was he toying with her? Torturing her? She spun around to face him and realized that wasn’t it at all—he seemed to be unwilling to let her go. She couldn’t mistake the look in his eyes; he was grasping for an excuse to keep her close to him.

She gulped. “Yes, it does. The parade is followed by the opening ceremony at the fountain. Please feel free to take one of the brochures from the display rack near the front desk. There’s a list of events for the week—the community clambake, the children’s play, the reenactment at the public dock, the Mermaid Ball—there’s always something going on. Let me know if there’s anything else you might need.”

Again, she turned to go. Again, he stopped her.

“I do need a few extra towels.”

“I’ll have Zophie bring you some.”

“Thank you.”

Rowan couldn’t wait to escape to the protection of the kitchen. She burst through the door and immediately went to the butcher block in the center of the large room, where she placed her palms on the wood, closed her eyes, and rested. She needed a minute to shove down all the wildly inappropriate emotions that threatened to strangle her.

If she didn’t need the money so badly, she’d tell Ash to get his hot ass out of her B and B.

Imelda not so subtly banged some pans around until she got Rowan’s attention.

She slowly twisted her head in Imelda’s direction. “Yes?”

“Maybe this is none of my business—”

“Maybe it isn’t.” Rowan regretted her rudeness as soon as she spat out the words. It wasn’t like her to snap at Imelda that way. She loved her, relied on her, and would be lost without her. She shook her head, ashamed of herself. “Mellie, I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”

She shrugged. “I don’t mean to intrude. I’m only worried about your well-being.”

“I’m not sick.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Oh.” Rowan straightened up. “You mean my mental health? Yeah, okay. I’m going bat-shit crazy this week, but that’s to be expected, right? And it’s temporary.” She stopped. “I hope so, anyway.”

Imelda shook her head. “Not that, either.”

“Then what?”

She smiled sadly. “Your heart, honey girl. It’s your heart I worry about.”

*   *   *

After breakfast, Ash walked the half mile or so to the marine yard to retrieve his belongings from the cabin of the
Provenance.
He decided to take his sweet time on the half-mile walk, since reaching his destination wasn’t his primary goal. More important was examining the baffling and powerful attraction he felt for Rowan Flynn and figuring out a way to put an end to it.