Wicked: Whispering Cove, Book 3 (2 page)

With its dark wood trim, mismatched captain’s chairs and boat benches turned into seats, The Seafarer was a seat-yourself sort of establishment. Large sheets of white paper covered the tables rather than tablecloths, buckets for dumping shells and tails sat in recessed holes in the middle of each table.

Byron had chosen a table with a view of the water and Braydon’s boat. Not wanting to risk sitting too close to Braydon, Danica took the chair beside Byron. When Braydon sat across from her, folding his long legs beneath the table with his knees bumping hers, she acknowledged the flaw in her thinking.

“Braydon, hey.” With an apron tied around her waist, Katy Wilson stopped by the table with a smile on her fresh, girl-next-door face, the perfect face for daytime TV. She bumped a lean hip against Braydon’s shoulder. “It’s about time you graced us with your presence.”

“Katy!” Braydon pushed out of his chair and pulled the dark-haired, ponytail-wearing sophisticate into his arms. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were coming to the reunion.”

“Helping Mom and Dad.”

“What about your show? How’m I supposed to learn to cook if you’re here?” Braydon sat back down and locked his attention on Katy.

His knees bumped Danica’s and shot tingles of awareness up her exposed thighs. He didn’t have any trouble cooking.

“Watch the re-runs. We’re in a hiatus.” Katy’s voice caught with a note of hesitation or uncertainty, which disappeared an instant later. “Not that you can do much cooking on the boat you call home. My stove is bigger than your entire kitchen.”

Katy had been on his boat and seen his kitchen? What else had she seen?

“Hey! Don’t dis my skills in the kitchen until you’ve witnessed them. I make a mean lobster.”

Katy rolled her eyes and turned away from Braydon, much like she might shrug off a pain-in-the-ass brother. “Don’t let him bait you, Danica. He’s more talk than follow through.”

Braydon’s eyes shot to hers. For a second she thought he remembered her, but he gave no other indications of recognition.

“Good to know.” Danica smiled at Katy, feeling at ease for the first time since Braydon stepped out of his dingy. “What’s on the menu today?”

Then he shifted in his seat, brushing his legs against hers with a light tickle of his leg hairs.

Her pussy quivered and begged for attention.

“Well, not to outdo the amateur, but…” Katy leaned forward and nodded toward Braydon, “a shrimp platter including the best shrimp cocktail and richest scampi you’ve ever put in your mouth.”

“Sounds great.” Danica turned to Byron who was being uncharacteristically quiet. “How about you, Byron?”

“None of that fancy stuff. Bring me fried catfish and hush puppies.”

Katy opened her mouth, but closed it again without argument. “How about you, Braydon?”

“I’ll have the same as Danica.” He shifted his piercing gaze to her again. “Maybe she knows something I don’t.”

“That wouldn’t be tough.” Katy chuckled and moved toward the kitchen. She turned back and snapped her elegant fingers. “Oh, Danica. Who is doing your hair? It looks lovely.”

“Victoria over at the Whispering Salon.” Not that the new look was offering her the confidence she’d hoped for.

“She could do the big city proud.”

“I’ll be right back.” Byron pushed his chair back and disappeared.

His walk wasn’t as labored as it had been on the rocky beach, Danica noticed. Was it a terrain thing? Had he needed to rest? He asked her to diagnose him, but his symptoms were all logical for a man his age. They were just illogical in the way they came and went at random.

Braydon leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table. He straightened his legs, resting his calves against hers, completely unaware, or uncaring, that she’d pulled her legs back to her chair to avoid touching.

“Danica.” Recognition and something she wasn’t brave enough to name infused her name on his lips.

He did remember her.

She nodded.

“Hey, Dr. Dani.” A woman’s voice pulled her attention from Braydon toward Chief of Police Brody McGrath and Andrea “Andie” Adair, who she’d seen last night at the hospital when Byron called her to look in on one of his best friends.

“Brody. Andie. How’s Harold?”

“Home.” Andie breathed a sigh of relief for her granddad. “He’s tired, but doing better. Thanks for helping out with him last night.”

Brody shook Braydon’s hand in some secret shake they’d known since high school. Typical men, they needed no words to catch up on life.

“That’s what I do.” Danica smiled, both to offer comfort and because she was glad Harold was back home. “If you like, I’ll check in on him a little later.”

“That would be great,” Brody grinned. “He suggested I keep Andie out of the house, but mentioned nothing about you.”

“I would think as the big bad cop you could get away with pretty much anything you wanted.” Braydon sat back in his chair, again brushing his leg against Danica’s.

Brody laughed. “You were the one who got away with everything.”

“Please.” Braydon waved his hand. “I’ve been here an hour and have relived enough ‘do you remember when’ stories for three weeks.”

“You gave people a lot to remember.”

“And myself as much to forget.” He turned to Andie. “How are you doing?”

Danica didn’t miss the note of concern deepening his voice. He wasn’t only checking on Andie’s current life. Danica hadn’t been one of them, but she’d seen how close they’d all been in high school. The death of Andie’s parents had hit them all hard.

“I’m holding up.” Andie kissed Braydon’s cheek. “Thank you for asking and for the calls over the years.”

“Hey, we runaways have to stick together.”

“And apparently come home at the same time.” Brody shook Braydon’s hand again. “We’ll catch up later. We just stopped by to check on Katy.”

Danica watched as Brody and Andie walked away. He took her hand in his. She pulled away. He pulled it back. They’d been inseparable in high school, the couple everyone envied and, though the spark still flickered between them, she was clearly holding out. If Brody won the fight for her heart he’d be impossible. Happy, but impossible.

“Now, back to this.” Braydon resumed the same position he’d settled into before the latest interruption. Leaning forward, forearms braced on the table with his calves against hers. “You’re Danica, as in Danica Kent?”

Her name slipped out of his mouth like a seductive caress. His eyes sharpened, but she couldn’t identify the underlying emotion. Anger?

She flattened her hands on the table, stroking the fork tines with an index finger.

“As in the Danica Kent who tutored kids in science?”

Relief swam in her blood. He didn’t remember the rest.

“As in the Danica Kent who watched me through the telescope on her widow’s walk?” He shifted an ankle against hers.

Her muscles twitched. He did remember. Her head bobbed in a nod. She’d wanted him to notice her all those years ago. Now she had his attention and still couldn’t speak. How had she ever hoped to capture his interest?

“You’ve changed.” He traced the back of her hand. The light calluses on his fingers and palms scraped in contrast to the gentle touch. “I wonder how else you’ve changed.”

Danica stared at his hand on hers. He knew who she was and that she’d spied on him, but he wasn’t turning and running. Shock overruled the embarrassment she should feel from him knowing of her teenage obsession.

“I’d say you’re still not much of a talker, but I think you only have a problem with me.”

She swallowed. She would have to talk to him eventually. Hopefully she’d come up with something intelligent.

He took her left hand in his, turned it over and traced her palm with his left index finger. Her stare was riveted on his hand willingly touching hers.

“Do you have nothing to say, Danica?”

“About what?” The words croaked out, but at least she’d managed something.

“About you and me and what we never did together but could now.”

Boat-sinking torpedo dead ahead!

He was referring to sex, and damn if she didn’t want it, even if he was leaving in a few days, right after the reunion. “We have nine feet of blood vessels, six hundred pain sensors, nine thousand nerve endings, thirty-six heat sensors and seventy-five pressure sensors in one square inch of our hand.”

“Really? So which sensors would feel this?” He pulled her hand across the table and blew a warm breath over her palm. “Or this?” He kissed her palm. “Or this?” He swiped the tip of his tongue along her lifeline.

Moisture pooled in her panties. She curled her toes to keep from squirming beneath his attention.

“Braydon.” She hardly recognized her own whisper. She was in a public restaurant and all she wanted was to find a quiet corner for him to keep touching her. She wanted nothing to shatter the mini dream-coming-true moment.

“Mmm. I like my name on your lips.” He linked his fingers with hers and smiled into her eyes. “I like your mouth.”

“I…” Her thighs trembled.

“You what, Danica?” He raised his foot, brushing his leg up the inside of hers. “Tell me what you want.”

“I…” Her pussy pulsed. She rolled her hips, slowly rubbing the seam of her shorts over her clit. She was going to orgasm in public and he had done nothing more than touch her hand or play footsies. “Braydon.”

“Go ahead.” That Herculean purr was back in his voice, enticing and encouraging her, pushing her toward the end of the plank. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want…”

“Say it. No one can hear you.” He placed an open-mouthed kiss on her palm and sucked the skin gently between his teeth.

Her inner walls and core muscles contracted in orgasm. Tingling electrodes of excitement coursed through her body, filling her veins and vibrating her muscles and shutting down her brain. Her vision blurred in a field of brilliant stars.

She gasped and pulled her hand free to grab her glass of water. Her hand shook as she raised it to her mouth.

Braydon Mitchell hadn’t run from her. Maybe she should have run from him.

He could be a fantasy come true she couldn’t handle. But damn if she didn’t want to be the handler.

Chapter Two

After stopping by the fire station to catch up with Trent Parker and dodging questions about Katy—he wasn’t getting into that emotional baggage—Braydon headed back to the boat to get some work done. Country music blasted through the speakers he’d run above and below deck. A perk of living on a boat was no neighbors to bitch about loud tunes, and he loved loud tunes.

Another perk was being far enough away that walking to see tempting salon blondes who were easily excited but unable to talk over a meal wasn’t convenient. Danica. He should have recognized her immediately. She’d changed her hairstyle and lightened it. Her braces were gone and her clothing choices were way more flattering than they’d been in school, but she hadn’t really changed.

She was still shy and a little clumsy. Her mouth was still as tempting as it had been when he’d stopped her from toppling off the bleachers at a basketball game. And if he hadn’t had a girlfriend then he might have taken a taste. He’d almost taken a taste this morning, but Granddad had interrupted him.

The mystery of her taste teased him as tauntingly as her earlier reactions. Her eyes had gone cloudy and her chest had pumped in rapid breaths.

He’d bet the sails on his boat she’d almost climaxed sitting there. Damn if he didn’t want to know what she’d do when he got the opportunity to work at a seduction.

Checking his watch, Braydon saw he had a few hours before needing to shower for dinner, so he headed to the cabin to grab the polish for the rails. He didn’t like cleaning, but living on a boat and travelling the world writing freelance stories for yachting and sporting magazines made hiring a regular housekeeper tough. Besides, he was particular about his boat.

Starting at the bow, he sat cross-legged and cleaned and polished the rails. Steady, slow and even strokes back and forth removed the salty build-up and restored the shine. With the front part of the railing done, he moved to work on the rigging hooks on the deck. The action of rubbing the surface to a gleam brought images of Danica to mind.

Images of her stretched out beneath him on the newly cleaned surface. His hands stroking and rubbing her, awakening her body and the shine of arousal he’d seen in her eyes earlier. His dick hardened, pressed into the zipper of his cut-offs.

When he’d agreed to attend the reunion, he’d been surprised at how much he wanted to be there. He wanted to see old friends and even those he hadn’t been friendly with. How much did ten years change people? Were the cliques the same? Were the nerds still nerds, snobs still snobs, jocks still jocks?

He had one answer. Sort of. Danica Kent, for all her awkwardness, was changed and still the same. Every run-in with her in high school had been stilted and awkward. She’d fawned over him, followed him, and spied on him from her room. She’d been unable to talk to him without stumbling over her tongue or spilling things on one of them or tripping. And okay, some had seen her attention as creepy, but mostly he’d found it kind of flattering.