Wicked: Whispering Cove, Book 3 (8 page)

Sleep wasn’t coming. He smelled her, saw her, felt her in the main cabin and his bed. Even on the main deck where the air was filled with the prevalent scent of the sea, Braydon couldn’t escape Danica. Couldn’t escape tying her in to Granddad’s earlier lecture.

“You’re almost thirty.” Granddad had harangued him during dinner, which had more closely resembled an inquisition than a family meal. “It’s time you grew up, stopped playing with your chickadees in bikinis, and settled down.”

“I like playing,” he’d defended.

Granddad had reached over and taken Grandma Ruth’s hand. “We want to see you happy before our time runs out.”

It had been all Braydon could do to not roll his eyes. Granddad had always been dramatic. “That’s a little over the top, Granddad, even for you.”

“Nonsense. We’re not as young as we used to be.”

“Byron Mitchell.” Grandma Ruth scolded even while looking ready to snort with humor.

“I want great-grandbabies, Ruthie.” Granddad had insisted. “So do you.”

“You’re going to have to wait a little longer.” Braydon had started clearing the table to avoid Granddad’s stare. He’d never been able to hold out against his grandfather’s will, especially if Grandma Ruth joined in the fight. Thankfully, she’d remained neutral so far. “I like my life and freedom.”

“Life on your own don’t make you free, boy. You can’t wrap your arms around the memories of multiple women.”

The conversation had looped in Braydon’s head while he lay on his bed with Danica’s wintergreen fragrance swirling around the cabin. Stuck in his brain like an annoying song’s chorus that wouldn’t budge, it looped still.

Braydon rolled his neck and shoulders as he sat on the cushioned bench seats of his boat. He stretched out his right hand and rubbed the ledge of the door he still needed to fix. Another reminder of Danica.

Any sense of urgency to make the repair had vanished after she stitched him up. During her treatment actually. As painful as the hit had been, it had gotten her into his arms. No regrets on the sexual front, but getting involved past a one-time fling had been a mistake.

He liked her, but she’d been right. They wanted different lifestyles. She preferred the settled small-town life. He craved the adventure and freedom of travel. She’d diagnosed his preferences there with the accuracy of a surgical laser.

His gut twisted. Settling in a small town wasn’t in his blood. He was too much like his parents. He needed excitement.

Damn it. Danica read him effortlessly, a feat no woman had ever been allowed to get close enough to manage. No woman had intrigued him beyond one or two nights while passing through someplace.

He couldn’t downgrade his visit home to
passing through
any more than he could view Danica as just another woman. She was smart and kind. And she cared deeply for his grandfather. More deeply than a doctor-to-patient thing.

Sinking into the seat until the cushions pillowed his head, Braydon glanced toward her home. It was four in the morning and the light in her tower room still shone. A lump of remembrance lodged in his throat. He could have been there with her.

He choked down the yearning and retrieved his binoculars from below deck. Dropping back to the bench, he magnified the view and filled his vision with Danica still wrapped in her old robe. It fell open to reveal her legs and the gape at the neck showed the subtle swell of her breasts.

He swallowed. The yearning wouldn’t be suppressed.

Backlit by the soft light filtering through a window sheer, her blonde hair and smooth tan glowed. She glowed almost the same way during orgasm.

His dick hardened. His palms itched to reach across the distance and touch her.

Cushioned in a chair right by where they’d made love—had sex—her mouth curled in a small smile and tendrils of her hair fluttered in the morning breeze. She read a magazine by the light shining through her window. It wasn’t a chick magazine like he’d expected. No. She was reading the magazine he primarily wrote for.

Magnifying a little more to see the folded back pages, his by-line image and the first page of his latest article came into view. He grinned and decreased magnification to study her. She was reading his article and seemed to be enjoying it. So much so that sleep didn’t seem to matter to her.

Nope.

He’d hoped to give her something to remember him by, something to change the way she viewed her vantage point of the town, but she didn’t appear at all disturbed by the memory of what they’d done on the floor by her chair.

Dr. Danica Kent was enjoying the solitude of her widow’s peak. Unaffected. At ease with her life in this small town.

Damn.

Damn if he didn’t envy her.

Damn if he didn’t want another shot at rattling her peace.

Damn if he didn’t want a replay of their shared sunset at sunrise.

With his cock clamoring for Danica’s body, he watched. Captivated. He watched her shift from magazine to romance novel with a gentle sigh. He watched her brush back the tendrils of hair sweeping against her face. He watched her chest rise and fall steadily and wished he could amp it up with passion.

Excited from simply watching her, his heart rate quickened. With the sun peaking over the horizon, the desire to explore Granddad’s advice bloomed. He’d fallen deeper than intended for her and the time had come to see where he wanted to take it.

For the first time in his adult life, Braydon wanted to give the permanence of small-town life a try. With Danica.

He waited for discomfort or fear to set in with the realization. Expected the desire to flee to pull at him. They didn’t come. Only the peace of knowing he’d figured it out settled over him.

He wanted Danica. He wanted the kind of life she wanted. Well, with a little more travel than she’d mentioned.

Suddenly, Danica dropped the book to her lap and brought her cell phone up. Her smile flashed wide as she moved to her room.

Braydon kept the binoculars trained on her home in hopes of seeing more of her. So what if the spying made him a perv? He was so focused on her room he almost missed the flash of her in a hot pink tank top as she rounded the front of her house.

Eager as an adolescent, Braydon scrambled for a shirt and shoes, and in under ten minutes was in town watching for signs of Danica’s blonde ponytail or her pink top. He refused to overthink his driving need to be with her, to get to her as quickly as possible and spend all the time with her she would allow.

Braydon turned a corner near the Seaside Pub another twenty minutes or so later and stumbled to a halt. Five feet away, Danica stood in the morning shadow of Hauk’s private entry. Hauk’s arm encircled her waist and she relaxed against him while they shared an intimate conversation.

Rage snapped at Braydon. He’d been a fool to entertain thoughts of permanence with Danica. Shit. The signs had been there all along.

Hauk’s familiarity with her fragrance.

Her spending time with Hauk’s kid.

The way she pulled back last night with the argument of what she wanted in life—the things Hauk was able to give her.

With his blood sizzling, Braydon pivoted on his heel and walked away, rubbing the pain in his chest. Later he would thank her for reminding him why he preferred distance. Emotions were messy and left oblivious morons mangled.

Danica steadied her breathing as she hustled up the walk to Byron’s home. Ruth didn’t give in to panic, but when she’d called about Byron’s collapse, urgency and fear had shaken her tone. The tone in turn had shaken Danica and had her leaving her evening out with Victoria.

She went through the door without knocking. “Ruth. It’s Danica.”

“Doc.” Ruth hurried from the kitchen. Tension pinched her mouth until the edge just at the corner of her lips twitched in a vertical line. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“Where is he? What’s happening?”

“He’s on the back deck.” Ruth led the way, twisting her hands. “We were talking about Braydon, about how upset he seemed this afternoon, and all of a sudden Byron went bright red and passed out.”

“How long was he unconscious?”

“Maybe two minutes. His color is coming back to normal slowly.”

They stepped onto the back deck where Byron sat in a glider shaped like two sails of a boat turned upside down. The wooden sails wrapped around for the arms and supported Byron in what looked like a comfortable ride.

“Byron.” Danica crossed to him and sat her bag at her feet. “I thought I told you to take it easy.”

“I was trying to.” He waved toward the water and the boats. “That boy makes it impossible. He needs to change his life.”

Ruth settled on the edge of her matching glider and tsk-tsked Byron while Danica took his vitals. “Your blood pressure is high. You’re getting yourself too worked up.”

“That boy needs to settle down.”

She wouldn’t mind being the reason, but wasn’t going to say anything. Instead, she watched the cuff monitor climb with Byron’s aggravation.

“He needs a nice girl to have babies with,” Byron continued. His blood pressure inched higher. His face reddened.

“Byron—”

“You’re a nice girl.” He narrowed his eyes and plowed over her. “Don’t you like my Braydon?”

Like him? I love him, but the feeling isn’t returned.
“He’s nice.”

“Nicer’n that Hauk character you spend so much time with.”

“Byron.” Danica’s caution grew into alarm with Byron’s increasing blood pressure. Her heart pounded harder. He needed to calm down before the blood pressure spikes caused more serious problems. “You’ve known Hauk his whole life. You know he’s as good a guy as Braydon.”

Byron smacked the chair’s arm in demand. “He’s not right for you.”

“He seemed right enough for her this morning.” Braydon pushed open the screen door and stepped outside. “She made her choice.”

She flinched from Braydon’s abrasive tone.

His eyes sought hers and held them captive. Even as he addressed his granddad, as he moved to kiss his grandmother’s cheek, his gaze remained on her. Smugness ruffled his normally smooth tone. “I’ve made mine.”

“Garbage.” Byron freed himself from the blood pressure cuff and slapped a hand on the arm of his chair again.

If his distress hadn’t been evidenced by the blood pressure cuff she’d have thought him a scheming, matchmaking faker.

“Your wrong choices are going to bite back.” With a stiff nod, he pressed his lips together and harrumphed back into the chair.

She narrowed her gaze. Maybe he was. The man was definitely up to something.

Self-preservation was never wrong, but Danica wasn’t getting into that with Byron. He didn’t need to know how long she’d loved his grandson or how much she loved him still or what she might be willing to sacrifice for a chance at being with him.

“Granddad. Relax before you pass out again.” Braydon’s gaze shifted. Concern cascaded in his stare. “Is he okay? What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m fine,” Byron demanded.

Ruth and Braydon raised their hands in an identical gesture to silence Byron. He huffed, but obeyed.

“Doc?” Ruth’s normal calm had returned, though she wanted reassurances.

“He’ll be fine. As I’ve told him already…” She cast her sternest doctor glare at Byron. “He needs to cut back on the rum.” She looked back at Ruth, avoiding the burn of Braydon’s eyes beaming into her. “And though I sympathize with his desire to see Braydon home and married and starting a herd of babies…” She paused to ensure her voice remained steady and free of echoed hopes. “He needs to stop getting riled up over the idea.”

“You listen to me, chickadee.” Byron lunged spryly from his chair and faced her down.

She cocked her head and smiled. He hadn’t faked tonight’s attack, but the other health issues…yeah. He was a schemer and he’d read her heart.

She leaned in and spoke so only he could hear. “You listen to me, you scheming meddler. I’ve figured you out. Whatever game you’re playing with me needs to stop before someone gets hurt. And don’t think I don’t know about the flyers.”

He had the grace to appear shamed. “I—”

The last bit had been a guess, but apparently an accurate one. She shook her head. “You mess with Braydon all you want, but leave me alone.” She kissed Byron’s cheek and smiled as she stepped back. “You can drink at your weekly poker game, but cut the rest out.” She turned back to Ruth. “Try to avoid topics that raise his blood pressure. And if you see him going red in the face, back him off a little.”

Braydon swept down and grabbed her bag before she could. “I’ll walk you out.”

“I know the way.”

“Let the boy escort you, Dr. Dani.” Byron smiled his broad leagues-away-from-innocence smile.

“Byron,” she warned.

“It’s just to the front door, girl. Don’t get your blood pressure up.” His voice held no weakness.

She laughed and stopped arguing. The effort was futile against Byron’s aged stubbornness.

Braydon opened the screen door for her. Like when he’d arrived, his gaze zeroed in on her and locked. Danica ceded momentary defeat.