Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel (20 page)

“Good,” Gabe said. “Kid’s doing a good job on those shelves.”

“No drips,” Aidan piped.

She laid her hand on his shoulder, bird bones and slight muscle. “I can see that. Nice job. I’d say this calls for pizza.”

“Pizza! Yay!”

Gabe smiled slightly. “I can have the walls done by the time you two get back.”

He had offered to take them out for pizza before, and she had hesitated. She couldn’t decide now if her caution was foolish or selfish—or very, very smart.

She was falling for him. But she had to be realistic. She had a kid to worry about. There was a risk that Aidan might fall for him, too.

At her continued silence, Gabe raised an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t trust me with your shop.”

“It’s not that,” Jane said.

She didn’t have only her own feelings to consider now, or Aidan’s. Now there was Gabe, who deserved better than to be used and dismissed.

Surely she could give him what he wanted and hold back enough to protect herself and her son.

“I reckon you earned pizza, too,” she said. “I can handle
a roller. Why don’t we finish painting together and eat after?”

Gabe nodded slowly. “I’d like that. If that’s what you want.”

In the end, she and Aidan were so covered in paint that they decided to have the pizza delivered—mushroom for Jane, pepperoni for the boys. Gabe insisted on paying.

Jane folded her arms. “That’s not right. Not after all this work you’ve done.”

“You worked, too.”

“It’s my place.”

“I painted the shelves,” Aidan said.

Jane shared a quick smile with Gabe.

“You sure did,” Gabe said. “Looks nice, too.”

The new color made the bakery look bigger. Brighter. Jane spun slowly in the center of the room, surveying the freshly painted walls with satisfaction.

Satisfaction and gratitude. It had taken her days to paint the place herself when she opened six years ago. She was proud of all she had accomplished on her own. But she couldn’t deny the work had gone quicker with Gabe’s help.

“It all looks nice,” she said.

“Beautiful,” Gabe said.

But he wasn’t looking at the room.

She blushed to the roots of her hair, warm all over. “Thank you. Well, I . . . I should get Aidan home. It’s a school night.”

“Sure,” Gabe said. “See you, sport.”

“You could come, too,” Aidan said.

A faint smile touched Gabe’s lips. Her gaze snagged on his mouth. He was so handsome when he smiled. “I don’t think so. I’ve got to walk my dog.”

“Aidan goes to bed at nine,” Jane said. “You could drop by after.”

Gabe’s dark gaze turned razor sharp. “You want me to come to your house,” he repeated.

She nodded, her blood rushing. “Maybe . . . for coffee?”
Not a booty call. They needed to talk, away from Aidan and interruptions.

“You can read me a story,” Aidan said.

Her jab of surprise was followed by a tiny prick of envy. Lately, Aidan had grown impatient with cuddling. But often, at the end of the day, he reverted to her little boy again. Even though he was old enough to read to himself, he liked for her to read to him at bedtime. Usually she could squeeze in a hug, too.

Gabe stuck his thumbs in his belt loops, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “You got the mouse and the cookie book?”

“Yeah!” Aidan’s face changed. Became doubtful. “It’s kind of for little kids though.”

“I’ve never read it,” Gabe said.

Aidan brightened. “I could, like, maybe read it to you.”

“I’d like that.” Gabe looked at Jane. “But it’s up to your mom.”

“Well, I . . .”

“Please?” Aidan said.

She could not resist both of them. Not when her own heart was on their side. She shrugged helplessly. “I guess we’ll see you later, then.”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Make it half an hour. Aidan has to shower.”

Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. “Wouldn’t mind a chance to clean up myself.”

He patted Aidan’s shoulder. Stepped in close—he was so tall—and kissed Jane on the cheek, a brush of stubble and smooth lips, a whiff of paint and warm male. Her insides gave a sudden throb. Her lips parted.

“Thirty minutes,” he said and was gone.

Aidan’s eyes had widened at the kiss, but he didn’t say anything as Jane locked up or in the car or later when they got home.

Was that a good sign or a bad sign?

Jane spooned grounds into the coffeepot, one ear cocked for the shower running upstairs. She had never brought a man around her son before. Maybe if she had, she’d know what to say to him now.

And maybe Aidan wouldn’t have been so quick to jump in the car when his father tried to take him last summer.

The doorbell rang.

Her hand jerked, scattering coffee grounds over the counter.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly when she yanked open the front door a few minutes later. “I spilled the . . .”

Tulips.

Her thoughts dissolved. She melted all over, her knees and her spine.

Gabe Murphy stood on her doorstep in an olive-green T-shirt that brought out the color of his eyes, holding a bouquet of yellow tulips. “Spilled the . . . ?” he prompted.

“What? Oh, the coffee.” She stared at the cheerful blooms, trying to remember the last time a man had brought her flowers.

Gabe looked at her oddly. “You okay? Not burnt or anything.”

“Hm? Oh. No.” You didn’t bring flowers to a booty call.

“These are for you.” He thrust the tulips at her. “Watch the stems. Tess said they’d drip.”

She accepted the bouquet, wrapped in a damp paper towel fastened with a rubber band. “Tess Fletcher?”

“They’re from her garden.”

And you definitely didn’t bring flowers from your best friend’s mother’s garden. Jane raised the tulips to her face, melting a little more, breathing in the fresh green scent with its faint undernote of musk.

“Where’s Hank?” Gabe asked.

She blinked. “He’s out tonight. Home at eleven, he said.”

“Late shift.”

“I don’t think so.” She lowered the flowers. “Honestly, I don’t know. Usually, the officers are just on call after nine o’clock. But he’s been acting weird lately.”

“Weird, how?”

“Well, he’s always spent a lot of time at the station, but he’s gone even more now. And when he’s home, he’s kind of distracted.” She frowned. “Also, he’s been shaving a lot. And whistling.”

Gabe’s mouth quirked. “Maybe he has a girlfriend.”

“Oh, no,” she said automatically. “Dad doesn’t date.”

Any more than she did.
Huh
.

“Twenty years is a long time to go without sex,” Gabe observed.

“Yes.” She bit her lip. Even eight years was too long. Eight days. “But we’re talking about my
dad
.”

“I’m no authority, but it seems to me having a kid doesn’t eliminate your sex drive.”

Their eyes met. Her breath went. “I guess not.”

A door opened upstairs. Footsteps creaked in the hall and thumped on the landing. Aidan appeared at the crook of the stairs, his hair shiny from his shower. “Hey, Gabe. I have my book.”

“Hi, sport. Let’s see it, then.”

Aidan danced from foot to foot. “It’s upstairs.”

Gabe looked at Jane in silent question.

She summoned a smile. “You go. I need to get these in water.”

She lingered to watch them climb the stairs together, the tall man in jeans and work boots adjusting his stride to the little boy in pajamas and bare feet. The picture pierced her heart.

She and Aidan had each other, and that was essential. They had her father, and that was a blessing. Despite her recent worries about Aidan, he was a happy, healthy, well-adjusted child. Practically a miracle.

And yet . . .

She cut the tulips’ stems over the kitchen sink, arranging them in a brown-glazed stoneware pitcher. The bright blooms glowed. Wistfully, she touched one, tracing its creamy texture with one finger.

She had never had a man bring her flowers before or climb the stairs at night to read to her son.

There was a danger Aidan could become too attached. They needed to talk about that. She had to protect her child.

But as she set out mugs for coffee and tidied the counter, she worried it was already too late for Aidan.

Too late for them both.

G
ABE
FOUND
HER
in the kitchen, putting cups and cookies on a tray. Such a Jane thing to do, providing food and comfort. He paused a moment to appreciate the picture she made, her quick, neat hands, her smooth blond hair. Like Tess Fletcher, she had a knack, a need, for taking care of others.

He wanted to take care of her.

“Let me get that,” he said. He felt the slight resistance in her grip before she released the tray.

She twisted her empty hands together, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I thought we’d sit on the porch.”

He smiled reassuringly. “Lead the way.”

The screened back porch was shadowed and quiet, surrounded by overgrown shrubs. His contractor’s eye noted a rip in the screen, a break in the lattice, rust on the chains of the old porch swing. The air smelled of sea and loam and faintly of citronella. A chorus of tree frogs swelled in the dusk. Through the skylight overhead, the stars were coming out, faint white points against a deep blue sky.

Jane gestured for him to put the tray down on a small table. “I need to . . .” Another nervous movement of those hands, smoothing the thighs of her jeans. “I should say goodnight to Aidan.”

“Take your time.” Gabe eased his weight down on the swing. “I’ll be right here.”

The thought sank into him.
Right here on Dare Island.

He was content here, happier than he could ever remember being. He had a job, friends, a dog, a truck. Like some cowboy in a country song instead of a punk from Detroit. Gabe grinned in the dark. Hell, he was sitting on a goddamn porch swing in the moonlight. All he needed to complete the cliché was the love of a good woman.

His breathing jammed.
Yeah.
All he needed . . .

*   *   *

“H
E
’
S
ALMOST
OUT
,” Jane said, rejoining him.

“Kid worked hard today.”

“You, too. Thank you.”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with her praise.

She sat beside him on the slatted seat, propping her feet on the table, rocking the swing. Her position, bent knees, raised feet, exposed a strip of pale skin above her plain white sneakers.
Jesus.
He had it bad when even the sight of her ankles turned him on.

“You’re good with him,” she continued softly.

He cleared his throat, trying not to imagine her naked. “He read me a story. No big deal.”

He liked the boy.

The swing creaked idly back and forth. He’d never sat with a girl on a porch swing in the dark. It was nice.

“He talked to you about his father,” Jane said. “That’s a very big deal. Lauren says it’s important for Aidan to express his feelings, but he doesn’t talk to me.”

“It’s a guy thing.”

A smile played around her mouth. Her scent wrapped around him in the dark, sweet and edible. He’d probably
never be able to eat chocolate again without tasting her. “Talking? I don’t think so.”

“Not making eye contact,” he explained. “Uncle Chuck used to say I only opened my mouth when we were working together. Or driving in the car. Like I could only tell him stuff if he couldn’t see my face.” He grinned, remembering. “Some of the shit I told him, I’m surprised he didn’t drive us off the road and into a tree.”

She slid her hand along the seat, wrapping her small, scarred, capable fingers around his big, rough ones, giving them a little squeeze. “Aidan likes you.”

Ah, Jesus. She might as well have squeezed his heart. Except that his heart was swelling too big for his body, pressing against his ribcage. He couldn’t breathe, all of the room in his chest taken up by his rapidly expanding heart. “He’s a good kid. You’ve done a good job with him.”

“Thanks.” She dropped her gaze to their joined hands. “But he’s confused right now. Vulnerable. Especially where his father is concerned. I’m not sure it’s a good idea for him to get attached to you.”

Her words slid like a knife between his ribs, puncturing his heart.
Bang
.

He drew in a cautious breath, absorbing the pain.

The old Gabe would have argued. His instinct when wounded or threatened had always been to lash out. Fight back. But he’d known all along he didn’t deserve her. He shouldn’t be surprised she’d figured it out, too. What did he know about being a role model for a little boy?

“I’m all he has,” Jane continued. “I don’t want him hurt when you leave.”

“You’re worried I’ll hurt Aidan,” he said carefully.

She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes.

He choked down his churning panic.
This isn’t about you, you bastard. Think about her.

Something didn’t fit.

He forced himself to consider what she was saying, to think before he spoke.

You don’t scare me
, she’d said.

This is what I want
, she’d said.

I trust you.

Gabe frowned. Jane was a good mom. Maybe she was simply protecting her son. And maybe . . .

I don’t want him hurt when you leave.

God. Maybe she was protecting herself.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Unless you tell me to go.”

Her gaze lifted. In the deep blue twilight, her eyes were searching. Serious. Her fingers clung to his.

Enough talking, he decided. He’d never been much good with words anyway. Jane needed reassurance.

Or that was his excuse.

He lifted the table, moving it farther away. She watched, her brow puckering.

Leaning forward, he dropped a kiss between her brows. His mouth drifted from her cheek to her jaw, finding the tender hollow of her neck, where her skin was silky and warm. Doing his best to reassure her, to show her with his body the things he could not say.

Let me take care of you. Don’t tell me to go.

*   *   *

I
T
WASN
’
T
ONLY
sex this time.

The thought sank inside Jane, sending ripples of warmth that spread through her body to the tips of her fingers, the bottoms of her soles. He kissed her so sweetly.

Maybe it had never been only sex.

They played at kissing, brushing lips, teasing tongues, experimenting with depths and angles like teenagers exploring in the dark. His hands moved slowly up and down her sides. The heel of his palm brushed her breast, and her nipples contracted almost painfully. As if he knew, his hands slid under her shirt, texture dragging against her skin, closing over her breasts to claim them. The hard little points pressed against his palms. She whimpered against his mouth.

The sound shocked her back to awareness. She wasn’t a teenager necking on the porch.

“Aidan . . .”

“He’s out, you said.”

“
Almost
out.”

Gabe’s eyes gleamed at her in the dark. His hands kept moving, stroking, playing. “That was fifteen minutes ago. You want to go check on him?”

She could feel herself softening, yielding. “N-no,” she admitted.

He laughed low and kissed her. He tasted like coffee and chocolate, rich, addictive flavors. He pulled her to straddle his thighs, her arms around his neck, her knees resting on the old porch swing, rocking, swaying, moving together, jeans against jeans, male against female, delicious, grinding friction.

His hands tightened at her waist, lifting her away. She stumbled. He held her close between his legs, his arm a solid band at her back, his free hand popping open the button of her jeans. His knuckles brushed her stomach.

She sucked in. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . .”

He traced the seam of her zipper, his touch wandering, teasing, cupping her. “I think you do.”

She swallowed. Could he feel how wet she was? “We’re outside.”
Exposed.
The risk made her heart pound.

“It’s dark. Nobody can see.” His voice soothed, but the devil was back in his eyes, as if the thought of the neighbors didn’t bother him at all.

As if what other people saw or said didn’t matter.

Her breath came faster. She glanced around at the shielding bushes as he coaxed her zipper down.

She squeezed her legs together, squirming, trying to relieve the tickle between her thighs “My dad will be home in an hour.”

“That’s okay.” A glint through dark lashes, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “I won’t take long.”

She snorted with laughter. “Oh, that’s seductive.”

But it felt good to tease. And his playfulness relaxed her, releasing her muscles. He took instant advantage, easing her jeans off her hips, down her legs, taking her panties with them.

He tapped her ankle. “Step.”

She stood awkwardly on one leg, grabbing his shoulder for balance, quivering as the breeze teased her butt and her damp sex. His belt clanked. His zipper rasped, the sound blending into the chorus of cicadas and crickets singing in the shrubbery.

She held up one finger in the universal sign for wait-a-minute. “Condom.”

He raised up briefly and pulled a foil packet from his hip pocket.

Their eyes met. She shivered in anticipation.

“C’mere,” he murmured after he had sheathed himself. “Let me warm you up.”

He pulled her down again to straddle him, the swing lurching under their combined weight. Her breasts were practically in his face. He turned his head and bit her softly, suckled her hard, making her moan.

The heat moved everywhere as he tugged and adjusted, his fingers sliding against her. His body reared under her, smooth and thick and hot. She moved, trying to center him—
here, no, here
—and he scooted forward, bracing her weight, so that her dangling feet brushed the floor. With her legs spread wide over his, she couldn’t get her balance. She toppled forward, falling into him, and he grabbed her, pulling her down, pushing inside her.
Oh, God, yes, there.

He pulled her closer, spread her wider, rocked against her, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out, her entire body out of her control, shaking like the swing. She clutched his shoulders, the one sure thing in her swaying world, as he filled her, as the earth reeled and the stars swung wildly overhead and the tension spiraled inside her, concentric rings closing tighter and tighter with him at her center, hard inside her,
sliding deeper, moving faster.
Nothing to do but hold on.
Her back arched. Her toes flexed, reaching, straining . . .

“Come on.” His eyes were almost black. Fierce. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

And she shattered and shuddered and came, the stars raining down softly behind her closed lids, showering sparks through her flesh.

His breath seared the side of her throat. His fingers dug into her butt as he jerked under her, as he thrust into her, and followed.

*   *   *

“O
NE
OF
THESE
days,” Gabe said, his voice thick with satisfaction, “we’re going to do it in a bed.”

Jane’s lips curved against his neck. “Sounds like a plan.”

Sounds like a future.

Her stomach tensed. She waited for the doubts to come, clustering thickly as the moths around the porch lamp outside. When they didn’t, she sighed and relaxed, kissing his shoulder, inhaling the warm tang of his skin. He smelled so good.

“I could spend the night,” he said.

There it was, the first qualm, a flutter low in her belly. She raised her head. “Not a good idea.”

“Because of Aidan?” Gabe asked. “Or your dad?”

She shifted uneasily on his lap. This was not a discussion she wanted to have naked. “It’s too soon.” She tried to stand and wobbled. He steadied her with his hands on her waist. “
And
I have to get up at four in the morning,” she added, inspired.

She bent and fumbled for her jeans, ignoring the draft playing around her backside.

“Jane.”

She glanced over her shoulder.

“Nice butt.”

Heat swept her face, incandescent in the dark.

He grinned, but his voice was serious when he said, “I get it. No sleepovers. But I’m not sneaking around. Not even for you.”

She’d snuck around with Travis, hiding from Hank’s disapproval, trying to avoid a confrontation between her father and her lover. But Gabe was not her ex-husband. And Jane was not nineteen anymore.

“I know,” she said.

He nodded and stood, zipping his jeans. “Your father will just have to get used to the idea that we’re together now.” He regarded her thoughtfully, a twist to the corners of his mouth. “Guess you will, too.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

He tucked in his shirt and approached her. Bending his head, he kissed her, a hard, brief kiss like punctuation, a period at the end of a sentence. “See you tomorrow.”