Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle (96 page)

Tucker escorted Sabrina into the United Methodist Church, placing his hand on the small of her back as they navigated the crowd. She looked beautiful in the elegant navy blue dress. Her hair spilled around her shoulders like a dark veil, and it was all he could do to keep from touching it, from running his fingers through it. It had been a task keeping his eyes off her.

He greeted a few people, nodding on their way past. Normally he’d stop and chat, but he wanted Sabrina to himself. They found seats near the middle of the room next to an elderly couple who held hands. He wished he could take Sabrina’s hand, but he was supposed to be in love with Arielle.

When Sabrina set her purse on the floor, he sneaked a glance at her. Her hair swung forward, falling across her cheek. She sat back, tucking it behind her ear, and the fragrance of lilacs and something citrusy reached his nostrils. He inhaled deeply. This may be his one and only date with Sabrina. If only he could get her to confess what was holding her back. He couldn’t even email the question now. He was supposed to think Arielle was Sweetpea.

“You haven’t asked about Arielle,” she said, as if reading his mind. Her hands were folded primly in her lap.

“Was I supposed to?” A woman squeezed by with her teenage daughter.

“I thought you might ask my opinion of her.”

“What do you think of her?”

She tossed him a look. “She’s awfully nice.”

What could he say? He had to be careful. “She wears a lot of makeup.”

“I thought men liked that.” She reached over her shoulder, to toy with her ponytail, he thought, but when she found her hair unbound, she returned her hand to her lap, seemingly oblivious to the jingle of her charm bracelet.

“Some do, I guess. I always liked a more natural look.” His eyes took in Sabrina’s natural beauty. Sometimes nature couldn’t be improved upon.

He cleared his throat. “But you’re right, Arielle is nice. A little . . . flighty, but nice.”

She frowned at him, as though she were trying to look inside him.

“What?” he asked.

“I thought you liked her.”

Was he handling this badly? What did she want from him? Did she want him to want Arielle? Was he supposed to be singing her praises? “I do.”

She faced forward, the picture of calm. He would’ve believed it, except her hands were clasped so tightly her fingertips went pink, her knuckles white.

Ah, it’s getting to you, my little Sweetpea.
He was torn between tweaking her jealousy and comforting her. He settled somewhere in between.

“She’s not exactly what I expected.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice sounded squeezed through a knot.

He didn’t know how to respond and wondered why he’d said it. The lights dimmed, and Tucker breathed a sigh of relief as the audience quieted.

“To be continued,” he whispered.

Sabrina’s mind wandered through the play. What did he mean Arielle wasn’t what he’d expected? Was that good or bad? Was he suspicious that Arielle wasn’t Sweetpea?

“There’s Dorothy,” Tucker whispered in her ear a few scenes later. His breath tickled strands of hair and sent a shiver down her spine.

Onstage, his secretary had made her appearance to a disheveled-looking Cinderella. The godmother’s sparkly silver dress hugged her thick waist, and she waved a magic wand as she talked. Her brunette wig matched her conspicuous glasses. As oddly casted as she was in the role, she played it well.

As the play progressed, Sabrina forgot the woman was sixty-something and wearing thick glasses. All the actors were talented and, by the time Prince Charming put the glass slipper on Cinderella’s foot, Sabrina realized she’d lost herself in the story.

After the actors returned for a curtain call, Tucker and Sabrina followed the throng of people into the darkened night. He ushered her with his hand at her back, and Sabrina’s pulse sped at his touch. She could feel the heat of his palm through the thin material of her dress.

When they reached his car, he helped her in, then slid in behind the wheel. “What’d you think?”

Sabrina clutched her bag in her lap. “Bravo. Your Dorothy seems pretty feisty.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He tossed her a grin.

His right arm rested on the console between them, inches from her own. If this were a real date, would he take her hand? Would he lift it and press his lips to the ridges of her knuckles?

“I realized halfway through the play I left my cell phone on my boat,” he said. “Would you mind if I swung by the harbor and got it? They’re calling for rain tonight.”

“Not at all.”

Once they left the theater traffic, the roads were deserted. He turned toward the wharf.

The thought of a few extra minutes with Tucker gave her more joy than was healthy.
Just a few extra minutes
.
What could it hurt?
Tomorrow will be here soon enough, and he’ll be back with Arielle.

She didn’t want to think about that. She wanted to live in the moment for a change and not consider the ramifications.

She laid her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. For now, right this minute, Tucker was beside her. If she concentrated, she could hear him breathing above the whir of the car’s engine. If she inhaled, she could smell the woodsy fragrance of his cologne. If she tried hard enough, she could imagine the way his jawline would feel against the softness of her fingers.

“You look peaceful.”

Her eyes snapped open. He was parked outside his office, the streetlamp shedding a pale yellow glow on his features. How long had they been there?

“What were you thinking?”

A hot flush climbed her neck. “I don’t remember.”

“You had a little smile.”

Remembering the direction of her thoughts, her mouth went dry. He was looking at her like—like he wanted to look at her. Like there was no place else he’d rather be. Like there was no one else he’d rather be with.

Absurd. He was in love with Sweetpea. Or Arielle. She wasn’t sure which. She wasn’t sure who was who anymore.

She cleared her throat. “You’d better get your cell.”

He looked away, out over the darkened water, and removed the key from the ignition. “Come with me.”

“Why?” His boat was a short walk down the pier.

“I want to show you something.”

In his boat? At night?

“Come on. Take a walk on the wild side. You don’t have to get up early tomorrow.”

He had her there. “True.”

“Come on.” He motioned toward the door with his head and exited the car.

Curious, she did the same, then followed him down the lit pier, careful of where she stepped. With her luck, one of her heels would catch between the boards and she’d fall flat on her face.

When they reached his boat, he helped her onboard. “Have a seat back there,” he said. “Are you chilly?”

“Are we going somewhere?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Do you always answer questions with questions?”

He smiled. “Only with you.” He untied the boat, then retrieved a thick blanket from a cubby and wrapped it around her.

Tucker sat in the captain’s seat, pocketed his cell phone, then started the boat.

Moments later, they were gliding slowly through the harbor, the lights from town growing distant. What were they doing out here? Why did he want to take her out on his boat when he should be eager to get her back to her apartment and see how Arielle was faring?

Why are you looking a gift horse in the mouth?

When they cleared the harbor, he accelerated and the wind kicked up, blowing her hair off her face. She drew the blanket tighter and closed her eyes, letting the cool air wash over her. What would it be like if Tucker were her boyfriend? What would it be like if he were her husband? If everything was different? If everything weren’t so complicated?

She opened her eyes and watched him navigate the smooth water of the ocean. The moon lit his white shirt, and the wind tossed his hair. His shoulders looked sturdy and broad, wider than the seat back.

He looked back at her as if to confirm she was still there. They exchanged a smile.

Pretend everything is different. Just for tonight. What could it hurt?
Just to be with him and relax and let whatever happens happen.

It wasn’t like anything would happen anyway. Tucker was in love with Sweetpea. Or Arielle. Or whomever.

She shook her head, not wanting to work at the fussy knot her life had become.
Forget all that. Just think about now. Right now. Out
here. Me, Tucker, and the open sea.

A few minutes later he slowed the boat and the wind died down. It was dark out on the water. Only the glow of the moon lit their way. The boat drifted to a stop, and Tucker walked toward her.

“You look cute all wrapped up like that.”

She was sure she’d never been called cute. Maybe she had a fairy godmother after all.

Tucker sat beside her on the narrow bench. “We’re here.”

She looked around them. There wasn’t a soul or anything else around. Only a blanket of darkness that hid the world from sight. “Of course we are.”

He smiled. “You’re going to be just like Dorothy when you’re about sixty, know that?”

“Alone and feisty?” The words slipped out before she knew they were coming. She didn’t like how vulnerable it made her, and she wished she could snatch them back.

“The feisty’s a definite.”

She could feel him watching her. She didn’t dare look. Her eyes fixed on the water off the port side where the moon shimmered on the surface.

“The alone part is up to you,” he said.

Not so much
, she thought. But what did he know?

You weren’t going to think about that tonight, remember?
Why was it so hard for her to relax?

Uh, because she had one hundred and ninety pounds of man flesh sitting beside her?

Not just any man flesh. Tucker.
And he was looking at her again
.
“Why are we here?” Her voice cracked on the question.

He didn’t seem to notice. “The second show.”

“Second show?”

“Up there.” He pointed upward, and she followed the direction of his finger.

Overhead, the sky was a black canvas, smooth as velvet and dotted with what looked like a million fireflies. She’d never seen so many stars. Some as bright as the moon, others so faint she could hardly see them.

“There are so many.” She looked up until her neck began to ache.

Tucker placed his arm along the back of the bench.“Lean back.” His eyes glowed dark in the shadows. Her heart stuttered.

She laid her head in the crook of his elbow, the strength of his bare arm resting against her neck. Oh, how she’d missed this. Things email could never provide.
Security. Comfort
. She could list a hundred more.

She inhaled the scent of his cologne, not daring to tear her eyes from the night sky.
Smells.

The boat rocked slightly, a cradle on the water. The wind hummed a lullaby and waves lapped the boat, a gentle percussion.

“Sabrina?” he whispered.

Voices
. She swallowed around a dry lump in her throat.
Don’t look.

Do. Not. Look.

“What?” she asked so quietly she wasn’t sure if he heard.

“Look at me.” His voice, low and deep, beckoned.

She turned her head. He was so close. His breath mingled with the salty air and cooled her cheeks. His eyes . . .

His eyes were a deep pool, the color of the ocean at midnight. Had anyone ever looked at her the way he looked at her now? What was there, shimmering on the surface? Longing? Devotion? Desperation? She soaked it up, every ounce. “What?” she asked, needing to know. Needing words, not trusting herself to interpret his expression.

And then his hand was on her face, his palm cooling her flushed cheek. His thumb grazed the ridge of her lower lip, and she thought her lungs might explode.
Touches.

He drew closer, and then his lips were on hers, the merest of touches. A butterfly’s wings, a baby’s breath. It shook her to the core.