Sex and Key Lime Pie (3 page)

Morris Green had once done the same for Luc by finding an investor willing to take a chance on a long shot after Harlan made sure no one else would. Luc never forgot the break he had been given. Luz Brilhante, which translated from Portuguese, meant bright light, had come at the darkest period of his life. For that reason alone, he had bought Rita’s house for more than market value when it came up for sale. She and Morris were married now; they could buy a home that didn’t have Harlan’s name attached to it. Not to mention, the prime real estate would turn Luc a profit.

Cheyanne. Now she was another matter. He thought he had gotten her out of his system. Last night proved they still had unfinished business. He knew it, and she knew it too. And like every other business venture in his life, he would see it through to the end.

****

The Waterbury office of Morris Green was just as Cheyanne remembered. Despite his affluence, he kept a modest business suite in a middle-income town. There was nothing pretentious about the man. Morris lived by the creed that personal relationships and not personal possessions revealed the true measure of his business success.

Morris had recently married her mother, but Cheyanne’s relationship with him went back much further. He’d invested her inheritance for her. She still recalled that last day with Luc. The reading of the Will had been a shock to everyone present. Bad enough, Harlan had decided to ignore his son, but the cruel bastard had left it to her. She hadn’t wanted Harlan’s money, and Luc wouldn’t take it from her, so she dealt with it in the only way she could and still live with herself.

“Mr. Green left some papers for you to sign.” Mrs. Braunstien, Morris’ trusted assistant, handed her an envelope. “You can use his office if you’d like.”

“I don’t think—”

The matronly woman gave her a grin. “He considers you family.”

Cheyanne smiled back. She couldn’t have chosen a nicer, or less likely, man for Rita. To say that her waspy mother’s announcement that she planned to marry the Jewish investment broker came as a shock would be an understatement. She still couldn’t believe it but she’d never seen her mother happier. Marrying for love had agreed with Rita.

“Did you get a chance to see them before they left on the cruise?” Mrs. Braunstien asked.

“No. Only at the wedding.” Her mother had chosen to have a quiet ceremony in Boston, away from the prying, judgmental people of Mystic Cove. Only Cheyanne, Sam, and Morris’s grown daughters attended. The following week they held a reception at the house for her mother’s few remaining friends in the Cove.

“Well, I’ll leave you to get to those papers. I’m sure you’re anxious to get to the house.”

Cheyanne had never been less anxious about anything. She’d left that vile place the day they buried Harlan and hadn’t returned. She never understood why Rita waited so long to unload it. The house held too many painful memories.

She sat at the large oak desk and spread the contents of the envelope across the top. She pushed aside the house key and contract with the auction company to see the paperwork below. A note from her new stepfather, in bold writing, suggested she consider a new investment. The business loan she had made to Lucian Allesandro had been paid back, a full two years earlier than he agreed to.

With Morris’ help, she’d incorporated so her name wouldn’t appear on the loan papers. Otherwise, Luc never would have accepted the money. As far as he knew, a company named Luz Brilhante financed the business. She’d never doubted that he and his cousin Miguel would make a success of the plastics factory if they got the chance.

She would miss the monthly payments. Although she had never once touched the principal, there were times she used the interest to pay for Sam’s private schools or extracurricular activities. It was her way of letting him know his father had contributed to his upbringing without lying.

She glanced at the words on the loan satisfaction papers. Paid in full. That was how she felt. She had paid in full for Harlan’s sins. She would take the money and put it in an account for Sam.

Sam.

He remained her only twinge of regret. Why? Luc had made his feelings for her clear. More than clear. She would not subject her son to the same rejection and humiliation from his father.

She rubbed a hand over the hollow ache in her chest. Why did it still hurt after all this time? She owed Luc Allesandro nothing. Her life, free from recrimination and guilt, officially began today.

Chapter
Two

Cheyanne drove to Hollow Point, a small stretch of beach adjacent to the Port Master’s office. Unlike the private beach clubs with their leveled, manicured grounds and seaside cabanas, Hollow Point still retained its wild, natural beauty. It had always been a favorite hang out of the people who grew up around the wharf. The ones who couldn’t afford the private club fees and wouldn’t have been accepted for membership even if they could. The fishermen and dockworkers that were the lifeblood of the town.

Ten years was a long time. What kind of reception would she receive? At least she had Isabelle. She’d always had Isabelle. And hopefully, Elisabeth too. Blood sisters since elementary school, the three had been inseparable. Back then they had been known as Izzy, Lizzy and Dizzy, a nickname given to her because of her blonde hair. Except their loyalties had changed in her absence. As the prodigal sister, Cheyanne returned home with no assurance of her place in the family.

Cheyanne tucked her hair under a white baseball cap and slid on a pair of white-rimmed sunglasses. She left her sandals in the car and reached for the dessert containers on the passenger seat. The ocean was calm. She wasn’t. Sea air filled her lungs as she inhaled slowly. The delicious aroma of meat grilling on the barbecue tickled her nose and tormented her stomach. In all her rushing around, she had forgotten to eat breakfast.

A gathering of people sat around picnic tables, while others spread out on blankets or played volleyball. Children splashed in the surf and squealed with happiness. Having spent the better part of the last eight years working in resort hotels throughout Europe, the sight was familiar yet, utterly different. Where she had never gotten to know the transient tourists who visited the resorts, most of the people at the clam bake she had known half her life.

She caught sight of Isabelle arranging the food on a makeshift buffet table that consisted of wooden ship planks set atop a cinderblock base. A green plastic tablecloth reflected the afternoon sun. She crossed the soft beach, her toes sinking delightfully into the warm sand.

Rock music poured from the speakers of a boom box. The pounding rhythm kept beat with her heart.

“You made it,” Isabelle said when she caught sight of her.

“I said I would.”

She flashed a guilty smile. “I was afraid my brother might have scared you off. He mentioned running into you yesterday.”

Cheyanne forced a grin. Running into her? She felt as if she had been steamrolled after leaving the cabin, but it was nothing less than she deserved. If she walked into a blazing fire, she should expect to get burned. She looked upon their meeting as a vaccination. One quick, slightly painful shot and she could start to build an immunity. Luc would not force her to abandon her friend again. Not when she had been given a second chance.

“He won’t get rid of me that easily.” She put the Tupperware containers on the table. As Isabelle fussed over the arrangements, Cheyanne took hold of her hand. “I’ll handle that. You’re in no condition to be doing the work yourself.”

“This is my only job. Tony is working the grill. Lizzy and Miguel are handling the clean up.”

“And me?”

“You’re a guest.”

The words hurt even though Isabelle meant no malice. She didn’t want to be a guest. She wanted to belong again. Thankfully the sunglasses hid the moisture burning her eyes.

“These look great,” Isabelle said, peeking into the plastic containers. “When did you learn to cook? Last I recall, you couldn’t make a three-minute egg.”

“I learned at culinary school.”

“You went after all? I knew you left college, but I never knew what happened after that.”

Cheyanne had always been impressed with the way Isabelle cooked for her family, and she had decided back in junior high that she wanted to go to culinary school. Harlan had insisted she go to college. No stepdaughter of his would lower herself to cooking other people’s meals. Of course, it never bothered the SOB that his own son worked the loading docks like an animal for ten hours a day.

“Yeah, I finally did it.”

“If you’re talking about returning to Mystic Cove, then it’s about time, Dizzy.”

She turned toward the reproachful voice. Words caught in her throat. Elisabeth’s uncertain smile mirrored Cheyanne’s own insecurities about what kind of reception she would receive. The awkward silence stretched on.

“How are you?” Cheyanne finally asked.

Elisabeth grabbed her in a bear hug that drove the air from her body. “I can’t believe you’re really here. When Isabelle said you were back I thought she was pulling my leg.”

“I would have called you yesterday but you were away.”

“I didn’t know you were back in the states.” Cheyanne rolled her shoulders in an embarrassed shrug. “I’ve been back six months.”

“And you never called?” Elisabeth’s voice pitched with sorrow. Tear-filled eyes held Cheyanne’s gaze in accusation, then softened. “I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t do that.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. It’s digging up sad memories. Today we party. Some other night we go out and cry in our beers over the past.”

Cheyanne smiled. “Sounds like a plan to me. Except...” She slid her arm around Isabelle’s shoulder. “Not this one, in her condition.”

“Give me a non-alcoholic beer and I’ll watch the two of you get stupid.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Cheyanne and Elisabeth said in unison.

Visions of her first—and last—high school beer party danced through her mind. The evening ended with the three of them calling Luc for a ride home, figuring him the lesser evil than her stepfather or Elisabeth’s mother. He’d had no sympathy for any of them.

First he’d tossed them into the back to his old pickup truck that had lousy shocks. When they got to the Allesandro house, he hosed them down with cold water in the back yard. Poor Isabelle, who had been too scared to even try the beer, had been forced to endure the same punishment for not having the sense to leave the party when the guys showed up with alcohol. Still, the dousing had been better than having to face Harlan. And from that day on, Luc had kept a much closer eye on Cheyanne, which at the time, she’d wanted. She chose her wishes more carefully now.

After an hour of polite conversation with old acquaintances, the three women took their food and a bottle of zinfandel and retreated to the jetty for a more private talk. The cool rocks contrasted with the warm sun, creating a host of sensations. The best sensation, however, was the calm that had settled over Cheyanne in the last few minutes. A calm she hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe she could go home again, for a short visit anyway.

She took her plastic cup of wine and raised a toast. “Congratulations on your marriage to Miguel. It was a surprise. You used to be so afraid of him.”

“I was afraid of all of that gang. They were everything the nuns warned us about. Dark, brooding bad-boys who would lead us on the road to hell.”

Isabelle giggled. “Yeah, that’s what Dizzy liked about them.”

“Too true,” Cheyanne agreed. She took a sip of wine and let the cool liquid soothe her parched throat.

“They never scared you. You weren’t afraid of anything,” Elisabeth said.

She should have been. Or at least, one in particular. She’d fancied herself in love with Luc and she’d done everything in her power to get his attention. To her later regret, she’d finally succeeded.

Elisabeth filled their cups again. “What have you been doing all these years?”

“Working as a pastry chef, in large hotels mostly. But those jobs were usually on a yearly basis. I’m tired of moving around all the time. I thought for a while to open a small coffee shop, like the ones popular in Southern Europe, but instead I opted for security.”

“What do you mean?” Isabelle asked.

“I’ve been offered a job as director and chef in a college in California.”

“You’re leaving again? Why?”

Cheyanne couldn’t bring Sam here to live. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell her two closest friends about him yet. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the math. Once she started him in the school system, she wouldn’t be able to lie about his age. “At the end of the summer, but I won’t forget to keep in touch this time.”

For a long moment, neither of her friends commented. She felt as if she had let them down one more time.

Elisabeth shook her head. “No. I don’t accept that. And I have the summer to convince you to stay,” she announced.

Isabelle smiled sadly. She, at least, understood that returning to Mystic Cove to live would not be comfortable for Cheyanne or Luc.

Cheyanne changed the subject, claiming she wanted information on Elisabeth in the intervening years. And Elisabeth loved prattling on about herself. She seemed overly eager to please and Cheyanne sensed an underlying guilt in her friend. If anyone should feel guilty, it was she. Elisabeth had warned her to steer clear of Luc, but Cheyanne hadn’t listened to anyone back then.