All They Ever Wanted (9 page)

“I can't give you those. It's only for another month. Then I'll be out of your life. No longer distracting you.”

“And what am I supposed to do until then?”

Lori glanced at the mattress where Greer would be spending the night. “I'm sure you'll think of something.”

Miles swore quietly as Lori walked around the bed. Slipping past him, she'd almost made it to the door before his hand shot out, lightning fast, and shackled her wrist. With one gentle tug her body was flush against his hard one. Lori inhaled a ragged breath. He smelled of soap and mint. She made the mistake of tilting her head back to look at his face
and the desire she saw reflected in his eyes made her knees weak.

“In case you haven't noticed, I don't give up that easily,” he murmured as he released her wrist and cupped her face.

His lips were on hers before she could react. By that time, it was too late. His tongue had insinuated itself inside her mouth and Lori gave in without protest. She fisted her hands in his shirt, opening her mouth wider to him. Lori was determined to enjoy the moment that should never have happened.

The kiss he gave her was raw and hot. Miles explored her mouth as though he was charting it for future excursions. Her body grew restless under the assault as heat shot to her belly. His hands slid from her face to trace her spine before landing on her ass. She felt the groan in the back of his throat as he pressed her hips against his arousal. The room began to spin slightly before Lori reined in her scattered wits.

Miles was kissing her. In the Aberdeen Suite with its massive queen bed and the door wide open.
What were they doing?
She grudgingly pulled out of their kiss and willed her hands to unclench from his shirt. Miles made no move to unhand her. Both were still breathing as if they'd just run a stage in one of his triathlons. Refusing to meet his eyes, Lori smoothed out the wrinkles across his chest.

“Don't pursue this, Miles. Please,” she begged softly before stepping out of his embrace.

Apparently he was the gentleman that the older woman and the others were professing before the cameras because Miles reluctantly let her go, sliding his fingers along her bare arm as he did so.

Without looking up, Lori turned on her heel and started for the door again.

“Wait,” he called after her. “I had a call from Mr. Swanston asking about the bracelet.”

Lori halted at the threshold of the room and looked over her shoulder at him. “Nothing ever turned up in town?”

“No.”

She shook her head. “It hasn't turned up here, either.” Making matters worse, Lori still hadn't found her grandmother's
ring. She could relate to Mrs. Swanston's distress because her stomach knotted up every time she thought of the missing gold band. It was painful to lose a part of her past. The past that she would be proud to have an old woman discussing on national television.

Miles sighed. “I'll tell him we'll keep looking.”

Lori nodded before she hurried down the hall.

*   *   *

There was a reason Miles didn't do anything impulsive: spontaneity led to dissonance. And regret. The problem was he didn't regret kissing Lori. What he regretted was not bolting the door and sinking into her right there in the Aberdeen Suite. She would have relented. One more kiss and her body and her mouth would have stopped listening to her brain.

The more he didn't know about her, the more she turned him on, which was just plain idiotic. He'd meant what he'd said about peeling back her layers and discovering her secret. Since Miles already knew the secret of what was hidden beneath her bulky clothes, he was obsessed with knowing the rest. And that obsession continued to be a huge distraction.

“Miles, are you with me?” Coy was drumming his fingers on the old desk in his father's office.

“Yeah,” Miles lied. He had no idea what subject the kid had launched into. He looked across the room at Greer, but her face was averted, studying her laptop. No help there. The three were spread out in Miles' campaign headquarters, plotting out his campaign appearances for the next week.

“The polling data doesn't lie,” Coy continued. “Faye's campaign is picking up steam.”

“That always happens when a new candidate enters a race. It's called the honeymoon period.” Greer looked over her laptop at both men. “I really don't think it's any reason to panic. We just need to stay the course.”

Stay the course.
Lori had used that very same phrase five hours ago. Miles needed to heed both women's advice. Not only was Lori dangerous to his libido, but depending upon what—or who—she was hiding from, she was potentially a
danger to his campaign, too. He was wise to keep that in mind. A part of him was grateful to her for putting up some resistance. At least the parts of him above his belt.

“What do we know about Faye's schedule?” Miles asked.

“It's almost a carbon copy of yours. She'll be at every picnic, parade, and fish fry within a hundred-mile radius during the upcoming Fourth of July weekend.” Coy scowled at his tablet. “She somehow even wrangled an invitation to the party at the Dresden House your friend Will is throwing.”

“Not Will. It's his wife Julianne's party. She owns a design company and manufactures much of the line of baby clothes locally. Julianne is all about women-owned businesses. She would have invited her long before Faye threw her hat in the ring.” Miles leaned back in his late father's big leather chair, hoping to channel some sage advice about the campaign. Among other things.

“I think we can work it to our advantage to have Faye there.” Both men shot a questioning look at Greer. “I mean it. Your friend Will and his wife are definitely in your camp, aren't they, Miles?”

“Jesus, I hope so.” Miles let his head slump back against the cool leather.

“Perfect. Your friends will look magnanimous for inviting her. We can grab some unobtrusive video of you and Faye together. Coupled with what I shot today, we'll be able to paint a portrait of you as a commanding candidate who is gracious to his challenger. A guy who respects older Americans no matter what.”

“I'm coming off as Mr. Squeaky Clean in these ads.” Miles wasn't sure he was comfortable with the persona, especially since it begged for more scrutiny into his family.

“You are Squeaky Clean, Miles.” Greer smiled at him. “Wear it like a badge of honor.”

Squeaky Clean.
The moniker didn't scream spontaneity, that's for sure. Instead, it felt a little . . . boring.

“I still think we need to find out if there's any dirt on Faye Rich,” Coy said.

Miles rubbed his face with his hand. “That's a slippery slope, Coy. I really don't want to run a negative campaign.”

“You
can't
run a negative campaign,” Greer pointed out. Both men stared at her in silence. Greer let out a frustrated sigh. “We just discussed why not. Miles is squeaky clean. Therefore, a negative campaign might make him look like he's picking on a grandmother who has a recognition quotient that's off the charts. There's no way to go down that road and not reach the other side without smelling like crap.”

An image of Lori flashed before Miles' eyes. If voters had access to his thoughts, they'd see he wasn't so squeaky clean.
Far from it.

Kissing her had been a colossal mistake because it only stoked the fire more. He could still taste her. But any future encounters would be like playing Russian roulette with his freaking squeaky clean image.
Stay the course.
Miles would be wise to make that phrase his mantra while he focused on executing the plan he'd laid out all those years ago.

“She's right,” he said, not bothering to elaborate that he was talking about multiple women. “No negativity.”

Coy looked as if he might argue the point. Miles shook his head and Coy stood up with a huff. “I've got a happy hour meeting with some of the volunteers at Pier Pressure. If there's nothing else, I'll see you both in the morning.”

No sooner had Coy left than Midas bounded into the room heralding the arrival of Gavin. Miles ran his fingers over the dog's silky fur, happy for Midas' distraction. Too bad he couldn't say the same for his owner's wise-ass demeanor.

“Hey, you kids. Working hard?” Gavin tossed a ball across the room and Midas scampered after it, nearly toppling the chair Coy had just vacated.

“We're just finishing up for the day.” Greer broke out into one of those rapturous smiles that all women got when they were assaulted with Gavin's annoying charm.

“Excellent. I'm taking Ginger to dinner at the Thai place. We'd love for you to join us.”

Miles narrowed his eyes at his brother, who was clearly
up to something. The women in the McAlister family likely wanted answers about his relationship with Greer and they'd sent Gavin as their fisherman.

“Thai sounds great.” She shot a questioning smile at Miles. Clearly outnumbered, he shrugged and nodded at the same time. Greer checked her watch. “Do I have time to run back to the inn and freshen up? I also need to return a phone call or two. I can meet you back here in thirty minutes.”

“It's summertime. We don't roll up the sidewalks until at least ten o'clock,” Gavin teased. “Take all the time you need.”

She slid her laptop into its leather case before hefting the bag onto her shoulder. “I won't be long.” Greer leaned down to kiss Miles on the cheek before exiting the office.

Gavin watched her walk out, a shit-eating grin on his face. He let out an appreciative whistle when the lobby door closed behind her.

“It's not what you're thinking, Gavin,” Miles said with an exasperated sigh.

“Seriously? You're not doing the wild thing with a hot number like that?” Gavin pulled out his phone. “I'm calling Ryan and Will. I think it's past time for an intervention. You're starting to scare me.”

“You're the one who needs the intervention. Aren't you practically engaged? You shouldn't be looking at other women.”

“I'm very happily practically engaged. But, bro, Greer Rossi is hot. With political polish and connections. You two are perfect for each other. What's wrong with you?”

Greer Rossi
was
perfect for him. Or more correctly, perfect for “Squeaky Clean Miles McAlister.” The trouble was, he was beginning to realize that he might have an evil twin: Wild and Dirty Miles McAlister. And that guy? He scared the hell out of Miles.

“Nothing's wrong with me, asshole. Believe it or not, I can have a working relationship with a woman without thinking of her as a sex object.”

Gavin snorted. “Hey, so can I.”

“Bernice doesn't count.”

“Bernice doesn't kiss me on the cheek or look at me like she wants to go down on me right here in the office.”

They both were stunned into silence as they processed Gavin's statement. Miles stood up from his chair and shivered with revulsion. “Ick.”

Gavin wiped his mouth with his hand. “Yeah, sorry. That's a mental picture I'm going to have to burn out of my brain.”

The dog head-butted Miles' thigh, dropping the slobbery ball at his feet. Miles reached down and tossed the ball. “I don't have time for women right now. In case you haven't noticed”—he waved a cardboard yard sign at his brother—“I'm in the middle of a campaign.”

Gavin held up his hands in front of his chest. “Jesus, Miles, you've been in the middle of a campaign for something since you were a kid. That shouldn't preclude you from having a healthy relationship with a woman. It may even make the process a little more enjoyable. At the very least, you wouldn't be so damn testy all the time.”

“Oh, I get it.” Miles tugged at the ball in the dog's mouth. “You and Will are happy with a ball and chain on so everyone else you know needs to be in a committed relationship, too. Let me know how that goes over with our brother Ryan and his harem of groupies in every ballpark. When he falls, I'll fall.”

Gavin shook his head. “You're a pain in the ass, you know that?”

Miles blew out a breath. “Look, Gavin, I'm happy for you. I really am. Ginger is special. A girl who loves you like that only comes along once in a lifetime, bro. My advice to you is to put a ring on her finger before she wakes up and smells the coffee.”

His brother flipped him off. “Ginger made some appetizers that are surprisingly edible. When Greer gets back, come on up for a drink before we head out to the restaurant. Let's go, Midas. It's dinnertime.” The dog trotted toward the stairs and Gavin followed, stopping at the base of the steps. “You're wrong about the once-in-a-lifetime thing, though, Miles,” he said over his shoulder. “You just have to stop closing yourself off and let it happen.” With that, he was gone.

Miles sank back into their father's chair. Gavin didn't know what he was talking about. No way was love going to ‘happen' for Miles a second time. He wasn't about to open himself up to that kind of pain again, no matter how much his brother and Will Connelly sung love's praises. Lust, on the other hand, was a different story. Too bad the woman he was presently lusting over was potentially a ticking time bomb.

P
atricia winced as the physical therapist manipulated her hip. It had been over a month since the accident, and while she was progressing, she was frustrated with the slow pace of her recovery.

“So what's the verdict, Jane?” Patricia was sweating from both the exertion and the agony of her daily workout.

“The verdict is that all women in their fifties should vigilantly do Pilates like you. That way if they ever break something, their rehab will be easy.” Jane gave her one of those smiles that was equal parts encouraging and equal parts sadistic. “Just one more set and we can be done for the day.”

“Clearly we don't have the same definition of ‘easy,'” Patricia panted.

Jane laughed charmingly. “You're my hero, Mrs. Mac. In more ways than one.”

The physical therapist had grown up in Chances Inlet under the watchful eye of her grandmother, Connie, while Jane's parents traveled the world as missionary doctors. She'd been friends with Kate when the two were in high school, but Patricia couldn't remember whether Jane had graduated with
Miles or Gavin. With five kids, the high school years had all seemed to run together. Jane had gone to N.C. State—Patricia did remember that—because she'd been working as one of the sports trainers when Gavin blew out his knee playing football for the Wolf Pack.

After graduate school, Jane married a Navy pilot. He was killed five years later in a training accident. Three years ago, she'd returned to the only home she knew, Chances Inlet, to work at one of the premiere sports rehab facilities in the country. The two women had bonded quickly at a support group meeting for recent widows.

“I meant, what's the verdict on me going to Julianne's Fourth of July party the day after tomorrow?” Patricia asked when she'd finished her final set of leg lifts.

Jane handed her a towel. “Not on your own two feet. But I think you'll be able to manage it on crutches. Especially with that big strapping sheriff by your side. No one will dare bump into you.”

“Not if they don't want to find themselves locked up for the weekend.” Lamar arrived at Patricia's side, a bottle of water in his hand. He unscrewed the cap and offered it to her.

“Strapping” was too tame a word to describe Lamar, especially looking like he did after his workout. Dressed in an Army T-shirt that strained against his muscular chest and shorts that showed off his well-toned thighs, he looked like he was ready to be cast in one of those live-action hero movies. It hadn't escaped Patricia's notice that the eyes of every other female in the large room tracked his movements as he made his way toward her. An obscene burst of pride exploded in her chest; he was all hers. It was followed by a constricting of her heart.
What if he's changed his mind?

She gulped the water, trying to look anywhere but at his handsome, rugged face.

“How was your session?” His question was as gentle as the hand stroking her shoulder.

Jane answered for her. “Mrs. Mac is tough as nails, Sheriff. She'll be giving you a run for your money soon enough.” Jane
bundled a large ice pack over her hip area. “Fifteen minutes chillin' and then you're free to go. Keep up those home exercises and I'll see you next week.”

The gray-eyed brunette handed Patricia an egg timer and headed across the room toward another patient.

Lamar eyed the ice pack Patricia held to her hip. “Do you want me to hold that for you?” Patricia hated what he must be thinking.

“You heard Jane. I'm perfectly capable. I'm healing just fine.” She didn't mean to sound so snappish, but she was getting sick of being treated like a fragile flower.

Lamar patted her hand. “I'm glad.”

“Are you?” This wasn't the time or place for this conversation, but the words had already slipped past Patricia's lips. Lamar had helped her discover so much about herself after Donald's death. She wasn't ready to give up on who she'd become. Or on him. But she needed to know if he still felt the same way.

“Of course I am, Tricia.” He leaned down and took her mouth in a reassuring kiss that likely had the women who'd been ogling him earlier fanning themselves with jealousy.

“I miss you,” she murmured against his mouth.

“Your hip will be better soon.”

“I'm not talking about in the physical sense.”

He pulled back slowly and she met his unwavering gaze.

“You can count on me, Tricia,” he said with quiet determination. “You know that.”

She knew without a doubt that she and everyone else in town could count on this man to do what was fair and what was just. That wasn't the issue. Patricia just worried that she might not be enough to keep him happy.

*   *   *

“The natives are getting restless for more cinnamon French toast, Lori.” Cassidy came into the kitchen carrying two empty juice carafes. The second hour of breakfast had just gotten under way and the inn was at capacity for the long Fourth of
July weekend. “Everybody decided to eat at once today.” She grabbed a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and began refilling the carafes.

Lori pulled a tray of bacon out of the warmer. “It's a perfect day out there. I can't blame them for wanting to get an early start.” The weather forecasters promised a weekend of sunny, warm weather, perfect for a holiday at the beach.

“I know. I need to get the Patty Wagon stocked up for the day. I should make some good money over the next three days if I park down by the pier.” Cassidy put the refilled carafes on a tray. “Will you be able to handle the rest of breakfast on your own? Or should I ask Miles to come in and help?”

The last thing Lori needed was Miles in the kitchen. Or anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of her, for that matter. Yesterday's kiss in the Aberdeen Suite had been reckless and wild.
Not to mention, enthralling.
Miles McAlister definitely did not kiss like his Dudley Do-Right personality. Instead he'd kissed her like a man who knew how to give a woman what she wanted. And now Lori definitely wanted. She wanted badly.

“No, I've got it covered.”

It would mean a few extra trips into the dining room, but Lori hoped the guests would be more focused on their food than on her. She stacked the pan of bacon on top of the pan of French toast and waded out before the prying eyes of the diners. The room was filled with a jovial crowd of retirees who had come to Chances Inlet for the Independence Day boat flotilla, a golf tournament, and some antiquing, based upon what Lori had overheard.

“Oh, bacon!” One of the ladies was helping herself before Lori even had the tray in the chafing dish. “I never cook the stuff because it's so messy. Breakfast is my favorite meal to eat out.” Based on her accent, the woman was from the New Jersey, New York area. Lori's pulse began to race. The media in the tri-state area had been relentless with their feeding frenzy about the scandal surrounding her father. And by extension, Lori. Her picture had appeared in every newspaper, blog, and
television news show in the area for months. She did her best not to appear rude as she kept her back to the woman.

“You have gorgeous hair.” The woman gestured to the long braid that hung down Lori's back. “I own a hair salon in Port Washington, New York. I always do a little ambush makeover when I'm traveling and blog about it on my website. You'd be perfect.”

Lori bit down on the panic that was bubbling up inside her. She needed to stay calm and think fast. If she refused, the woman would want to know why, and Lori would be faced with more unwanted attention.

“That's very generous of you.” An idea popped into her head and Lori gave the woman a look that she hoped would be conveyed as shy and not anxious. “But there's someone else here at the B and B who deserves it more, a teenager that the innkeeper has taken under her wing. She's struggling with trying to find the right look. Her mom is going through some tough times right now.” Lori discreetly left out the fact that Mona Burroughs was in a halfway house at the moment. “I know Cassidy would be thrilled at the opportunity. The whole town would be, as a matter of fact.”

The hairdresser bought it hook, line, and sinker. “Oh my gosh, wouldn't that make a wonderful blog post! Her name is Cassidy, you said?” She glanced around the room as if she expected the teen to appear.

Lori let out a relieved breath. “Yes. She operates the Patty Wagon. It's a mobile ice cream stand. Look for her down by the pier today.” She'd spoken the truth; Cassidy would be thrilled by the attention. If anything, Lori could take some delight in her subterfuge.

After scooping up several more pieces of bacon, the woman practically skipped back to her table, calling out her thanks over her shoulder. Lori finished refilling the chafing dishes and made for the refuge of the kitchen. Unfortunately, her sanctuary had been invaded by Miles. And his so-called
friend without benefits
, Greer
.

“My mind was a little preoccupied last night and I don't
remember taking it off. I might not have even had it with me,” Greer was saying as Lori slipped into the kitchen trying not to think about why the woman had been preoccupied while undressing the night before.

“You had it on. I noticed it when we were at campaign headquarters.” Miles' tone was agitated.

“I'll make sure I look more thoroughly between the bed and the nightstand before I check out, then.” She gave Miles' biceps a squeeze. “Don't worry about it. It'll turn up either here or at home. I'm going to grab a cup of coffee to go. We need to head out to get some footage of you with the Boy Scouts placing flags at the veterans' cemetery.” Greer stopped as she passed by Lori. “I seem to have misplaced my Michael Kors watch,” she explained. “It's silver with a pink face. If you see it, will you put it aside for me?”

“Of course.” Lori nodded. That queasy feeling was back in her stomach. Another piece of jewelry was missing. She exchanged a quick look with Miles. His expression was hard.

“There's a distinct possibility it's sitting on my nightstand at home,” Greer said, her tone self-deprecating. “I'm multitasking so much lately, I think I've overloaded my brain.”

Lori could relate. Greer ran a business where she had to keep multiple clients happy. Her workload sounded a lot like the one Lori had managed for her father while running the restaurant. She gave Lori a sheepish smile before heading out to the breakfast room.

“What are the chances it will show up with Mrs. Swanston's bracelet?” Miles' question caught Lori off guard. Dudley Do-Right was back and it sounded as though he suspected her of stealing them.

“You heard Greer; she said she might have left it in Raleigh.”

“She didn't.” Miles' tone was clipped. “I saw it on her wrist yesterday.”

Lori turned to the sink, where she busied herself by adding dish soap and water to one of the dirty casserole pans. “Then I'm sure it will turn up.”

“Funny. That's what you said about the bracelet.”

She spun around to find him standing behind her, his hands
on his hips and that annoying probing look on his face. “What exactly are you implying, Miles?”

He didn't answer right away. Instead he closed his eyes and tilted his head down to his chest. “Maybe it's just a coincidence that we've had two people lose a piece of jewelry. I'm sure there has to be an industry matrix for this sort of thing that would tell us whether that's a normal number based on our occupancy rate.”

Technically it was three pieces of jewelry that had gone missing—not that she was going to point that out to Miles. Lori really couldn't fault him for letting his thoughts go in the same direction as hers had gone. But it stung that he immediately thought the worst of her. Especially after the way he'd kissed her yesterday.

“I know you're looking for an excuse to hate me,” she whispered. “But I don't steal.”
At least not knowingly.

Miles' eyes snapped open. Hunger and frustration were reflected in them. “Well, at least that's one layer gone.” His hand drifted up toward her face. He jerked it back at the sound of voices behind them.

“So this is where the magic happens,” a charming male voice said. “My compliments to the chef.”

An older couple had wandered into the kitchen carrying their breakfast dishes as though they were going to load them into the dishwasher. Miles hustled over to retrieve the plates.

“We're glad you enjoyed your meal, Mr. and Mrs. Osterhaus. But clearing the table is included in your room rate,” Miles joked.

“The wife, here, wanted to take a peek at the kitchen,” Mr. Osterhaus said. His booming voice matched his tall body. “The rest of this place is so gorgeous that she figured the kitchen had to be, too.” He glanced around the spacious room and gave a little whistle. “Don't get any ideas, Marcy. We aren't redoing the kitchen again.”

Marcy took a few steps into the room, her orthopedic sandals squeaking on the hardwood floor. “Oh, Harry, I love that rack.” She pointed to the handcrafted iron pot rack that hung
above the end of the island closest to the stove. “I'll bet it was custom made.”