Half Moon Harbor (20 page)

She knew where he was going, whom he was likely thinking of. It was why she'd asked, after all. She appreciated his honesty in being open about his social life and thought he'd probably left a lot of disappointed women in his wake, but she also believed that he'd probably never led them to believe it would be otherwise, either. Hadn't he already warned her of the same?

She was just about to open her mouth and let him off the hook, despite being more curious to know the true story, when he spoke first.

“I told you about Alex MacFarland doing the remodel on my boathouse. Well, she turned my head straight around, right from the start. It was . . . a first.” He grinned. “She also turned me down flat. Not so much as a kiss was shared between us. Turned out her head had been turned right around, too . . . but by someone other than me.”

“Must have been hard,” Grace said, truly surprised by the twinge of jealousy she felt, hearing him talk so fondly of someone else, realizing how ridiculous that was, since he wasn't with Alex, and was currently naked in bed with her. Still . . . “Working with her, having unrequited feelings.”

“Aye, it was,” he said with simple, open honesty. “We've gone on to manage a friendship, and I'm sincere in my happiness that she's found what she wants. Who she wants. It threw me, though, first that I felt what I did at all, and then again when it didn't simply go away.”

Grace nodded, thinking she might not have fully understood before, but having met him and experienced the feelings he so effortlessly elicited in her . . . yeah, it made sense.

“Once those feelings are known to ye, then going back to the easy but empty is . . . well, it didn't draw me.” He laughed shortly. “Frustrated the hell out of me, to be honest. But I couldn't shake the idea that there was more to be had . . . and I wanted to be the one having it.” He gave a short shake of his head, looked at her, then ducked his chin. “And I am now the exact sort of bastard I swore I'd never be. Talking of another woman at the worst possible time, in the worst possible position—”

“I asked,” Grace said, interrupting him. “And . . . I already knew.”

“Small towns,” he said, still looking abashed.

“No, before that. When you spoke of her . . . I knew. Or suspected. I only asked because I wanted—maybe I needed—to hear what the story was behind that look in your eyes when you said her name.” Grace lifted a shoulder. “Maybe it shouldn't matter.” She shifted her gaze. “But I guess it does.”

He lifted her chin with a fingertip. “I know ye said you don't fish for compliments, so I'll take it that you're not looking now.”

She shook her head, held his gaze directly as she did.

“Good. So you'll know that I mean what I'm about to say, aside from this conversation. And because we had this conversation, you'll know I understand exactly what I'm saying. For that reason alone, I'm glad you asked.”

“Okay,” she said, unsure if she really wanted to know what he was about to tell her, or if she'd forever wish she'd kept her damn mouth shut. At least until after they'd enjoyed the happy perk of being on birth control—which was what had started the whole conversation to begin with.

He took her face in his hands, wove his fingers into her hair, and did that thing he did, that soothing stroke of his thumbs. It made her heart race and calmed something inside her, all at the same time.

“Grace Maddox, you've no' been in my world for that long a time, and we've spent only a wee bit of it in each other's company. Yet, it's a profound impact ye've had on me. From the moment I heard you cursing on my docks, my head was turned.” He grinned, delighted apparently, as she felt the warmth bloom on her cheeks. “All the moments since have only served to tighten that hold.” He paused, held her gaze, then said the rest. “You're the woman I can't get out of my mind. You're the proof that I was right—there's more to be had.”

He made her heart pound. She didn't know what to say to that. The declaration thrilled her when it should have terrified her. As he said the words, every one of them echoed the same truth inside her. He was simply braver. She was still trying to admit the truth of them to herself, and he'd put it right out there. She didn't know if she'd ever be that brave, be that vulnerable.

“Then let's get back to finding out what more there might be,” she said, hoping she wouldn't see disappointment in his eyes for not responding out loud with the same declaration. Actions, she thought, would have to speak for her.

Instead of disappointment, what she saw was relief. Had he really been worried she'd reject him? Of course, the only other time he'd felt such emotions, he'd been turned down flat.

She spoke before she lost her nerve. “You've turned my head, too.” When his gaze sharpened, surprise and a deeper, banked emotion swimming in all that emerald green, she added, “Only you.”

“Come here,” he said, leaning in and kissing her, taking her mouth with slow and thorough certainty as he gathered her up in his arms and moved his weight between her legs.

Her heart tipped right over as he sheltered her . . . and claimed her.

“Lift up for me,” he said, urging her hips higher. “Hold on.” There was no hesitation, no fumbling, just a solid, single thrust.

“Brodie,” she whispered, gasping, moaning, wrapping herself more tightly around him. All of him.

“I've got you.” He groaned and buried his face in the curve of her neck. “You feel . . .”

Like you're mine.
She closed her eyes and held on to him.

He started to move inside her, letting her find her pace with him until they were in perfect, unified, glorious sync with each other.

For all they'd teased and bantered and laughed their way into his bed, there was nothing lighthearted about this. It was earthy and primal; mating, pure and simple, raw and complex.

By the time she felt his body gathering, tightening, knowing it would be the first time he'd truly come inside someone—inside her—she let every last barrier crumble, giving as fully to him as she was able, as if nothing less than all of her would be enough to match what he was giving her.

He growled, a long, low rumble of release, thrusting so deep inside her as he came . . . and she reveled in every vibration of it, glorying in it right along with him.

He held her for long moments afterward, trembling as aftershocks rocked them both. Finally, he slid from her and rolled his weight to the bed beside her, pulling her with him, settling her next to him, half sprawled over him as he tucked her head beneath his chin, his fingers still buried in her hair.

She listened to the thundering beat of his heart, her cheek pressed to his chest. He absently stroked her cheek and she felt him press a long, soft kiss to the top of her head. Her heart tipped past the edge and went into full free fall.

What have I done? What have I gone and done?

B
rodie took a lingering look at the woman presently slumbering in his bunk, then ducked through the hatch and made his way to the galley. He was satisfyingly fatigued, voraciously hungry, and more than a little disconcerted. In an effort to ignore that last part, he focused on the hunger issue. A quick look at the cupboards proved he'd have to go raid his boathouse for something resembling real sustenance. He brewed a quick pot of tea and took an insulated mug of it topside, already engaging in the internal battle of
just go with it, don't overthink it
. . . knowing he was going to lose that one handily.

A short yap had him glancing over at the dock where Whomper wriggled in glee upon spying him, but remained in a very proper sit. “Well, aren't you the repentant lad after running off with my newly planed pine mold piece. Don't suppose you brought that back with you?” He glanced past the pup, but there was no trace of the hand-carved piece that had taken him a good hour to make that morning. He looked back to Whomper, who ducked his chin but kept soulful eyes pinned on Brodie. “Heartbreaker,” he muttered, then slapped his chest. “Permission to come aboard.”

Whomper didn't have to be told twice, but merely launched himself straight from the dock. Brodie barely had time to set his mug on the rail before catching the ball of scruff against his bare chest.

He winced. “All that digging, you'd think ye'd have no claws left, laddie.” He chuckled as Whomper set about making up with him by trying to lick his face clean off. “Okay, okay, all is forgiven. Down, boy-o.” He set the pup on the deck and retrieved his tea. Whomper set off investigating all corners of the deck, making Brodie smile again. The mutt had natural sea legs and seemed quite sure-footed on the gently rocking deck. He did a quick scan, but didn't see anything that would bring the dog any harm, so left him to his explorations, took his tea, and climbed up to the helm, where he sat and looked out over the horizon toward the bay.

He had to tell her, of course. About the situation with Cami.

Brodie cursed under his breath, hating that there was a situation of any kind that even needed discussing where that woman was involved. But involve herself she had, and quite ingeniously. If the chance to build a historic, wood-hull schooner wasn't such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—what greater one for a modern-day shipbuilder could there ever be?—he wouldn't have even returned Brooks Winstock's phone call.

He'd told himself he'd simply find a way to separate the two things. It wasn't like his rejection of the man's daughter would have any bearing on the business dealings they might have. Hell, Cami was a married woman, so Brodie had been pretty damn certain Winstock wouldn't know about the rejection in the first place. Of course, the man would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to have at least heard the rumors about his only child's extracurricular activities, but Winstock was calling him, not the other way around; Brodie had assumed if it was known, it wouldn't be mentioned. Gentlemen didn't, after all.

His only true concern was that Cami would see the business link to her family as an opportunity to make yet another attempt to leverage herself into his bed . . . or upon hearing about the deal, she would exact her retribution by making sure Brodie was dropped from the project altogether.

“Boy, did you read that wrong,” he muttered, sipping his tea. He was deep in thought, trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation, when a woman's voice broke into his ruminations. He smiled.

“I know you probably have a gazillion pairs,” Grace said as she climbed up to join him. “But I figured you probably didn't give it to him as a chew toy.” She held up a half-mangled boat shoe.

Brodie reached for the shoe. “Does the wee bit have to have something clamped in his jaws at all times? I'm starting to think he's got a problem.”

“Don't ask me. I've just been thankful the boathouse has a huge pile of old pot buoys shoved in the back corner. I figure it'll take him a while to work through the stack.”

Brodie chuckled and tossed the shoe to the deck. “Come,” he said, levering his feet off the console and motioning her to sit on his lap. “Limited seating up here.”

He'd pulled on his jeans but nothing more and saw she'd pulled on her khaki shorts and tee . . . and nothing more, either. He smiled approvingly. And, fatigued or not, the rest of his body smiled, too.

She stayed at the top of the ladder. “I was thinking I'd go and find something for lunch. I looked in your galley, but—”

“I did, too. Like minds,” he said with a grin. “I'm sure I could find something back up at the boathouse.” He started to stand, but she waved him back to his seat.

“I'll go. I didn't mean to interrupt. Just didn't want you thinking I'd up and vanished. Want me to take Whomper with me?”

He didn't want her to go anywhere. The sun was in his eyes, so her face was in shadow, and he couldn't read her expression. Her tone was casual enough, her body relaxed, but . . . something wasn't right. Or it wasn't the same, anyway. “Grace—”

“Not yet,” she said quickly. Then her face creased in a half smile and he saw that she was nervous. Of all things. “I'm just—that was . . .” She looked embarrassed, but kept the smile on her face. “Let me go get us some lunch. Okay?”

He might not have had experience with long-term relationships, but he knew enough about women in general to know that pushing was never a good idea, and more likely to reap a result opposite the one sought. But he really didn't want her to go, at least not without first figuring out where her head had gone once he'd left her alone in his bed.

“Want some help?”

“I've got it.” She started to climb back down the ladder rail.

“Grace?”

She paused, then levered herself up just enough so she could see him. “Yes?”

“It's going to be okay.”

“What will?” she asked, looking wary.

Brilliant. You idiot.
But he couldn't seem to help himself. She wasn't okay, and so he'd had to say something. “I don't know,” he admitted. “Whatever isn't, at the moment. We'll figure it out.”

She held his gaze for a long, silent moment, and he kicked himself all over again. “I usually figure things out by myself,” she said at length.

“So you said. I'm just saying . . . maybe give sharing the load a go.” He smiled then. “Could be, I'll be no help whatsoever, but I'll do my best to try.”

“It's just lunch,” she said, trying for a glib tone. Failing.

“Okay,” he said, matching her smile, knowing he'd done exactly what he'd known not to do. He'd pushed. Better he should stop while he was behind.

She climbed down and he heard her give a stern warning to the pup before climbing to the dock. He turned and watched her walk away. “I don't know what I'm doing, either,” he called, not all that loudly, but knowing his voice would carry to her.

She turned, walked backward a few steps, looking at him. Then she shot him a quick, real smile, along with a sharp first mate salute, and turned back toward the shore.

He saluted her back, then sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Permission to break my heart,” he murmured, watching her retreat.

Not pushing might be the right thing to do, but sitting there watching her walk away felt like a really wrong thing to do.

A minute later he was smiling as he downed the rest of his tea. Decision made, he hopped down to the main deck, then went below and gathered up whatever bits and pieces they'd left behind. Back above deck, he whistled for the dog, who'd found his way up on the foredeck, and Brodie wondered just how much rope he probably had to replace. “Come on, Mischief,” he said, patting his chest. Whomper sprang up and Brodie bent to capture him against his chest.

“Let's go find your mistress, shall we?” He hopped to the dock and put Whomper down, smiling as the pup tore off toward the boathouse. He might not know what the hell he was doing, but she'd already admitted that neither did she. So chances were she was falling back on what felt comfortable. And that was building walls and figuring things out alone. And where had that gotten her? Sticking with what was safe, that's where.

Nothing about what was happening between them—or what could happen—felt like it was anything close to safe.

He was good at letting things go when the going got tough, at moving on when things looked like they might get complicated. At least where women were concerned. And where had that gotten him?

If they had a chance to get past the early part and explore new ground, better to break the pattern right from the start.

He knew she thought his natural charm got him his way more often than not, so it seemed a smart thing would be to use his best skill to set things on the right path before they had a chance to go all wrong. “Go with your strength, mate.” His grin began to falter as a few knots started to twist in his gut. “Go with your strength.”

 

She wasn't in his boathouse. He found her in hers. “I know I don't keep the pantry stocked as I should, but it's embarrassing to think you've got more in that cooler than I have in my whole kitchen.”

Whomper had dashed in first, so she wasn't startled by Brodie's entrance, but she did take a moment to slowly lower the lid of the cooler and close it with a purposeful little click. She lifted a can of dog food with a plastic lid snapped to the top. “Thought I'd feed Whomper, since we were eating.”

Brodie glanced down to the dog. “You didn't tell her?” He looked back at Grace and smiled at the arched brow and questioning expression. Some of the knots loosened a bit. “I picked up a bit of kibble and a box of biscuits. Seeing as he was hanging about.” He lifted a shoulder. “I should have mentioned it. But you and I weren't exactly on speaking terms.”

She was too far away for him to see if the revelation softened her up in any way. He glanced down at Whomper again. “I think we're in trouble, mate.”

“Only because you don't listen any better than he does,” she said. “Are you that afraid of what I might fix for lunch? Just because I've been living out of a cooler doesn't mean I can't put together a decent meal.”

She walked closer and he was further relieved to see the wink of humor in her eyes.

“It wasn't your ability to construct a good lunch that concerned me.” He closed the remaining distance, aware that what happened in the next few minutes could very well keep the door to their continued journey open . . . or slam it shut in his face. He took the can from her hand and set it—“What in the world is that?”

She glanced down. “Just what it looks like. A suitcase table.”

“Right.” He looked at her. “Why?”

“I needed a little table. There was an old suitcase in the rubble of stuff, and a few old legs and brackets from some long-ago piece of furniture so I screwed them into the bottom of the suitcase and . . . table. Kitchen counter. Desk. It's very all-purpose.”

“Clever.”

She smiled. “I thought so.”

He reached for her arms and very gently shuffled her forward until she was right up in his personal space. “I admire your amazing ability to build things out of odd bits, but what concerned me was your ability to construct some really sturdy walls while you made a few sandwiches.”

Up close, there was no hiding that his words surprised her. “I wasn't—”

It was his turn to lift a questioning brow, which halted her denial cold. She looked him in the eye and didn't seem all that pleased by his remarkable insight. The knots reformed and his inner voice launched into another tirade of self-recrimination.

She let out a half laugh, shook her head, and gave him that classic wry grin of hers. “Okay. So maybe I was. Trying to, anyway. It's—”

“Safer. I know. Trust me.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, then nudged her a bit closer still and put his arms around her. “You can, though, you know. Trust me.”

“I'd like to,” she said in typical direct fashion. “I want to. It's not an instant thing with me. I told you that.”

“And I listened.” Her eyebrow climbed and he smiled. “I did. Then I let you walk off, back to the Land of Safety. I almost stayed on the boat, telling myself it was because you wanted me to, asked me to. But I realized I was doing the same thing you were. Retreating, letting things slide and go where they may. But where has that gotten me? Where has it gotten you?”

“Brodie—”

“Just . . . allow me to complete the thought. Then you can kick me out. Though, fair warning.” He nodded at the can of dog food. “I feed him much better than you do. He'll likely follow.”

“You're threatening to hold my dog hostage?” she said, but he could see she was fighting a smile.

That was when he knew he'd done the right thing and the tension in his gut finally went away. “I'm saying he might choose self-imposed exile.”

“You do realize I might think of that as a win-win scenario.”

Brodie looked at the dog. “Did you hear that, mate? She's saying she's better off without us.”

On cue, Whomper lay down and put his chin on his paws, big eyes solemnly on Grace. Brodie looked back at Grace and did his best human impression of the same.

She smacked his shoulders with open palms, but was laughing as she said, “Oh my God. You are truly incorrigible.” She looked at Whomper. “Both of you.”

The dog gave a few tentative tail thumps, but kept his chin down.

She looked at Brodie. “I don't know what to do with you.” Her expression sobered slightly, but her gaze stayed easily on his. It was as earnest and honest as he'd ever seen it. “I can't impress upon you enough the depths to which I mean that.” She let him pull her hands from his shoulders and kiss her knuckles. “I really have no idea what I'm doing.”