On Shadow Beach (17 page)

He’d always wanted to tell her—not just about that, but about everything that had led to that moment. He’d made a promise, though, and too many people would be hurt. There was nothing to be gained by confessing now. It was too late to take back the pain he’d given her. It wouldn’t change anything.

At the sound of footsteps, he looked up. For a moment he thought it was Lauren, but then he realized the woman walking down the dock was his mother. He jumped to his feet. Moira Murray never came to the marina. She was usually found at home, the quilt shop, or chatting with her friends at Dina’s Café. Her red hair gleamed under the light, and she gave him a nervous smile as she asked if she could come aboard.

He offered her a hand, and she got on with a nimble step. Sixty-three years old, she still had the beauty, energy, and athleticism of a much younger woman. Moira had always been a driving force in their family. She ran everything: her husband, her five kids, her home, and whatever else she was involved in. Most people had a great deal of respect for her. Not everyone knew her as well as he did.

Since he’d returned to Angel’s Bay, they’d
shared only conversations in the earshot of others in the family, and that’s the way he preferred it. His mother and he shared a history that was not for public consumption.

Moira sat down on the bench. “I went to your sister’s baby shower today.”

“Oh?” He resumed his seat. Maybe this visit had to do with Kara. He could handle that.

“Lauren Jamison was there.”

He stiffened.

“She got into a heated discussion with Lisa Delaney about Abby’s death. Lisa said some very negative things about you.”

He shrugged. “She’s not the first, and I doubt she’ll be the last.”

His mother’s lips drew into a tight line, a battle raging in her eyes. Whatever she wanted to say wasn’t coming easy, which made him sure he didn’t want to hear it.

“Lauren stood up for you,” his mother said finally. “She told everyone in the room that you were innocent, that you didn’t kill her sister—but as far as I’m concerned, it’s too little, too late. She should have stood by you in the beginning.”

“She was seventeen years old. Her sister was dead. She was shattered.”

“And she was willing to let you go to prison. Don’t forget that. Just because she’s standing up for you now doesn’t mean she won’t throw you to the wolves again, especially if this movie gets going.”
Moira got to her feet. “I’m worried, Shane. Questions are being asked. Suspects are being lined up. I don’t know where it’s going, but I don’t think it will end well, and I’m afraid for you.”

“I didn’t kill Abby. Mark Devlin can’t prove that I did.”

“He can make his case. It will be hard on you.”

“Don’t you mean it will be hard on
you?”
he asked cynically.

She ignored that. “Maybe you should leave for a while. If you’re here you’ll be questioned again. I don’t want anyone to twist your words. Just think about it. I have to get back before your father realizes I’m gone.”

“You didn’t tell him you were coming here?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“He wouldn’t want you to leave. But I’m looking out for the family, the way I’ve always done.”

His mother had
never
looked out for him, and he was damn tired of being her partner in crime. “I told Lauren that Abby let me into the law offices that night,” he said abruptly.

Shock whitened her face. “Oh, Shane, how could you?”

“Lauren thought I was involved with Abby, and that we’d betrayed her. She didn’t deserve to live with that for the rest of her life.”

“Did you tell her why you went there?”

“No.”

“She’ll keep asking now that she knows this much. You need to
go,
Shane. Pull up the anchor
and sail out of this harbor, and don’t come back until everyone is gone. I know you think that I’m worried about myself, but that’s not true. Kara’s husband is in a coma—don’t we have enough to deal with? Promise me you won’t say anything else to Lauren.”

He remained silent.

“Shane? ”

“I don’t know.”

She flashed him a disappointed look. “You’re not thinking about getting back together with Lauren, are you? She told everyone at the shower that she’s not staying here. You can’t go back in time. You can’t re-create what you had.”

“You should get home. Dad is probably wondering where you are.”

“Fine. I’ll go.” She rose, then paused. “I hurt you, Shane. It was never my intention. Things just spun out of control.”

“I know. I was just collateral damage,” he said pragmatically.

“You were much more than that. You were my son, and I loved you. I still do.” She drew in a deep breath. “Good night, Shane.”

He raised the beer to his lips and drained it. She hadn’t told him she loved him in years, and was no doubt playing that card to keep him quiet.

Love—a ridiculous ideal that no one could ever live up to, an illusion that people were fools
to believe in. He’d learned that a long time ago.

For a while he’d had the crazy thought that he could beat the odds, that things might be different with Lauren. But he’d crashed and burned that relationship.
Like mother, like son
. Her lies had become his—and there was no changing that.

Lauren knew she’d end up down on the docks where Shane’s boat was moored. It was almost eleven, far too late to claim she was just passing by. She couldn’t even say she was looking for her father. She was still trying to think of a good excuse when Shane came up the stairs from below deck and saw her. He was barefoot, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt with the top two buttons undone. Butterflies danced in her stomach.

Shane stiffened. “What do you want?”

He did not look happy to see her, and a sudden thought occurred to her. Shane might have a woman in his cabin—talk about embarrassing. “I shouldn’t have come,” she said hastily.

“Probably not, but you’re here.”

“Are you alone?”

“At the moment.”

“Are you expecting someone?”

“Lauren, get on board or go home.”

She hesitated another second, then climbed aboard. “I wasn’t sure if you were living on this boat or staying at your parents’ house. Or maybe you have your own place?”

“I live here.”

“You’ve always felt more comfortable on water than on land, haven’t you?”

He crossed his arms. “Why are you here, Lauren? You didn’t come to chat about my living conditions.”

It had been years since she’d run to him for anything, years since he’d been close enough to run to. Yet here she was. “I need a friend.”

“A friend?” he echoed in surprise. “And you came here?”

“You were once the best friend I ever had.”

“All right. I can be a friend, I guess,” he said somewhat grimly. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing is going the way I planned—my father, the movie—I don’t know how to fix things.”

“Who said you had to be the fixer?”

“There isn’t anyone else. I made dinner for my dad tonight, and he was normal. We talked, connecting in a way that we hadn’t done in a long time. I thought everything might work out—I could just get him some help to come in during the day. Then two hours later, he was back in the kitchen making eggs and saying that he hadn’t eaten. He looked right at me, and he didn’t know me. He put up his hand as if I was going to hit him. I’d never seen such fear on his face.” She shook her head in despair. “I’ve been
kidding myself, Shane. My father is going to need real help. He’s slipping away, and I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his expression troubled. “I don’t know, Lauren. I don’t think anyone does.”

“I can’t move back here, it’s not home anymore. I keep telling everyone that, but no one believes me.”

“Maybe you’re the one who can’t believe it.”

“There’s too much pain, too much sadness for me in this town. Everywhere I look there’s a memory. In San Francisco, I don’t see Abby in store windows or skipping down the street. I don’t see you—or anyone else.” She’d almost admitted that some of her memories involved him.

“That would change with time. You once loved Angel’s Bay, Lauren. You used to get up every morning at five to work at Martha’s Bakery. I’d pick you up to give you a ride to school, and you’d have flour on your face, along with the happiest smile I’d ever seen.”

“Those days are long gone.”

“But you still feel the draw,” he said, his gaze clinging to hers.

“I don’t want to feel it.” She wasn’t just being pulled back to the town, but to him. He stepped forward, putting his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened, then relaxed as he began to work the tight muscles in her neck. She was walking a dangerous line, but she couldn’t seem to get off of it.

“When we were young, you always smelled like cinnamon,” Shane mused. “I got high just smelling your hair.”

“And here I thought it was me.”

He smiled and her heart beat a little faster. The moonlight danced off his face, highlighting his beautiful eyes, his strong jaw, and his full lips. She really shouldn’t have come here. She’d never been good at saying no to Shane.

Shane tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then his finger slipped down the side of her face in a gentle caress. “It was always you, Lauren. You got under my skin, and I’ve never been able to get you out.”

She put a hand against his chest as he moved closer.

“It’s just a kiss.”

“It’s never ‘just’ a kiss where you’re concerned.” She licked her lips and saw his gaze follow the motion.

“Now you’re not playing fair,” he whispered.

She didn’t want to be fair or responsible or practical. She’d had a hell of a day—make that a week—make that the last thirteen years when she’d had to grow up overnight. She’d tried to forget Shane, locking the memories away, but now they were clamoring to get out.

Maybe she needed to get him out of her system, to confront her past.

“Oh, to hell with it.” She pressed her lips against his. The heat of his mouth sent her pulse into overdrive.
It had always been that way. No slow buildup; one touch and she went up in flames.

She slid her hands up his arms, feeling the power in his biceps. He was bigger, stronger than she remembered, and so deliciously male. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. She loved the way his mouth moved on hers. She loved the way he tasted like salt and beer, the way her body wanted to melt into his. She felt tight, achy, desperate for him, for his hands all over her body, for his bare skin rubbing against hers. And she was tired of fighting it.

Shane’s hands slid under her jacket, his fingers flirting with the undercurve of her breasts. His touch was warm, and she shivered.

Shane broke away, his breathing rough. “If you’re planning to say no, you might want to do it now.”

She should say no. She should run like hell. But her feet didn’t want to move. This moment had been coming since she’d driven into town. It had been inevitable. She wanted Shane just one more time . . .

“Why don’t you show me the cabin?” she suggested.

She held out her hand and he took it, his fingers squeezing tightly around hers, as if he were afraid she’d change her mind. Then he led her down the stairs.

The cabin was intimate and dimly lit with one small lamp by the bed. The galley came first, then a double-size bed that was tucked into the walls beyond.
“It’s cozy.”

“Do you want something to drink?”

She shook her head, seeing the question in his eyes. He was giving her time to call things off, but that was the last thing she wanted to do. She slipped off her jacket and tossed it on the bench, then she drew her knit top up over her head. Shane’s gaze ran down her face to her breasts, barely covered by her lacy bra. She flushed a little, wondering what he thought of her now. She wasn’t a teenager anymore. She had a few more curves than he probably remembered.

“So beautiful,” he murmured.

Her heart flipped over. She moved forward and undid the buttons on his shirt, helping him off with it, then she ran her hands over the solid planes of his body. He was hard and tan. She loved the smattering of dark hair that ran down the center of his chest, the ripple of his abdominal muscles, the strength of his arms. Shane smelled like soap and the sea, a heady mixture that made her head spin. She stood on tiptoes, her mouth searching for his once again.

Shane’s hands moved from her shoulders to her back, caressing her bare skin. With one quick flick, he opened the back clasp of her bra and slipped it off. His hands palmed her breasts and a jolt of fire ran from her chest to her thighs. His mouth roamed across her lips, her cheek, his tongue tracing the line of her collarbone, dropping lower . . . swirling around her nipples until she gave a cry of pleasure.

She dropped her hands to the snap on his jeans.
He returned the favor. They kicked off their pants, coming together skin to skin in delicious abandon. His hands ran up and down her back, cupping her buttocks, pulling her against his hard groin.

“Lauren,” he whispered harshly, his mouth coming next to hers. “I want to go slow, but I don’t think I can.”

The same fire burned in her. “We’ll go slow the next time.”

Her words unleashed a passionate fury. His kiss was hot, hard, demanding, the kiss of a man, not a boy. And she was no longer that shy, hesitant girl. She was a woman who knew what she wanted.

She pulled him down on the bed, feeling sizzling heat everywhere their bodies touched. His mouth roamed across her breasts, down her belly. His hand slid between her legs, making her tremble. Then his mouth followed, sending her over the edge. She cried out his name, fisting her hands in his hair as he loved her. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to get closer, wanted that connection she’d been missing for so long.

When Shane reached for the drawer by the bed and pulled out a condom, she helped him roll it on. Then he was on top of her, inside her, moving the way she remembered, only much, much better. There was no past causing her pain, no future making her worry, just the present. She had Shane and he had her—and she didn’t want it to end.