The Fireside Inn (2 page)

Miles arched a brow. “Jealous?”

“You know we are.” Cooper shook his head. “Man, there are days I’d give anything to dial up my private chopper and have it transport me directly to the Billionaires Club roof. Not that I have a private chopper.”

“Not that it matters if each of us purchases a custom-designed, one-of-a-kind helicopter to rival Miles’s luxurious craft,” Leo pointed out. “Since new members to the club have no hope of being granted helipad access.”

“That’s the whole reason I haven’t bought a helicopter yet,” Zane grumbled, ruffling his black waves with a rough hand. “Fine, go back to your precious Sanctuary Island. Try not to die of boredom before we get there.”

“You should come down a few weeks before the wedding,” Miles said, ignoring Zane’s editorializing. “There’s a lovely hotel on the mainland, just a ferry ride away from the island. You’ll all be comfortable at the Fireside Inn for an extended stay. I want you to have a chance to get to know the island before the ceremony.”

“So we’ll get there—what? Ten minutes before the wedding starts?” Zane blinked, his big, blue eyes giving him a completely false innocence. “That should give us enough time to see everything your island has to offer.”

For a brief moment, Miles almost envied them. There was nothing quite like that first discovery of Sanctuary Island and the magic to be found there. But they wouldn’t believe anything he said now, so he limited himself to a mysterious smile, knowing it would drive them crazy.

It did. “Oh, for the love of—” Cooper shook his head. Wanderlust lit his eyes with green fire, the curiosity Miles had counted on zooming to the fore. “What’s so special about this place anyway?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Zane’s lip curled as he slouched deeper into the chaise longue. “Sanctuary Island is perfect.”

“Nothing in this world is perfect,” Leo muttered.

Miles inclined his head. “That’s true enough. Although what I’ve found with Greta comes damn close.”

Cooper muttered something that sounded like, “For now,” while Zane groaned and threw himself down full length on the chaise. Miles glanced at Leo, hoping for a little support, but instead, he encountered nothing but confusion—as if Leo literally couldn’t imagine being in love.

That did it.

Miles stuck his hands in the pockets of his Brioni suit pants and lifted his chin. “What would you boys say to a wager? The prize: that custom chopper of mine you all love so much, plus—I’ll sign over my restricted access to the roof of The Biltmore Club. Are you in?”

Sitting bolt upright, Zane narrowed his eyes. “What are the stakes? Only one of us can win the helicopter and helipad access.”

Miles grinned slowly. “I’m betting each of you will find the course of your life forever altered by your trip to Sanctuary Island. In fact, I’m willing to bet each of you will find love there. I watched it happen to both of my brothers in turn, and now all three of us are happily in love. The island is like no place you’ve ever been, I promise you. What’s more, if you travel to Sanctuary Island with me tonight, four weeks out from the wedding, I bet you’ll succumb to its lure before I ever say ‘I do.’”

Silence reigned thick and exciting in the air. “And whoever doesn’t…”

“Whoever is still single and unattached by the time I march down the aisle gets the helicopter,” Miles declared. “Along with the glory of victory. Who’s in?”

Incredulous glances pinged back and forth across their corner of the lounge as Leo, Zane, and Cooper processed the terms of the bet. Miles straightened his shoulders, a sense of rightness settling over him like a warm blanket.

He was going to win this bet.

After collecting nods from Cooper and Zane, Leo stood from the couch and extended a hand to Miles. Serious and intent, his crisp accent more pronounced than ever, Leo said, “We accept your wager. Although I, for one, feel a tad guilty at how simple it will be to beat you. I have no intention of falling in love, on Sanctuary Island or anywhere else.”

“No one intends to fall in love,” Miles said sympathetically, shaking his friend’s hand and sealing their deal. “But on Sanctuary Island? You won’t have a choice.”

Serena Lightfoot took a last, deep gulp of her coffee before regretfully tossing the rest in the big metal trash can by the front door. No food or drink in the library was a good rule. She’d implemented it herself when she took over as Head Librarian of the tiny Sanctuary Island Public Library two years ago.

But while she didn’t miss the days of wiping down sticky reading tables or dabbing potato chip crumbs out of the spines of her precious books, Serena did occasionally regret the loss of the steady caffeine intake that had gotten her through grad school.

Better for your blood pressure anyway
, she told herself firmly as she scuffed the bottoms of her high-heeled, lace-up Oxfords on the horsehair mat before unlocking the door and slipping into her domain, locking the door behind her. Inhaling the familiar comfort of paper, leather bindings, and book dust, Serena flicked on the overhead lights and dumped her crocheted bag on the reference desk.

This was one of her favorite parts of the day—the silence and solitude before the library was officially open. She could catch up on her cataloguing, work on the management system for the special collection of playwrights she was considering, check in the overnight returns.… Serena sighed happily, her fingers itching to get to work organizing things.

Although. She paused, biting her lip as her ancient PC booted up. If she were smart, she’d haul out the library budget and try, once again, to make the figures come out in the black instead of the red.

Agitatedly scraping her unruly blond curls into a loose topknot, Serena knew she now probably looked like the prototypical spinster librarian. But she couldn’t be bothered to care about that with the incomplete budget hanging over her. She shrugged out of her navy blue cardigan and wiggled in her rolling desk chair to get comfy. Might as well settle in for an hour of wrestling with finances, she decided glumly. That sick feeling in her stomach wasn’t going to disappear until she knew the Sanctuary Island Public Library would continue for another year.

But just as she clicked open her spreadsheet program, a loud knock banged on the locked library door.

Heart thudding quickly at the surprise, Serena stood up and walked slowly around the reference desk. She spared a fleeting thought for the fact that she was all alone in the library—but this was Sanctuary Island, the sleepiest little town full of the nicest people she’d ever met. There wasn’t even a bridge or a causeway connecting it to the mainland; the Virginia coastline was barely a gray smudge on the horizon, visible only from Honeysuckle Ridge, Wanderer’s Point, and the lighthouse.

Another knock made her jump and roll her eyes at herself. She didn’t have time for nonsense today. “The library is closed,” she called firmly.

“I see.” Even muffled, the voice through the door sent a strangely electric shiver down her spine. Brisk and British, but with a masculine, velvety warmth that made her want to wrap it around herself like a hand-knit blanket and rub her cheek all over it. The voice continued, “And what time will you be opening?”

Serena frowned. “The hours are clearly posted right beside the door,” she replied. “Come back at nine.”

There was an odd, awkward silence that lasted long enough for her to wonder if he’d gone away without another word. But then she heard a quiet, “Damn” before he raised his voice again. “Look, I’m sorry about this, but I’m not sure where else to go. I need your help. Won’t you let me in, please?”

Catching her fingers twisting in the hem of her messily untucked button-down, Serena stilled her nervous fidgeting. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

The voice went low and silky with amusement. “I promise, I’m perfectly harmless.”

Serena shivered again. That voice! He sure didn’t sound harmless. He sounded like he’d be a danger to any woman’s sanity—especially a woman who’d never had very good luck with men.

That was a decent point. After all, considering Serena’s luck, Mr. Hot Voice would no doubt turn out to be a hundred and five, stooped and balding, and with typically terrible British teeth. Deciding she was probably safe, Serena laughed softly at herself and unlocked the door.

Standing on the library doorstep was an impeccably dressed, broad-shouldered man about seventy years younger than her projection. He stood straight and tall, easily topping six feet, and the amber glow of the early morning sun turned his dark hair into a thick halo of fiery auburn waves.

The man smiled urbanely, showing a mouth full of perfect white teeth, and Serena bit back a sigh.

Her first impression had been completely correct. Despite the perfectly tailored James-Bond-style trench coat, the glossy leather shoes, and the lazy way he leaned on the handle of his sturdy umbrella, there was absolutely nothing harmless about this man.

“Thank you so much,” the man said, “I’m utterly in your debt. Miss—?”

“Serena,” she said dumbly, then flushed. This man wasn’t one of her pre-K storytime kids, who all called her Miss Serena in their little, piping voices. “Sorry, I mean, Lightfoot. Serena Lightfoot. Head Librarian of the Sanctuary Island Public Library.”

He had the good manners to raise his brows as if impressed by the title she’d insisted on when the town council voted to hire her. Maybe it was meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but it meant something to Serena. That title was an achievement—it meant all her hard work, all the loneliness, betrayal and personal sacrifice, had been worth it.

A smile twitched at the corner of the British stranger’s well-shaped lips, and Serena lifted her chin. Okay, so the Sanctuary Island Public Library was tiny, a brick shoebox of a building that obviously didn’t have room to house enough books to call for a fleet of librarians. But even if it was just Serena and her gaggle of part-time volunteers, she was still the Head Librarian!

“Miss Lightfoot,” he said, tone full of grave respect even if his light gray eyes were dancing with laughter, “May I be so bold as to introduce myself?”

This wealthy-looking, extremely cultured stranger reminded Serena of how she used to feel in school when the popular kids would approach her solitary cafeteria lunch table and ask for help with their homework. Shrugging grumpily, Serena jammed her hands into the pockets of her faded corduroy slacks. “Knock yourself out.”

Another slight, suave, glittering smile. “I’m Leo Strathairn, a visitor to your fair island, and I’m ever so pleased to meet you.”

He held out his hand and, reluctantly, Serena took it. The touch of his smooth, strong fingers sent a jolt of heat up her arm, even in the chilly winter air.

A flicker of awareness glowed in the depths of Leo Strathairn’s silvery blue eyes, and he held onto her hand as he said, “Thank you for opening your doors early—I understand what an imposition this is, but I simply didn’t know where else to turn. I need a favor.”

Unwilling to be charmed—in her experience, charming people always wanted something from her—Serena worked her fingers free of Leo’s light grasp and stepped back over the threshold and onto her home turf. “Come on in and tell me what you need, then we’ll see if I can help you.”

Leo sauntered past her, idly swinging his umbrella, and the moment the library door closed behind them, Serena knew she’d made a huge tactical blunder.

Enclosed within the musty silence of the old library, surrounded by the row upon row of books, the sheer, solid presence of Leo Strathairn was overwhelming. He seemed to suck all the air out of the room, simply by standing there and breathing as he glanced around the stacks with an odd, indecipherable expression tightening his chiseled features.

For the space of a heartbeat, Serena simply watched him take it all in, from the high, arched casement windows that were such a pain to clean, to the colorful crayon art lining the wall behind her desk. If he made fun of this place she’d poured her heart and soul into, Serena knew she wouldn’t be granting him any favors.

But for the first time since she opened the door and laid eyes on him, all trace of a smile melted away from Leo’s face. The sardonic glint in his eyes was overshadowed by something darker yet softer—something like yearning. Serena caught her breath at the man’s odd wistfulness as he stared at her cherished books, but when he met her gaze again, it was gone.

“Lovely building,” he said, neutral and polite enough to make Serena blink. Had she imagined that fleeting ache of emotion in his eyes? Maybe. Those light eyes were flat silver now, completely shuttered in the glare of the buzzing overhead fluorescents.

“Thanks,” Serena said slowly. “It’s on the historic register, but then, so is most of the island. Sanctuary is chockablock with old stuff.”

“Americans have such a charming concept of age,” Leo drawled, a little mocking but also fond. “Anything more than fifty years old gets slapped onto the historic registry, doesn’t it? But I suppose it’s all relative.”

Serena stiffened. “So what brings you to our upstart little nation? I’m sure there are plenty of bigger, fancier libraries in your neck of the woods.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not much for libraries.” He flicked an invisible speck of dust from the belted cuff of his immaculate trench coat.

Scowling, Serena crossed her arms over her chest. No matter how gorgeous he was, and how much that accent made her knees wobble, she couldn’t be attracted to a man who didn’t care about libraries, reading, and books. “And yet, here you are.”

Leo smiled engagingly at her, and even the fact that Serena could tell he was exerting himself to be deliberately charming didn’t completely negate the effect. “Because I’m in dire need of your expertise, Miss Lightfoot. I’ve been given an assignment, you see, and I haven’t the foggiest idea how to go about it.”

An assignment. Okay, that sounded like they were heading toward solid ground. Smoothing down her messy hair into something a little more businesslike, Serena stepped quickly around her desk and perched on her high chair. More comfortable with the width of the wooden research desk—and the metaphorical professional distance it provided—between them, she was able to return his engaging grin with a tight, cool smile of her own. “I’m glad to help. Is this an assignment for work or for school?”