The Sweetheart Secret (20 page)

He chuckled, then plucked a slice of bacon from her plate. “Like that?”

“Hey, no! That was my bacon. You're going to pay for that.” She reached for his plate, but he whisked it away.

“You want my bacon?” He dangled a piece in front of her, but kept yanking it out of her reach. “You'll have to work for it.”

She propped her fists on her hips. “And how exactly do you want me to work for it?”

His eyes turned dark, his smile sexy. In an instant, the mood between them shifted from playful to charged, the air sparking with electricity. “I can think of one very, very good way.”

“If I remember right, it's what followed breakfast for dinner, every single time.”

Oh Lord, did she remember. Making love with Colt had never been boring, never been anything short of amazing. An ache started deep inside her, stoking embers that had never died.

Colt came closer, holding the bacon between them. He brushed it against her lips. “Every. Single. Time.”

She took a bite, watching him, while she chewed, swallowed, then opened her mouth again. Her heart raced, her pulse pounded in her head.

“More?” he asked.

She nodded. “Much . . . more.”

He dropped the bacon onto the counter and kissed her instead, soft and sweet for one long moment, then harder, hungrier. She wrapped her arms around him, and he grabbed her waist, pressed her into the counter. She arched against him, fire burning deep inside her, as if Colt had flipped a switch.

He grew hard against her, and his kiss deepened, his tongue dancing with hers, a wild, feverish pace. He anchored his palms on the counter on either side of her, and she reached up to claw at his back, the breakfast forgotten. He hoisted her onto the counter and slid into the space between her legs, his cotton khakis rubbing against the bare skin of her legs. He reached a hand between them, parted the flimsy fabric of her robe and nightgown, then lowered his mouth to her breast, drawing her nipple into his mouth.

She arched, gasping his name. Her pelvis met his, heat against heat, throbbing need raging through every ounce of her body. She scrambled to wrest her arms out of the robe, the nightgown, to bare everything to him, to ease the hunger for more, more, more. At the same time, he reached for her robe, and their arms collided, knocking into one of the glasses on the counter.

It toppled onto the floor. The glass shattered on the tile, spraying them both with juice and tiny shards. Colt jerked back. “Damn it. Sorry.”

“It's fine. Let me—”

He stopped her from hopping down. “Stay right there. I'll get it. You're barefoot and I'm still wearing shoes. I don't want you to cut your foot open.”

“Hey, if I do, at least I have a doctor readily available for some stitches.”

He grabbed a broom and some paper towels and set to work cleaning up the mess. By the time he was done, Daisy had straightened her clothes, and begun cleaning up from breakfast, as best she could by reaching from the countertop to the sink. When Colt was done, he hoisted her off the counter. “I'm sorry our breakfast is cold now,” she said. Not just the breakfast, but the passionate moment, too. She wasn't sure she was sorry about that, because every time Colt touched her or kissed her, her brain short-circuited and she forgot all those wise arguments she'd had with herself about staying away from him.

“It's fine. Besides, you should get to bed. I can finish this up.” His voice was cooler now, platonic.

She put a hand on his. “Or you can just let it soak. The world won't fall apart if you go to sleep with a sink full of dirty dishes and an overflowing trash can.”

He looked back at the mess, then at her again. “Okay. But if I wake up in the morning in a
Day After Tomorrow
scenario, you're cleaning the kitchen.”

She laughed. “Deal.”

As they walked down the hall toward Daisy's bedroom, she debated inviting him in, asking him to spend the night, to finish what they had started. Oh, how she wanted that, but then she thought of the broken glass, its timing like a warning bell heading off a bad decision.

What if she fell in love with Colt again, spent three weeks or three years with him, and in the end, he shut her out just as he had a thousand times before? Her wary heart cautioned her to keep it light, and to keep her door shut—in case she was tempted to run upstairs to his room.

“Sunday, there's a big festival in downtown Rescue Bay,” she said. “I'm setting up a table to advertise the Hideaway Inn, and your grandpa is planning on going to help out. Do you want to go? If Emma works the booth with me, then you and I can take some time to walk around the festival. There's supposed to be a band and everything.”

“I . . . can't. I have plans.”

“Surely not all day.” She leaned against her door and gave him a grin. “Come on, you say you want more family time with your grandpa. You have to actually
make
some time to have that, Colt.”

“I know. And I will. I just . . . can't this weekend.”

“What could you possibly be doing that's more fun than hanging out downtown with us?” She grinned, teasing him, trying to ease past that wall he kept in place. Even as she told herself not to open her heart to him, not to invite him into hers, stubborn hope kept pushing her forward. “Come on, Colt, we'll have a good time.”

“Thanks for the offer, Daisy. Maybe another time.”

She realized he hadn't told her why he couldn't go. Or what he was doing instead. Maybe he did have a girlfriend. Or maybe he wasn't interested in anything approaching a real relationship with her. She should have known. What was that old saying about past history predicting the future?

She never thought she'd be so grateful for a broken glass. She turned the knob and opened her door. “Forget I asked.”

“Daisy—”

“Good night, Colt.” Then she slipped inside and shut the door before he could hear the disappointment in her voice.

“So give me one good reason why you're here with my ugly face instead of at home with Daisy.” Nick signaled to the bartender for a second beer, then plunked a few dollars onto the worn oak bar. Above their heads, a trio of big screen TVs showed two baseball games and a tennis match, the sound muted, while the closed captioning scrolled the commentator's words across the bottom of the screen.

“Because she drives me crazy.” Colt was still nursing his first beer. He'd been nursing it so long, the liquid had gone warm. Didn't matter. He wasn't here to drink. He was here to avoid going home, avoid dealing with everything that conversation on the beach and that midnight breakfast meal had stirred up.

And avoid dealing with the flicker of jealousy that ran through him when he saw his grandfather joking with Daisy after Colt walked in the door late last night. For years, Colt had been struggling to reestablish his relationship with his grandfather. Daisy had managed to connect with Grandpa Earl in a matter of days. It was what Colt had wanted—and why he'd hired her—but damned if it didn't make him wonder why he couldn't do the same.

“Sometimes crazy can be a good thing, you know,” Nick said.

Colt scoffed. “Trust me, with Daisy, it's not. She's everything I
don't
want in my life.”

“Beautiful, sexy, funny, nice. Yeah, I can see why that would be a drag.” Nick took a long pull off the second beer, then turned to Colt. “So have you told her yet?”

“Told her what? That she drives me crazy? She knows I'm not interested in her.”

Nick snorted. “Right. Because your body language around her is so monk-like, right? Just like when you slept with her a few months ago?”

“That was . . . an aberration.” He was using that word a whole lot lately, his go-to explanation for everything that happened with Daisy Barton. Because admitting otherwise would mean admitting that he still longed for her as much today as he had fourteen years ago. That she still made him want to run away and find a private beach where all they did was explore each other for days, or even better, hole up in some snowed-in cabin in the woods for weeks on end.

He took a sip of the warm beer, but all it did was upset his stomach, not erase the thoughts of Daisy lying on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire, wearing nothing but a pair of boots and a smile.

“I meant,” Nick said quietly, “have you told her about Henry?”

Colt scowled. He didn't want to talk about that. Hell, he didn't even want to
think
about that. “She doesn't need to know.”

“You know, I love you like a brother, Colt, but you are one stubborn mule. What's that old saying about the doctor never taking his own advice? You gotta talk about the things that weigh heavy on your mind or they'll weigh down your soul. Or some such new-age truth.”

Colt spun on the stool and rested an elbow on the bar. “Have you told Maggie you're interested in her?”

“Hell, no.” Nick paused, then chuckled. “Okay. Touché.”

“Yeah, giving advice is a hell of a lot easier than taking it.”

Nick nodded, then sipped at his beer for a little while. On the center TV, the White Sox were handily beating the Oakland As, with three innings left. The announcers were already talking World Series potential for the White Sox, who had just signed a new, superstar pitcher. “Daisy told me today that Olivia booked her wedding at the inn, which means Daisy's going to be in town at least another month. So either you're going to have to start going home and dealing with her sleeping in your guest bedroom, or start paying rent for that stool.”

“You are a pain in the ass, you know that?”

Nick chuckled. “I'll take that as a compliment. And agreement that you still want her.”

Colt didn't reply. He didn't trust himself not to tell the truth.

Nick sat there, quiet, while he fiddled with the beer bottle. Above their heads, the White Sox had three men on base, and the close-up of the Oakland As pitcher showed a nervous guy wiping sweat off his brow. “I know you probably don't want to hear this, Colt,” Nick said after a while, “but I think you were a better person when you were with her.”

“A better person? Nick, I quit my job, bought a motorcycle, and ran off to Louisiana to elope. How is that being a better person?”

“You're a hell of a doctor. The kind that dots all the i's and crosses all the t's. In healthcare, it's important to keep track of the details, to be anal retentive and dispassionate, and all those things. But in real life . . .” Nick shrugged. “It can make you a pain in the ass.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I'm just saying that letting loose once in a while is good for the soul. Don't be so worried about the rules and regulations and little things.”

“Now you sound like the title of a self-help book.”

Nick raised the bottle in his hands. “It's the beer. Makes me smart.”

Colt chuckled. “I'd like to see that study.”

“You are seeing it. It's called real life.” Nick signaled to the bartender for a fresh brew for Colt. “Try it yourself, and you'll see.”

“You're a bad influence on me, you know.”

Nick grinned, then toasted Colt's new beer with his own. “Then I'm seriously rocking my job as best friend.”

*   *   *

Daisy took her time getting ready, switching dress options three times before finally settling on a sky blue sundress with white trim. She paired it with white flats, then curled her hair and let the tendrils hang down her back. Nerves churned in her stomach. This was it, her big chance to try to drum up enough business to ensure the Hideaway's future. With enough potential customers, she hoped to convince Emma that reopening the B&B would be a good idea not only for just Luke and Olivia's wedding, but also for the long term.

Not to mention, the income from future events would help pay for the renovations. Colt paid her well to take care of Grandpa Earl, but it wasn't well enough to repay the loan. Which meant they needed dozens more events, just to break even.

Though that wasn't what had her fretting over her dress choice or spending thirty minutes fixing her hair. It was the tiny possibility that Colt might take her up on her offer after all, and turn the festival into a family event. He had barely been home in the last few days—she could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen him since that midnight breakfast—and had been noncommittal when she mentioned the festival again yesterday.

As soon as the Hideaway was functioning again, Daisy could move out of this house, move on, to somewhere that didn't make her feel like she needed to repair all that was broken. Heck, she could barely straighten out her own life. What made her think she could change the lives of two grown—and very stubborn—men?

Focus on the B&B. On Emma. Leave the rest alone.
A good mantra, if only she could follow it.

Daisy flipped out her cell phone and pressed Emma's number. “Good morning. Are you ready for today?”

“As ready as I'll ever be.” A pause. “Do you think the pictures look okay in the brochure? I was thinking last night that maybe we should—”

“It's perfect. You're an awesome photographer, Em. You managed to not only capture the spirit of the Hideaway Inn, but crop the photos just enough to hide the construction.” Daisy had loved the pictures Emma took, each one of them strategically lit and angled to give the Hideaway the appearance of its former glory.

The other reason Daisy was grateful for the festival and the brochure project—Emma had agreed to stay an extra few days, to handle the design and printing, then help at the Hideaway's booth. Emma hadn't mentioned Roger or her job back in Jacksonville, and every time Daisy brought up the subject, Emma deflected to something else. Either way, it was clear Emma needed a break from her life. In the last few days, her mood had lightened and she'd become more like the old Emma.

“Glad you liked my creative photographic skills.” Emma laughed. “I'll meet you at the festival in a little bit.”

“Bring the coffee. I think we're going to need it.” After the last few nights of tossing and turning, Daisy could use an IV drip of caffeine. Colt had come home late every night, often long after Earl had gone to bed, leaving again in the morning before anyone got up. She'd stayed in her own room, avoiding him as surely as he was avoiding her.

He'd called her a coward, and he was right. She didn't confront him, didn't go see him, because she didn't want to have him break her heart again. She'd opened her heart to him that night—okay, not a whole lot, but it was a start—and in the end, he'd shut her out again. The real coward, Daisy decided, was Colt Harper. The question was why. The man she'd married had been adventurous, spontaneous. This one was cautious and guarded.

She hung up with Emma, then headed out to the kitchen. “You ready?” she asked Earl.

“As ready as I'll ever be.” He had on sneakers and jeans, and a T-shirt advertising the garage he used to own. But it was Major Pain—Major, she corrected in her thoughts—who looked the most ready to tackle the day.

Earl had brushed the dog until his coat shined, then tied a big red bandana around the dog's neck, matching the red leash already attached to Major's collar. Major sat on the tile, tail swishing, tongue lolling, ready to go.

“Okay, great. Where's Colt?”

Earl shrugged. “Said he had to go somewhere. Didn't say where or when he was getting back.”

Daisy cursed under her breath. She'd really thought Colt would make time for this. For a man who kept complaining about the distance in his relationships, he sure was a big part of the problem. “Well, maybe he'll meet us there.”

“Maybe.” But Earl sounded as doubtful as Daisy.

Daisy and Earl headed downtown, walking slow so Earl wouldn't get winded. Major pranced beside them, excited to be outside, or just plain excited. The downtown festival event was in full swing by the time Daisy arrived, with several local Rescue Bay businesses advertising on banners and little pop-up awnings spread throughout the park. An eighties-style cover band played on the gazebo stage in the center of the park while people drifted from booth to booth.

People milled about the festival, starting with the food vendors handing out free samples, then working their way down toward the businesses lining the park. It was a sunny day, bright and warm, with the scents of fresh-cut grass and salt water mingling in the air. The rest of the country might be starting to bundle up and think about comfort foods for fall, but here in Rescue Bay, it still felt like summer.

“You need any help?” Earl asked.

“Nope. I have it under control.” She bit her lip, shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Emma should be here soon, too.”

Earl's light blue eyes softened. “You look nervous, Daisy.”

She bit her lip again and nodded. “A lot is riding on this. If we don't get a lot of interest in the Hideaway Inn reopening, then we'll go bust before we even make our first dollar. And we owe a whole lot of dollars to the bank.”

“If there's one thing I've learned now that I'm an old man, it's that worry is a lot like sitting in a rocking chair,” Earl said. “It takes a lot of energy, and doesn't get you a damned bit further down the road. So don't waste your energy on sitting in place. Focus on the road ahead, and the rest will work out.”

She laughed, and just like that, her nerves eased. “Thanks, Earl. I needed that.”

He nodded, then thumbed toward the food vendors. “I'm going to go get a hot dog.”

“Earl, you shouldn't—”

He winked. “Just kidding. They're selling some of that chicken on a stick. I figure anything on a stick can't be too bad for you.” He gave her a little wave, then headed across the park with Major.

Daisy slipped behind one of the small white tables that Olivia, as the organizer of the festival, had set up for the exhibitors. Down the road maybe she could buy a stand-up display, invest in an actual booth—

She stopped herself. What was she doing? Making plans to stay and be what . . . the marketing director for the Hideaway?

That meant a long-term commitment. Something Daisy had arrived here sure that she wanted, but as she got more of a feel for the homespun life of Rescue Bay, she wondered if she was deluding herself. Baking a turkey or setting fresh flowers on the kitchen table didn't qualify her for domesticity. For stability.

Or was she rushing to hand off the reins to Emma because she was more afraid of something else, something bigger. Something like . . .

Falling in love with Colt again.

That would be the biggest mistake she could make. Believing that a few tender moments, a couple of midnight conversations, meant that he still loved her.

His absence spoke the truth. She needed to pay better attention to Colt's actions, and stop putting stock in words that held about as much weight as the wind. Then maybe this constant ache of disappointment would disappear.