A Place with Briar (Harlequin Superromance) (7 page)

They cruised underneath overhanging branches strewn with Spanish moss. The azaleas, dogwoods and red bud trees were all in full bloom. The setting rays of the sun filtered through the leaves and dappled the pavement in random patches. The houses along either side of the road were old yet lovely and kempt, with shaded porches and tidy garden beds behind their picket fences.

The bay was calm, the early evening clear. Idyllic. The flashing glare off the bay water obstructed the view of Mobile’s high risers, but the sailors were certainly taking advantage of the good wind and the last light, their masts toy-sized silhouettes against the horizon. Brilliant shades of scarlet and magenta streaked the clouds and painted the bay’s mimicking surface.

The unexpected feel of her shoulders and thighs relaxing slowly subdued her. People on the sidewalks waved, Southern hospitality ringing true in their easy smiles. She loosened her viselike grip on Cole’s waist, loving the way fingers of wind lifted her hair and caressed her bare arms in warm, soothing strokes. Over Cole’s shoulder, she eyed the long, curvy road she knew better than the lines of her palm.

Maybe she wouldn’t die tonight after all. The key was to relax, which wasn’t hard when the breeze smelled of summer blooms and tepid bay—such familiar, lulling scents. She leaned into the corners as he’d instructed, pleased that he slowed when they rolled over bumps.

She began to realize her life might just be in good hands. Her lips curved as she watched those hands squeeze the brake, release then throttle the accelerator. They were strong, capable...just like the sturdy line of his back through his black T-shirt.

She could easily dwell on how close they were. Even better, she could lay her head on his shoulder, close her eyes and let his warmth lull her into wistful complacency.

Too easily she could imagine the heat of his body, skin to skin. The weight of him. His hands making themselves capable in another way entirely. She had little doubt he’d manage her long-abandoned needs as well as he handled the purring machine between his legs.

A sweet, twining sensation sank into her midsection then spread outward, deepening and heating as it wrapped around her, a velvet blanket that simultaneously cosseted and drowned her in heat.

Gasping for breath, she stiffened, realizing her hands had fisted around handfuls of his shirt. She shoved the visor of her helmet up and drank the rushing air until her face and thoughts both cooled.

The mysterious stranger in her arms was turning out to be a dangerous man, indeed.

* * *

C
OLE
DROVE
AS
the lukewarm sundown sank into cool dusk. He stayed on the scenic road, veering right when it forked. They wound their way around the Eastern Shore until it reached the pavement’s end and the water’s edge at Pelican Point.

The lights on the Fort Morgan peninsula across the way were already twinkling as he parked at the shoreline and cut the engine. He pushed up his visor as Briar’s hands retreated hastily from around him and she slid off the bike. “I thought you might need a break.”

“A little bit,” she admitted. She bent at the knees and rubbed her thighs—they likely tingled from the engine’s vibration.

“It’s normal,” he explained. “You get used to it.” As her hands skimmed along the inner seams of those maddening, shapely jeans, he snatched his gaze away and trained his eyes on the water. “Looks like it’ll be a nice night.”

“Perfect,” she agreed, straightening and walking to the edge of the pavement. “I’ve always liked this spot.”

“What’s this body of water?”

Gesturing behind him, she said, “That’s Weeks Bay. It’s linked to Fish River and Magnolia River just northeast of here. This point is where they all filter into Mobile Bay. Then they join the Gulf of Mexico at Fort Morgan peninsula.” She pointed to the shadow of the fortress of war on the dimming horizon.

He jerked his chin in the same direction. “I imagine you’ve been there.”

“Fort Morgan?” She shrugged. “Not much to see, really. The beach there is my favorite, though. It’s so far removed from Gulf Shores, Orange Beach and all the public beaches, it’s usually light on foot traffic.” Her lips curved into a smile. “After hurricanes, Olivia and I used to beg one of our parents to take us out there. The storm waves dredge up the floor of the Gulf and wash everything ashore. We’d find huge unbroken shells, jellyfish, starfish, driftwood—sometimes even boats. Once we found the hull of what looked like an old shipwreck.”

As she remained submerged in the past, her smile faded. A frown took hold and she stepped back, distancing herself from the memories. “That was a long time ago.”

“You were happier then,” he assumed, trying to figure out how best to turn the conversation back to the inn.

Her brow creased. “I don’t know about happier, but I felt more in control of my destiny. And I had my mom.”

He fought for a moment to find something neutral to say. “I can’t imagine waiting out a storm like that. In Huntsville, we’d only get fragments. Rain bands, maybe a tornado would tear through. But nothing like you’ve experienced, I’m sure.”

“It’s a fact of life down here,” she explained, voice flattening. “We stayed through Ivan and Katrina. We had quite a bit of wind damage, though. A gale ripped one of the storm shutters off and blew it out to sea.”

He raised a brow. “You stayed through
that?
”

Lifting a shoulder again, she said, “We got lucky. Katrina practically split Dauphin Island in two and left nothing but pilings on the west end. A row of whole houses and several families’ worth of worldly possessions just vanished. Not a scrap of wreckage left behind.”

“Christ,” he muttered with an unbelieving shake of his head. “You’re all nuts for living here, in the eye of the storm.”

“Maybe,” she said with a soft smile, “but it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Again, he had to tear his eyes away from her profile. “It certainly looks worth it,” he replied, then turned the ignition switch. “Wind’s picking up. It’ll be getting chilly soon.”

She frowned. “It’s ninety degrees.”

“Yeah, but it’s cooler riding, especially at night. We better head back.” He held out a hand to her.

Hers slipped warm over his, the long, graceful fingers rough around the edges. Though delicate in shape, they were hardworking hands. As his fingers closed around them and she mounted the passenger seat, her slender torso slid into place behind his, snugger, more comfortable than before.

He inhaled sharply and cranked the engine quickly. Rolling the throttle back, he tried to drown out the lingering lust with the machine’s reckless roar.

Those hands, gentle in their grip, sweet in their careful altitude between his hips and rib cage, not only reawakened the unsettled hunger, they lit a fire in his head, heart and groin.

He cursed under his breath and snapped his visor into place. Using his feet, he backed away from the pavement’s edge, lifted them onto the pegs and gunned it.

Her careful hold on him turned into a death grip, both arms latching tight around his chest as he sped off.

Dark gathered, turning the sky to eggplant. The road was unlit by streetlights and deserted. He gave the eager engine more gas and soared faster underneath the canopy of trees along the narrow road. He didn’t take it easy around the bends, and her grip didn’t loosen. The tunnel effect of overlapping limbs and dense foliage on either side of the blacktop added a sense of weightlessness.

He only slowed when they reached the road’s fork. Then he cut the speed back down to the limit. It took her a while to relax again—he must’ve scared the daylights out of her. But the adrenaline had thankfully burned off the simmer in his blood.

He felt the chill of her hands through the thin cotton of his shirt as one covered the other to gather some warmth between them.

They had several miles to go yet. He frowned at the cold spot over his sternum. Lifting his hand from the brake, he draped it over hers, his arm cloaking the skin of her bare forearm. It felt frigid under his.

She stilled. Then she ducked farther behind him, hunching out of the wind and laying her head against the back of his shoulder.

Neither of them moved until they neared the inn. He lifted his hand to squeeze the brake and swerve into the parking lot, coming to a stop under the magnolia tree. She eased back slowly and neither of them said a word as he turned off the bike and dropped the kickstand into the gravel.

He took off his helmet as she rubbed warmth back into her thighs. For form’s sake, he checked the gauges before switching the lights off and pulling the key out of the ignition. Shifting to pocket it, he glanced back at her. “You all right?”

“A little warmer,” she said in a voice coated in sleep.

He felt the tug again down low and cleared his throat. “Need some help down?”

“I’ve got it.” Still, her hand gripped his shoulder as she dismounted.

Sliding off, he shifted from foot to foot, trying to get the blood moving. Preferably away from his pelvis.

Cole followed her up the steps to the inn as she unlocked the door, holding it open for him to enter then shutting it at his back. She flipped the latch behind them and switched on the entryway light. “I guess I should thank you, Cole.”

With a short smile, he led her down the hall to the kitchen. “Only if you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did,” she said, a little surprised. “I’m sorry to say I didn’t expect to.”

As the stove light fell over them and he turned to face her, he let out a laugh.

“What?” she asked, alarmed.

He gestured up. “You’re, ah...still wearing the helmet.”

Lifting a hand to it, she gasped. “Oh, shoot. I forgot all about it.”

When she struggled with the strap, he stepped forward to rescue her. “Let me get it.”

She closed her eyes. “I can’t believe I forgot. It felt so awkward when I first put it on.”

“You were relaxed,” he told her, making quick work of the strap.

“I admit, when I warmed up, I got kind of numb.” She pried off the helmet, running a hand over her loosening ponytail.

He began to step back then couldn’t. His blood sang at the sight of her flushed cheeks and heavy lids. As she pulled the band from her hair, raking it with her fingers and teasing the strands into place over her shoulders, the scent enveloped him.

Everything he’d felt that night swamped him again, leaving little room for rational inhibition. He moved in, no warning. Her breath had barely caught before his lips captured hers.

A small sound of surprise escaped her throat as his hands closed over her hips, maneuvering her back against the counter. She gripped his shoulders but didn’t push him away. After a shocked second, her fingers curled into his shirt.

Her lips were soft, plusher than he’d imagined. Sinking in, he didn’t progress further. He could’ve gulped, taken, plundered, demanded. But he held back because her breath cascaded over his face. He opened his eyes and saw the pinched bar between hers. As if, like him, she fought a costly, silent inner battle.

He lifted his lips but didn’t step back, waiting for her to look at him.

It took her a minute. With a great deal of effort, her lids pried back from her stirring, honey irises...and heat kindled in them, throwing a lit match on the dry brush inside him.

She pressed her lips together and searched his eyes. They parted once then twice before she whispered, “What was that?”

His heart thumped heavily between them, and he didn’t think he could stop it. “I...I’m not sure.”

Her teeth latched on to her lower lip in a move that tormented the hell out of him, and her gaze lowered to his mouth. “Maybe you could...do it again?”

No mistaking the request. The plea. Glutton for punishment, he gazed at her lips. Wanting. Needing.

Facing once again something he could not have.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned. He let it register, watched her eyes ping back to his in surprise then distress before he backed away and cast his face downward.

Careful not to look again, he lifted his helmet from the table and retreated into the sitting room. All the way up the stairs, he ignored the hand inside him that reached for her, threatening to wrench him in two.

CHAPTER SEVEN

B
RIAR
WAS
STILL
in somewhat of a confused daze the following morning. So much so that as soon as she finished preparing the garden suite for the first family on the guest calendar—the Josefstines—she found herself tiptoeing around the door to the bay-view suite to take a walk.

She wound up at Flora. Adrian had propped the front door of the shop open to invite in the early morning breeze. Flowers all but poured out of the door in perfusion. There was a chalkboard easel on the sidewalk announcing the latest sale. Silver buckets of colorful gerbera daisies sunned in the dappled light along with sprigs of iris and lavender. Briar stopped to trail her hand over the soft, white lilies of the valley nearest the door before entering the cool air of Adrian’s shop.

Her summer assistant, Penny, a high school junior whose family had connections to Adrian’s, looked up from behind the glass checkout counter. “Hello, Briar!” she greeted, her face lighting up instantly.

“Penny,” she said. “How are you?”

“Great.” Penny beamed. “Just great. Are you here to see Adrian?”

“Yes,” she said. “I thought I’d order some new centerpieces for the entryway and dining room. Is she around?”

“In the back,” Penny said, gesturing beyond the front room with its potted plants and glass-fronted display coolers filled with Adrian’s many impressive floral arrangements, corsages and bouquets.

“Thank you,” Briar said, going through the archway that led into the work area. Adrian was not at her usual post, the preparation counter where she worked her unique brand of magic every weekday and Saturday. “Adrian?”

“In here!”

Briar walked into the office all the way in the back of the shop where Adrian was sitting at her desk. “Catching up on some bookkeeping?”

Adrian huffed as she pulled off a multitasking headset. “Well, I
was
until bridezilla called, sobbing.” She took a breath, held up her hands. “Crisis and cold feet averted.”

Briar grinned. There was no one more equipped at calming distressed brides than Adrian Carlton. “You could’ve been a therapist.”

“Trust me. It’s me who needs the therapy,” Adrian said, reaching for the last dregs of coffee in the coffeemaker at her right. She shook her head, filling her mug. “Replenishing centerpieces?”

“I can come back later,” Briar offered. “With mimosas. And pâté.”

“You know my weakness. But have a seat. I could use a calming presence.”

Briar felt far from calm, but she scooped a handful of floral design books off the only other chair in the room and sat down. “I do need centerpieces...but I don’t think that’s why I came over....”

Adrian lowered her mug before she could take a sip. “Something’s wrong.”

“No. Well, not exactly.” She pushed her hair from her face, frustrated with her own restlessness. Lifting her hands, she realized there was no better way of getting it out in the open so she blurted, “Cole kissed me.”

Adrian’s mouth fumbled. Very carefully, she set the mug down and swiveled her chair around to face Briar fully. “He kissed you,” she said after a moment’s contemplation.

“Yes,” Briar said, brushing her hair back again, this time from her brow. “I...I don’t think he meant to. It just happened.” She exhaled on a shaky rush. “It wasn’t an overt kiss...it was just... It was...perfect.” She frowned over the word as it slipped out. “Yes,” she said on second thought. “It was perfect. But then he got distant and backed away...practically ran away. And now I don’t know how to act or what to do about it or him or anything....”

Finally, she raised her eyes to Adrian’s and felt her cheeks color when she saw her friend’s pursed lips and studious expression. “I’m sorry to drop this on you, Adrian, especially after the morning you’ve had already. I just need an objective opinion.”

Adrian nodded, pressing her lips as she picked up her mug again, this time holding it between both hands. “So...he kissed you, without really meaning to.”

“Yes.”

“Then he backed off, without explaining himself.”

Briar thought about it. “Pretty much. But in a way that was almost...respectful.” She scoffed over the word. “You’d think I would appreciate that kind of behavior...but it made me a little mad.”

Adrian lifted a brow. “A little?”

“More than a little,” Briar admitted. “I didn’t sleep at all last night, I was so angry and conflicted.”

“Briar...” Adrian’s gaze dropped to the coffee in her hands. “I need to tell you something.”

“About Cole.” She took a deep breath, straightening in her chair. “Uh-oh.”

“It’s nothing bad, really. It’s just that after I gave him that tour around town, we were standing outside the tavern, talking. Your name came up. He didn’t come right out and say it, but...I think he has feelings for you.”

“No,” Briar said with an unbelieving shake of her head, even as her heart fluttered at the thought. “The man just got here. I’m his innkeeper. There hasn’t been time to develop anything more serious than a professional relationship. There’s hardly been time for that, really.”

“Okay, if you really think that, ask yourself this. Do you have feelings for
him
outside of your professional relationship?”

Briar’s lips parted then she snapped them closed. “I don’t know.”

Adrian studied her in what looked like something close to pity. “Yes, you do.”

She lifted her hands helplessly. “I have these little flutterings...and moments where I can’t particularly breathe around him. And, yes, when he looks at me it feels like my knees are melting into hot liquid. I’m dealing with it, though.”

Adrian’s face softened into something of a smile. “You realize if Olivia were here, she’d be jumping up and down.”

Briar rolled her eyes. “Last night she told me to sleep with him.”

Adrian let out a short laugh and she shook her head. “So I’m assuming since you didn’t go to her, you need someone to talk you out of it.”

“Not sleeping with him,” Briar clarified. “I know not to sleep with him. At this point. At any point...it won’t even come to that, I’m sure. I just need someone to tell me that this is all foolish, that he’ll go away and whatever flutterings and moments I’m having are just temporary.”

Adrian narrowed her eyes. “Let me talk to him.”

“No! What? I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Somebody’s got to,” Adrian insisted. “The man’s a good one, but there’s trouble there. I saw that a mile off.”

“I don’t want anybody cornering him in the garden, interrogating him about his intentions toward me, Adrian,” Briar said sternly. “Frankly, I’m starting to think all this was better off in my head. And he is a good man. He’s a survivor because whatever trouble he came through to get here, he went through the brunt of it alone. I can see it in his eyes.”

“Are you sure you need this right now?”

“No, I’m not,” Briar admitted. “It’s the very last thing I need right now. But...you’re right. It’s there and I have to live with it.”

Adrian’s frown deepened. “Just be careful. Please. In my experience, when a man’s hiding something, it’s not because he’s being respectful. It’s because he doesn’t want you to see what’s underneath.”

* * *

Y
ES
,
SHE
’
D
asked to be talked down. And she’d gotten a talking down to. Adrian had given her exactly what she wanted. But still she felt conflicted. Still she felt those angry dregs left over from her sleepless night humming under the surface.

Briar decided to put it all aside and let it ruminate while she greeted the Josefstines at noon.

To commemorate the Josefstines’ first evening at Hanna’s she planned a formal dinner, placing a roast into the Crock-Pot soon after their arrival. What little space she had in her head for thoughts of Cole got crowded quickly when Mrs. Josefstine presented her with a laundry bag and asked if she would mind doing the wash for them.

For the first time in weeks, the inn felt like itself—full of bodies and chatter. The Josefstines’ daughter quickly changed into a bathing suit and went to lie out in one of the padded lounge chairs on the boat dock while Mrs. Josefstine left to explore downtown.

There was no room for Cole in her head, and yet as she transferred the fresh clothes from the dryer into her basket to whisk them upstairs for ironing, she thought about him. She heard canned voices from the television in the sitting room. Mr. Josefstine had made himself right at home, taking a seat on the sofa with a glass of red wine in hand after driving eight hours from Savannah. He didn’t seem like the kind to stay underfoot. With that in mind, Briar forced Cole out of her head and began timing her duties until dinner.

Ironing, half an hour. Just in time to start the potatoes. Then the gravy and green beans. Serve at six in the formal dining room. Allow time for conversation and clearing. Then dessert by six forty-five.

As she carted the basket toward the stairs, she slowed. Cole stood midway down, eyes on the television. Mr. Josefstine had flipped to the weather radar. It showed a turbulent tropical system forming just off the tip of Florida. Brett, they were calling it. The meteorologist projected a northeasterly path that placed the cone of impact between Panama City and New Orleans by Friday morning.

Mr. Josefstine grunted, glancing sideways at Briar. “Might have to cut our stay short.”

Cole jerked out of his trance, seeming to realize she was there. She’d seen neither hide nor hair of him since his blatant retreat from the kitchen the night before. He’d left her shaken, wanting and bemused. Meeting his gaze, she couldn’t look away even as leftover need and anger formed a twisted knot inside her.

When he said nothing, Briar forced herself to look away and offered Mr. Josefstine a reassuring smile. “No worries, Mr. Josefstine. Wherever it does go, there will be plenty of advance warning. A day at least. But I assure you, Hanna’s has stood through many storms, and even the meteorologists are saying Brett is too disordered to become any kind of serious threat before landfall.”

He grinned at her. “They should get people like you to do the weather. It seems you locals have seen enough to know whether we should head for the cellar or hunker down and ride it out.” He switched to the Braves game and propped his socked feet on the ottoman. “I won’t worry until you do, doll.”

“I’ll be back down in a moment,” she promised. Sucking in a bracing breath, she took the first few steps and met Cole’s cautious stare. “Dinner will be served at six tonight in the dining room if you’d like to join us, Mr. Savitt.”

His frown deepened and he jerked his chin in wordless agreement. Before he could make a sound, she breezed past him, toting the Josefstines’ laundry up two flights of stairs.

* * *

I
T
WAS
AMAZING
how she could cut him down with little more than a few courteous words.

He deserved it after his performance the night before. Sleeping on it had proved impossible. He’d spent the night tossing, turning and cursing himself profoundly before jerking off the covers and searching his pack for the penlight he’d brought with him.

Down the stairs he went, padding on light feet. He’d already memorized creaking boards on the landing and stairs and steered around them. When he made it downstairs, he crept through the dark, senses tuned to movements upstairs and ignoring the guilt prickling in his gut. It had to be done then—she’d told him that another family was coming.

He picked the lock to her office door and spent an hour behind her desk, going through the files.

He found nothing of value. Nothing but bills showing how far she was backed up. As he’d looked at them, he hadn’t thought of Tiffany and how pleased she would be at the news that Briar was indeed drowning in debt. He thought of Briar and what the struggle must be doing to her.

The most interesting thing he came across were medical bills in staggering amounts. They were addressed not to Briar but to Hanna Browning—her mother. Before he could clearly discern what the bills were for or what had happened to Hanna, he put everything back where he found it. It wasn’t his job to find out where the bills had come from. It was his job to find out what Briar planned to do about it.

And Tiffany hadn’t been pleased to hear in the next morning’s progress report phone call that he’d turned up no information whatsoever on the latter.

Are you taking this seriously, Cole? Have you forgotten what’s at stake or do I need to remind you?

There was more at stake now than ever. He had to find out Briar’s intentions because the sooner he got away from Hanna’s Inn, the sooner he could stop dwelling on what her mouth tasted like. The sooner he could get back to building a new life—with Gavin.

He could skip dinner tonight. After all, Briar had left the invitation open-ended, clearly stating she wouldn’t mind, or likely care, either way.

Yet, not going down at six seemed downright cowardly. He changed from his uniform of the past few weeks of T-shirt and jeans to brown cargo pants and a black button-up. Staring at his reflection, the shirt struck him as overdone. He quickly unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled them up his forearms, leaving the waist tails untucked.

On the way downstairs, he heard the Josefstines already packed around the table. The room was lit by the single chandelier over the long antique oak top with its eight patterned chairs and gnarled claw feet. She’d covered it with a burgundy tablecloth that set off the white, scalloped linens folded prim and proper under gleaming silverware. Silver trivets and lit tapers already lined up along the table’s center showed how much she’d put into the occasion.

Cole unbuttoned his collar and made a beeline for one of the empty chairs on the far side of the table.

“Oh, you must be Mr. Savitt,” Mrs. Josefstine said, holding out a hand. “We were starting to wonder if our chatter chased you away.”

He smiled and shook her hand then Mr. Josefstine’s in turn. “Not at all, ma’am. Pleased to meet you both.”