A Misty Harbor Wedding (16 page)

The kiss picked up where last night's kiss had left off—explosive. Whatever fuse he had, Sierra lit it like no other woman ever had. Hell, he hadn't even known he had a fuse until last night.

Sierra wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him closer as she fell backward onto the couch. The kiss deepened with a bold swipe of her tongue. He followed her lead as he stretched out on top of her.

The couch was too short for their height, and his jeans were uncomfortably tight. It was perfect.

Sierra tasted like coffee and sin. Hot, silky sin. Her light floral scent enticed his senses and heightened his desire. How could she smell like cool breezes and flowers when he was burning up inside?

He broke the kiss and trailed his mouth over her jaw and down her slim throat. He could feel the rapid pounding of her heart under his lips. The beat matched his own—wild, untamed, and nearly out of control. His tongue traced the speeding pulse.

Sierra tilted back her head and gave him greater access to her neck. A deep-sounding purr vibrated in the back of her throat. One of her hands tugged at his shirt until it was released from the waistband of his jeans. Smooth, cool fingers skipped up his backbone as his hand found its way under her top.

The warm, silky skin of her stomach beneath his fingers caused him to groan against her throat. Her skin wasn't warm, it was hot. Hotter than their kiss.

His mouth continued its downward path until the barrier of her blouse stopped him. His hand slid up and cupped her lace-covered breast.

Sierra arched her back and softly called his name.

He could feel the hard bead of her nipple beneath his palm. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. They were both mature, unattached adults who wouldn't hurt anyone if they continued along this path.

It should be so simple. It wasn't.

The first of many complications was sleeping thirty feet away in the other room: Austin. They would be hard-pressed for an explanation if Sierra's son woke up from a bad dream and walked into the living room this very minute.

Matt gently released her and pulled his hand out from underneath her top.

Sierra's eyes opened. He could see the desire swirling in their depths, and the question, Why had he stopped?

He slowly sat up, pulling her with him. “It's getting late. I should be going.”

“Why?” There was hurt and confusion in Sierra's voice.

“I just realized something.” He ran his trembling fingers through his hair and stared at her beautiful face. The flush of desire colored her cheeks and her long hair was tangled around her shoulders. “Something important.”

“What?”

“I think I may be falling in love with you.”

Juliet looked at the man who was her father and tried to picture what he had looked like twenty-seven years ago. Gordon Hanley must have been devastatingly handsome, but not in the pretty-boy, Brad Pitt way. Gordon was too thin and angular to be classically handsome. He resembled a tragic poet of old, except for the retro fifties-style shirt and the tinted glasses.

Gordon had been only twenty-nine when her mother had had him for a professor in college. Juliet understood the attraction of a young, good-looking professor. She had had a crush on one or two herself over the years. Her mother had not been nineteen or twenty, but a full-grown woman of twenty-six when she had met Gordon in her junior year.

Victoria Knox didn't do crushes. Her mother had worked her way across America and then traveled through Europe before heading off to college. Juliet hadn't inherited her mother's sense of adventure. Stepping into Gordon's shop two days ago was probably the bravest thing she had ever done.

“Are you sure this is going to look right?” Gordon finished shoving the last of the empty eight-foot-tall mahogany bookcases into place.

“It's looking great.” They had spent all day yesterday and a good part of the previous evening rearranging the shop on paper. Today was moving day. “I don't know what creaked more, the bookshelves or your knees,” she teased. “How old did you say you were?”

“I didn't,” Gordon huffed, not because he was insulted by the question. He was just out of breath. “These things weigh a ton, and they probably haven't been moved since before I was born.”

Considering the age of the shop, he was probably right. “You're the one who wouldn't let me help.” She had shown up at the shop by seven, two hours before he usually opened. She had worn an old pair of jeans and an old T-shirt that advertised a Shakespeare festival that had happened three years ago. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail and she hadn't bothered putting in her contacts. Between the dust in the shop, the smoke that still clung to everything, and staying up late into the night reading a book Gordon had recommended, her eyes were a mess.

She was a mess.

The shop was a bigger mess, but at least it was smelling better. She had opened both front doors and all the windows before setting to work. The cool morning temperature was somewhere in the sixties, but after emptying all the shelves of about a ton of books, she was sweating. A red welt marked one cheek, where a book had tumbled off a high shelf and she hadn't been quick enough to catch it.

It was half an hour before opening time, and a customer wouldn't be able to walk through the place. She didn't think it mattered much. Gordon's shop hadn't been bustling with customers for the past two days. Most of the people who had stopped in were more curious as to who she was than they were interested in buying anything.

Gordon had introduced her to everyone as the daughter of a dear friend. It was the truth.

“I was not going to have you get hurt or pull a hernia by moving those cases.” Gordon placed his hands on his hips and glanced around the shop. Towering piles of books were everywhere. A couple piles had lost the battle with gravity. “You can help restock the shelves.”

“I planned on it. As soon as I wash fifty years of grime off of them and then give them a good polishing.” She placed her hands on her hips, in an unconscious, perfect imitation of Gordon's gesture, and looked at the morning's work. All the bookcases were now in their new positions. “What do you think?”

“It opens up the place more. Gives the customers more room, plus it seems lighter in here.” Gordon worked his way across the room and headed for the coffeepot next to the cash register. “Want another cup?”

“No thanks.” She surveyed the two rooms and the bucket of cleaning supplies she had picked up at Krup's General Store yesterday afternoon. Gordon had sent her shopping for whatever she thought they might need to make the shop more pleasant. She hadn't been worried about it being quaint or welcoming. She was more concerned about the smell and the fact that customers couldn't possibly find what they were looking for. Whoever heard of shelving books by color?

“One thing we didn't discuss yesterday was how do you want me to reshelve the books?” She didn't want to hurt his feelings.

“Spines out.” Gordon grinned.

“There's a name for people like you.” She tried not to laugh. “And it's not very pleasant.”

“I've been called worse.” Gordon pulled the stool out from behind the counter and sat.

She imagined those names were whispered by the young kids in town. After spending two days in the shop, she couldn't help but notice the strange fascination the local kids had with Gordon. Tourists weren't bothered by him and neither was the occasional adult who stopped in. It was the eight-through-twelve crowd that acted funny. Groups of boys waited out on the sidewalk while one lonely kid walked in and usually purchased one of the comic books that Gordon stocked over with the magazines. The kid counted out his quarters with shaking hands and stuttered his thanks. So far only one young girl had braved the shop.

Strange, but they almost seemed afraid of Gordon. It was a mystery she was bound and determined to work out in the next couple of days.

“Do you want me to put them back up the way they were or in some other kind of order?”

“The original owners starting selling books years before I bought the place. They couldn't figure out if it would be better to shelve them by title, author, or subject matter.”

“So they picked color?”

Gordon shrugged. “They weren't big on reading, I guess.”

“So why didn't you change it?” Gordon was an avid reader. Yesterday he had given her the tour of his apartment above the shop. She was surprised that the weight of all his books hadn't caused the ceiling in the shop to cave in yet. Every available inch of wall space was covered with bookshelves. The overflow of books was piled on tables, on top of the television, and even in closets.

Gordon's apartment looked amazingly like hers.

“The locals were used to the system. Why change it?”

“So the tourists could find the kind of book they want. Isn't that the main idea of having a bookshop in a tourist town?”

“Misty Harbor isn't a tourist town. Bar Harbor, Camden, and Boothbay Harbor have the big tourist trade. We get them only a couple months out of the year.” Gordon finished his coffee and stood up.

“So you want me to stock the books by color?”

“No, I'm thinking genres. Fiction, nonfiction, poetry. Sections like that.”

“Why change now?” She didn't want Gordon to make all these changes for her. She was leaving in a couple more days, she had a job to get ready for outside of Boston. Classes would be starting right after Labor Day.

“It's time.” Gordon gave her a small smile. “Besides, I'm getting expert female advice on decorating, and free labor right now. Be warned, for I might start on my apartment next.”

She shuddered. “‘Present fears are less than horrible imaginings.'”

“
Macbeth,
very good.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Gordon roared with laughter.

“My help isn't free. You're paying my bill at the bed-and-breakfast.” She hadn't been expecting that. Truth be told, she'd had no idea what to expect upon meeting the man who was her father. Resentment. Indifference. Anger that she had barged into his life.

She hadn't been prepared for a warm, intelligent man who seemed to hang on her every word. One who insisted on knowing everything about her. She wasn't comfortable talking about herself. She wasn't the interesting Carlyle. Given a choice between the latest action-packed movie and a book, she'd take the book every time.

“Oh, I'm sorry.” A woman stood in the doorway of the shop staring around in confusion. The little boy standing next to her had opened his eyes wide with wonder at the disaster before them. “I thought you were open.”

“We are, Sierra.” Gordon put the stool back behind the counter and out of the way. “Come on in—if you can manage it,” Gordon added with a chuckle.

“Juliet, I would like you to meet Sierra Morley. She and her son, Austin, are visiting for a while. Sierra, this is the daughter of a dear friend of mine who has come to help get my shop into order, Juliet Carlyle.”

Sierra looked around the shop. “Either she's just starting, or fire her, Gordon. The place is a disaster. I've seen tornadoes cause less damage.”

Juliet looked at Gordon and sputtered, “You're blaming this on me?”

Gordon smiled while Austin crept farther into the shop. “Wow, you're in trouble,” Austin muttered to her as he gazed around. Some of the piles of books were as tall as he was.

All three adults laughed. “I'm not in trouble, Austin. Mr. Hanley told me to take down all the books.”

“Sure did, Austin.” Gordon smiled at Sierra. “We're open, but customers enter at their own risk.”

“I'll chance it.” Sierra followed her son deeper into the shop. She glanced into the back room, which still held all the tobacco supplies, and now a bunch of books.

“Can I help you find something, or did you just want to browse?” Gordon chuckled at his own absurdity.

“My father's birthday is next week, and I hear that you have the best selection in town for pipes.” Sierra made her way around another stack of books and the stepladder.

“I've got the
only
selection in town,” corrected Gordon. “Do you have an idea of what he likes?”

“Dunhill.”

Gordon whistled. “Expensive taste. They are considered the ‘Rolls-Royce of pipes.'” Gordon followed her into the back room. “I have only one of their pipes in stock right now, but I can get you anything they make in plenty of time for his birthday.”

Sierra stopped in front of a display case filled with vintage humidors. “These are beautiful.”

“Some are made for cigars, some cigarettes, but most are just for tobacco.” Gordon opened the case. “This one is an art deco piece that has never been used.” He handed it to Sierra. “Hand-carved mahogany with Spanish cedar lining. But it's for cigars, as you can see.”

Sierra opened the box and trailed her fingertip over the sweet-smelling wood. “What do you have for just tobacco? Something that would look good on a desk.”

“I have quite a few vintage pieces in here.” Gordon put the wooden humidor back and lifted out a crystal container with a silver lid. “The crystal is Fostoria, and the lid is sterling.” He opened it up and showed the cork lining on the inside of the lid. This is about eighty years old, as close as I can tell, and it's in excellent shape.”

Austin glanced at Juliet and looked totally unimpressed. She didn't blame him. “Hey, Austin, would you like to help me?”

“Do what?” Austin wrinkled his nose at the pipes in another display case.

“Gordon had me make piles with the books, but as you can see, some have fallen over.” She was the oldest of four and knew what kept little kids quiet and happy. “If you help me rebuild some of the towers, I'll buy you any book in the store.”

Austin looked at his mother. “Can I, Mom?”

“Sure. I'm right here with Mr. Hanley trying to find something special for your grandfather's birthday.”

Juliet sat on the floor and grinned at her new helper. Austin was a cutie, and she was sure Gordon could use a sale. An actual paying customer was as rare as the Austrian porcelain humidor Gordon was now showing Sierra.

The strange-looking container was a monkey wearing a red jacket, and one of his little paws held a regular-size pipe. The monkey was old, hand painted, and creepy-looking in a way. The little fellow wasn't the cute, furry kind of monkey with a big smile and a twinkle in his eye. He looked sad, or maybe his expression was supposed to be wise. It was hard to tell.

Gordon was never going to sell the strange nine-inch monkey for the asking price of three hundred dollars.

The little boy sat down next to her, eager to help.

“Okay, Austin, how about I start with the blue books, and you do the yellow?”

A deep male voice asked, “What's wrong with the green ones?”

Juliet glanced up, way up. She tried not to groan. The man standing in the shop was the same one she had noticed the other day down by the whale-watching boat. He was even cuter up close. The tawny mane of hair wasn't as wild as it had looked the other morning, blowing in the breeze. Then again, it was now pulled back in a ponytail. He also wasn't quite as young as she had first guessed.

This morning she would put his age in the upper twenties. He was not right out of high school or college, as she had thought. He was freshly shaven and dressed in jeans and a clean khaki windbreaker with “Blake's Whale-Watching Tours” embroidered on it.

She felt like Cinderella, before the fairy godmother made her appearance. Where was a magic wand when she needed one? “Hi.” She couldn't remember what he had just asked. Something about books. Well, duh, they were in a bookstore.

Austin jumped to his feet. “Hi, I know you.” The little boy ran to the stranger. “You showed me the whale the other day.”

Sierra and Gordon came out of the back room. Sierra was still clutching the monkey.

“Steve, how are you doing?” Gordon asked. “Haven't seen you in about a week.”

“Keeping busy.” Steve nodded to Sierra in recognition. “Uncle Lawrence is trying to do an extra tour a day before the end of the season.”

“That's Lawrence for you,” said Gordon, chuckling. “Always trying to make a buck.”