Hot Buttered Rum: Standalone Romance (Silk Stocking Inn Book 4)
Read Hot Buttered Rum: Standalone Romance (Silk Stocking Inn Book 4) Online
Authors: Anna Hart
Hot Buttered Rum
Silk Stocking Inn
Tess Oliver & Anna Hart
Hot Buttered Rum
Copyright© 2016 by Tess Oliver & Anna Hart
Photo by:
Sara Eirew Photographer
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights are Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Chapter 1
I should have felt terror and disgust as his dark eyes surveyed me from head to toe, lingering overlong on the swell of my breasts. That’s what a decent woman would have been feeling.
The deck of the ship rose and fell violently as the rest of the pirates boarded, each one more menacing than the last and still my body did not shudder with fear. In fact the opposite. My body shook as a thrill pulsed through me.
The captain and his crew watched helplessly as the galleon was plundered and stripped of its cargo. Not one sailor had the courage to draw his sword or pistol against the cold-hearted thieves who had swarmed the deck.
I lifted my chin and took a deep breath for courage as I stared back at the rogue. Thick black hair waved in the breeze, much like the black jolly roger flying high above the mast of his vessel. Beneath the shade of his hat, the pirate captain’s smile flashed pearl white in stark contrast to his sun darkened skin. I could almost have imagined a thin dagger clenched between his teeth.
He knew. He knew I wasn’t repelled. I should have looked away or screamed or thrown myself into the waves. He stuck out his hand and again raked his dark, lascivious gaze over my body. “Come on now, wench, take my hand. You’ll be my greatest treasure this round.”
“What will you do with me?” I asked weakly.
“I will keep you captive in my quarters so that I may have the pleasure of your silken skin and warm, tight pussy any hour I choose.”
Rory knocked on the office door, erasing the next sentence from my head. No doubt it was going to be another golden nugget of literary wisdom but it was gone. I minimized the document. Romance writing was my guilty pleasure, my chili cheese fries for lunch, a diversion from the logical and precise world of automotive engineering where I spent most of my day.
“Come in, Rory,” I called.
My assistant’s slim, well-manicured hand curled around the edge of the door, giving me a good long look at the massive diamond engagement ring on her finger. Not only had she managed to land a rich guy, but Edward was charming and likable to boot. I had to work hard at hiding my envy. I didn’t even need the rich part. I was doing fine on my own. I just wanted to find that person who was the perfect mix of lover and friend and soul mate. Like every character I created in my stories, but preferably not fictional.
Rory flounced into the office. She was the only person I knew who could flounce on four inch heels, and she did it with all the grace of a ballerina. She stopped at my desk and put her hands on her hips as she stared down at my half eaten sandwich. “Did the deli mess up and put mustard on it?”
“Huh? Oh no, the sandwich was fine.” I folded it up in its wrapper and walked over to the mini fridge in my office. It had taken me five years, three promotions and four awards for automotive design to land the corner office with the view and wet bar, but I’d discovered, once they’d hauled my grandfather’s antique desk, a family heirloom, although one that was truly only valuable to me, up to the top floor that the corner office just wasn’t that exciting.
“Ahh,” Rory said with a confident nod, “you’ve been spending your lunchtime with one of your many book heroes, haven’t you? I swear, Ginger, you need to publish those stories.”
“I would if I ever actually finished one. Happily ever after endings are kind of unchartered territory for me. I’ve only had relationships that either went badly south or just faded away. I don’t know how to end my romances because I don’t know what it’s like to end up deliriously happy and wrapped in the hero’s arms. Like you, my friend.” I sighed. “You are so lucky.”
Rory stared down at the gleaming stone on her finger. “Trust me, I wake up every morning wondering if it’s all real. Well, anyhow, I came in to let you know that the meeting has been moved an hour later to three o’clock. The
boy’s club
,” she said with an eye roll, “is still out at lunch. How come you didn’t join your team today? They went to that posh seafood restaurant that just opened on the wharf.”
“Because, and to use your words and your special pronunciation, the
boy’s club
has been on my nerves lately.” I was part of a five member design team for the luxury sedan division, and I was the only woman. It had taken me a good long year and an impressive show of designs to earn my team’s respect, but when I’d also earned the respect and high praise from the president of the company, I’d lost some of the good will it had taken me so long to earn. Occasionally, they banded together, like a pack of wolves, to give me a hard time. Lately, they’d all found reasons to nitpick at my designs. I’d happily turned down their lunch invite. “I’m glad the meeting has been postponed. I’ve still got so much work to do.”
“Well, I’ll let you get to it then. And, Ginger, I think your happy ending is just around the corner. I can feel it,” she said as she walked out of the office.
I moved the mouse and clicked on my latest project. For a brief, unexplained second, the air around my desk smelled like a fresh ocean breeze, as if I’d somehow been transported onto the deck of a ship in the middle of the sea. I took a strong second whiff, but the scent vanished. I swiveled around in my chair to see if Rory had stuck an air freshener into the plug. The outlet was empty. Obviously, my head was still in my pirate story.
As I turned back toward my computer an odd website popped up with a banner that read, “I hear you are looking for a happily ever after.”
I blinked at the words and wondered if I was actually seeing them. “What are the odds of that?” I muttered to myself and clicked the X. The banner rolled away, but a new one replaced it. It was an advertisement for a place called the Silk Stocking Inn. An early century house draped with rose vines and dotted with leaded glass appeared below the banner. It was as if the advertisement had just appeared out of thin air. “Someone has a great marketing team. And a clairvoyant one too,” I thought wryly.
I clicked my mouse feverishly moving it all around the screen trying to get rid of the website, but the gifted marketers were apparently even more genius with programming. The stately old inn, with its shawl of pink roses, stuck like glue to my monitor.
“Now that I’ve got your attention,” a text box appeared. “In one sentence, tell me what you want from a man so you can catch that elusive happy ending.”
I stared at the monitor. The glare from the afternoon sun shining in through the big window cast my own wobbly reflection in the glass. I had no idea who was on the other side asking me questions, but then they had no idea who I was either. And the question had gotten me thinking.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard a moment. My pirate story was still fresh in my mind, and I decided to have some fun with it. “I want a man who makes me his captive and at the same time treats me like his greatest treasure. And, if he’s wearing silver hoops in his ears and says things like ‘aar’ and ‘shiver me timbers’ all the better.”
“That’s two sentences. You don’t seem to be taking this too seriously. But that will change.”
It seemed I’d just been scolded by a spam marketer. The cryptic last sentence made me do a double take.
“O.K., fun is officially over.” My fingers hit the keys harder than necessary.
“No, it’s just begun. Even though you broke the one sentence rule, you took the time to answer the question, so congratulations! You have won a free weekend at the Silk Stocking Inn where every heart’s desire is filled . . . and then some.”
“No thanks.”
“Did I mention every heart’s desire?”
“You did.”
“In that case, did I mention a cozy room, deep soaking tub and an ocean view?”
“Now they’ve been mentioned, but it’s still a no. I have plans this weekend.” Of course helping my aunt pick out a new refrigerator could hardly be classified as plans, but knowing my Aunt Frida, it could take all weekend. I smiled thinking how ridiculous it was having a conversation with a complete stranger, yet I continued typing. Something about the whole exchange intrigued me. It might just have been the impossibly tenacious website that I couldn’t seem to make vanish. Or it might have been that it was a fun diversion from my usual work day.
“Then I suppose the lobster pot pies and hot buttered rum cupcakes will have to go to another guest then.”
My mouth watered just reading the words. “You should have started with lobster and cupcakes.” I sat back and stared at the screen. This was crazy. Why was I even considering this? It was obviously just a marketing ploy.
A short laugh shot from my mouth as I metaphorically patted myself on the back for not falling for it. “I’d love to keep chatting with you, but I’m a busy woman. So I’m signing off now.” Then it occurred to me I’d never actually signed on, and I had no real idea
how
to sign off. I reached for the power button, the last resort button as I liked to call it.
One more message flashed on the screen. “Oh come on, Ginger. Take a little risk. Your aunt’s refrigerator can wait. See you soon.”
I stared at the screen and went through a flurry of emotions, ranging from shock to terror to complete disbelief. Before I could catch my breath or figure out what the hell was going on the website disappeared.
I needed to stop spending my lunchtime writing fiction. My imagination seemed to be working overtime.
Chapter 2
Pathetic was a good word for my social life, but I couldn’t think of a strong enough word for a social life where the weekend highlight of refrigerator shopping with an elderly aunt was cancelled because of a senior’s bingo game.
I closed the door to my office. Rory was just shutting down her computer. “I’ll walk out with you, Ginger.” She plucked her purse out of the desk drawer and scurried on her heels to catch up to me. “So where does this weekend’s big refrigerator hunt begin? Home Depot? Appliances R Us?”
I pressed the down button. “Sorry I even mentioned it. Besides, there’s no hunt. No Home Depot. Aunt Frida stood me up for bingo with her church buddies. Can’t really blame her. I mean they hand out free pretzels and honey lemon tea. Can’t beat that.”
Rory clapped her hands sharply. “Perfect. You can come to dinner with Edward and me. His cousin Paul is in town and—”
The elevator rumbled as it drew closer to our floor. “Do you mean the infamous cousin Paul, who, when he’s not picking his teeth with his fork, is staring at his reflection in the back of his spoon? No thanks. I prefer to wallow in the humiliation of being stood up by Aunt Frida.”
We stepped inside the elevator, and the doors slid shut. “You over-exaggerate. Paul is a little vain, I’ll give you that. But he’s rich.”
“Not rich enough for me to ignore his inflated head.” We walked through the lobby. It was Friday and most everyone had cleared out for the night, heading off in different directions to start their weekends after a long work week. “Where did you park?”
“Edward is picking me up.” She peered up at me with a smidgen of pity.
“Don’t give me that look, Rory. I’ll be fine. And thank you for the invite. I’m going to take my laptop down to the coast. I’m in the middle of a story that involves the ocean and I need the salt and sea ambience to move it along.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. I’ve decided it’s time for me to finish one of these damn stories. That way, I can live vicariously through my female lead. At least one of us can manage a happy ending.”
Rory gave me a quick hug. “I’ll be rooting for you—her, your female lead, that is, to have a really spectacular one. See you Monday.”
Chapter 3
I pulled off the main freeway and onto the coastal highway. The sun had just set and the orange glow of dusk had finally been erased from the horizon. I drove past the marina, where the Friday night frivolities were just starting. Toby’s Bar and Grill, one of the hot spots along the wharf, had turned on the strings of lights and orange lanterns. People were already gathering around one of the blazing fire pits with their drinks.
I’d ducked in and out of the singles dating scene for the last few years, but lately I’d been more out than in. I’d grown weary of the forced smiles and feigned interest in strangers’ life stories. It was always such a game, such an awkward human courtship ritual, hooking up in a bar or restaurant. I was tired of it.
I reached over and patted my laptop, my best friend lately. I had design work to finish, but tonight was strictly for my pirate and his beautiful and slightly wanton
treasure
.
I turned my car off along the small road that led to Northam’s Cove, a quiet bay that was surrounded mostly by cliffs. I was in luck. It was a clear night, no dreary fog to dampen my mood. The eastside of the cove was dotted with multi-million dollar beach houses, but the west side had proven too rocky and steep for even the most daring developer. My plan was to park on the street and hike with my computer, blanket and a small bottle of wine to my secret place, a small flat section of rock that overlooked the entire inlet.
I drove along the quiet stretch of road looking for the Northam Cove sign, the marker that told me I was close to the turnout where I could park my car and hike to my secret spot.
But as I drove along for a few minutes, it occurred to me that nothing looked familiar. Even the stretch of beach below had changed. A long, dimly lit fishing pier, that I’d never seen before, jutted out over the water.
The road began to bend in a curve, and I found myself heading downhill. None of it was familiar. Somewhere along the way, a way I’d traveled dozens of times, I’d taken a wrong turn.
I continued along the curved path, hoping I would eventually meet back up with the road to the cove. Instead, the paved stretch turned into a long driveway that led to a stately looking home overlooking the ocean and pier.
I rolled up next to a sign that read “Baker’s special today- Hot Buttered Rum cupcakes”. My mind shot straight back to the unusual website. I looked frantically ahead at the house. With a gasp, I sat back against the car seat and squeezed the steering wheel in my hands to see if it was real. The only rational explanation for ending up in front of the inn that had been advertised on the site was that I was sleeping. These unexplained kinds of things only happened in novels and movies and vivid dreams. But the steering wheel was solid in my grip. I was awake, wide awake. Unfortunately.
I drove ahead, deciding that it was best to confront these masterful marketers face to face. Somehow they’d managed to find out details of my private life, and I needed to find out just what the hell was going on.
I parked the car and climbed out. The picture on the website had obviously been photoshopped because the cascading blooms of pink roses were no more than an ugly tangle of dead vines. The house itself wasn’t exactly ready for a magazine cover. It was in need of paint, and the porch railing looked like a set of teeth in bad need of a toothbrush.
I marched up the questionable front steps with my fists tight as rocks, ready to knock firmly on the front door. Something sketchy was going on, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it. But once I reached the large mahogany door, some of my anger was appeased by the incredible aromas floating through the cracks in the windows and doors. Mouth watering didn’t even cover it. I was nearly lightheaded from the delicious fragrance, a mix of butter, brown sugar and spicy rum.
My first planned firm, confident knock turned into a polite rap on the door. It was almost as if once I’d crossed the splintery planks of the front porch, my indignation had been replaced with the feeling that I’d just found a little slice of heaven in the middle of nowhere. I was instantly transported back to my grandmother’s cute little cottage in the mountains where we would all meet for holidays to eat mounds of incredible mashed potatoes and gravy and hot apple pie heaped with cinnamon ice cream.
I tapped the door with my knuckles once more. It creaked open. Incredible aromas swirled around me as I stepped into the entry. Unlike the worn and tattered exterior of the house, the inside had been beautifully restored to its historical charm. Even the glossy, cherry wood entryway table looked as if it had stood there proudly for a century, welcoming every visitor that stepped through the door. A huge vase of pink roses sat on the top of the table, their fragrance muted some by the delicious food smells. They were the same pink roses that had been draped around the facade and porch balustrades in the doctored website picture.
The entryway walls were adorned in vintage, cottage style wallpaper that was welcoming and charming, but it was the buttery fragrance of warm baked goods that made me want to search out a good book and curl up in an oversized chair for the night.
“Hello, is anybody home?” My voice echoed off the walls of a narrow hallway.
“This way,” a cheery voice called back. “Just follow your nose.”
I headed down the hallway and entered a great room that was much larger than I would have anticipated in a century old house. It had been fashioned into a quaint bakery, complete with round tables and a gleaming glass counter filled to the brim with sugary delicacies. Plump cupcakes mounded by swirls of chocolate frosting sat in perfect lines on a tray.
A low, cooing sound brought my attention to the large picture window at the front of the bakery. A bright green parrot was pacing sideways along the window ledge as it stared out at the ocean view. It didn’t seem to notice me.
I turned back around to the counter at the patter of soft footsteps. The woman who’d stepped out from what I could only surmise was the kitchen was carrying a glass of milk. At first glance, I’d already formed the image of an older woman, slow moving and slightly hunched with fine age lines around her large green eyes and well-shaped mouth. But as she neared, her face was showered by the pendant lights hanging over the counter. I realized then I’d misjudged her age. She was young and incredibly pretty, not so much in a traditional sense like the girls on a makeup advertisement, but more like someone whose inner beauty could not be contained and so it showed on the outside too.
Her sparkling eyes seemed to be assessing me. I was just about to introduce myself, but she beat me to it. She placed the milk on the counter and stuck out her hand. It felt cool from holding the glass. “You must be Ginger. I’m Coco.” She followed with a laugh that shook me out of my stunned state. “Our names make it sound as if we belong in a bakery.” She waved her hand around. “Oh look. Here we are.” She patted the corner of the cupcake tray. “Hot buttered rum. Try one. I only make them once a year.” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to look at me. “I was expecting red hair.”
I reached up and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind my ear. “My mom and dad both have red hair, so they had settled firmly on the name Ginger long before I popped out and surprised them with this.”
“I love that story.” Coco’s laugh caught the parrot’s attention.
Its tiny talons tapped the window ledge as it turned around and bobbed its green head up and down. A squawk followed that was loud enough to peel paint off a wall. “Awk, pretty girl,” the bird muttered.
I turned back around just as Coco was reaching into a cabinet behind the bakery counter. She pulled out a box of crackers and removed one from the sleeve. Her rainbow striped skirt swirled with her as she spun back around. “Help yourself to a cupcake. I’ve got to feed Polly.”
“Polly is eating a cracker? Seriously?” I turned to watch her feed the parrot. It was still staring longingly out the window and not at the round cracker coming its direction. But instead of stopping at the window, Coco flitted right past the colorful parrot in her even more colorful skirt. She walked out the back door and returned a minute later without the cracker.
I stared in confusion as she walked back toward the counter. “I thought you were giving Polly the cracker.” I couldn’t stop the laugh after saying the words.
“I gave it to her.” She wiped her hands on her yellow apron. The wrinkles, I’d seen earlier, creased around her eyes and then instantly washed away. If nothing else, I wasn’t leaving this strange place without the name of her eye cream.
I knew my mouth was hanging open, but I couldn’t seem to close it as I pointed over my shoulder at the parrot. “That’s not Polly?”
“Nope, that’s Dexter. Polly is our resident squirrel. She lives in the big oak tree in the backyard. I’m watching Dexter for a friend. And, as you can see, he’s quite anxious for his owner to return.”
The bird had turned its beady eyes back to the window. Its skinny bird legs nearly tangled together as it paced back and forth along the edge.
“How sweet that he’s waiting like a loyal friend.”
Coco pulled a plate out from beneath the counter and placed a cupcake in the center of it. “Tell me what you think.”
All the trepidation and confusion I’d felt as my car rolled up to the inn was gone. I picked up the cupcake and peeled down the wrapper. I ran my tongue across the rich fudgy frosting. It was laced with just enough rum to tickle my nose.
Coco pointed at me. “I thought you might be a frosting first kind of girl.” I was focused on the cupcake, but I was certain her finger had been somewhat gnarled and thickened at the knuckle. But on second glance, she had the smooth, soft hands of a young girl.
I took a bite. The cake was light as air and full of all the buttery rum goodness I’d expected. “Oh my gosh, these are nothing short of magical.” I looked around. “Like this place. How on earth am I here, at the Silk Stocking Inn and nibbling on a cupcake that seems to have found taste buds I didn’t even know I had?”
“You won a free weekend, remember?” She said it so plainly and confidently, I wasn’t even sure how to respond. In fact, a thousand questions circled in my brain, but I couldn’t land on just one to ask.
I was about to utter something about a wrong turn when the parrot began a chorus of squawks intermingled with a few words I couldn’t quite discern at first. A short feather escaped its bright green plumage as it stretched its wings to keep balance during its enthusiastic dance. “Aye matey,” the bird screeched sharply.
“Ah, that must be Turner.” Coco rounded the counter and headed toward the door. “I hope he’s brought my lobsters.”
The door opened. A cool ocean breeze caused my hair to flutter in every direction. I still clutched the cupcake in one hand as I reached up and smoothed my hair back with the other.
Dexter let out an ear-piercing whistle and lifted off the window sill. The bird flapped its wings, and after a clamor of shrieks and squawks, it managed to land rather gracefully on the shoulder of the man who had walked inside.
With the bright green air show over, I looked at the man for the first time.
A breath stuck in my throat. My fingers pushed into the cupcake I was holding. The remainder of the frosting dislodged and fell to the floor.
Coco piped up instantly. “Don’t worry about that. I still have to mop the floors tonight. Come on over and meet Turner. He’s the local fisherman and part-time treasure hunter.”
I wiped my hands off on a napkin and walked over to greet him. He was well over six feet tall, with wavy black hair, piercing blue eyes and a gunmetal gray plug in each ear. His bright white smile nearly mirrored the image I had in my head of the roguish pirate captain in my story.
I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Ginger. And I have absolutely no idea how I got here. Wrong turn, apparently, but the cupcakes were worth the detour. Sorry, I’m rambling.” Working in automotive engineering, I’d taught myself to be especially confident around men, but this man had tossed me off my game.
I could see a dimple beneath the black beard stubble. “Those unexpected wrong turns, and yeah, I’ve got to agree about the cupcakes.” He tilted his head slightly. “Ginger? Shouldn’t you have red hair?”
I regained some of my composure. “Shouldn’t your parrot be named Polly?”
As if it knew we were talking about it, the bird bobbed its head and muttered, “pretty girl”.
Turner shot a sideways glance at his pet. “Damn right she is, Dexter.”
My face warmed as Turner gazed at me with the same look I’d given the buttered rum cupcake minutes ago.
“Did you bring me the lobsters?” Coco asked. “I’ve promised Ginger lobster pot pie, and without them, they’d just be pot pies.”
Turner pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I left them on the porch. And since you’re making pot pie with my catch, does that mean—”
“Yes, you’re invited too. Tomorrow evening.”
“Oh, I can’t stay.” I’d finally snapped out of the semi-trance the incredibly handsome fisherman had left me in. “I just drove up here to—”
“Nonsense. You must stay. You won a free vacation.” Coco placed her hand on my arm as I looked into her emerald eyes. It almost seemed as if she could read everything about me in my face. It was as if she knew the one thing in my life that had been missing was a passionate and true love that could rival the stories I had tucked deep on my hard drive.
“You won’t regret it,” she said softly.
“I—uh—well, I don’t have any plans.” My face warmed again as I realized how pitiful that sounded. “I mean my plans were cancelled at the last minute.” Of course, I felt no need to go into what those plans were because that would have sounded even worse.
“Well, I’m glad you’re sticking around. Dexter and I are heading out to get below deck before those rain clouds pop.” Turner nodded politely and walked out.
“Rain clouds?” I walked to the window and looked out. The clear navy blue sky had been muted by a thick ceiling of clouds, ominously dark clouds. “But that’s impossible. Earlier this evening there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.”
“Storms roll in quickly on Barbary Cove. It’ll be gone by morning. Then you can take out one of the canoes. If you paddle out far enough, the water is clear as glass. You can see everything.”
“Did you say Barbary Cove? Where is Northam’s Cove from here?”
Coco raised her smooth dark brows. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of it.”
“But that’s impossible.”
Coco flashed her all too wise grin. “I’ve found sometimes it’s easier not to understand the impossible and just go with it. Come. I’ll show you up to your room.”
“I just realized I can’t possibly stay.” I held out my arms and stared down at my jeans. “I didn’t bring anything with me for a weekend.”
“No worries. I’ll make sure you have everything you need. Oh, but I must warn you, cell phones don’t get reception up here. I’ve found it works though. You’ll be surprised how much fun you can have when you’ve unplugged for a weekend.” My highly unusual hostess winked and motioned for me to follow.
