She's the One (Lowcountry Lovers Series Book 2) (5 page)

“It’s him alright. His name is Wyatt Jackson Johns. He changed it before he left the country. Said he wanted to disappear, and he did a damn good job when he joined the Peace Corps. The media hounded the hell out of me after the breakup while he was in some third world country with no WIFI. But that’s not the point. Why isn’t he moving out?”

“I really thought he’d be a gentleman about it—”

“He always did love to watch me squirm.” Her face matched the Red Sox logo on her t-shirt. “Not like that. But—whatever. He’s got to go.”

“He says he won’t move. But I can put you in a beautiful beachfront house on the opposite end of the island. It’s much nicer. Bigger and—”

“No. If anybody’s leaving, it’s
him
.”

“Did you try talking to him?”

Her eyes went wide like Melissa had just asked her chew tobacco. “I am never speaking to him. Never.”

“Is it okay if I go talk to him for you?”

Savannah’s eyes were really bugging out now. Could this be any more like high school?

“He told the rental agent he’s not moving, and at this point, since you don’t want to move and you won’t talk to him, it’s the only option.”

“All right.”

“What does he look like?”

“Tall. Longish dark hair. Sapphire blue eyes. Disgustingly gorgeous. Built. Good God, it is
not
fair,
both
of us are thirty-two, he got all of
that
, I got the poochy belly and
wrinkles
.”

“Those are laugh lines. There is no pooch, Savannah; you’re gorgeous. Get a grip. I’ll be right back.”

T
he sun was hot for April. Melissa headed down the walkway to the pool, hoping Jack was still there. The townhome complex seemed deserted today; he was the only guy by the pool. Scientific observation proved Savannah’s assessment of Jack Johns to be dead on, except for his eyes, which were hidden under a pair of aviators. Until he flipped them up and looked at Melissa.
Oh my.

“Uh, Mr—Dr. Johns? I mean, Jackson?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Melissa Bliss, property manager for B-4.”

He laughed and flipped his shades back down. “Savannah sent you. You’re here to kick me out.”

“She’s upset.”

“Poor little rich girl,” he mumbled.

The sun was glistening off of the planes of his well-muscled belly and chest. Sure, it was one of those eye candy moments that disconnected any hope of logical thought from the brain. A flock of seagulls swept by overhead, making a beeline toward the north end of the beach, reminding Melissa why she was there.

“No one’s going to kick you out.”

“Good. Savannah needs to get over herself. I’m staying here, just like she is. I’m not bothering her, and I don’t intend to, Miss Bliss, and like I told my rental agent, I’m not moving.”

Melissa nodded and took a different track. “Crazy, huh? You’d think she’d be over you after all this time. Guess not.”

The waves sounded like the tide was coming in. He said nothing, just rolled over onto his chiseled stomach, his face giving nothing away.

“I was here first.” Okay, now both of them sounded like fourteen-year-olds.

“You’re not moving; Savannah says she isn’t either. The island’s a little under six square miles, so you might want to try to find a way to be civil to each other.”

“That boat sailed a long time ago.”

“But you gotta admit, you and her staying at the same place. Neighbors. Bobby said you even arrived on the island at the exact same time she did. Some coincidence don’t you think?”

“There are no coincidences. Tell her I’m not going anywhere, or don’t tell her anything. I don’t care.”

The tightness in his voice said otherwise. “If you’re interested, you can tell her yourself tomorrow at the Morgan Creek Grill oyster roast. It’s right here on the island; Savannah’s going with me around four o’clock.”

He flipped his shades up again. “If she doesn’t want to be anywhere near me, why are you telling me this?”

“Because if you really didn’t want to be anywhere near Savannah Sinclair, you’d jump at the chance to move.”

A
fter a half-day at the office and catching up on housework and yard work, Melissa was a sweaty mess, but decided not to change for the oyster roast. She ran a brush through her long, curly hair and stuck it up in a high ponytail. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, just wanted to ride her bike over to Savannah’s and then head down to the Morgan Creek Grill where the oysters were waiting and one of her favorite blues bands was playing.

And Shane would be there. At least he said he would. Melissa had shocked the hell out of herself kissing him yesterday, moaning into his mouth, all but promising more than kisses. The only thing that kept her from wanting more with Shane was her Auntie Jo’s warning never to fall in love, and that would be so easy to do with Shane Carver. According to Auntie Jo, love, or being in love, would cloud Melissa’s gift or possibly make it disappear altogether, and Melissa didn’t want that. But a fling with Shane Carver would be nice. Could she do that and
not
get attached to him? Was she already attached? Maybe it was time find out.

The thought made her peddle faster. She flew down the bike path through Wild Dunes and hoped Savannah would be ready. Melissa had told her to dress casual and hoped Savannah knew the difference between Boston casual and beach bum casual. She rolled up in the parking lot of Mermaid Cove and parked the bike beside the one Pearl had rented for Savannah. She came bounding down the steps dressed perfectly in cutoffs and a baggy, vintage U2 t-shirt. Not what you’d expect from a mega trust fund baby.

“I love your shirt,” Melissa said.

“It’s not the most flattering thing I own, but it’s still one of my favorites.”

“Trust me. With legs like yours, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

They headed out on the bikes at a good clip toward Morgan Creek. Not the prettiest ride on the island, but still beautiful, especially when they got to the restaurant, situated beside the marina. The heavy scent of oak and hickory was thick in the salt air as the chef threw pans of oysters on the fire and then spread wet burlap bags over them to steam them open. They parked the bikes and headed straight for the bar.

Savannah went board stiff when Melissa introduced her to some of the locals, no doubt bracing herself for the onslaught of questions and unwanted attention she usually received. But none of them recognized her as
the
Savannah Sinclair; she was just another beach bum in shorts and flip flops who’d come to enjoy the party.

Melissa felt Shane in the crowd long before she saw him. He was talking to a couple of his golfing buddies, sipping a long neck. Thank God for sunglasses and the ability to scope him out without being obvious. He was dressed in ancient jeans and baby blue Henley. Definitely fling-worthy material. He smiled at something one of the guys he was talking to said and her heart squeezed a little bit. She told her heart to stay out of it. Then he smiled at her and made her girl parts feel all quivery.

Down girl.
Nothing could happen tonight, not with Savannah as her guest. Two crabbers Melissa loved, Fish Daddy and Crab Dawg, were at the bar telling tales. The two men had drawn a small audience, trying to one up each other. Savannah seemed semi-amused for a while and then wandered over to the boardwalk overlooking the tidal creek.

“It’s so beautiful”

“Bet you’ve seen some amazing places in your travels,” Melissa said.

Savannah nodded. “Still, there’s something about this place. It is beautiful for sure, but there’s something else I can’t put my finger on.”

“It’s the island magic I told you about.”

“I’m not sure I believe in magic.”

“You don’t have to believe it. You feel it. It’s one of the reasons I never get tired of this place.” Melissa took a long draw off of her beer and tried to ignore the signals Shane was sending her way.

“Melissa, I’m so sorry I freaked out yesterday. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Savannah, I don’t know what happened with you and Jack, but the two of you? On the same island, next door to each other? You just in from Boston and him from wherever.”

“The Congo,” she whispered.

So, she
had
kept tabs on him.

“I don’t know the reason you split up, and you don’t have to tell me. Maybe things didn’t work out before with him, but—”

“I thought I could live in his world. He thought he could live in mine, but after the accident he—” The words caught in her throat. “In the end, he left. End of story.”

Savannah had played the part of the rich socialite to the hilt before she married Jack Johns. The press had had a field day with her marrying a farm boy from rural Iowa, even if he was a Harvard Medical School grad. Savannah had tried to change, but the press hounded her relentlessly to return to her old life. When she didn’t, they hounded the two of them constantly, making light of her new life with the
country doctor
. She and Jack hadn’t even made it to their second anniversary.

Even if Savannah did tool down from Boston in a Maserati, she didn’t seem like the spoiled, rich socialite the press made her out to be, and they must have thought so, too, because eventually they’d moved on another celebrity. She probably thanked God for Lindsay Lohan coming along and hogging the headlines Savannah used to crave.

“What are you so afraid of?” Melissa asked, but Savannah didn’t answer.

The band started warming up. The redheaded bass player, who looked barely old enough to shave, played a few lightening fast notes, then looked up at Melissa and smiled.
You’re a little too young, cowboy.
Melissa’s friend, Bo, the hot, lead guitarist, answered him. As they riffed back and forth, oysters and tasty looking sides were doled out to paying customers, and Melissa couldn’t wait to dig in.

“A hundred years ago, I used to be that girl. I wasn’t afraid of anything.” Savannah pointed her bottle at a tall, dark-haired woman who had invaded the sanctity of Shane’s golfer circle. An even taller guy stood off to the side, like he was waiting on her, but didn’t want to have anything to do with Shane’s group. While the girl flirted with Shane, she played with her long braid that ended just above her tiny waist. “Girls like her aren’t afraid of a guy. They’re not afraid of Jack.”

And Melissa was sure she wasn’t referring to Jack shit or Jack Johns.

The woman stumbled a little and fell into Shane. When their auras collided, Melissa didn’t just see sparks, she saw fireworks. And as much as she liked Shane and really did want a fling with him, seeing that woman hanging onto him made Melissa feel like she’d been punched in the stomach.

“Looks like she’s really pissing off her date,” Savannah said. “Who’s that cute blond she’s so in to? Oh, isn’t that that guy you introduced me to yesterday?”

“Yes, it’s Shane,” Melissa whispered, still unable to believe what she was seeing. As if he heard her say his name, he looked Melissa’s way. Like an idiot, she bolted toward the gangplank that led to the docks. She ran as far as she could go without jumping in and swimming across the tidal creek to Goat Island.

She felt the dock vibrate as footsteps made their way down the gang plank and turned her back to him because she had tears in her eyes and hated herself for it. He came up behind her. Melissa felt the sparks, the tingling, the twitching of the muscle above her lip like she always did. But the sensations were like an electrical current sputtering on and off.

“Her name is Cassie,” he said.

“I don’t care, Shane.”

“A long time ago, we were engaged. It was a bad idea. I broke it off and she moved away. She just came back.”

“I don’t care.”

He tried to turn her around to face him, but she couldn’t look at him now. “I didn’t know she was going to be here, Melissa, and even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered. I came to see you.” He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the crown of her head. “And stop saying you don’t care, because you do, and I’m glad. I’ve been nothing but honest about what I want from you. Maybe it’s time for you to do the same.”