The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge (258 page)

“Who’s talking about rebound sex?”

“No one. But you were thinking about it, right?”

“Not in those terms,” Sophie said dryly. “At least, I wasn’t. Until now …”

“You look great.” Jason stood in the doorway. “I’ll be the envy of every guy in Walt’s.”

Sophie could feel his eyes from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She’d chosen her favorite dress, a long, lean gray knit, sleeveless with a deep cowl collar. She’d belted it with a wide swath of multicolored leather that hung loosely on her hips, stacked a row of bangles on her left wrist, and slipped into her favorite red heels. She wore round moonstone earrings set in silver and a wide silver band on the middle finger of her right hand. Aside from the wedding, it had
been months since she’d been this dressed up—this decked out—and it put her in a happy frame of mind.

“Thanks. So do you.” He
did
look good, she mused as she grabbed a cardigan to throw over her shoulders and a black clutch. Khakis and a lightweight brown sweater suited him.

“Another beautiful night on the Eastern Shore,” Jason commented while she locked the front door behind them. “Warm temps, starry sky, light breezes. I could do without the humidity, though.”

“I’d think you’d be used to it, having lived in Florida.”

“That’s why I could do without it. It’s not as oppressive here, but still.” He paused in front of the pickup. “I hope you don’t mind the truck. It’s my only ride, unless you’d rather take the dump truck or the Bobcat.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” She walked to the passenger-side door. “The Bobcat might have been fun, though.”

“It’s only a one-seater. You’d have to sit on my lap.” He opened the door for her and watched her slide in. “Of course, as small as the ’cat is, finding a parking spot would be easy.”

He walked around the front of the truck. “Captain Walt’s okay with you? I should have asked first.”

“I love Walt’s.”

“Good. I heard that soft-shells from the lower Bay are in this week.” Jason climbed into the cab and started the engine.

“Soft-shell what?”

“Soft-shell crabs. What kind of a St. Denniser are you?”

“The new kind. I’ve only been here for a week, remember.”

“I’d think it was in your DNA.”

“To listen to you, one might think you’re a native.”

“I eat out a lot, and when you eat out in a Bay town, you get to know what’s local and what’s in season, and you learn how to eat like a native.”

“So what’s the deal with soft-shell crabs?”

“They’re crabs that are caught after they’ve molted their shells but before they’ve grown new ones, so they’re soft,” he explained. “You eat the whole crab.”

“What do you mean, the whole crab?” She frowned.

“Claws, appendages, legs, torso …”

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.” She grimaced.

Jason laughed. “Your brother loves them.”

“My brother will eat anything. Surely they’ll have something else on the menu.”

“You just missed the oysters by a couple of weeks. The season’s over for this year, but they were awesome.”

“You do realize that you’re bragging on the oysters like a native.”

“Gotta call ’em as I see ’em.”

“So what’s in season now? Besides naked crabs.”

“There’s always rockfish.” He glanced over at her. “Striped bass. Excellent fish.”

“I’ve had that, and I liked it.”

“It’s always on the menu at Walt’s. And clams. Hardshells. Also good.”

The truck turned onto Kelly’s Point Road, which led to the municipal building, Scoop, the marina, and at the end of the dock, Captain Walt’s, where thirty-seven
years ago Walt brought his bride, Rexana, and his dream of having a first-class seafood restaurant right on the Bay.

“This place started out as a waterman’s shack,” Jason told her after they’d parked and walked the length of the dock to the door. “Walt’s added on to it over the years.”

“That would account for the funky way the building kind of rambles along, half on the dock, half on the shore. I think that haphazard look gives it character.”

They stepped inside and waited for the hostess. Jason had made reservations, and had requested a bayside table.

“This is so pretty,” Sophie said once they’d been seated. “I love looking out at the Bay.”

“It’ll be even prettier once the moon rises,” he told her. “It sort of flows right across the water.”

They studied their menus for a moment before giving their orders to the seasoned waitress. Wine was ordered and poured.

“Here’s to the first of what I’m hoping will be more dinners in the moonlight.” Jason raised his glass and touched the edge to Sophie’s.

She met his eyes over the top of the glass, smiled, and wished she’d never thought of that red-dot-on-the-forehead thing. If such a thing existed, would it be pulsing now? And would she be willing to take a chance if it were?

“You know, right out there,” he nodded in the direction of the Bay, “about one hundred and fifty or so years ago, pirates used to drop anchor, row ashore in the dead of night, and terrorize the townspeople.
They’d kidnap a group of women, put them in a makeshift pen, then ransom them back to their families. They reenacted it last year on First Families Day to raise money for the historic society.”

“What do you mean, they reenacted?”

“Some of the guys dressed up in pirate gear, grabbed some women out of the crowd, and carried them to the pen, which was a roped-off area in front of the library. Then the mayor auctioned them off.” Jason smirked. “Your brother got hit with a big ticket. He bid on Brooke, but she thought she was worth more and refused to leave the pen until he upped the ante.”

“Wish I’d been here for that.” She smiled up at the waitress who was serving her salad. “They do that every year?”

“They do something different every year. I’m not a member, so I don’t know what they’re doing this year.”

“Did you dress up and play pirate?”

“Sure. What guy hasn’t wanted to be a pirate at least once in his life? Oh, sure, he was probably eight or nine at the time, but delayed satisfaction is still satisfaction.”

“Who did you kidnap?”

“What?” He frowned. The question was obviously unexpected. “Oh. Mary Beth Sykes, I think.”

“I don’t think I know her.”

“Probably not.” Head down, he took a few bites of salad.

“Looks like I have a lot to learn about my new home.”

“There’s always something going on here. Even in the winter. It’s been really good for the merchants. The
tourists have done a lot for St. Dennis. Even I’ve benefited.”

“In what way?”

“Everyone spruces up their properties before the tourist season begins. Shops, office buildings, private homes, the B and Bs, restaurants—everyone puts on their best face to impress the day-trippers and the weekenders, hoping they’ll come back, maybe even to rent one of the cottages or book rooms at the inn or one of the B and Bs for their next weeklong vacation. I’m super-busy by the first of March and running right through the fall. I had time to work on your grandfather’s place because we could start early, before the big push.”

“It’s stunning, what you did there.”

“Thanks. It was an interesting project because of its scope, but also because I had to do a lot of research before I began.”

“How did you go about doing that?”

“We started with some old photos that your grandfather had. Then, once he decided which era he wanted the garden to reflect, it was just a matter of determining which plants—trees, shrubs, flowers—would have been growing here at that time. The photos helped a lot, but it wasn’t always possible to identify some of the plants because of the quality of the pictures.”

“You like your work.”

“I love my work. There’s nothing else I’d rather do.”

“That’s how I feel about opening my restaurant.”

“Ahh, yes, the mysterious restaurant.”

Sophie laughed. “Nothing mysterious about it. I’ll happily show it off to you as soon as it’s mine.”

“Tuesday, right?”

“Right. Meet me at the office around one, and I’ll take you there. That is, if the time works for you.”

“I’ll make it work for me.”

Their entrées were served, and Sophie tried not to stare at his plate.

“Soft-shell crabs,” he told her. “Don’t judge.”

“They just look like little aliens that have been …” She shook her head. “Never mind. I won’t say another word. I’ll just sit here quietly and eat my beautiful rockfish, and you can have at those … things. Enjoy.”

He caught the sarcasm and smiled. “I will.”

The waiter returned to their table and refilled their glasses.

“Damn, two glasses of wine with dinner,” Sophie mused. “I usually limit myself to one.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Several. I have a low tolerance for alcohol, it seems, so it doesn’t take much to make me silly. And also because as a prosecutor for the past eight years, I worked closely with the local and state police. I would have been mortified if I’d ever been stopped for a suspicion of DUI and later had to face the same officer in court, not to mention any of the judges that I dealt with on a daily basis.” She toyed with her glass for a moment. “Besides, I handled several cases where driving under the influence caused serious accidents. It’s not something I’d ever do.”

“Well, tonight you’re not driving, so you have nothing to worry about. And since my tolerance is apparently a little better than yours, I think we’re good.”

They finished their entrées, passed on dessert, and wandered hand in hand to the end of the pier. The moon spread golden shadows across the water, along the marina, and onto the dock.

“It’s so pretty here and it smells so good.” Sophie took a deep breath of the night that was a curious mix of magnolia and salt air. “I keep telling myself that I need to see more of the town. There are so many streets I haven’t driven down yet, so many shops I haven’t poked into. It seems as if I travel between my house and the office and Pop’s, and that’s about all.”

“Come Tuesday you’ll have your restaurant. Or is that on the aforementioned route?”

“Not on the route, no. But I’ll still be working for Jess part time. I came here to help him out, and I’m not going to leave him in the lurch.”

“How are you going to swing that? Restaurant, law office?”

“I’ll work it out.”

“I don’t know anyone like you, Sophie.” He turned her around to face him. “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It’s a wonderful thing.” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. There was nothing tentative about this kiss. It was direct and demanding and filled with need. Sophie pressed into him and parted her lips, inviting his tongue to explore. Her heart raced and her breath quickened, and heat spread through her body as if she’d been set on fire.

“My place or yours?” she managed to ask. Before he could respond, she said, “My place.”

They walked back to his truck at a quicker pace, and as she strapped into her seat belt, Jason asked, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

She watched his beautiful hands grasp the steering wheel, imagined them caressing every inch of skin on her body, and had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound that might prove embarrassing, given the fact that they were still a few blocks from her house. He pulled the truck into her driveway and before he turned off the engine, asked again, “You’re sure you want to …”

She leaned across the console, took his face in her hands, and kissed him, her tongue teasing his, assuring him without words that she knew exactly what she was doing. His hands were at her waist, pulling her closer, and her arms wrapped around his neck. She ached for him to touch her with those hands and sighed deeply when they found their way to her breasts. She wanted out of her dress, out of everything, wanted him out of those khakis and that sweater. She pulled away and unhooked her seat belt, while his mouth found its way down the side of her throat and his hands were sliding up her thighs.

“Inside,” she gasped. “We can’t … not here … driveway. Neighbors …”

“Right. Neighbors …” Jason jumped out of the truck at the same time she did and followed her to the path that led to the front door. His hands were on her as she fumbled with the key, scrambling her brain to the point where she had to ask herself if the key turned to the right or to the left.

Finally, the door was open, and they were inside,
though barely, before she was on her tiptoes to reach his mouth. She kissed him hungrily, and he responded by lifting her up to trap her body between his and the nearest wall. She eased her dress up to her hips and unhooked her belt, dropping it to the floor with a clang. He pressed his body hard against hers, and she pressed back with her hips to grind against him. His lips trailed to her neck and her collarbone, and she urged him lower, but her dress was in the way. She struggled to pull it over her head and tossed it. She slipped the straps of her bra lower, pressing his mouth to her flesh with one hand and tugging on his belt with the other. He hoisted her a little higher in his arms to take her breast in his mouth, and she gasped at the shot of heat that followed.

“My room …,” she managed the few words.

“Where?” he gasped.

She pointed down the hall to the right and he followed, his mouth and tongue still working their magic. He pushed the door open with his foot and placed her gently on the side of the bed. She inched back toward the pillows and removed her underwear while he shed his clothes, then lay back with open arms to welcome him. Her legs encircled his hips and she moved under him to guide him and to urge him closer, then lifted herself to allow him inside her. She moaned when he entered her, arching her back and giving herself to him as completely as she could. They moved together wordlessly, an occasional sigh of pleasure the only sound they made. The rhythm picked up, increasing in tempo and the need for release. When that release finally came, it shattered her body and left her mind
reeling. When she finally found her voice, it was to utter one word.

“Crap,” she said softly.

“Crap?” Jason lifted his head. “Did you say ‘crap’?”