Even as he smiled, a knot of sadness formed in his chest.
Rowan Flynn was so much more than the video clips and the newspaper articles revealed. The truth was, she smelled like sugar and fresh air. She made him laugh and touched his heart. She was flat-out adorable, with that faint splash of freckles across her nose, shiny hair, and those gorgeous sea-green eyes.
She wore her heart on her sleeve. Her kisses were remarkable—a perfect combination of heat and silky sweetness.
And she trusted him.
Ash stared up at the slow whir of the bedroom ceiling fan. He knew he had no other choice. He needed to leave Bayberry Island the second the Provenance was repaired. He had no idea what he was capable of in a relationship, because he’d never been in love enough to want to find out. But he did know this: Rowan deserved better. She was a beautiful and sweet woman who’d had her heart ripped out by a lying scumbag. The last thing she needed in her life was a man who had been less than up front with her from the start, a man who had no idea if he could stick around long enough to learn how to love her.
He’d already gone too far. His careless words had hurt her, and he couldn’t live with that. Run away with me, Rowan? Had he really been that insensitive? Of course he knew that had been Frederick Theissen’s game. But he hadn’t been thinking of Frederick when he said those words—he hadn’t been thinking at all, just feeling. He would do well to remind himself that he hadn’t come to Bayberry to feel anything. He’d come to close a business deal.
It wouldn’t take long for Rowan to forget him, and though she might be pissed off or temporarily sad, she’d get over it. And she’d never know the deadly bullet she’d dodged.
It was the kindest thing Ash could do for her.
Chapter Ten
His hands gripped Rowan’s flesh. She couldn’t get close enough to his naked body, and Ash couldn’t get deep enough into hers. She heard herself moan and cry out and she was lost, drowning, falling . . . And the thunder! It pounded the earth over and over and over, keeping time with the way Ash took her . . . ravished her.
Thudding. Pounding. Throbbing.
“Rowan! Wake up!”
She jolted to a sitting position, blinking, not having the faintest idea where she was. What kind of room was this? Cardboard boxes? A steeply pitched ceiling? Were those toilet paper rolls she saw stacked against the wall? Why wasn’t she in her own bed?
“Rowan!”
“Oh hell!” She threw the sheet off, jumped from the cot, and pulled on a pair of shorts. She started apologizing even before she got to the door. “Sorry, Mellie! I overslept!”
Imelda stood in the narrow third-floor hallway, her lips pursed tightly. She seemed in no mood for excuses.
“What time is it?” Rowan rubbed her itchy nose and ran her fingers through her hair.
“It’s exactly an hour before twenty-seven hungry people begin showing up for breakfast.”
Rowan gasped. “It’s six o’clock? Oh my God! My cell phone alarm didn’t go off!”
“I worry about you.” Imelda shook her head.
“I’m fine. Just let me get my shoes on.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You might want to wear a shirt and a bra, too, unless you plan on scandalizing yourself.”
Little late on that one.
Rowan looked down at herself and saw the stretched-out camisole she’d worn to bed last night. Then a flash of the NC-17 dream she’d been having raced through her brain, and she gasped again.
“Are you all right?”
“Of course.” Rowan smiled reassuringly. “I think I was having a strange dream.”
Imelda turned on her heel and marched toward the back staircase. “Breakfast service is going to be a strange nightmare if you don’t get down there soon.”
“Coming!”
Five minutes later, Rowan entered the kitchen via the door near the butler’s pantry. Imelda was at the stove, her back to Rowan. So she tiptoed toward the coffeepot, hoping to at least get one good gulp before Imelda started in on her again. Rowan reached into the tall glass-front cabinet without making a sound, gently picked up a mug, and added a splash of cream. Just another couple of seconds and the coffee would be flowing past her lips.
“How much have you learned about him?”
Rowan lunged forward so the coffee dribbling down her chin wouldn’t stain her shirt. She grabbed a paper towel and wiped her face.
“Him who?”
“Our handsome guest. Mr. Wallace. The one who’s got you acting so out of sorts.”
“I’m not out of sorts.”
Imelda made a clucking sound.
Rowan tied an apron around her waist and started setting out the chafing dishes, serving utensils, and heating elements for the buffet. “Anyway, I’ve just started to get to know him a little bit. We’re talking. Enjoying each other’s company. It’s nothing.”
Imelda remained quiet.
“But so far he seems very nice.” Rowan reached into the industrial-sized refrigerator and grabbed the five-pound package of bacon, quickly slapping the strips onto two large baking sheets. She popped them into the double ovens Imelda had already preheated, washed her hands in hot, soapy water, then pulled out the commercial mixer. “Waffles, right?”
“It’s Monday, Rowan. We serve pancakes on Monday. We’ve been serving pancakes on Mondays for the last twenty-five years.”
“Jeesh, it’s Monday already? I’ve lost track.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m stressed out, Mellie. This is only the second festival week I’ve been responsible for. There’s a lot on my mind.”
“I can see that.” Imelda glanced over her shoulder and Rowan was relieved to see she looked more amused than disapproving. “You’re doing a great job, honey girl. You’re handling the business end of things, which I know isn’t easy. You’ve been great with the summer help. And you’ve been an angel to help me out in the kitchen. Everyone’s very proud of you. But I see you every day, and I see what’s going on. I only want you to be careful.”
“Don’t worry. Really.”
Just then, the maids filed through the swinging door, and Rowan was relieved she didn’t have to continue with Imelda’s preferred topic of discussion. After everyone shared their morning greetings with Rowan, they set about gathering flatware, glassware, and tablecloths, or filling juice and milk pitchers, cereal containers, or baskets of baked goods.
While she prepared the pancake batter, Rowan observed her staff. She was impressed with how the four seasonal employees worked together seamlessly, their breakfast shift running like a fine-tuned assembly line. Despite the language issues everyone had faced that summer, each girl had grown sure of her responsibilities, the order in which things needed to be accomplished, and how long each task would take. It always seemed to go this way—as soon as everyone had perfected their jobs, the tourist season drew to a close and it was time to let them go. Rowan wished there was a way she could justify keeping them on a little longer, at least so they could earn income until their visas were up. But that wasn’t an option.
The first guests wandered in at seven on the dot, and the table turnover seemed slower than usual, which meant the dining room was packed to the rafters by nine o’clock. Since friendships had been formed among guests by now—both the regulars and the first timers—many decided to linger over coffee and chat about their lives back home and their plans for the day. Of course Rowan was pleased to see everyone enjoying themselves and couldn’t shoo them out, so when Ash arrived about nine fifteen, there was nowhere for him to sit.
She was refilling the fresh fruit when he appeared in the doorway to the front hall. She looked up and couldn’t help herself—she smiled so hard she thought she might sprain her cheeks. He smiled back with the same enthusiasm.
In movies and books, Rowan had often heard fictional characters say that falling in love made them feel like a kid again, the way they’d felt in high school. She’d never been able to identify with that. T
here had been thirty-two kids in her senior class, eleven of whom were boys. Of those, only three were even remotely cute, and only two of those liked girls. And even then, she’d known those boys since before kindergarten. It wasn’t exactly a breeding ground for romance.
That phase of Rowan’s life didn’t start until she showed up as a freshman at Tufts. She went on to date several guys before graduation and there had been several more since, but it was safe to say that in all her dating experience, she’d never had the kind of reaction she was having right then, with Ash.
As she saw him standing in the doorway, head tilted slightly and hands shoved into the pockets of his preppy shorts, she felt a little thrill course through her. Nervous knots began to form in her belly, and a lifting, buoyant feeling filled her chest. She wanted to laugh and dance and throw herself into his arms.
Fortunately, the huge bowl of honeydew melon slices balanced in her hands kept her from public humiliation.
Ash walked toward her. “Good morning, Miss Flynn.” His voice came across as friendly—but not overly so. To anyone overhearing his greeting, it would seem he and Rowan were courteous strangers. Oh, but she knew better.
They had parted ways late yesterday afternoon, agreeing they’d had a wonderful time hanging out and eating ice cream. Their last kiss was one Rowan wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. While standing next to his boat, Ash had wrapped his arms around her and lifted her feet off the dock. He managed to hold her up with one arm while he shoved his hand into her hair and kissed the living hell out of her. When the kiss ended, Rowan felt goofy-happy. She staggered back to the Safe Haven booth drunk on endorphins.
Was it any wonder she’d fallen victim to a sex dream last night?
“Should I come back a little later?”
Rowan shook her head slowly. “Of course not. In fact . . .” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Why don’t you make yourself a plate and I’ll escort you to our VIP dining room.”
Ash looked surprised. “You have one of those?”
“We do now.”
A few moments later, Rowan sat at the small table on the side porch, smiling as she watched Ash finish his second helping of pancakes and bacon. Seeing him enjoy her cooking sparked some kind of bizarre sense of pride in her, which was a first. When she’d lived with Frederick in Manhattan, she’d never cooked. They ate out or ordered in almost every night. Only now did Rowan realize how empty that had felt to her. Maybe one day, after festival week was over, she’d prepare a romantic dinner for the two of them. Or a picnic they could take to the beach.
“What are you thinking over there?” Ash leaned back in the small porch chair, one arm draped over the back. He looked happy and full.
Rowan shrugged, a little embarrassed that she’d been fantasizing about a future with Ash that extended beyond this week, or even beyond this breakfast. After all, he would be leaving as soon as his boat was repaired. “Oh, nothing much. I was just wondering what you like to eat and whether it was in my culinary repertoire.”
He grinned. “I never would’ve pegged you for a woman with a repertoire.”
“Ha. That shows how little you know me.” Those words were intended to sound like witty chitchat, but Rowan realized they had weight to them. The truth was, he didn’t know her all that much, and she didn’t know him. In fact, maybe Imelda had hit on something that morning when she’d asked how much Rowan had learned about their handsome guest.
“What would you like me to know about you, Rowan?”
“You mean in addition to the fact that I’m smart, funny, and beautiful?”
“I’ve got that part memorized.” Ash tapped the side of his head, which made Rowan laugh. He stood then and reached out for her hand. “Can you sit and talk for a minute?”
“Sure.”
She smiled as Ash led her to the love magnet, then put his arm on the back of the glider. He immediately set it in motion, a slow and soothing back-and-forth—with an annoying squeak. “This is a real classic,” he said, patting the smooth metal of the armrest. “My grandfather had one of these at his house.”
“In Boston?” Rowan snuggled up against him and let her head rest against his arm. She knew Imelda was probably wondering where she’d disappeared to, maybe even cussing under her breath in Portuguese. Rowan decided to allow herself fifteen minutes before she went back to work.
“Yes, Boston.” The tone of Ash’s voice had changed. He’d gone from loose and comfortable to wary, so Rowan glanced up at him. His face was tight.
She sat up. “We don’t have to talk about your family if you’d rather not. Let’s start with me. What have you been dying to know about me?”
Ash smiled at her, aware she’d changed the subject for his benefit. He seemed appreciative. “How about we compromise? You tell me something about you and then I tell you something about me.”
“Deal.” Rowan folded one foot under her and took a breath. “My last relationship ended two years ago. His name was Frederick, and I met him here when I came home to help out during festival week. He was quite charming, and he charmed me into moving in with him in New York. It went downhill from there.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He nodded gravely. “My last relationship ended a year ago. Nanette and I had been together for three years when she moved to San Francisco for work. The relationship wasn’t what either of us hoped for, so it ended amicably.”
“What had you hoped for?”
Ash shrugged and lowered his eyes. His dark blond lashes hid his expression. “I wanted the love of a gorgeous, brilliant woman with impeccable taste.”
That made Rowan laugh. “Who doesn’t? So it turned out she wasn’t those things?”
He looked up. “She was every one of those things—except she didn’t love me and I didn’t love her. Unfortunately, I was so blinded by what she was that it took me far too long to see who she was.”
She let that information sink in for a moment. Of course a man like Ash would want a woman like Nanette. And it was impossible to ignore the obvious; Rowan wasn’t the Nanette type. She knew she needed to keep this conversation moving so she didn’t appear insecure. Nanette probably wasn’t insecure.
“Well, I’m the youngest of three kids. My brother Clancy, you met, and my other brother, Duncan, is a Navy SEAL on active duty. My mom is a retired school principal, and my dad has been mayor of the island since the fishery closed.”
“I know all those things.”
“You do?”
“Of course. I’m staying in your apartment. I’ve seen the photos. Plus I spoke to both your mother and father on Island Day.”
Rowan snorted. “Then I don’t have to tell you how, uh, eccentric everyone is. If you can believe it, we’re not half as nuts as the Flynns of a few generations ago.”
“I know about that, too.”
Rowan leaned back in surprise. “Have you been investigating us or something? Are you with the IRS?”
Ash laughed and shook his head. “I got one word for you, sweetheart.”
She frowned. “Ookay.”
“Brochures.”
Rowan giggled. “Hey, don’t hate. Brochures really are a time-saver, you know. It gets old answering the same questions all day every day, and it’s easier just to point to the display rack of brochures.”
Ash’s eyes crinkled up as she talked. He seemed to be enjoying their time on the love magnet. “I’ve read all about Ruthie and his mermaid wife, too,” he added.
“Great.”
He touched the side of her face with his fingertips and let his gaze drop to her lips. “Do you believe in the mermaid legend?”
It was an innocent enough question. After all, they were getting to know each other, and if she were Ash, she’d want to know if the woman on the glider with him was tragically insane. “No. I do not.” She decided to keep things moving. “Did you get a chance to read my mother’s brochure?”
Ash’s body stiffened at the question. His reaction had been barely notic
eable, but Rowan had learned to read him.
“Not yet, but I will the first opportunity I get.” Ash was always so diplomatic.
Rowan glanced down at her hands. “You’ve probably heard about my family by now, that we’re the only holdout, and everyone else who owns land on the cove is plenty angry.”
Ash nodded, listening.
“Wait. That’s not technically accurate—it’s just my mother who’s the holdout, along with a few of her browbeaten friends. Honestly, if it were up to me, I’d sell to the developers right now. My dad wants to sell, too, and my parents fought so much over it that they ended up separated. Clancy is on the fence—he sees things through a law-enforcement perspective and worries about the gambling element. And Duncan doesn’t care. He’s doesn’t give a damn about the island.”
Rowan noticed that one of Ash’s eyebrows had arched high. She must have said too much. “Sorry for rambling.”
He reached for her hand and held it with both his. The feel of his warmth and strength was soothing to her, and she took a deep breath.
“I know firsthand that money—the lure of it—can do a lot of damage.” Ash seemed pensive. “I’ve spent all of my adult life chasing money, telling myself that it was never enough. But I’ve recently learned that money is just money. It’s not what really matters. It isn’t real.”
Rowan snorted. “I’d love to learn that lesson. I’m up close and personal with so much ‘real’ shit—broken cedar shingles, crumbling tuck-pointing, a bum roof, inefficient windows, iffy air-conditioning, peeling paint, splintering wood—”
Rowan stopped herself. She closed her eyes in embarrassment. “Wow. I’m really sorry. Let’s talk about something else.” She pasted on a pleasant smile. “So. I got my bachelor’s in education and a master’s in psychology from Tufts.”