That One Summer: A Collection of Steamy Contemporary Romance

Chapter 4

Emma

I shook out my fingers, hands still shaking.

That went...well. Then again, it was the same basic strategy I’d employed with my nine-year-old nephew: talk with authority and distract easy-to-complete questions and tasks.

One glance back into the house and I caught James holding a colander and a head of lettuce. The steaks probably helped just as much as the straightforward commands. Even after a few beers, his stomach rumbled loud enough for me to hear across the room. And I’d used that hunger to secure another night at the cabin.

I lit the gas grill and while I waited for the grates to heat, I looked up at the sky. The sleepy island didn’t have anywhere near the amount of light pollution as the city and with the ocean in front of me, all I could see were stars. Millions and millions of stars. Why would I give this up?

I hadn’t been to the ocean in years, but soon, I’d be living on the beach. Not Northshore, of course. I hadn’t even spotted so much as a library on the island.

“I bought you a drink.” James said. I whipped around, nearly poking him with the tongs in my hands. The red wine he held jostled in its glass. “Woah.”

“I didn’t hear the door open.”

He handed me the glass, olive eyes lifting to the sky. “You seemed pretty distracted.”

“It’s really beautiful out here,” I sighed, sipping the red wine. Smooth and earthy. Not the five-dollar bottle I’d picked up at a liquor store on a neighboring island.

His eyes slid down from the sky and onto me. “Yeah. Gorgeous.”

My cheeks burned even as I dismissed the idea that he was doing anything besides shamelessly flirting to throw me off guard. Sure, his suggestive grin might have suggested otherwise, but I knew better. At best, I’d completely misunderstood him. At worst, he had his own plot to get me out of the cabin: embarrass me into leaving.

Guys like James Easton didn’t go for women like me. On the rare occasion I attracted anyone, they were older and much more salacious, salivating over parts of me rather than the whole. I narrowed my eyes, surprised at the misstep. Despite his striking good looks, he didn’t give off the aura of the type of guy who used them to get his way.

But, hell, what did I know about him? Other than that we’d be sharing a cabin for the next three days.

“Don’t do that,” I said, turning back to the grill and flipping the steaks.

“Do what? Look at the stars?” James asked, pulling a nearby chair closer to the grill than necessary. Closer to me.

“Flirt. Don’t do it.”

James kicked out his legs, crossing them and folding his arms over his broad chest. “Flirt? Is that what you think I was doing?”

“You weren’t looking at the stars.”

I second-guessed myself then. Maybe I’d read him wrong. Maybe I’d read the situation wrong. “Did you finish making the salad?”

“Yep. Do you want to eat alfresco or inside?”

Alfresco. I suppressed a laugh. That’s exactly the type of guy James was. The type of guy who couldn’t just say we were eating outdoors. No, we were eating “alfresco”

“Whichever you prefer.” I studied the meat on the grill, keeping my eyes far away from James.

He pushed himself up from the chair with a shrug. “Outside. So we can look at the stars.”

He drew the last word, and returned inside, leaving me surprisingly flushed. I wouldn’t let him rattle me. Couldn’t let him rattle me. And yet, with one word and a pointed look, he had done just that.

I took a deep breath and chugged the rest of the wine to calm my nerves.

James returned in seconds, the salad bowl in one hand, dressing and an open bottle of wine in the other. He surveyed my glass, setting down the salad and filling it. “I said medium.”

I arched an eyebrow. “I heard you.”

I flipped the meat off the grill and onto a waiting platter before bustling back inside, ignoring the refilled glass of wine.

I couldn’t get drunk around James.

Already my brilliant plan was falling apart. Already I was attempting to convince myself that he was actually flirting, and not just flirting as some bigger plan to oust me from the cabin. Which was obviously ridiculous.

Three years of celibacy would do that to a person, though. Sure, James was handsome. Hot, even. Steamy sex in a designer suit, but he could have been anyone. I probably would have thrown myself at the guy at the grocery store if he’d shown a passing interest.

I pushed away the thought of sex, specifically, the thought of sex with James. I could fill that need in a new city. A city where I had a full-time job and free time. In college, short of meeting a half-naked guy in a stack of books, I didn’t have a shot of meeting anyone.

The microwave beeped and I pulled the potatoes out, searching the fridge for the butter and sour cream I’d bought earlier that week. A meal had meant to be spread over two nights, but then James arrived and threw all my plans into disarray.

“Want me to grab plates and utensils?” James slipped into the kitchen without me noticing. For a guy of his size and presence, he sure knew how to skulk around.

“Sure,” I said, grabbing a roll of paper towels off the counter and tucking them under my arm.

I rushed outside, busying myself with setting the table and shooing away flies while James sipped his wine, watching me as I served the food. Self-consciously, I sat down and cleared my throat, shifting in my seat. “So, what made you come to the cabin? Your sister said you haven’t been here for...”

“Years.” He lounged back in his seat, eyes slowly meandering up and down before he continued. “Eight, to be exact. I’ve been busy.”

“For eight years?”

He arched an eyebrow, the edge of his lips turning up in a grin. “Yeah. My job is pretty all-consuming.”

“So, why did you finally decide to visit after all that time?” I asked, picking my fork up. At least he was talking in complete sentences this time. Progress.

“I didn’t.” His jaw clenched and his eyes shot sideways. “My boss told me to take a vacation. He said since all my players have contracts, a break would be refreshing.”

James didn’t look like the type of guy who found a break “refreshing.” He looked like someone who lived, breathed, and ate his work. A guy more at home in boardrooms and in tailored suits than modest beachfront condos.

I picked up my wine. “I’m surprised you came here. Aren’t there nicer resorts in the Caribbean?”

I could imagine him poolside at some private beach villa, a champagne bucket at his side and a suited-butler in the wings and a gorgeous woman beside him in a tiny bikini.

“Well, in hindsight.” He shrugged. “How was I supposed to know there was a squatter in my cabin?”

I wrinkled my nose, picking up the glass of wine and taking a gulp. “Not a squatter. A guest.”

“An unwanted guest,” he murmured into his own glass.

“And after I made you dinner.” I shook my head, feigning disappointment, a surefire way to get my nephew in line.

My eyes slid out to the ocean, dark now, barely illuminated by the stars overhead and the occasional boat picking its way back to the shore.

“It’s good, by the way,” James said. “Dinner. Thank you.”

“Better than a drive-thru?” I asked, pulling my attention back to the table.

“Much.” He pushed a bite of steak around his plate before setting down the fork and steepling his hands over his plate. “But I know what you’re doing here. And it’s not going to work.”

I suppressed a shocked laugh. “What I’m doing here?”

“Playing nice. It won’t convince me to let you stay.”