Chapter 8
Fletcher parked his truck and eased from behind the wheel with his mind racing from the morning’s events, and it wasn’t even seven yet. But what really tickled his brain had been Decker’s sudden shift in demeanor and his strange phone call.
Whatever that had been about, it had rattled Decker, and that man had seemed un-rattleable.
He’d always seemed to have that slow city-slicker swagger that oozed confidence and arrogance.
As if he were untouchable. That had always bothered Fletcher.
He could understand confidence. The Navy had given him that in spades.
He could tolerate arrogance, but generally only from someone who was a million times smarter than he was, and only in small doses.
But Decker had waltzed into town with a little too much of both, not a drop of humility, and what seemed like now, a few dozen secrets.
Fletcher needed to unravel those.
He rubbed the back of his neck, and the moment he stepped through his side door, he heard the pacing.
Not the rhythmic stroll of someone lost in thought.
No, this was agitated. Rapid-fire steps. The scrape of angry feet on tile. Muttered curses that got more colorful with every loop around his kitchen island.
He set his keys on the entry table and followed the noise into the kitchen.
Baily was in his Navy SEAL hoodie, hair scraped back into a bun that was already starting to fall apart. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes flashing with anger. She didn’t even notice him until he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.
“I didn’t realize my kitchen came with a treadmill,” he said, trying to make light of whatever…this was.
She froze mid-step, shot him a glare, and held up her phone. “Julie.”
Fletcher’s jaw tightened. “Did she call again? Did you speak with her?”
“She sent me a text. Just a text. No call. No explanation. Just…links.” Baily shoved the phone at him. “The flipping nerve of this woman.”
He took it. Three links to job listings. All corporate positions. All in their parents’ company. One in Delaware. One in Jacksonville. One in freaking California.
“None of these are even close to where she lives,” he muttered.
“Exactly.” Baily threw her hands up. “She spent the last conversation dangling my nephews like bait on a hook. Now she’s implying I can only see them if I sell the marina and move states away?
I tried to call her. Straight to voicemail.
Then she texts me back, saying, ‘Sorry, busy. I’ll call another day.
’ And ends it with—wait for it—‘Go ahead and apply when you’re ready.
I’ll make sure you get a good recommendation. ’ Who the frack does she think she is?”
Fletcher shook his head. “That’s ice-cold.”
“It’s worse than that,” Baily snapped. “She wants me out of Calusa Cove. And I’m beginning to think she wants my marina. She’s being subtle enough that if I go off, she’ll say I’m overreacting. That she’s simply being helpful. Offering options.”
“Sweetheart, you’re not overreacting.” Fletcher walked over and took her by the shoulders. “But I need you to breathe. You’ve had one hell of a week, and I’m afraid you’re going to burst into flames if you don’t relax a little.”
“I don’t think I know how anymore.” Baily’s voice cracked, just slightly.
“I don’t care about the bullshit links. I don’t care about Julie and her squeaky upbeat voice that sounds like a freaking Barbie Doll.
But I care about those boys. I care that she’s using them.
I care that she’s trying to erase Ken’s life and rewrite it however she wants, even though I can’t stand my brother right now. ”
“I know.” He ran his hands down her arms, then pulled her close. “But you are not alone in this. And you’re not the only one who sees it. We’re going to figure this out. And when we do, Julie won’t be able to hide behind those half-truths anymore.”
Baily rested her forehead against his chest. “I’m so damn tired, Fletcher. I suck in a deep breath. And when I do, I feel like it’s half full of water, and I’m drowning.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know. And I wish I could make that go away for you.” He kissed her hair, slow and warm. He wrapped his arms around her fully. Let her soak in the quiet steadiness he knew she needed more than anything.
“I feel like I’ve lost those boys. Lost them forever. She says they miss me, but they’re so young, and I doubt she’s even mentioned me in passing. I’m a long-forgotten memory to Todd and Chad.” Her voice barely carried.
Fletcher’s heart broke into a million pieces. He tilted her face up gently, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Right now, you need to let go of all the noise. Just for a minute.”
He kissed her, soft at first, then deeper as she leaned into him. It wasn’t about passion—it was about comfort. About anchoring her. About letting her know she was loved. Valued. Cherished. That no matter what, she had people in her corner, and they wouldn’t let her down.
Only, before he could pry his lips from hers, she had her hands undoing the zipper of his pants. “Whoa,” he managed. “What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of the noise.” She yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it across the kitchen, before lifting her sweatshirt off, revealing the fact she had absolutely nothing on underneath but her boxers.
Her bare skin shimmered under the kitchen light, a subtle beckoning that sent ripples of anticipation through Fletcher.
Her scent mixed with a hint of salt from the sea breeze that wafted in through the window.
His hands instinctively sought the warmth of her skin, tracing the contours of her round breasts with a kind of reverence that made her gasp.
He leaned down, his lips finding the delicate curves of her neck, his stubbled cheek grazing against hers.
“Fletcher,” she whispered his name like a plea, an invitation, or maybe both.
Fletcher didn't answer. He didn't need words just now. His hands spoke for him as they roamed over the expanse of her body, tracing a carnal map along the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips—promises of the intimate exploration to come.
Gently lifting her onto the kitchen counter, he stood between her parted legs. His eyes drank in Baily's form unabashedly, a predator eyeing its prey. A chuckle escaped past Baily's lips at his avid gaze, forcing him to glance up at her face and meet that laughing smile with his own bemused grin.
“Like what you see?” she challenged him.
“Do I really need to answer that?” He licked his finger before tracing a delicate circle on her tender flesh. He watched her face as her lips parted, and her eyelids fluttered.
Maintaining his gaze, he leaned closer, breathing in that familiar scent of salt and sunshine that was so unique to Baily. It landed somewhere close to addictive.
He lapped at her tender folds, sucking in all her sweet juices as she squirmed on his kitchen counter, her fingers digging into his scalp. He would never tire of pleasing her. She was the air that he breathed. The water he drank. She was his world, and all he wanted was to make hers right again.
“Fletcher,” she moaned out his name like it was some sort of sacred chant meant for only him to hear. She tasted like heaven.
He glided a finger inside, and she immediately clutched around him, her hips rolling against his mouth, her moans coming louder, driving him crazy.
“Yes, yes, yes…” She dug one of her heels into his shoulder, leaned back on the counter, and tightened her grip around his finger as her climax spilled out. “Please. I need you inside me now.”
As quickly as he could, he shimmied out of his jeans, lowered her to the floor, turned her, and bent her over the counter. He smoothed his hands over her round ass as he eased inside.
Baily’s breath hitched as he filled her completely. His hands gripped her hips, anchoring her against him as he sank in deeper, reveling in the pleasure coursing through him.
“Fletcher…” Her voice was a soft whisper carried on the morning air as she turned her head over her shoulder, catching his gaze with her feverish eyes.
With a slow, burning thrust, he withdrew, pausing near the edge before driving back into her welcoming warmth with a grunt. This wasn't about raw desire; it was primal yet tender—a silent promise inked on their entwined bodies.
Each thrust ignited their shared heat, a dance as old as humanity itself.
Fletcher watched his reflection in the kitchen window.
His brow screwed up in concentration as he pumped into Baily with all the loving force he could muster.
The sight of her bracing herself against the countertop, her body accepting him so wholly, nearly pushed him over the edge.
But not yet. He battled for control against his own impending climax, wanting to draw this moment out—as if somehow time could ease their troubles away.
Baily's moans grew louder each time he buried himself inside her. Each gasp punctuated by his name was a testament sent straight through his core, confirming that this—she alone—was where he belonged.
Her body trembled against the counter, fingertips gripping at the surface. Her climax washed over him in waves, triggering his own eruption. He was falling over the precipice, tumbling into oblivion with her whimpered name on his lips.
He ran his hands up and down her back, kissed her neck, all while trying desperately to catch his breath.
She dropped her forehead to the counter and sighed. “Well, now. I think I’m hungry.”
He laughed. “That’s one way to work up an appetite.” He turned her, kissed her tenderly, hopefully showing her just how much she mattered.
When they finally pulled apart, she gave a shaky breath. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He smiled and went about finding their discarded clothing.
Once they were both decent again, he leaned against the counter.
“And next time you need to curse someone out, I’ll be happy to let you use me in every room in this house…
or you can take out your aggression on the punching bag in the garage. ”
She laughed softly, tension melting from her shoulders. “Might take you up on that…the punching bag, that is.”
“I kind of hope you’re joking.” He tugged her toward the living room. “But for now, you’re gonna sit your ass down, put your feet up, and let me make you something that passes for food.”
“You cook now?” she teased, with a softness that hadn’t been in her voice fifteen minutes ago.
“For you? I’ll even break out the fancy toaster.”
The smile she gave him didn’t fix anything. But it was a start.
And Fletcher would take that win—because they were going to need each other more than ever.