Chapter 21
Diana
Ike is scratching my back. I’m about to turn into a puddle and melt down to the floor, partially because he wants to know what I’m doing up here, and also because he just called me his sweetheart. He knows what he’s doing.
And he knows what I was doing. I was belting “O mio babbino caro” like it was my last day on earth. The lovesick aria seemed fitting given the events of the prior evening.
Ike almost kissed me. I know he was going for it. His puppy dog eyes turned serious. He looked at my mouth with a question in his eyes. I wanted that kiss so much, but then I had the stupid, idiotic, hare-brained thought that Ike was doing it out of some warped feeling of marital obligation.
A subconscious part of me—the terrified part—sabotaged the kiss with a yawn.
He said “good night,” and it was over before it started.
Just thinking about it makes me want to bust out some more Puccini.
My heart is aching, and being dramatic in the lighthouse usually helps.
Today my drama summoned the man himself. Maybe I am a witch.
Ike’s fingers are like magic, too. No one has ever scratched my back like this. It’s heaven.
“What are you doing halfway up the lighthouse?” He repeats his question casually.
How do I tell my former nemesis—the man I am now married to—that even though I’ve developed a major crush on him, I don’t want to stay married.
He knows where I stand on that, and for all I know, he wants this contract to end, too.
But I also loved the way he snapped at that guy last night, calling me his wife.
I loved the way he held my hand in that dark auditorium.
There’s so much to say, I don’t know where to start.
Tell him about me, Tom Selleck’s gravelly voice is in my head. Start with why you came back to town in the first place.
You think? I’m desperate to believe he’s right.
Trust me. I have an Emmy.
Emmy-winner Tom Selleck makes a good point, but I have one caveat. I’m not telling him about you, Tom.
I almost groan. I’m doing this, though. “Sometimes I come into the lighthouse… when I miss my mom.”
His fingers move slowly over my back while he waits for more.
“We used to come up here all the time. I don’t know, I guess it’s my happy place?” It’s an inadequate, pat description, and I want to give him more. I shake my head, summoning courage. I know I can trust Ike. I’ve learned that much these past few weeks. “She was happy with me… here.”
“Here?” Ike asks, the friction from his fingers making my skin warm.
“Yeah. She’d bring me up here and we’d have a picnic.
Usually something my grandparents wouldn’t keep around the house.
Fast food tacos and stuff. Then she’d stare out the window and tell me stories about the life she dreamed of…
” Traveling to places no one goes, learning to connect to a higher power—basically, Eat, Pray, Love, but with an abandoned daughter in the mix.
A heavy knot in my throat stops me from telling him that I’m discovering at this exact moment that none of her stories seemed to involve me.
I mean, the facts were all right in my face.
I just never put it together. My mother didn’t want me.
And she left me in a town where no one wanted me except my grandparents.
And they wanted to marry me off. I snort.
“And your dad?”
Who? I snort again. “No one talks about him, especially my mom. He was just some guy she met. I don’t think she even told him about me.
She had my grandparents. They’ve always been the rock.
” That knot in my throat grows at the truth of those words.
Man, I’m grateful for those stodgy old C-SPAN watchers, even if they did weasel me into marrying this handsome man.
“Hmm.” Ike’s hand pauses in the middle of my back.
I have to know what he’s thinking. I turn my head to look at him, resting my temple on my knee.
He’s wearing that ball cap again. His beard is still nicely trimmed from our date last night.
His other arm is slung over his knee, and my eyes follow the lines of his muscles down, past his watch, to his hand.
I wouldn’t change a single detail. The weight of his hand on my back feels like an anchor. Safety. “What are you thinking?”
He straightens, jutting his chin under my obvious appraisal. “Just wondering if you like what you see.”
The corners of my mouth curl. He’s so arrogant, but now that I know it’s a front I feel safer being honest. “Yes.”
His eyes widen, then they turn serious. His fingers press into my back. He keeps almost opening his mouth, almost saying something, then pursing his lips with a frown. He wants to ask me something. I can tell. And he’s adorably shy about whatever it is.
“Spit it out, Ike.” I smile. I want him to reciprocate. Does he really like what he sees? I still find it hard to believe. I mean, I know I’m not ugly, but years of antagonism must’ve tainted my face for him. What if whatever he’s holding back isn’t flattering?
Before too many worst-case scenarios crowd my mind, Ike spits it out. “What are your thoughts on… Tom Selleck?” His mouth hitches into a crooked grin now that the words are out.
My snort laugh echoes through the lighthouse tower. “Why do you ask?”
“I heard some things when I was getting your whoopie pie. Townie scuttlebutt.”
“Ike.” I cluck my tongue. “Ike, Ike, Ike. I thought we’d moved past believing the silly Cape Georgeana gossip.”
His fingers drag across my back again. “I don’t hear you denying it.”
Tom Selleck’s grinning face pops into my mind, then that scene from TV the other night—Magnum P.I. walking out of the ocean. He is a handsome man. And now my face feels warm.
“Oh my gosh.” He draws out the words. “You do have a thing for Tom Selleck.”
Heat claws up my neck. I have to explain myself.
“No, it’s just what brought me up here that night—the night you rescued me.
I had a dream about him up in this lighthouse, and it reminded me that I hadn’t visited in a while.
It made me realize that I’ve been unhappy for a long time.
I haven’t been myself, or…” Or maybe I don’t even know who I am.
“Must’ve been some dream.” His smart mouth hitches. “What were you and old Tom doing up here?”
My eyes dart up to the lantern room where Tom and I kissed. I shrug. “Just… innocent stuff.”
He knows I’m full of it. “You and Tom Selleck were doing… innocent stuff.”
Am I crazy, or does he sound jealous of the dreamworld version of an 80s icon that I may or may not have done “stuff” with? His big, brown eyes are going to be the death of me.
“Y-yeah.”
Ike moves closer, propping his chin on his hand so we’re almost eye level. “Would you do that innocent stuff up there with me?” he asks playfully.
“Yes,” I murmur. Nothing to be ashamed of. “Because it was all innocent.”
We sit in silence for a few seconds. Then his voice is slow and rumbling when he asks, “Did he kiss you?”
I can’t answer. My blushing face does all the talking, anyway.
His chin lifts. “He did kiss you.”
I bite my lip.
Ike tracks it. His eyes flash. “Okay.” He stands quickly, dragging me to my feet. He pulls me up a few steps.
“Ike.” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the climb to the lantern room earlier. Logically, I know the staircase is safe now, but my legs were too shaky. I’m steady with Ike’s fingers laced through mine, though. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer, and he’s moving quickly, tugging me up the stairs behind him. When we reach the top he drops my hand, pacing a few feet away. We’re both winded.
“What are we doing up here, Ike?” I pant.
He straightens his ball cap, looking at me. Something settles in his eyes. He strides toward me, and I back up until my shoulder blades are against the freshly-painted bricks.
What is he doing? I think I know, and oh, how I hope I’m right.
There’s a question in his dark eyes. They’re asking, Can I do this?
I barely nod, stifling a dazed smile.
His hand curls around the back of my neck, burying his fingers in my tangled hair. His thumb drags down my cheek. He moves in, and his lips brush my earlobe. “I’m going to kiss you now, wifey.”
“I’m not your wifey—”
Then his mouth is on mine before I can get the silly word out. Oh, I love when I’m right.
With a groan, Ike kisses me like he’s been waiting for this moment for too long. He’s impatient, but careful. Slow and meticulous. He isn’t leaving any part of my lips unexplored. Ike kisses the way he lives—fully, giving everything, singlemindedly making the people around him happy.
“Is this okay?” he says against my mouth. His free hand finds my waist, pulling me closer. His hand is hot and firm, holding me against him.
“More than okay,” is all I manage before his lips cover mine again.
I cling to his arms, desperate to stay upright when I’m afraid I’ll pass out at any moment. Ike is a full-sensory experience, and I don’t want to miss anything. But I forgot how strong his arms are. I shouldn’t be touching them if I’m trying not to faint. They’re practically lethal.
His mouth moves down my jaw. “I owe you a date.”
How can the man think about anything at a time like this? I can’t respond. I’m distracted by the scratch of his beard against my neck.
“Can I get a do-over?” he asks against my throat this time. “Tonight?”
Ike is very good at this. I tip my head back to give him easier access. Let the professional work. “Isn’t it s-sandwich night?” I remind him. See? Parts of my brain are still functional. I’ve got this.
He freezes for a fraction of a second. He breathes in slowly, close to my ear. Is he sniffing my hair now? I don’t have time to worry about the scent of my messy hair. Ike’s lips brush my jaw when he says, “I don’t like having responsibilities.”
“Yeah, you do,” I say with a puff of laughter. His reliability is one of his finest traits.
“Will you join us?”
His question hums through me, making me shiver.
My skin prickles with goosebumps. What is happening to me?
I’m losing control of myself. Ike and I are married, and it would be too easy to justify letting things get out of hand.
My grandparent’s faces flash through my mind—not ideal when I’m finally kissing the man I’ve been swooning over for weeks.
My grandparents, who smugly arranged this marriage, are now smugly grinning in my mind. I pull back to get a good look at Ike.
Big mistake. His dark eyes are full of fire. He’s breathing heavily as his thumb makes a slow path up and down my cheek. “Well?”
“Sandwiches with you and Boone?” I twist my lips to the side, like I’m struggling with the decision. I’m not. “Sounds like fun.”
“Good,” he says with one of his trademark crooked, full-face grins. His eyes twinkle. He ducks to press the lightest of kisses to my lips and starts to pull away. “I can’t believe you kissed Tom Selleck.”
I tighten my hold. He’s not going anywhere. “I can’t believe you’re jealous.”