Chapter 20
Of all the moods Gabby had seen Barnaby in—arrogant, worried, protective, laughing—she’d never imagined this vulnerable version of him.
His black tumble of hair, the growth of midnight scruff, the slash of eyebrows drawing into a thoughtful frown, it all added up to something powerfully attractive to her.
She was always such a sucker for a guy who could look in the mirror and see something about himself. Introspection was a turn-on, at least for her.
Plus, he was just flat-out sexy, the way he leaned one hip against the countertop in a casual pose that reminded her of an athlete who could do anything with their body.
It wasn’t that she was automatically drawn to muscles on a man, but on Barnaby, they just worked.
He looked like he could carry her up a mountain trail before tossing her on a bed—maybe that was it.
“I get it,” she said softly. “I often feel like I’m running too.”
“How’s that?”
Since he seemed genuinely interested, she went on. “I was never supposed to pursue journalism. My parents would be much happier with me if I went to law school or ran for political office.”
“But that’s not what you want.”
“I tried. I really did. I took the LSA’s. I did well. Want to know how long I lasted in law school?”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“Three weeks. I hated every second of it. I went crying to my dad, who’s a lot easier to talk to about that kind of thing.
He let me off the hook, said they’d pay for some other graduate program if I found something I really wanted to study.
I could tell he was disappointed because he had such big dreams for me.
” It still hurt to remember that conversation.
There was nothing she feared more than hurting her father.
Her mother’s disappointment and her father’s hurt—two things she dreaded the most.
“He sounds like a good parent. One who cares what their child actually wants.”
Gabby gave a misty smile. “I always say my parents perfected the good-cop bad-cop routine, and my mom always had to be the bad cop because my daddy didn’t have it in him.
He’s the best. I’d rather open up a vein than hurt him.
He was my best friend growing up. He’d play any game I wanted to play, he let me jabber on about whatever was on my mind.
We did dance routines together. I used to wrap him around my little finger, to be honest.”
“Daddy’s girl.”
“Oh yeah. But see, that’s why I seem driven.
I broke their hearts when I dropped out of law school.
I love journalism, but it’s hard to find the kind of job I wanted.
That’s why Heather and I started the podcast, and if I don’t make it a success, that means I disappointed my parents for nothing.
” She choked up a little bit at the end there.
That was her worst nightmare, after all.
Her parents had done so much for her, and their parents before them, and on and on.
“Hey.” Barnaby put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “How could you disappoint them? Look at you.”
She waved that off. “You wouldn’t understand.” She didn’t want to say what she really meant, which was that a Black woman with highly successful parents like hers felt an extra burden to achieve, that it was about legacy, ancestors, generational trauma.
He folded his arms across his chest and rested his deep-set gaze on her.
He wore a light blue button-down work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing rock-solid cords of muscles along his forearms. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.
But I’m interested if you want to say more.
Because from where I’m sitting, you’re pretty fucking spectacular.
Brilliant, beautiful, trying your best to make the world a better place with your podcast.”
She eyed him cautiously. “You know that we trashed your family on the pod.”
“The episodes about Sea Smoke were very much on point. I didn’t take it personally.
” His smile flashed bright against the black scruff covering the lower half of his face.
“Sorry, but the Carmichaels don’t get to run people off the island because they’re Black or poor, then act injured when the story gets reported. ”
“Right.” It was such a logical response, and yet she hadn’t expected it. “Then you support your father’s restitution fund?”
“I think it’s logistically difficult, but worth trying. So yeah. I do support it. The family benefitted from that shit. The people who got chased away…they had to start over from nothing, if they managed to survive and not get dumped into the Home for the Feeble-Minded.”
Wow. He really had listened to the podcast. Not only that, but he wasn’t trying to justify or excuse his ancestors’ actions. “Won’t it cost you money?”
“Probably.” He smiled ruefully. “My status as one of the wealthiest bachelors in Maine will likely be revoked. I think I can live with that.”
A billionaire’s son accepting a downgrade…wasn’t that unusual? “That doesn’t sound very…Carmichael of you.”
The rain picked up in intensity, drumming on the roof like a million tiny footsteps. But it was a warm rain, and with all the windows closed, the tiny house felt almost steamy.
She had the sense of being in another world right now, one where time moved differently. They couldn’t have been talking like this for long, and yet it felt as if they’d taken a long journey together.
“Let me tell you something. Nothing in my life made any sense to me until I came to this house.” Barnaby gestured at their surroundings.
“Then when I found out I was also a Brown, not just a Carmichael, it clarified things even more. I might have some Carmichael in me, but I’ve never felt like one.
Once I knew the truth about my mother, everything fell into place. ”
Had she taken a step closer to him? Or maybe he had? Either way, the distance between them had shrunk, it seemed. “Do you have any memories of your mother?”
“No, how could I? She died in the hospital when I was born. But…” He trailed off, shaking his head, as if he was unsure whether to go on.
“Tell me. I’m fascinated.” She really was, too. His life was like a soap opera, like secrets of the rich and famous.
“Sometimes I think I remember her voice singing to me. There was a lullaby that I’ve remembered since I was little.” He hummed a few notes of it. “But I don’t believe babies can remember things they heard in the belly, can they?”
“I have no idea. What’s the tune again?” She pulled out her phone as he hummed it again. “I have an app, let me check it.”
He kept humming until the answer flashed on her screen. She lifted her eyes to his and said in a hushed tone, “It’s a traditional folk song from Martinique.”
“Holy cow.” They stared at each other in amazement, as if they’d just stumbled on some kind of archeological find.
“Maybe Tamara sang it to you?”
“I didn’t meet Tamara until I was ten. This is amazing.
I actually do remember my mother’s voice.
” A flood of color washed over his face.
“All this time I figured it was just my imagination. But where else would I have ever heard a folk song from Martinique? They don’t play those on any Maine radio station I know of. ”
“Me neither, speaking as a South Portland native.”
“Holy cow,” he said again.
In his exuberance, he reached for her and lifted her into the air, spun her around, then set her down. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
“I’m getting an idea.” Breathless, she laughed along with his joy. “So happy my little app could help.”
“It’s you, not the damn app. You and your instinct for research and your curiosity. Your empathy.”
“Oh stop. It was really nothing. I pulled my phone from my pocket and that was about it.” Still, she couldn’t stop smiling. “I like seeing you like this. You don’t look arrogant at all now.” Reaching a hand toward him, she touched his jaw. That beard coming in was so much softer than it looked.
When she tried to drop her hand, he held on to her wrist. He turned it over and pressed his mouth to the palm of her hand. An electric thrill shot from that point of contact, up her arm, down into the pit of her belly, where heat pooled.
“Thanks,” he murmured again. A curl of dark hair tumbled over his forehead in an adorably piratical manner.
“You’re welcome.” She was proud that she managed an answer, because the way her body was responding to a simple kiss of her hand…hoo boy. This was straight danger territory.
Finally he released her hand and straightened up. “Was that out of line?”
“No. I could have pulled away, or even slapped you.”
He laughed and took a step back. “Somehow I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” He made a little adjustment of his jeans, and she realized he was trying to hide his erection.
Her libido took over, elbowing her better judgment out of the way, trying to get her to do stupid things. Like touch him. Or cup him. Or maybe pull him back towards her for a proper kiss, one in which her mouth was involved too—
And before she knew it, that was exactly what was happening.
She twisted her hand in the collar of his shirt and tugged him toward her.
Since he was more or less a mountain, it didn’t work, and instead she lost her balance and fell against him.
He caught her in his arms before she hit the countertop, or the copper pans hanging from the back of the wood stove, or even the floor.
“That wasn’t an attempt at a slap, was it? ”
“No.” They were pressed together, front to front, and fire coursed every which way through her body. “It was an attempt at this.” She wrapped a hand around his neck and rose onto her tiptoes to reach his mouth, but couldn’t quite get there in her awkward position.
At least not until he hiked her up his body, not bothering to hide his arousal anymore, and claimed her mouth with his.
Dizzy heat zapped through her brain. Holy shit, the man could kiss.
His lips were pillowy, full and warm and firm and determined.
He wanted her. That was what that kiss said.
He wanted her hard and deep and hot, anywhere she wanted.
I’m yours, the kiss said. Want it gentle?
You got it. Want it rough? I’m there. Anything and everything and anywhere and anyhow, just say the word and I’m all in.
Her eyes half closed from the overwhelming pleasure.
He was sweeping her off her feet, literally, as if he could hold her like this forever.
Even the football player she’d dated in college wouldn’t do that because he was afraid of messing up his back.
But Barnaby? The only reason he was breathing hard was because he wanted her—that was the message from that kiss, and the burning heat in his eyes, and the way he wrapped his hands around her waist and hips and—
Through her daze, a flash of light caught her eye.
At first she thought of something else Tamara had said in the lockup—trust your inner light.
But then she saw it was actual light. A reflection from the window?
Light from outside? She opened her eyes all the way and tried to locate it again. There it was. On top of the cupboard.
“Let me down,” she murmured in Barnaby’s ear.
He did so reluctantly. “Sorry if I—”
“No, it’s not you. You’re great. I saw something above the cabinet,” she explained. “A weird light.”
He made sure she was steady—probably a good thing, considering what that kiss had done to her—and strode to the corner cabinet she was pointing at. Even for him, it was out of reach, so he pulled up the little footstool Tamara used to reach all her cupboards.
“I feel something,” he said, moving his hand across the wood. “Got it.” He stepped off the ladder and opened his hand so they could both see what he held.
A tiny security camera.