Chapter Two
Connor sat astride his surfboard and took in the rising sun while he waited for the next swell. The rim of the yellow orb was visible just above the ocean. Shades of orange stretched along the horizon, as though it was giving the earth a warm embrace to welcome a new day.
He’d missed this…missed living minutes from the beach and being able to take in his fill of it every day. Having lived in Tampa the past ten years, Connor had access to beaches, but nothing beat having one practically in his backyard.
Since moving back, Connor had started each day jogging on the beach or surfing. Occasionally, he’d mix it up with yoga. All part of his lifestyle to keep his mind focused and clear. Daily physical exercise had been required when he was in rehab nine years ago for a substance abuse disorder. The first three weeks of his forty-five-day stint had been hell, but once he got through the worst of the withdrawal, he’d felt different…alive, with an appreciation of life he’d never had while high.
Now, he was a new man with a new purpose in life. And he intended to make good on all the promises he’d made to his family and, more importantly, to himself.
There was no going backward…only forward.
At the start of a swell, he flipped onto his stomach and paddled with long, even strokes. When he felt the lift of the wave, he popped up, landing in a crouch on both feet, his arms outstretched to maintain balance. The rush and buildup as the wave propelled him toward shore flowed through him as though he was one with the wave…the ocean. Like Poseidon, who could control the water and waves with a flick of his trident.
As the wave broke, he saw a girl running on the beach, her dark ponytail bouncing behind her. He was preparing to go back out for another ride when the girl stumbled, and she went down.
With no lifeguards on duty, the beach was empty. When the girl stayed on the ground, not moving, Connor paddled toward shore, grabbed his board, and ran out of the water.
Dropping his board in the sand, he kneeled next to the girl, who had sat up and was holding on to her ankle. “You okay?”
The girl lifted her chin and squinted in the sunlight. “I’m fine,” she snapped.
Abby.
“You’re hurt, Abby,” Connor said. “Let me see your ankle.”
She pulled it closer to her body. “Back off, Connor.”
He knew her enough not to push, even though he could see shreds of pain beyond the pissed-off female attitude.
“I’m just trying to help.”
“Well, I don’t need your help.”
He rose, not in the mood for a fight, especially with her. “Fine. Good luck walking in the sand with a sprained ankle.”
“Go to hell.”
Connor snorted. “Already been there, darlin’. No plans to go back.”
He walked a few steps and bent down to get his board. He’d hoped since he moved back that they could talk and clear the air between them. Unresolved things based on his being an asshole as a kid. While he still had his share of screw-ups, he liked to think he’d learned a thing or two.
One of which was to ask for forgiveness.
Based on her scowl, Abby definitely was not in a forgiving state of mind.
He turned his back and walked away, only to pause when she cried out.
She must have gotten up and fallen again, because she still lay on the ground, but several feet away from where he’d found her. It took all of his control to ignore her and move to his backpack lying in the sand.
Slinging the bag over his shoulder and grabbing his board, he made his way toward the boardwalk, but she called out to him.
“Connor, wait.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Don’t leave me,” she called.
The familiarity of the words slammed into him, reminding him of another time when she’d said them.
“What do you mean you’re leaving Pelican Bay? You can’t go. Don’t leave me, Con.”
He shook away the memory and focused on the here and now. You couldn’t change the past, only learn from it and make better decisions in the future.
Time to take his own advice.
Backtracking, he stopped a few feet away from where she still sat in the sand. The tide must have come up, as now her shorts and tank top were wet and plastered to her body. He wanted to point out she wouldn’t have gotten covered in wet sand if she’d taken him up on his offer to help. Smarter to hold his tongue and wait for her to make the next move.
They stared each other down until she finally lowered her eyes to her ankle. “I can’t walk on it.”
“It’s starting to swell.”
A wave crashed and wet her again, this time splashing her face.
She grabbed a fistful of wet sand and threw it at the retreating water.
He bit back a laugh. She was sweaty, wet, pissed off as hell, and had never looked more beautiful to him.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Connor Maguire.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
She snorted. “You’re full of shit.”
“What do you want, Abby?”
Their gazes held with the complexity of the fully loaded question until her shoulders dropped.
“I need help.”
He cupped a hand to his ear. “What was that?”
“Don’t be a shit. I need your help to stand.”
“Was that a request or a demand?”
She let out a loud sigh. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Can you please help me up and get me back to my shop?”
He smiled, remembering how she hated asking for anything. She’d always been stubborn…never wanting to show she was vulnerable. It had both driven him crazy and turned him on at the same time.
In response, he slid his arm through the other strap of his backpack. Bending down, he picked her up and cradled her close to his chest. He hadn’t been prepared for the jolt when he touched her. Or the effect the familiar smell of her coconut shampoo had on him. She flinched, which made him think—or maybe hope—she felt it too.
“What about your board?”
“Hold on to my neck.”
She hesitated a moment before complying, and he had to push aside the groan that had been building inside him.
With her in his arms, he lowered and grabbed his board. Carrying both her and the board, he walked through the sand to the boardwalk.
Abby couldn’t believe her bad luck. First for jogging on the beach at the same time Connor was surfing. Then to fall and twist her ankle while ogling him. To be fair, it was hard not to stare. Watching him surf had been a favorite pastime of hers when they’d dated…even before they’d dated. Hell, it had been how he’d finally gotten a date with her.
But that was a long time ago, and Abby had changed a lot over the years. She’d gone to college for chemistry, specializing in cosmetics, and worked at a major cosmetic manufacturer in Texas for a couple of years, before returning to Pelican Bay three months ago to open her own handmade soap and skincare shop.
Since owning a business involved more than making the products, Abby had taken a couple of basic business classes. Her sister, Natalie, had also agreed to invest—a.k.a. sign her name on the small business loan—and together they were trying to launch this new business.
The last thing Abby needed was a sprained ankle to slow her down…or the distraction of a sexy six-foot surfer.
Connor carried her and his surfboard effortlessly, even though she stood only a few inches shorter than him. When they reached her shop, he put her down so she could remove her key from the pocket of her running shorts and unlock the door.
Stale, barely cool air greeted them, along with a disorganized mess of display cases, ladders, and paint cans. Abby hopped inside, holding on to the doorframe for support until she reached a ladder to lean on.
“Looks like a war zone in here,” he said, laying his surfboard and bag outside the door.
“We’d just started painting when they delivered the counters and display tables. Now it’s making it harder to paint,” Abby said.
In truth, they would have finished the painting last week if she and Nat hadn’t had to move their younger sister, Olivia, into an apartment. Livvie had recently finished school for physical therapy and taken a job working in a rehab center for one of the major hospitals in Philly.
“What kind of store are you opening?” Connor asked.
“One that sells homemade soaps, lotions, and skincare.”
“You make them?”
“I do. That so surprising?” she snapped.
He shook his head, dried strands of hair sticking out in a sexy shag. “Not at all. You always talked about wanting to start your own skincare business. I remember the candles and soaps you used to make.”
Abby avoided his gaze, remembering how they’d used the soaps on each other many times.
“When are you opening?”
“In a week.”
He eyed the interior skeptically before fixing those beautiful green eyes on her. “Let’s check out your ankle.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” she said, even though it throbbed like a son-of-a-bitch.
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“Since when are you a doctor?”
“I’ve seen plenty of injuries on the job. Jace and I have had to patch up ourselves and guys who work for us so we could get the job done.”
She huffed out a breath. “There’s an area in the back where we can go.”
Before she could stop him, he once again lifted her off her feet and zigzagged his way around the chaos and through the doorway. The large, open room would serve as a work area for making products and as a stockroom. Unopened boxes of shelving stood propped against the wall waiting to be assembled. Only then could they unpack the boxes of stock and supplies piled in a disorganized mess.
Connor set her down on a folding chair near the kitchen area. Grabbing another chair, he elevated her injured foot and removed her running shoe. With gentle hands, he stroked along her right ankle, his touch both arousing and tickling her.
“I’d say it’s a minor sprain. You have a first-aid kit?”
“In the bathroom.” She gestured to a small room off to the side.
He disappeared and returned with a red plastic box. Rummaging inside, he grabbed an ice pack, cracked it to activate it, and pressed it on her ankle. The coolness was a welcome relief against her hot skin, although she didn’t know if she was warm because of her injury or because of the man.
Finding an antiseptic pad, he cleaned a scrape she hadn’t realized she had on her knee. She flinched when he blew on it to ease the sting, the feel of his warm breath on her skin causing her heart to skip a few beats.
What the hell was wrong with her?
After adding antibiotic ointment, he covered it with a bandage. Then he moved to her right hand, which also had a slight scrape, and started the same process.
“You should try to keep your foot elevated and iced over the next twenty-four hours. Fifteen minutes on, fifteen off,” Connor said.
“I know how to take care of a sprained ankle.”
“You can also take something mild with ibuprofen to help with the swelling,” he continued.
She reached down to examine her ankle, which had puffed up like the time she was at Great Adventure and had a mild reaction from a bee sting.
Just what she didn’t need.
“I’ve got it. I’ll be fine,” she mumbled.
He closed the box and returned it to the bathroom. When he didn’t return right away, she went in search of him, wincing as her ankle protested.
She found him in the front room of the store. He’d removed the wetsuit and now stood in navy board shorts. She stared at his bare back, more muscled than she remembered, and even more enticing.
“This is a great space,” he said. “Who’s going to finish the painting and other things before you open?”
“Natalie is helping me. We’re partners,” she said.
“Right.” He bent over and picked up a paint tray with semi-dried paint and a stiff roller.
She winced. Truth be told, Natalie had the best intentions of helping but had issues with time management. And apparently cleaning up painting supplies.
“Your ankle may slow you down. I wouldn’t climb a ladder or put full pressure on it for a couple of days,” Connor said.
Was he crazy? Everything she had to do involved putting pressure on both her feet.
“I’ll be fine. A little ice, a couple Advil, and I’ll be good as new.”
She hoped.
He set down the ruined paint tray and rummaged in his backpack, pulling out a business card. Finding a pen on a counter, he scribbled something and handed it to her.
“My number. Let me know if you need any help.”
“I don’t need your help, Con. I’ve got this.”
He shrugged in a careless way that never failed to drive her crazy and pressed the card into her hand.
“I’ll get going, then.” He opened the door, slung the backpack strap over a bare shoulder, and held up the surfboard. “See you around, Abby.”
Then he was gone, and she was alone with an empty space in both her store and her heart.