The Cottage Next Door Page 2

  He kept his eyes on his plate after that. They ate in silence for a while, just the way he liked it.

  “I’ve read all your books,” she said a moment later.

  He grunted and took another bite.

  “Really. I love Angus Quinn. The way you describe him, I think of a big teddy-bear detective, gruff on the outside but soft inside. His dry sense of humor gets me every time.” Her slender fingers traced a line in the condensation on the beer can. “And I’ve enjoyed seeing how the relationship between Quinn and Olivia has grown over the course of the books.”

  He couldn’t avoid looking at her any longer. He frowned. “Most people read them for the mysteries. To solve the crimes?”

  Her brown eyes sparkled. “Oh, yeah, I like that too, but I read them more for the characters you’ve created.”

  He laughed, a short bark, and took another bite of steak. He prided himself on creating well-rounded characters, but few people commented on them before talking about the mysteries he’d devised. He was surprised to catch her slipping Riley a bit of meat beneath the table and couldn’t help but like her a little bit for that too.

  “How do you know Fletch?” The words surprised Hunter when they popped out of his mouth.

  She shrugged, and damned if one of the thin straps didn’t slip off her shoulder. She hiked it back up with the crook of a finger. “He’s been a friend for a long time and he was my husband’s agent too. Fletch said you might have met him once. My husband.”

  She was married? That should have been a relief and not a disappointment. Now that Hunter looked close, he could see there was a faint tan line on her ring finger. Maybe they were divorced. But she hadn’t said ex-husband.

  It didn’t matter. Still, the question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Who’s your husband?”

  “Matt C. Chase.”

  The story came back to him then. A tragedy. He remembered Fletch introducing them. A travel writer. Extreme sports or something. A wiry guy with lots of energy. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Shit. This was why he never asked personal questions. He cleared his throat. “I remember hearing something about a fall? He died a couple of years ago, right?” Shortly after Jenny, so he didn’t remember the details very well.

  A shadow passed over her face. “No. Actually he died almost six months ago. But yes, the fall is what killed him.”

  That sounded like a story Hunter didn’t want to get into. He might have already been here drinking beer on the beach by then. “My wife died a couple of years ago.” Now why the hell did he say that?

  “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.” When Hunter didn’t offer any more information, he couldn’t blame her for asking, “Had she been ill?” It served him right for bringing it up to begin with.

  “Car accident.” He looked out over the ocean—for what, he didn’t know. “She was killed instantly.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Sylvie placed her warm hand on his. He swung his gaze back around to meet hers. Her eyes glittered with an understanding sadness. “I know how horrifying that must have been.”

  People had been saying that for months, but Hunter realized that Sylvie was one person who actually would know the misery of losing a loved one in a senseless twist of fate. Of course, she wasn’t responsible for her husband’s mountain-climbing accident, so what the hell did she know?

  “People tell me I should be over it by now,” he said, “but sometimes it feels like yesterday.”

  Sylvie nodded, then must have realized she was still touching him because she pulled her hand away and placed it in her lap. “I don’t think we ever get over it. We just learn to live with it.”

  Yeah, well, that hadn’t worked for Hunter so far.

  Her gaze bounced around, the sky, the sand, the surf, anywhere but on him. “It’s a beautiful night though. How’s your steak?”

  He took another bite. “Delicious.”

  She smiled. “Good. I like to cook. Grill. Bake. All of that. I never got much of a chance when we were traveling and now, well, I don’t usually get to do it for anyone but myself.”

  “I don’t like to cook for myself,” he mumbled. How could she make a bunch of greens in a bowl taste so good? “Waste of time,” he added.

  She lifted her brow and grinned. “Really?”

  He shouldn’t notice her mouth again, soft lips and a dimple in one corner. The table was small. It wouldn’t take much for him to lean over and taste her. Although he recognized the urge, Hunter knew he never would, no matter how much he wanted to.

  Her gaze dipped to his mouth. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

  A sly voice, like a fucking devil on his shoulder, reminded himself that a kiss didn’t mean anything. One night in the sack wasn’t going to hurt anyone either.

  Just considering a kiss felt like a betrayal, though. As if he would be forgetting all about the woman he’d loved since high school. And screwing his neighbor? How could the thought have even crossed his mind?

  What the hell was he doing here?

  Hunter lunged to his feet, tripping over the stupid picnic table bench. Riley jumped to attention. Hunter grabbed on to the edge of the table to catch his balance and pulled the tablecloth in the process, almost spilling everything onto the floor. “Sorry.” He downed the rest of his beer and tossed the can over onto his deck. “Thanks for the steak.”

  “Is something wrong? Hunter?”

  He didn’t look at her, but he heard the frown in her voice. There might have been hurt in there too. “Sorry. Gotta go.” He told Riley to come, and lumbered down the stairs as fast as he could without looking like he was running away.

  Chapter Two

  Sylvie sat and watched until the man and his dog had disappeared down the beach. She didn’t know why she was hurt he took off. They were strangers. It shouldn’t matter if he couldn’t handle the attraction between them.

  At least she thought the sizzle in the air must have been what sent Hunter running for his life. The steak wasn’t that bad.

  She understood he was hurting. She was too. She still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that she was never going to see Matt again. The agonizing year in the long-term care facility while she watched her husband get weaker, sicker, about tore her apart. But at least she could still see him. Talk to him. Be with him.

  Not anymore.

  Sylvie blinked the tears away. Matt had hated being an invalid. He would rather have been killed outright, like Hunter’s wife had been. Instead, the man who had lived for the next way to challenge his body and then write about it, had lingered, requiring others to take care of his every need.

  She hadn’t blamed Matt’s anger at his situation. He’d been bitter. Sarcastic. Some days he’d ignored her completely. But she’d never doubted his love even as his words had often cut her deep.

  Enough of that. She’d felt sorry for herself long enough. She cleared the table, washed the dishes and put everything away. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Hunter. Taciturn. Sexy as hell, with a passion simmering beneath the surface. A man still grieving for his wife. And here she was in the cottage next door, grieving for her husband. Suddenly the coincidence didn’t seem like mere happenstance.

  She called Fletcher. “You meddling old man.”

  “Hey, I’m not old.”

  She smiled despite her annoyance and dropped down onto the worn sofa. “But you admit to meddling?”

  “Why would you say a thing like that, sweetheart?”

  “I happen to know you own half a dozen beach cottages. What made you offer me this particular one?”

  “It was the only one available?”

  She didn’t believe that for a second. “Try again.”

  He sighed. “I love you guys, and I thought you might get along.”

  “Get along? He’s not interested in getting along with anyone.”

/>   “He’s been having a rough time.”

  “I know. His wife was killed in an accident. Coincidence, Fletch?”

  “He told you that much? Good for you, Sylvie.”

  She heard the smile in Fletcher’s voice, but she didn’t like being manipulated. “You’re a bastard. You know that?”

  “Hunter loved Jenny since high school. He’s still trying to figure out how to live without her.”

  “I don’t think he’s reached the acceptance stage yet.”

  Fletcher was silent for a moment. “Have you?”

  Anger flared. “We’re not some pet project of yours.”

  “I’m not going to apologize. I know you, sweetheart. If anyone can get through to Hunter, it’s you.”

  “He’s not my pet project, either. I have enough problems of my own. I wish you hadn’t put me in this position, Fletch.”

  “Ignore him, then. I’m sure that’s what he wants you to do.”

  Fletcher knew she’d never be able to ignore Hunter. But had he suspected how attracted she would be to him? Could he have guessed that the dangerous edge she recognized in Hunter was so different from Matt’s and yet… In that moment Sylvie realized she was drawn to men who had that hint of danger. With Matt it had been the lifestyle, the travel, the sports. With Hunter it was something much more intimate, more personal.

  “You still there, sweetheart?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I’m going to ignore him. He’s rude and miserable. I don’t need any more of that in my life.”

  “Whatever you say. Enjoy the sun and surf. Sit around and do nothing. You deserve it.” Fletcher hung up before Sylvie could admit that after taking care of Matt, both before and after the accident, she didn’t know how to sit around and do nothing. And if she did much more of it she was going to go crazy.

  It was harder to ignore Sylvie the next day. Even when Hunter stretched out in his deck chair and closed his eyes, he heard her moving around, humming off-key to music only she could hear. Her scent drifted over to invade his space, somehow blending with the sea air to make his body restless.

  When he heard her go down the steps to the beach, Riley jumped up and ran down to her. Traitorous dog. Hunter peeked open his eyes and saw her standing on the sand in a bright-red bikini that made his toes curl.

  She laughed when Riley bounded up to her. She crouched down to pet him and told him what a handsome boy he was. Hunter shivered with the thought of her hands running over him like that.

  “Riley!” he shouted. “Come back here!”

  “He’s okay.” She kept petting him, and Riley wagged his tail for all he was worth.

  “I don’t want him bothering you.”

  She glanced up at Hunter. “He’s no bother. Are you, boy?” She turned back to Riley, who’d thrown himself at her feet and offered his belly for her to rub. Hunter’s stomach clenched as her hand stroked the dog.

  “You don’t want to lie around all day doing nothing, do you?” she continued. She looked back up to Hunter with a small smile.

  He lifted his brow to acknowledge the comment, then closed his eyes, shutting her out. But it did no good. He continued to see her trim body in that tiny bikini. The bright smile she gave Riley. Her laughter rang in his ears and fed the itch running through his body. And the urge to leave the deck and join them in the sand.

  But he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

  Sleep, as usual, refused to come that night. Some nights, Sylvie tossed and turned until she finally drifted off in the wee hours of the morning. Some nights, she fell asleep quickly and then something, some noise or dream or nightmare, would wake her up in the middle of the night with her heart pounding a mile a minute, and she’d haunt her lonely room until the sun came up and she could stop pretending she was going to fall back to sleep.

  It was one of those tossing-and-turning nights. Too many thoughts whirled through her head. Too many images of Matt—the mischievous glint in his eyes, his infectious grin, his body broken on the ground.

  Then they made way to images of Hunter—the hunger in his expression, the wry tilt of his lips, his trim body mere inches away from hers before he turned and ran away.

  Tired of lying there, Sylvie climbed out of the bed and slipped into the darkness. She sank into the deck chair and looked out over the ocean. Clouds crowded the night sky, so there were no stars or moon to illuminate the beach. She could hear the surf rolling onto the shore, smell the ocean air. That was enough to relax her more than she’d been all night. She stretched her bare legs in front of her.

  The warm, damp air settled sensuously over her skin. She ran a hand lightly over her arm, pretending it was Hunter’s hand on her. He wouldn’t use light strokes if he touched her. He’d grab her with the same kind of passion she’d seen in his eyes that very first day. He wouldn’t touch her as if he was afraid she was going to break.

  Sylvie bent her knees and propped her feet up on the edge of the chair. She sank deeper into the seat and let her thighs part. The ocean breeze kissed her heated flesh. What would Hunter’s hand feel like, stroking her there?

  A soft moan escaped her lips at the thought.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  Sylvie started. Hunter’s disembodied voice sounded loud in the darkness. She couldn’t see a thing on the deck next door, but had to assume he was sitting in his usual deck chair. Had he heard her moan?

  Her heartbeat slowed back down to normal. “No.” She held her breath, waiting for him to swear and stomp into the cottage for intruding on his want-to-be-alone time. Or make a sarcastic comment about what she’d been doing when she thought no one was there.

  “This is my favorite time at the beach,” he said, surprising her with his deep, pleasant tone.

  “Because you can’t see the hundreds of people around you?”

  His soft chuckle surprised her even more. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Partly. But there’s something about the ocean at night. Do you hear it? Right now, this isn’t the fun-loving shore where kids splash and make sandcastles. It’s more primitive.” He was silent for a moment, and Sylvie got caught up in the roar of the waves as they crashed onto the beach. The sound pulled at her, called to her.

  “Think of the hundreds of thousands of years the ocean has been pounding the sand,” he went on. “Eating away at the land, reclaiming it. Taking it back into the bowels of the deep.”

  Her body heated more, even with the cooling breeze. His voice rolled over her, as powerful as the tug of the waves. She’d known there had to be more to him than that angry, bitter man she’d seen so far.

  “Ashes to ashes? Dust to dust? Ocean to ocean?” she asked softly.

  The waves pummeled the shore for several long moments before he replied, “Something like that.”

  The words she’d been thinking slipped out easier in the darkness. “I’m sure she would want you to be happy.”

  “What do you know?” he snapped, but Sylvie thought his voice contained more hurt than anger.

  “I know what it’s like to roll over in the middle of the night and still be surprised to find the other side of the bed empty.”

  “It’s like a kick in the gut every fucking time.”

  “Yeah.” She wrapped her arms around her knees. “I still save up things I want to tell him about my day…”

  “And then remember she’s not there to share those things with anymore.”

  “I have to look at pictures to remember what he looked like when he was healthy and fit and eager for the next adventure.”

  “I can’t remember what she smelled like anymore.” Hunter’s voice cracked. “She had this soft scent like powder and flowers and I don’t know what, but I used to be able to smell it everywhere in our apartment. It’s gone now too.”

  She nodded even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “I used to sleep with one of Matt’s shirts an
d I cried all day when I realized his scent was gone.” Sylvie was pleased she could say that without getting tears in her eyes. Maybe she’d finally reached acceptance.

  An almost comfortable silence settled between them. Sylvie rested her head back and closed her eyes. “How long were you married?” she asked.

  “Six years. But we’d known each other since high school.”

  “Children?”

  “No. We weren’t in any hurry, you know? We thought we had plenty of time.”

  “We were waiting until Matt stopped traveling. Not that that would have ever happened.” But she’d hoped.

  “Did you travel with him?”

  “Oh yeah. I made all the arrangements. Took care of everything so he could do his thing. Waited on the ground while he risked his life over and over again.” Sylvie had never let her bitterness show before. Maybe it was the darkness that let her say the words out loud. Maybe it was the passing-strangers element that allowed the words to slip out. “I hated traveling. I wanted to settle down and have a family. I just wanted a home.”

  “With a big kitchen so you could cook all you wanted?”

  She was surprised Hunter had paid attention to anything she’d said at dinner the other night. “Exactly. I guess that’s why I’m here.”

  “You’re going to buy a house here?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. But somewhere. I grew up in South Carolina. Maybe I’ll go back there.” What she’d do when she got there, she didn’t have a clue. “I’ve got a few more weeks to make up my mind.”

  “A few weeks? I’ve been here for five months and I haven’t made any decisions about what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”

  “All that beer might have something to do with it.”

  “Screw you.” Hunter’s underlying passion was there, loud and clear, along with a hint of amusement.

  She swallowed. “Yeah, I think you might have lost a few too many brain cells. You no longer have the ability to make decisions and civilized conversation.”