The Cottage Next Door Read online

“Don’t sound so grumpy.” Sylvie splashed her feet in the surf. “This bar’s different.”

  “You’ve said that every night.” Hunter hid his smile and slid his hands into the pockets of his baggy trunks. Her eyes sparked when she was indignant. Almost as brightly as when they had sex.

  Sylvie flashed him a smile. She looked cool and sexy all in white. “You’ve had fun. Admit it.” She leaned over, scooped a handful of water and splashed him in the face.

  Hunter shouted his surprise, then grabbed her by the waist and spun her around again. Sylvie laughed and shrieked out his name. He took a few steps into deeper water before he tossed her into the waves. She popped up, sputtering.

  Yeah, he had fun.

  “Hey!” She launched herself at him and pulled him off balance. The sensation of her wet body wrapped around him sent every rational thought flying from his brain. They plunged into the surf together.

  Riley barked and bounded into the water after them. By the time they made it back to the beach, Hunter had tired himself out from laughing.

  When he stepped onto the sand with Sylvie, he brushed her wet hair out of her face. “Tell me it’s not a karaoke bar.”

  She wrinkled her freckled nose. “No way. I can’t carry a tune to save my life.”

  Hunter could attest to that. He sighed dramatically but didn’t hide his amusement. “So where are we going tonight?”

  She grinned and dropped onto the sand. “I was thinking about that comedy bar.”

  He sat beside her and put his arm around her. He’d never get tired of touching her. “I think I’ve had about all the laughter I can stand tonight.”

  “I don’t think you can ever have enough laughter.”

  “You’re probably right. I like laughing with you, Sylvie.”

  She sighed and leaned against him, gazing out over the water. She was quiet for so long, he couldn’t resist asking, “What are you thinking about?”

  “That I like laughing with you too. And just relaxing, enjoying a slower pace with you.” Sylvie continued to stare at the waves. “I was thinking about my life with Matt. How…impatient I’d get. I’d go crazy if I was sitting around like this. It wasn’t relaxing to me then. It was like I was wasting time.” She turned to look at him, her eyes wide. “And I think I figured out why.”

  He tugged her closer. “Tell me why.”

  “I realized I’d put my life on hold while I followed him around the world. Doing what he wanted to do. And all that time, I was waiting for my life to begin.”

  He turned around to face her, their legs touching, their gazes locked. “Is that how you felt?”

  “Yeah. I wasn’t living the life I wanted. I was living his.”

  “What about now?”

  “These past few weeks, I feel like I’m finally living my life.” She laughed, the sound light and joyful. “I don’t have a job or a home, but I must be headed in the right direction because I don’t feel like I’m wasting time anymore. I’m living every minute.”

  Hunter couldn’t imagine his life now without this woman. He gathered her close, kissed her gently. “That’s great, sweetheart.”

  There was just enough light left to see the smile on her face as she looked up at him. “Let’s skip the bar tonight.”

  “Are you sure?” Hunter wanted nothing more than to get her in his bed, but if she wanted to laugh at some lame comedian, he’d be there. Then he’d have her on his soft mattress.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” Her smile slipped a little before she rested her head on his shoulder. “The day went by so fast.”

  So she was thinking of time ticking away too. He brushed her cheek with his. “I want you in my bed,” he growled low in her ear.

  “Yes,” she whispered back.

  Riley followed them into the cottage, then curled up in his spot under the table. Hunter took Sylvie’s hand and drew her into the bedroom and closed the door. He stripped her slowly, taking his time, stroking her skin, kissing his way down her body as each piece of clothing dropped to the floor.

  “I almost wish you were wearing more stuff so I could take it off you,” he murmured.

  Sylvie laughed, but it was a shivery sound, a mixture of pleasure and arousal that he loved. “That doesn’t make any sense at all,” she said.

  “It doesn’t have to.” He laid her back on the bed, then quickly got rid of his clothes and joined her on the mattress. “As long as it makes sense to me.”

  She stared at him for so long, so intensely, he wondered what she was thinking. He was about to ask when she reached out and ruffled his hair with her fingers. Gently at first, then she gave a tug that brought him down to her.

  “I never get tired of kissing you,” she whispered before she captured his lips with hers.

  Now that made perfect sense. And when he covered himself with a condom and slid into her welcoming body, everything seemed right. Seemed to make more sense than anything ever had before in his life.

  They made love slowly, their arms wrapped around each other, their bodies moving in that erotic rhythm. And when they were fully sated, he gathered her close and held her in his arms. He didn’t want to let her go.

  “Stay,” he whispered. Her head was on his shoulder, her naked body curled around his. He kissed the top of her head. “Stay the night with me.”

  Her smile lit up her face. “Okay.” She closed her eyes, snuggled closer to him, and was asleep in a matter of moments.

  He loved the feel of her in his arms with her body warm against his, her scent wrapped around him. He couldn’t imagine why they’d spent so many nights apart. Did he really want to waste the rest of his life, living without her?

  His body was suddenly restless, his mind full. Thoughts of Sylvie whirled through his head. Then memories of Jenny pushed through. Images of the beach and the city flashed through his mind like a neon slideshow. Then he suddenly started thinking about the upcoming scene in the manuscript he’d started, another dark alley with no way to know what was at the other end.

  He wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon, worrying about wasted time and how the hell to live the life he wanted to live, so he eased out from Sylvie’s warm embrace and slipped out of bed.

  Hunter paced the floor, the past and the future pushing at him from both sides. The book pulling at him in yet another direction. Before he realized what he was doing, he grabbed his cell and called Fletcher.

  Chapter Seven

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” Fletch growled.

  “Not much, but I thought you’d like to know I started book six.”

  That had to be stunned silence on the other end of the line. “That is news,” Fletch said eventually. His voice softened. “I’m glad to hear it, my friend.”

  Hunter knew his happiness wasn’t only for the revenue another Angus Quinn mystery would bring Fletcher and the publisher. Fletch had been a good friend, supported him through all the good and bad stuff that had happened in his life. “Yeah, it feels good.”

  “And how’s Sylvie?”

  He could glimpse her through the doorway across the room. He smiled. “Good. She’s great, actually.”

  “And do we have her to thank for your return to writing?”

  “Yeah. I have her to thank for a lot of things.” His gaze caressed her, and his chest seemed to swell with unexpected feelings. With…love?

  His stomach twisted, driving out the unexpected joy. He turned away from his view of the bedroom. Just because he was grateful to her didn’t mean he’d fallen in love with her.

  “And did you call me to tell me about the new book or did you want to talk about something else?” Fletcher asked.

  “No,” he replied. “I wanted to tell you about the book. You wanted to know, didn’t you?”

  “Of course. I’m thrilled. You know that.” He paused. “What about you and Sylvie?�
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  “What about us?”

  “You still like her? You’re still…together?”

  “Yeah.” It slipped out before he could stop it, all sorts of crazy emotion clear in that one little word.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know,” he lashed out. This fling with Sylvie wasn’t supposed to mean a thing. “It’s only been a few weeks. I can’t change my whole life because of a few weeks.” But he’d already been considering it, hadn’t he?

  “How long after I met Audrey did I tell you I was going to marry her?”

  Hunter cleared his throat. “Twenty-four hours.”

  “So time means nothing when you meet the right person.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Do you want to extend your stay? Spend more time with her?”

  “No. I think I’ve had enough of the beach.” He picked up the picture of Jenny from their honeymoon. All the love he’d felt for his wife poured out of him and trickled down his cheeks. “I keep picturing Jenny here after our wedding. So pretty. So happy.” So blissfully unaware of the shit life would throw at them. “We were so full of hope for the future and look what happened.”

  He and Jenny used to talk about the children they thought they’d have. What color hair they’d have. What color eyes. The names they liked for girls and boys. How could he be considering having a future with someone else? A family with someone else?

  “No one expects you to forget Jenny. Of course, you won’t. But you can’t hold on to her memory so tightly that you never let anyone else in,” Fletcher said softly. “You have to let Jenny go in order to be happy with someone else.”

  Hunter stared at the picture of Jenny, ran his finger over her smiling face. “I thought I had, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “Loving someone else doesn’t mean you loved Jenny any less.”

  He couldn’t breathe. “Love? Who’s talking about love?”

  “My mistake,” Fletcher said wryly. “But just in case that emotion in your voice is the real thing, I’m going to remind you that if you can’t let yourself love again, then you have to let Sylvie go. It’s not fair to her. You know that.”

  “I know.” Yeah, this was why he’d called Fletch. He’d needed a reality check. “Good night. I’ll call you when I get back to New York.”

  Hunter headed for the fridge and pulled out a beer. Riley got up and rubbed against his leg. Hunter took a long swallow and walked back to the bedroom. He leaned against the doorjamb and watched Sylvie sleep. The moonlight illuminated her curled up in the middle of the mattress, her short hair tousled, her face relaxed and peaceful. His chest filled again with possibilities he should have never considered.

  What did the future have in store for them? What if something happened to her? She was driving by herself all the way to South Carolina. Or maybe farther. He didn’t want to know where she was going. Whether she made it there or not. What she was going to do with the rest of her life.

  Fletcher was right. Hunter was no good to Sylvie the way he was now.

  He’d never be able to handle it if something happened to Sylvie. Not after all he went through with Jenny. He didn’t want to care for anyone that much again. That was why he kept his distance. Why he didn’t want to get involved.

  Hunter sat down on the edge of the mattress and brushed the tip of one finger lightly over her cheek. As screwed up as he was, she was better off without him. She needed to find someone who could give her everything without holding anything back. Hunter would never be able to love her unconditionally. His heart belonged to Jenny, and that was never going to change.

  It was safer to focus all his love on Jenny. The worst had already happened to her. He’d finally crawled out of the hole he’d sunk into after she died. He could manage to get by now. Shut himself up in his office and write his books. He didn’t need anything more from life than that.

  And Sylvie didn’t need a man like him.

  She stretched her arms over her head but her eyes didn’t open. She murmured his name, then rolled over and continued to sleep. He wanted to crawl back into bed and press up against her. Lose himself in her scent. In her welcoming body.

  He needed to back away. Now.

  He rose, took out the notebook he’d shoved in the drawer of the nightstand and closed the door behind him. He put coffee on to brew, settled at the kitchen table with pen and paper, and lost himself in the words.

  Sylvie woke up alone in Hunter’s bed. The sun sent a golden glow through the blinds. She was disappointed she didn’t wake up in his arms, but that was what she got for sleeping in. She jumped out of bed and hurried into the bathroom. She found a new toothbrush on the shelf above the sink and smiled as she used it.

  They had so few days left. Nerves tumbled in her stomach as she wondered if she should admit her feelings to Hunter. The time they’d shared together hadn’t felt like a casual fling. Not to her. They’d talked about their pasts. Shared stories and got to know each other better. Danced cheek to cheek. Laughed and loved.

  She had to start making some definite plans. The cottage was hers through the weekend. She needed to know what direction to point her car when she left on Monday morning. If she didn’t talk to Hunter about the future, she wouldn’t know.

  Instead of her wrinkled top, she pulled a soft white shirt out of Hunter’s closet and put it on over her shorts. After running her fingers through her hair, she went out to find him.

  She didn’t have to go far. She found him hunched over the kitchen table, writing. Thank goodness, he was able to write again.

  “Morning.” She kissed the top of his head and then brushed by him to pour herself a cup of coffee. He didn’t acknowledge her, just kept scribbling in the notebook. His cup was empty, so she refilled it and set it back down beside him. “Good morning,” she repeated.

  He grunted and kept writing.

  Riley ran over to the door and whined.

  “Has Riley been out this morning?” Hunter didn’t look up from the notebook. She’d had enough of being ignored. She shoved his shoulder. “Hey.”

  He sat back and glared at her. “What?”

  A shiver ran through her. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think the Hunter she met when she first got here had returned. “Has Riley been out?”

  Hunter scrubbed a hand over his face. “Oh. No. Not yet.” He looked back down at the notebook and scratched out a line of writing.

  She sighed. “I’ll take him out.” She set down her coffee cup. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  Hunter was right where she left him when she returned, but he was flexing the fingers on his writing hand. She sat down beside him and grabbed her coffee. “Hungry?”

  His jaw clenched. He didn’t look up from the notebook.

  “Hunter? Can you give me a minute here?”

  He blinked, looked up. “Oh. Sorry.” He threw down the pen and pushed the notebook away, then looked over and realized his cup had been refilled. He smiled but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Good morning.”

  There was that chill again. “Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong? No. Everything’s great. The story is moving right along. The words are flowing like mad.” He frowned and pulled the notebook back in front of him. “I’m not used to writing so much by hand though. I can’t wait to get home and back to my computer.”

  Her stomach twisted. He couldn’t wait to go home, and she’d been dreading leaving. Maybe he was just caught up in the thrill of writing again. “Are you hungry now? I can start breakfast—”

  He shook his head. “Thanks, but I ate already. I want to get this scene nailed down this morning.”

  “Okay. Did you want to hit the ferry after lunch then?”

  They’d planned the ferry ride yesterday. He’d been the one to suggest it in the first place but
now he looked at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Hunter? What’s wrong?”

  “I told you nothing’s wrong,” he snapped. “I’m writing. You’re the one who wanted me to write again. This is what I do when I’m writing a book. I write.” There was that glare that she remembered from a month ago. The one that said to leave him alone. The one that right now told her to go home.

  “Okay. I get it. You’re in love with writing again.” Like she was in love with him. But he didn’t want to hear that now. Maybe he’d never be ready to hear it. “That’s great. But it’s no reason to push me away. What’s going on?”

  “Fuck.” He surged to his feet, knocking his chair over backwards. “I don’t have time for this.”

  She leaned back in her chair, her heart thumping, but he wasn’t going to intimidate her into shutting up. “You have no right to ignore me, Hunter.”

  “Did you know that’s what Jenny and I were arguing about when a truck ran a stop sign and plowed into the passenger side of our car? She was nagging me again about not paying attention to her, and I told her she didn’t seem to mind spending all the money my writing brought home. She kept whining, and I was so pissed I pounded the steering wheel with my fists.”

  His dark expression was a mixture of anger and pain. Sylvie bit her lip and waited for him to go on.

  “I was distracted and never saw the truck coming. And I didn’t have control of the wheel when it happened.”

  “That’s so terrible, Hunter, but it doesn’t sound like there’s anything you could have done.”

  “I could have swerved. I could have gotten out of the way in time.”

  Sylvie reached out but he turned away. Picked up the chair he’d knocked over. He obviously didn’t want any comfort from her. He’d probably never accept it from anyone. “The truck ran a stop sign. It wasn’t your fault.”

  He sat back down, his face like granite. “Doesn’t make it any easier to know my wife was killed and I got away with a few scratches.”

  Sylvie placed her hand on top of his. “I know.”

  He slid his hand out from under hers. “Look. I hate to be rude, but I have work to do here.” He pulled the notebook in front of him again. “Do you mind?”