“Thanks.” I manage to summon a smile. “I’ll be in touch.”
We end the call and my mother begins an interrogation, wanting to know exactly who had called and what they wanted. When Kevin chimes in, I pull a face. Perhaps being on the other side of the country is what I need.
Lucia
I breathe in the salty air and gaze at the ocean as it laps the sand a few yards from where I’m sitting. Sydney and Gabe’s cottage in Provincetown backs onto the beach, with an elevated wooden deck from which I’ve enjoyed many sunsets over the past two weeks. I met Sydney through my sister-in-law, Tempe, and when Sydney said I could use their cottage while I finish the book I’ve been trying to write for months, I leaped at the chance. This romance novel is the story of my heart. My chance to breakfree of a cycle of freelance magazine articles to enter the world of novel publishing. If only I could finish it. But I tore my hero and heroine apart so well that I haven’t been able to figure out how to put them back together, and the harder I rack my brain for a solution, the more I fear the entire story is flawed.
I’ve tried writing at home, at the library, in coffee shops, and practically anywhere I can take my laptop, but it hasn’t worked. I was hoping that here, thousands of miles from home, with nothing to distract me, I’d finally be able to write The End. Unfortunately, I haven’t had any epiphanies yet. It’s been more of the same: staring at my screen, typing a few words, then deleting them. Once or twice I thought I was onto something, but as soon as I tried to grab the story thread and follow it, everything unraveled.
I close my eyes and listen to the sound of the water. Somewhere up the beach, children laugh. I exhale slowly. I still have time. But I’m beginning to lose faith in myself.
Bang!
I shoot to my feet and whirl around to face the glass sliding doors that lead into the house. The sound came frominside, I’m sure of it.
But I’m the only one here.
Heart in my throat, I debate whether to investigate or call the police, but that seems like overkill. I’m a strong, capable woman.
There’s another clatter, and I flinch. That one definitely came from inside. I look around for something I can use as a weapon and spot a kayak paddle leaning against the rail. I brandish it like a baseball bat as I make my way in, ducking through the entrance so the paddle doesn’t hit the doorframe. I tiptoe through the living room and pause at the entrance to the hallway, just out of sight. I position myself to one side of the doorway and raise the paddle, straining to hear anything. There are soft footfalls down the hall. The floor is wooden, so it’seasy to follow the intruder’s progress. They pause midway along the hall, then resume. They’re nearly at the living room. The footsteps draw closer and I hold my breath, tense my muscles, ready to strike if needed.
A man appears in the doorway, and I shriek and start to swing the paddle, but then I catch sight of his face. Recognition sets in. But I’m already in motion. I stumble backward to avoid hitting him and trip over the edge of a mat, falling on my ass. The paddle lands on my lap and I give an “oof.”
“What the fuck?” Tony stares at me with astonishment, his eyes wide with shock. It takes a moment for him to realize who I am. “Lucia?” He glances from me to the paddle. “I hope you weren’t planning to attack me with that.”
A laugh escapes. “I thought you were a burglar.”
His brows draw together. “You thought I was a burglar, and you planned to confront me?”
Put like that, it doesn’t sound like the smartest idea.
“Uh, yeah.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. His dark brown hair hangs loose around his face and shoulders. Long hair makes some men seem softer, but not Tony. With his chiseled features and muscular body, all it does is make him seem more like a gladiator… or a pirate.
Hmm, I could write a romance novel about a pirate. That would be fun. I immediately picture Tony as a swashbuckling hero. Bad idea. I’m attracted to him on the best of days without adding that image. Not that anything could come of it. He’s a first-class playboy, and I’m the kind of girl who won’t settle for less than happily ever after. No matter how tempting a romp with Mr. Right Now might seem.
I inwardly chastise myself for even thinking of it. It’s not as though I’d have the opportunity to engage in a wild fling with Tony, even if I wanted to. He keeps his distance from me. Isuspect Mercy and Tempe are to blame for that. They’re a bit overprotective.
Tony reaches for me, but then he flinches and swaps hands, offering me his right one instead. Curious. “Here.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, eyeing the arm he withdrew.
His lips press together. “Got injured in a fight a few days ago. But it’s fine.”
“I’m so sorry.” I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. “I hope it’s nothing serious.” The fact he doesn’t answer makes me think it is. “What are you doing here?”
“Me?” he asks, sounding surprised. “Gabe gave me a key and said I could use the cottage to recover in peace and quiet. There’s not much of that at home at the moment. He didn’t mention you’d be here.”
“Oh.” I manage not to flinch. He came here wanting to be alone, and he’s been landed with me instead. “Maybe Gabe forgot.” I dust myself off and sit on the sofa, gesturing for him to join me. “Sydney is letting me use this as a writing retreat to finish a book I’m working on.”
His eyes light with interest. “You’re writing a book?”
“Yes.” My cheeks heat. I’m not about to explain exactly what type of book it is. Knowing him, he’ll tease me. Not to be cruel, but because he wouldn’t realize it’s a sensitive topic.
“That’s awesome.” He smiles, and it’s the first time he’s done so since he entered, which is strange. Tony is usually all smiles and charm. “What’s it about?”
“Uh. It’s a historical novel, set in England.” Technically, that’s correct. There’s no need for him to know it’s a regency romance about a duke and an American heiress.
