I cruise on, reaching the dirt driveway of the waterfront property. It’s beautiful, like our large lot next door, but there’s something different here. Maybe it’s the arrangement of the trees as they scatter across the grounds without blocking the view from the house. Or the lack of flowers around. We all love flowers. There’s only a small patch of grass, enough to play around on but not enough to mow. A weed eater does a fine job of keeping it trimmed.
The blue siding and creamy trim complement the rustic backdrop. The wooden front deck my sisters and I built two winters ago extends far enough to accommodate lounge chairs for watching the sun set over the water. Dinner wouldbe divine under the awning of the trees. And when the breeze blows just right, seeing the stars beyond them is a dream. Excitement still bubbles up every time I pull into the driveway. “Heaven.”
My smile comes easy, along with my breath, when I’m here. This is my own little piece of paradise, entrusted to me to take care of and protect.
It’s not a secret that I want this property as my own, but Mrs. Dover isn’t quite ready to make a deal for it yet. I just hope we can reach an agreement before the vultures snap up this land in their venture capitalist greed.
The ache returns when thinking about the threat invading our coastline. I run my tightened grip around the steering wheel, starting to feel desperate to make sure nothing happens to it before I have my chance to save it. I glance at the time on my dashboard like it’s an oven timer about to go off.
Take a breath.
Do your job.
Greet the guests.
A spot of sun beams off a black convertible—parked next to the house with the top down—striking my eyes. I squint, realizing the guests are early. I peek over at the car once more, the custom black-and-white license plate catching my attention this time.HATTRICK.That’s peculiar.
My gaze veers to the sign in front of the car.No Parking.It’s one I hung up several summers ago for the safety of the wood-sided house.Why’d he have to park there?I sigh under the weight of the forthcoming confrontation, but the rules are not meant to be broken.
I cut the engine after parking in one of the allotted, clearly marked spaces in the yard, away from the house. I gather my gumption and slip into my manager lady pants,ready to not only greet the guests but also tackle this issue head-on.
I grab the basket from the trunk and start toward the house. Small sticks crunch under my freshly washed white sneakers. But when my feet stop unwillingly, I just about topple over my toes when I lay eyes on him the first time.
Oh my, my.“Wow.”
Tan skin like the sun kissed it itself. Sexy, muscular arms with tantalizing prominent veins in thick forearms that branch across the tops of his hands. Those are the kind of hands that only come with people who use them in their daily work.
I didn’t realize I found such details a turn-on until now.
Slick hair wet from the water tempts me to finger through it to loosen the strands . . .wait, what?I blink several times to snap myself out of whatever daze I’ve fallen under and hold my chin up to shake off the ridiculous places my mind wants to take me with him.
He looks back, sunglasses covering his eyes, while nothing hides the rest of his body other than the swimsuit. A touch of hair on his chest leads my eyes lower to the foray of abs on display.Good Lord.
Moving his sunglasses to his head, he sits up from the lounger and sets his feet on the wood decking. Tilting his head and eyeing me, he maintains his neutral expression, maybe a bit curious, from this distance. And from the straight line of his lips, you’d think I was the one intruding. Maybe I am, like a Peeping Tom.Oh God.Embarrassment zips up my spine at the thought, heating my cheeks and making them pinken. But before I can fan myself back to reality or even turn away, he stands, and the basket slips from my hands.
Swim trunks hanging so low around his hips that an old tan line is revealed.
Water trails over biceps built over time, not overnight.
Four. Six. Eight abs so hard and defined that the word perfection isn’t accurate enough to describe them.
The water god comes toward me just as I drop my bare knees into the dirt, needing any excuse not to stare—and this basket is a darn good one. I’m not even sure he’s real, much less human. Where would someone like him have come from?
My hand stills on a jar of my sister’s honey when it dawns on me.New York City.
Bending down in front of me, he hands me the baggie of Dolly’s homemade scones that escaped during the incident. When I dare to peek at him, I’m met with brown eyes that hold both tetchiness and compassion so equally, I’m not sure how to react.So I don’t.I just stare instead, gobsmacked that a man who looks like this exists in real life, much less on my big deck. I’m fairly certain my mouth is hanging wide open, but that’s not confirmed until he lifts my jaw off the ground and smirks.
“You must be Summer.”
Oh my, my indeed.
CHAPTER 2
SUMMER
“Yes.” My response comes out breathier than it should, like I’ve run around the block. Definitely not because he just stole it. I clear my throat. “Summer Season.”
“Summer Season?” His pinched glare knocks me back into reality like I’m a freshman who made the social hierarchical mistake of running smack dab into the senior star quarterback. The memory rushes fresh through my veins, and I’m back in high school all over again. Embarrassment fills my chest at the new tenant and his main-character energy taking center stage on this property. Attractive. Deep voice. Brown eyes that seem to hide more secrets than they reveal. The hardened line between his eyes doesn’t disappear. “Unique.”
