Paige realized she’d made a terrible mistake the moment she stepped off the ferry. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention the way they always did when she was making the wrong move, but that wasn’t even the most obvious sign that disaster loomed ahead of her. No, it was the enormous dark clouds that had suddenly shrouded the whole marina like a blanket of doom and gloom.
She should have hightailed it back to the mainland right then and there, but the room at the inn was prepaid and she’d flown all the way to North Carolina. Last thing she wanted was more time in an airport. Besides, snuggling up on a rocking chair, watching the storm move across the ocean while wrapped in a blanket and sipping herbal tea—or even better, a glass of chardonnay—might be just as nice as walking the beach. But first, she needed to get to the inn.
She pulled out her smartphone and opened the Uber app. Nothing. Not a single car anywhere on the digital grid.
What the…
She glanced around for a taxi stand. Again, nothing.
“Excuse me,” she called out to a man loading the last of his fishing gear into a wagon-like device he had hitched to his bicycle. “Can you tell me where I can grab a cab?”
The man looked around and chuckled. “Raleigh maybe?”
Paige frowned, and the man’s laugh grew deeper. “Just come in on the ferry?” he asked as he sauntered closer. He had a kind face, weathered from lack of sunscreen but in a way that made his eyes crinkle when he smiled.
She nodded toward the suitcase at her feet. “Pretty obvious, huh?”
“Not too many tourists this time of year.” He took off his red cap and wiped his brow with the back of his hand before shoving the hat squarely back on his head. “But the ones we do get usually know there’s no cars on the island.”
Paige’s mouth dropped open. “No cars?” Guess that’s what she got for choosing traffic as the thing that annoyed her the most.
“Nope. That’s the charm of Aurelia.” His deep voice switched into a singsong. “Trade the hustle and bustle for the charm of a simpler time.” No doubt he’d just recounted some sort of Department of Tourism slogan. Too bad Paige was only just now hearing it for the first time.
“In season, the bike rental shop is open,” he continued. “They usually have a stand set up to greet the ferry. But in February…”
Good to know. Even her unspoken words were dripping with sarcasm because none of that information did anything to help her immediate predicament.
“Where ya headed?” the man asked.
“Copper Lantern Inn.”
His brows shot up so high they were practically under his cap.
Paige was about to ask him about his reaction when he caught her off guard with an offer she wanted to refuse but couldn’t.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Load that bag of yours on top of my gear, and I’ll drop you by on my way home.”
For a moment, she thought he planned to pedal her to the inn on his handlebars like they were a couple of ten-year-olds, but then he wheeled the bike toward her, revealing a sidecar. On a bike. This day really couldn’t get any worse, she thought as she used a bungee cord to strap her Louis Vuitton bag on top of a rusty tackle box.
But when she reached the inn, she knew her assessment had been premature. She also knew why her chauffeur had reacted the way he did when she told him where she was staying. To put it bluntly, the place was a dump.
From a distance, the outside of the inn looked pretty much the same as it had on the website. Aside from the fact that the bright-yellow shingles now looked a bit faded and two shutters hung slightly askew, it was still the epitome of beachfront charm. But as she drew closer, she noted that the manicured lawn was comprised of more weeds than grass and the white picket fence was now a shade of dingy beige, thanks to being weathered to nearly bare wood.
Paige took a deep breath. She wasn’t planning to be out front much anyway. As long as the back porch still had rocking chairs and a view of the ocean, she’d be just fine.
Famous last words.
Determined, she made her way up the porch steps, careful to avoid a nearly rotted tread. But when she reached the front door, she hesitated. Do you knock at a bed-and-breakfast? Granted, it was a type of hotel, but it was also someone’s home. What was the protocol?
“Go on in,” her chauffeur called out as if reading her mind. “Lucas is probably out back.”
She walked through the leaded-glass door and came to an abrupt halt. The website had used words like quaint, charming, and picturesque, but the adjectives ricocheting around Paige’s head as she took in the sight of the front room were more along the lines of cluttered, disgusting, and unsightly.
Clothes were strewn about on every piece of upholstered furniture, while dirty plates and cups sat piled on the flat surfaces. And dear Lord, was that peanut butter on the banister? Her eyes were drawn to the back of the house, where a wall of French doors revealed the seagrass swells that led to the white-capped waves. At least the ocean was as advertised, because the rest of the place certainly wasn’t. With the exception of being quiet, nothing was as she expected, but even that would have more appropriately been described as desolate.
“Can I help you?”
She turned around, ready to give her would-be host a piece of her mind, but at the sight of him, all thoughts of the pigpen left her because holy macaroni, the pig himself looked more like a freaking movie star than a swine. And there he stood, barely a foot in front of her, wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans and a few days’ worth of stubble. With his chiseled jaw, light-brown hair, and warm hazel eyes, he was a dead ringer for… What was that guy’s name? Damn, she should have paid more attention to Sammy’s screen savers because whoever this guy’s doppelgänger was, he’d definitely been featured as Mr. October. But unlike the hot dude on Sammy’s tablet, the man before her didn’t have eyes that sparkled when he smiled. Well, maybe they did, but it was impossible to tell, because at the moment Mr. Look-Alike was sporting a brooding frown.
“I’m looking for Mr. Croft.”
“I’m Lucas Croft.”
Paige wasn’t sure what she had been expecting an innkeeper to look like, but this guy wasn’t it. He looked more like the hot-as-hell neighborhood handyman on some sort of Desperate Housewives reboot. Sammy was right. She really needed to watch less television and spend more time with actual humans.
“Paige Parker.” She stuck out her hand. “From Chicago.” When her introduction drew no reaction, let alone an extended hand, she added, “I have a reservation.”
He yanked a T-shirt out of the back pocket of his jeans and pulled it over his head. “Guess that would explain why you just let yourself into my house,” he said as his face poked through the neck hole.
“The man on the bike said…”
“It’s fine.” He let out a sigh that was about as far from welcoming as she could imagine. “You’re paying enough to waltz in like you own the joint.”
So much for Southern hospitality. Lucas Croft was crusty with a capital C.
“Your room is at the top of the stairs, first door on the right. Don’t even think about going into any of the others. You’re the only guest, but that doesn’t mean you have the run of the whole place.”
Forget crusty, this guy was downright rude. He sounded more like a drill sergeant giving her a tour of the barracks than the owner of a bed-and-breakfast greeting a guest. And not just any guest either, but the only guest apparently. No surprise there, she thought, nearly snorting out loud. She could hardly imagine people were beating down the door to get in. Well, not people who’d taken a minute to do their due diligence anyway.
“The bathroom is first come, first served, but keep the hot-water use to under ten minutes or I’ll turn it off from down here.”
She’d barely processed his threat when he motioned for her to follow him down the short hallway to the kitchen. “Dinner is served at six. If you miss it, you’re on your own. Tonight will be pizza and salad.” He opened the fridge door and pulled out a bag of what had once been mixed field greens, but was now more of a liquid, and wrinkled his nose. “Make that just pizza.”
He launched the bag toward a trash can with a mildly impressive hook shot that would no doubt have been a three-pointer had the can not already been overflowing.
Frozen pizza served in a pigsty by a guy who made even her dirtbag ex-fiancé look like a pretty friendly guy? No thanks.
“You know, I think I’ll pass. In fact, I’m going to take a hard pass on all of this.” Her eyes darted around the room. “Nothing is the way it looked online.”
“You’re leaving?”
The hopeful lilt in his tone was impossible to miss. So was the satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Jerk. Well, he wasn’t getting the better of her. No, sir.
Paige squared her shoulders. “I am.”
Mr. Look-Alike leaned against the kitchen counter and folded his arms across his chest, which did crazy things to his already bulging biceps. Don’t stare, Paige thought. She dropped her gaze in an attempt not to ogle but only ended up with her eyes locked on another impressive bulge. Holy hell, she needed to leave before she started drooling like some horny version of Pavlov’s dog.
Her would-be host let out a condescending chuckle. “Good luck with that.” He looked so damn smug and yet so unbelievably hot. It was an infuriating combination.
“I’ll be fine.” At the moment, even a night spent in the airport sounded like an upgrade. “And, rest assured, I will be filing a complaint with the booking website.” Her tone matched the one she used with vendors when they didn’t deliver on time, but unlike them, Lucas seemed totally unfazed. His only reaction was a casual shrug.
“Suit yourself.”
Gah! She was so frustrated she nearly cried, and Paige Parker never cried. Not over sappy commercials, not when she broke her arm, and certainly not over this loser. The burning sensation she felt creeping over her cheeks was no doubt giving him a hint, but the last thing she wanted was for him to know how much he was affecting her. She had to get out of there. Fast.
Paige jerked up the handle of her bag and, with a sound meant to convey her disgust, turned toward the door. She was down the stairs and across the street before she remembered that this time she didn’t have a ride. The distance to the harbor seemed a lot longer on foot, a fact that was made worse by the ever-increasing rumbles of thunder that grew closer with every clap. But the splattering of raindrops that pelted her face wasn’t the worst thing to greet her as she arrived at the ferry office. That honor went to the CLOSED sign hanging from a nail on the office door.
Oh, hell no.
A light glowed from a window above the office. With any luck, it was the captain’s residence. All she had to do was offer him enough money to make it worth his while, and she’d be on her way. She clomped up the wooden stairs and knocked, wiping water from her face while she waited for an answer. When the door opened, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God you’re home.” A bolt of lightning zigzagged through the charcoal sky. “I need a ride back to the mainland.”
The man shook his head. “We’re closed, ma’am.”
“Name your price.”
He laughed. “Mother Nature doesn’t care about money.” He nodded to where the ferry was rocking against the dock. “We’re closed until the storm passes.”
A gust of wind blew up the edges of Paige’s skirt. She was able to get her hands in front of her à la Marilyn Monroe on the subway grate, but had there been anyone behind her, they would no doubt have gotten an eyeful. “I thought hurricane season was in the fall,” she said as she struggled to hold down her skirt.
“Not a hurricane, ma’am. It’s a nor’easter. Turned our way at the last minute, and it’s picking up steam. Won’t be back up and running for a few days, I reckon.”
He started to close the door. Paige reached out to keep it from closing, losing the battle with one half of her skirt.
“A few days?” she squeaked.
“Maybe day after tomorrow.” He squinted at the sky. “Depends on the winds. If you give me your number, I can call you once we’re back in business.”
Her shoulders fell. “Great. Thanks.” She handed him one of her business cards and turned to leave.
“You really shouldn’t be out in this.”
If the guy’s name wasn’t Captain Obvious, he really should have considered changing it.
“Tell you what,” he said. She looked back to see him taking a key off a nail beside the door. “Take my bike. Lord knows I won’t be needing it until this passes.” He handed her a key chain that had the words North Carolina printed in scroll beneath a smiling sun. Talk about irony. “It’s the blue one at the foot of the stairs. Has a rack for your case too.”
“Thanks.” It was a kind gesture, but it hardly made a difference. The rain was coming down in sheets by the time she started to pedal back to the inn, and when she stepped onto the stone porch, her reflection in the glass door confirmed her suspicions: she looked like a drowned rat.
Perfect, she thought. Not only did she need to ask for her room back, but she had to do it with her hair plastered to her head and her sweater plastered to her boobs.
She raised her hand to knock, then lowered it. Screw him and his snarky “let yourself in” comment. She was a paying guest—the only guest, as a matter of fact. Damn right she’d let herself in.
But when she did, she immediately felt more like an intruder than a guest. From the next room, she could hear the owner of the inn speaking to someone, presumably on the phone since there weren’t any other voices. Guest or not, it felt wrong. She was turning to make her way back to the porch when the sound of her name stopped her dead in her tracks.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “Ms. Paige Parker from Chicago was a certified pain in the ass.”
Pain in the ass? While under some circumstances that might have been an accurate description—although personally she preferred to think of herself as a dedicated perfectionist—people usually had to spend a lot more than five minutes with her to reach that conclusion. What the hell was he basing it on, the fact that she objected to accommodations with peanut butter on the banister?
As if on instinct, Paige stepped away from the stair railing. When she did, she nearly bumped into a tall curio cabinet. Ugh. Paige loathed curios. All that clutter on display in a glass case? Just the thought sent a shiver across her damp skin. But this one wasn’t filled with the kinds of knickknacks she would normally have expected to find on display. No china cups or crystal statues. No thimbles or tiny silver spoons. Not even a pewter mug. Instead, the cabinet held a few dirty baseballs with illegible names scribbled above the seams, more seashells than you could collect in a month of beachcombing, and large chunks of driftwood.
Her scrutiny was interrupted by yet another derogatory declaration from her would-be host. “Good riddance to her and her overpriced luggage.” The disdain in his voice was impossible to miss, and although she couldn’t see him, Paige could picture the deep crease that was no doubt furrowing his brow. The image brought her a surprising amount of satisfaction. So did the thought of her plan to demand a refund from the booking agency based on false advertisement.
“Nice try, Soph,” he said. “Need I remind you that this is all your fault?”
Soph…short for Sophie? Wasn’t that the name of the woman Paige had been messaging on the rental site?
A beat of silence was followed by an exasperated noise that was half chuckle, half snort. “Oh no, no way I’m letting you pin this on me, Sis. You were the one who reactivated the listing, without bothering to ask my permission, I might add.”
Well, that would certainly explain the fact that the place was far from “guest ready.”
Paige eased forward, sliding her foot across the floorboard in an effort to keep the wood from creaking beneath her. She poked her head around the doorframe and stole a glance at Lucas Croft, reluctant innkeeper. He had his back to her, affording her a longer glimpse. With his broad shoulders and narrow waist, he was quite the sight for sore eyes, not to mention a waterlogged body. It had been months—okay, okay, more like years—since Paige had felt the press of warm skin against hers. Given her current state of near-hypothermia, climbing under a duvet with a hard, male body sounded like absolute heaven, and if there was one thing Lucas Croft had, it was a hard, male body. Every inch of him looked like an ad for a twenty-four-hour gym. Add to that the movie-star face and he was practically perfect.
Until he opened his mouth.
And what the hell was that actor’s name anyway? It would come to her eventually, probably in the middle of the night if history was any indication, but until then, it would nag at the corners of her mind.
Paige tilted her head to one side. Despite the fact that part of her wanted to climb him like a tree, another part of her, the one that thought with her intuition instead of her lady parts, couldn’t help but notice the tension that racked his frame. The tightness in his muscles was unmistakable—from the way he held the phone to how he shifted his weight—and when he spoke again, the same strain laced his words.
“Don’t you think I know that?” His shoulders sagged in a resigned exhale. “Look, I’ll figure something out. There’s still a few weeks until the payment is due.” He let out a quiet laugh, but there was an undeniable sadness in his voice. “If I don’t, then I don’t. Maybe it will be for the best. I’m not exactly the perfect host these days.”
That was the understatement of the century. Still, as a small-business owner, she could definitely relate. She hated the thought of anyone losing their business, but even more so when that business was also where they lived. Even crusty jerks deserved a place to call home. And yet for some reason, the sorrow she heard seemed to be about a much greater loss. It was ridiculous, really. She knew nothing about this man, aside from the fact that he was a rude slob, yet somewhere inside her she felt a strange twinge of empathy.
Lucas pushed away from the counter. Paige nearly gasped aloud as she ducked back around the corner. Asking for her room back was going to be awkward enough, but it would be a lot worse if she had to do it after being busted for eavesdropping. She was inching her way back to the entryway when a frame in the curio cabinet caught her eye. It was tucked behind a piece of driftwood that had a heart shape carved into its rough, gray face. She peered around the side of the case for a better view of the photo. It was a picture of Lucas with his arm around a woman who was very clearly pregnant. They were standing in front of the inn, which looked even shabbier than it did now, smiling like fools and holding a real estate sign that had the word SOLD plastered across it in bright-red letters.
Dozens of questions popped into Paige’s head, but before she had time to process a single one of them, she heard him ending the call.
Abandoning her inquisitive instincts for the time being, she hurried back to the front door and, after waiting a beat, opened and closed it before making her way into the kitchen.
“The ferry was closed,” she said. Water still dripped from her hair. No doubt she’d left a puddle in the hallway. With any luck, he wouldn’t think much of it.
Amusement lit his eyes as he looked her up and down, lingering a little longer than necessary where her soggy sweater hugged her curves. If she was honest with herself, she would have admitted she wasn’t entirely displeased about that.
“So, you thought you’d come back here?” he asked.
She straightened in an attempt to muster what little pride she had left, but again, if she was really honest with herself, she would have admitted that wasn’t the only reason. “Well, it is paid in full.”
He stared at her, nonplussed. The bastard was actually going to make her ask. And just like that, his darkening stare lost its appeal. Okay, okay, not all of it, but still.
“I’m assuming you haven’t rented the room?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for the first time, Paige noticed his lips. They were full and strong, and for a moment, she let herself imagine what they would feel like pressed against hers. Or maybe trailing down her neck, stopping to suck lightly on that spot just before her shoulder that never failed to make her knees go weak.
He cleared his throat, breaking the spell that had taken her out of his kitchen and into his bed. “As luck would have it, no.”
“Great.” Her cheeks felt hot again, but for an entirely different reason. Time to get the hell out of that kitchen. “I’ll be out of your way in no time. Man at the dock said day after tomorrow.”
Lucas laughed. “Guess you didn’t check the weather while you were out?”
“Oddly enough, no.” Her voice was laced with sarcasm. “Was too busy actually experiencing the weather to bother checking an app.”
He moved a stack of bills to reveal a remote control. Paige tried not to gag as he wiped a bit of jelly off the edge before clicking on the television. A man was reporting from a beach in Wilmington. He was struggling to stand his ground against the raging winds, but his words came through loud and clear, and the news wasn’t good. According to him, the National Weather Service had upgraded the storm, with bridges and ferries expected to be closed for most of the week.
Lucas turned his attention back to Paige, and a shiver racked her body. Problem was, she wasn’t entirely sure if it had more to do with the temperature of her soaked skin or the intensity of his stare.
“Why don’t you put some dry clothes on,” he finally said. “And I’ll whip us up some dinner.” He yanked the freezer door open. “Pepperoni or sausage?”
“I’m a vegetarian.”
“Sausage it is, then. Easier to pick off than pepperoni.”
Paige said nothing. Instead she made her way up the stairs to the first room on the right, which thankfully looked like the room she’d booked. More or less. The carved wooden four-poster bed faced a turret of windows, just as it had in the photographs, and the overstuffed chair in the corner sat waiting with a cozy throw draped over one arm. The carefully arranged toss pillows were conspicuously absent, as was the vase of fresh flowers, but there was no sign of food remnants on any of the furniture, so all in all she considered it a win.
With a thud, Paige collapsed on the bed. As she did, a clap of thunder shook the house, which was the perfect punctuation to the realization that slammed into her head as it hit the pillow. She’d come to the island to celebrate the joys of being single, and yet for the foreseeable future she was stuck in a house that looked like the set of Animal House with a grumpy man who looked like he’d just walked off the cover of Men’s Fitness.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was always frozen pizza.