Atlas tossed and turned in the soft sheets. He picked up his phone from the bedside table and glanced at the time. 1:03 a.m. Sleep was elusive. He stood, walking around the bed to the giant window overlooking the dark beach. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, casting the earth in shades of grey and black. He took a deep breath of the salty air. Maybe a walk down the coast would tire him enough to sleep.
He pulled a grey hoodie on over his naked chest, and a pair of black sweatpants. Atlas slipped his phone into his pocket before he headed down the stairs as quietly as he could. It was something new to get used to—being in a house with other people.
Light shone from beneath the door marked “Private.” Back to the scene of the crime. He peeked through the crack. Does this woman ever stop?
She lifted the paintbrush and swiped it over the blue tape around the edge of the window. A white baby monitor hung from her hip. He didn’t want to scare her again, so he backed up and made some more noise retracing his steps to the door before he knocked.
“Come in.” She turned around as he entered, her green eyes red and puffy. Has she been crying?
“Atlas? What can I do for you?” She set the paintbrush down, balancing it on the paint can.
He walked forward, and she took one step back. Fear flashed in her gaze. He stopped, holding his palms open at his sides, trying to show her he was no threat. Something isn’t right. There were shadows in that green-eyed gaze. Who hurt you? “I—” His gaze dropped to a stack of paperwork on a metal folding chair. Loan application. His attention flicked to Jasmine.
She stepped forward, chin rising before she picked up the paperwork and flipped it upside down. “Did you want something?”
You. Even though I shouldn’t.
She was a lot younger than he was, and a single mother. He should turn right around and leave her alone. “I wanted to apologize about the other day . . . about the kiss.”
She blinked. “It’s okay . . . but it can’t happen again.”
He nodded. Why did that hurt so much? He was here to do a job—not the innkeeper. But she wasn’t just an innkeeper. Not anymore. She was an enigma. No piece of the puzzle of Jasmine added up. The more he learned, the more he wanted to know.
“Was that what was keeping you awake?” she asked, tipping her head to the side?
“No. I mean. Maybe that was part of it.”
She nodded, turning around and bending over to put the lid on the paint. Her round ass was covered in partial handprints from where she must have wiped them. He balled his hands into fists and tried to look away, but his efforts were futile.
Jasmine stood, holding a brush in her hand. “Let me clean this and I might have something to help you sleep.”
Jasmine walked past him towards the kitchen. He followed her out. She washed the paintbrush and set it aside to dry in the dimly lit room.
She opened a cupboard. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached inside. The clink of glasses broke the silence before she pulled out two small cups and a bottle of something clear.
“Come on.” She nodded as she opened the back door, leading him outside. A few LED-powered lanterns surrounded the porch and led down the path to the beach.
She sat in one of the chairs, setting the glasses on the wooden table. He took the space beside her as she poured some of the contents of the bottle into the cups.
“To the ever-elusive sleep.” She raised her glass, the corner of her mouth turning up.
He lifted the other and tapped his cup against hers. “To sleep.” What monsters keep you awake at night?
He took a sip and coughed. The alcohol burned its way down his throat to his belly.
Light, honest laughter spilled out from her. It was music to his ears.
“I promise it gets better the more you drink.” Jasmine was smiling, her eyes glittering.
He winced, tearing his eyes from her to look at the glass. “What is it?”
“Moonshine. A couple shots of this and you’ll sleep like the dead.”
Or I might die from internal melting organs. “Did you make it yourself?”
She snorted, and God it was cute. Jasmine covered her mouth, and he’d bet her cheeks were flushed. “No. A friend of a friend.”
“And this is fit for consumption?” He chuckled.
She shrugged, her smile dropping. “I’m sure you’re used to smoother and more expensive liquor. But in Shattered Cove, this is a treat.”
Shit. That isn’t what I meant. He sipped again, wincing. “You were right. It was a little better that time.”
She nodded, staring at him in the darkness. The moon moved from behind the clouds, illuminating her. Tendrils of her black hair danced at the sides of her round face in the slight breeze. Her pale skin was highlighted in the shadows, her green eyes glowing in the full moon. She looked like she belonged in the sea—a siren sent to tempt the sailors. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His chest tightened, his body throbbing with awareness and desire.
“Glad it’s growing on you,” she said, her voice breathy. She felt this too. This impossible attraction.
“What are you turning that room into?” He wanted to know everything about her. And that never happened to him.
“It’s going to be a space for Zoey and me. I wanted to create a separate area for us to live in. Then I can use our room as another guest suite.”
Their room. Singular. As in they shared a room? They had this big house to themselves, and they shared a solitary suite?
Because she needs the income from the other rooms.
“You never seem to stop working. Wouldn’t it be easier to just sell this place and find another house for you and her to live in? Maybe do something else? The real estate alone on a place like this would have you set for life,” he said.
She turned towards the inn and then to the shoreline. “This place has been my dream ever since I was young. I promised Mrs. Jenson, the previous owner, that I’d do what we always talked about with the building.”
“How did you meet her?” he asked, telling himself it was for the sake of business.
“I kept house for her. She was too old to take care of this whole thing by herself. She told me if I saved my money and got the funds together for the down payment, she’d sell to me at a fair price.
It was just below market value, actually. A parting gift from the old lady?
“It’s a lot of work for you all by yourself.”
She stiffened, turning back to face him. “Sometimes the things that take the most work are the things that matter most in the end.”
Like you? Is she trying to tell me something?
“What about you? Do you love your job?” Jasmine asked.
He took another sip, feeling more relaxed as he settled into his seat. “No one has ever asked me that before.”
Her eyebrows formed a triangle. “Then you’ve been hanging around the wrong people.”
He laughed, free and full. When was the last time he’d felt like this? Her honest response was a rarity in his world. Why couldn’t Veronica be more like Jasmine?
He took the last drink in his glass and licked his lips. Her eyes darted to his mouth. A warm buzz filled his veins. Maybe it was the alcohol and the darkness, but he felt like there was no one else in the world but the two of them. He wanted to share this part of himself with Jasmine.
“I’ve always wanted to be a chef, actually.”
“Why not do it, then? You’re a great cook from what I’ve tasted. Unless you’re a one-trick pony.” She winked before taking another drink herself.
He poured himself another small glass, chuckling. “Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll find out just how untrue that statement is.”
Her lids drooped as she licked her lips. She picked up the glass and drained the rest of her drink. “So, why not be a chef? Go to culinary school?” Her voice trembled slightly.
He shrugged. “In my family, we all join the family business. There is no room for fantasies.”
“Atlas—” She reached out her hand to his, their skin touching only a moment. Heat bolted up his arm like an electric charge. She whipped her hand back and gasped.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Never mind.”
He leaned forward, taking her hand once again in his. Potent lust and need radiated from their connection. “Say what you were going to say.”
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she said, “If it’s important to you, then that’s all that should matter. Why care what anyone else thinks? You really want to be a chef, that’s what you should do.”
He stared at her in the moonlight. The air was thick and humid with tension. His need coiled tight, threatening to snap. The grey clouds overhead moved, painting them in darkness once again. The wind picked up, the energy in the air shifting. The old house creaked as a rush of icy wind blew over them. A warning. A storm was coming.
The push-pull of his emotions clashed inside him. Her touch was intoxicating. A raw hunger unlike anything he’d ever felt roared in his veins. If he were a stronger man, he’d go upstairs, pack his things, and leave before this got too mixed up—admit his defeat and go back to New York.
He leaned forward. Her hand trembled in his. Jasmine’s soft gasp made him freeze. Every muscle in his body was taut with unhinged need for this woman before him. A woman he had no business wanting.
“I-I’d better go to bed.” She shot up from her seat, pulling her hand from his and disappearing into the house. His chest heaved as he gulped in fresh oxygen. His body vibrated. What the fuck was that? He eyed the bottle of moonshine and shook his head. What was he doing? He scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. He was here to do a job. Every time he was around that woman, everything else left his thoughts. She consumed him. And it was only getting worse.
She needed the money, his money. She could start over, and make an easier life for her and her daughter. She needed a loan and, from what he’d overheard, a new car. He could offer her a solution. Offering her money would help relieve most of her stress. But why did that feel so wrong? Could he really trade everything he’d worked so hard for, all that he’d sacrificed, for Jasmine? She’d find another inn. Something smaller and in her budget.
But that isn’t what she wants. No, this land meant something to her.
So where did that leave him?