Cape Cod Promises: Love on Rockwell Island (2 page)

She opened her mouth to respond with a
thank you
, but the urge to kiss him—to thread her fingers into his hair and pull his mouth down over hers so that she could see if he still tasted as good as he used to—was so strong it stunned her.

Reese snapped her mouth closed, more than a little surprised by the desires that her ex-husband had so quickly reawakened. Trent set the wood in the basket, and their fingers brushed, sending a shiver of heat up her arm, before he rose to his feet and reached for her hand.

Oh no. If I take your hand, I’ll want to be in your arms, and I can’t get hurt again
.

She had to get out of there.
Now
.

She pushed to her feet and managed to find her voice. “Can you be sure Shelley gets the basket?” She took a step backward. “I’ve got to run.”

“But you just got here,” he said as she headed for the sidewalk.

She stumbled over her own feet as she hurried away, afraid that if she looked back at him again, her resolve to keep her distance until she could handle seeing him without going all squishy inside would simply dissolve.

She needed a few days.

Or months.

Or a year.

Or maybe it was going to take a lifetime to figure out how to get over Trent Rockwell.

THERE WEREN’T MANY things that made Reese happier than sitting atop her favorite spot on the dunes and painting in the early hours of the morning, when the sun spread its beauty over the bay. Hues ranging from peach to vibrant orange melted into the fray of the blue-gray sky. Reflections of clouds danced off the water, broken only by boats and buoys and their liquefied shadows.

It was also where she and Trent had first met.

She’d spent years avoiding this very spot after their divorce, and hadn’t set out this morning with the intention of ending up here. But as if her legs had a mind of their own, it was where she’d ended up. And now she remembered just how spectacular this view of the beach and the bay was. She could even see the tips of the resort’s roofs off to her right. She’d always thought that this was the most beautiful location on the whole island.

Reese tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and inhaled the salty sea air, trying not to think about last night and how good it had felt to be back in Trent’s arms. But being here, in the very spot where she’d first set eyes on him, it was impossible
not
to think about him.

She’d spent ten years moving past their marriage. Ten years trying to forget the summer they’d fallen in love, when every day had held such wonderful promise and every night had sparked with the flames of their insatiable passion. She’d even stopped drinking her favorite smoothie, which she’d concocted out of fruits and yogurt the first night she and Trent had made love. They’d both been ravenous after hours of lovemaking but too revved up to eat. Trent had made a joke about surviving on the glory of passion, and their Passion and Glory smoothie was born.

She’d been so naive, thinking that an island girl like her could ever be happy in a big city like New York. They’d had such big hopes and dreams, and they hadn’t been worried about making things work—not when they’d been sure that true love would trump any obstacles in their path.

But while it turned out that true love hadn’t actually been able to make their marriage or life in New York work, Trent’s love
had
inspired Reese so deeply that her artistic abilities had surged while they were together. She’d been inspired by him in a way that she’d never been again—not until today, when her painting of the sunrise over the bay seemed almost effortless. Her brush had taken on a mind of its own this morning, moving over the canvas in long, quick swipes, creating arcs and mixing colors in new and beautiful ways. All because of how thrilling it had been to be in his arms again and to look into his deep blue eyes. Reese set her paintbrush down on the tray of her wooden easel with a sigh. No matter how much she wanted to deny it, she knew exactly why she’d gotten up before dawn and come to her old favorite spot; she had been hoping to catch a glimpse of Trent running, just like she used to so long ago. She’d dated a few guys since their divorce, but not once had she felt the explosive creativity—or soul-deep passion—that Trent stirred in her with just the whisper of her name.

She shivered, thinking of the way her name had rolled off his tongue with familiarity that went beyond an old friend. And his hands.
Good Lord, his big, strong hands
. The way he’d caught her by the waist and held on tight... It was as if he’d zapped a magic wand and erased all the years of hurt with just one touch.

Ohmygod. No. No, no, no! I cannot get wrapped up in him and be hurt all over again.

She began packing up her painting supplies, lifting her eyes at t
he sound of seabirds sweeping down to the beach, where they gathered and pecked at a fish that had washed up onshore.

Was that what she was doing? Pecking at something that was long gone and should be left alone?

Leaving Trent had been the most difficult thing Reese had ever done. She’d thought they had the type of love that could never be ignored or be broken. But after six months of Trent coming home long after she’d gone to bed, seven days a week, she’d realized that she wasn’t anywhere near the top of his priority list. Work came first. And then networking. And then sleep, when he could fit some in. A wife barely made the list, especially one who never managed to say the right thing at his important networking events and who just couldn’t find her footing in such a big city, no matter how hard she tried. She wasn’t happy, and she knew he couldn’t possibly be happy either. Splitting up had seemed like the only way forward for either of them—so that he could give his all to his career without anyone holding him back and she could head back home to the island to paint.

Leaving had been horrible.
Beyond
horrible. But the worst part about it wasn’t just that she’d felt there was no option left but to leave. No, the very worst part was that instead of saying goodbye in person, she’d left him a note. She’d sobbed the entire time she’d written it, her hands shaking, her stomach roiling.

Dear Trent,

I never thought I’d write you a note like this, and I know it’s unfair to leave this instead of talking with you in person, but no matter how hard I’ve tried to say these things to you face-to-face, I always lose my nerve. We’ve grown so far apart, and I miss us terribly, but I know it would be worse to let things keep going like they have these past six months. You are doing everything you hoped you’d do with your career, and I’m lost here in New York. I’m sorry I couldn’t become what you needed, or what you deserve. You don’t need me holding you back, which is why I’m going back to the island today. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I still know I need to do it. For both of us.

I’ll always love you.

Reese

She still cringed to think of how it had all played out. But the truth was that if she’d looked into the eyes of the man she adored, there was no way she would have been able to leave. And then they both would have only grown more and more unhappy together.

He’d come after her, of course. Trent Rockwell wasn’t the type of man who let something he wanted slip through his fingers. But his attempts to get her back had been rationalizations, not remedies. He’d told her
why
he needed to work late hours and
why
his career had to be his top priority, without even so much as an offer to try to spend more time with her or to pay more attention to their marriage.

As a seabird picked up the fish carcass and flew away, she realized that was exactly what she’d done a decade ago. She’d picked up her broken heart and returned home.

Only now, after having been in Trent’s arms again, she knew that no matter how much she tried to fool herself, she had never really left her deep feelings for him behind.

She was bending to finish packing up her supplies when she spotted a tall, broad figure jogging toward the steep wooden steps that led to the top of the dune. Her pulse quickened, and she knew she was playing with fire. Testing herself. Could she see him again without her heart going crazy?

As Trent came clearly into view down below the dune, Reese scooted back so he couldn’t see her. But even just that quick peek sent a pang of longing through her chest, chased by a world of hurt.

No,
she thought as she made herself look away. She wasn’t going to do this to herself. She
couldn’t
do this to herself. Not now. Not after spending two months helping her sister, Sarah, and her wonderful husband, James, care for their adorable new baby. At twenty-nine, Reese was finally ready to move on with her life. And after holding that tiny little boy in her arms, she longed for more.

She hadn’t even realized that she’d been holding herself back. But obviously she had, because when she’d watched Sarah and James together with their new baby, she’d felt all the hopes and dreams she’d packed away ten years ago come rushing back. She was finally ready to fall in love and get married again, and start a family. This time, with a man who wouldn’t dream of putting her last on his list.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop herself from peering down again at Trent while he ran up the steep stairs, looking devastatingly handsome—and dangerously threatening to her heart.

But her future children deserved more than a father who worked twenty-four seven. And she deserved a husband who would be a true partner.

Reese grabbed her easel and supplies and hurried toward the parking lot. She couldn’t—and wouldn’t—keep wishing things had gone differently between them.

It was time to move on. Once and for all.

* * *

DEALING WITH CHANDLER Rockwell was never comfortable. But today, as Trent prepared to walk into his grandfather’s office, he struggled not only to steel himself against Chandler’s cold nature, but also with the incessant questions and unfamiliar feelings he’d been plagued with since running into Reese last night. It was difficult enough to pull his shoulders back and put on his lawyer face with his grandfather on a normal day, but it was even harder to be strong when his insides felt like they were twisted into knots.

“You going to stand out in that hall forever?” Chandler grumbled.

Trent lifted his chin as he walked into Chandler’s office. “Good morning, Grandfather.”

His grandfather’s dark eyes tracked him as he crossed the room. Chandler’s narrow-eyed stare, coupled with the firm press of his lips, gave him an ever-present look of disdain. He was dressed in a blue button-down shirt and silk tie, and his frail hands clung to the arms of the wheelchair, his thick, black brows drawn into an angry slash. Trent wondered how anyone could live in a paradise like Rockwell Island and continually seem disgruntled. But he knew better than to let those questions show on his face—steady eye contact, a professional smile, and a nod always did the trick with his grandfather.

Trent smiled warmly at Chandler’s private nurse, who was standing dutifully beside his wheelchair. “Good morning, Didi.”

“Good morning, Trent.” Didi’s Mediterranean accent made her answer sound as regal as she looked in a sea-green dress, her long blond hair pinned up in a bun.

Up until a few months ago, Chandler had gone through nurses like others might go through tissues, but Didi had proved to be as strong-willed as his grandfather. Trent sensed that she’d somehow managed to gain Chandler’s respect, as well. Lord knew, she had Trent’s respect for being able to put up with the man the way she did without losing her self-respect.

Chandler nodded toward the leather chair across from his massive desk. “This won’t take long.”

Then you should have just called me instead of taking me away from my work to come to your private wing of the resort.

But Trent knew that wasn’t how things worked with his imperious grandfather. Chandler beckoned, and everyone jumped.

Chandler leaned slightly forward and shifted his eyes to the door as if he expected someone to walk through before saying in a hushed but stern tone, “I need you to track down the deed for the resort.”

“That should be easy enough. I’ll go through the files and have it sent up to you shortly.”

Chandler had mandated that Trent and his three brothers give up the businesses they’d spent a decade building to return to the island full-time and run the resort for a year—something they’d all balked at. But Chandler’s threat of selling the resort to a large conglomerate that would have fired the loyal staff and left hundreds of island residents without employment was enough to make Trent and his siblings accept the proposition with a few caveats. Trent and his brothers had stood firm in an all-or-nothing stance—include their sister, Sierra, and their father, Griffin, as well, or they all walked away—and Chandler had met their demands. Most importantly, their grandfather had agreed to keep his hands out of all business dealings.

Which was why Trent wanted to know, “Why do you need the deed?”

But Chandler simply sat back and waved his hand in the air as if the reason weren’t important. “Just bring it to me.” He turned to Didi before Trent could ask any further questions. “I’m not feeling well this morning. Please take me back to my room now.”

Trent rose to his feet with a frown. He knew enough about his grandfather’s machinations over the years to wonder just what the hell Chandler was playing at now.

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER Trent had gone through most of the files in his office but was no closer to finding the deed than he was when he’d begun looking. After placing a call to the courthouse and learning that the transfer of the deed was never filed after his great-grandfather’s death, he had to redirect his search and look for the original transfer paperwork.

At least he’d been distracted from thinking about Reese for a little while.

“Knock, knock.”