Nantucket Romance 3-in-1 Bundle (37 page)

Kate faced the mirror in the bathroom of the White Elephant’s Shoreline suite. Her dark hair, caught up on the sides, disappeared beneath the triple-layered veil. Her makeup still looked fresh, her dress stunning. Her shoulders, carefully tanned over the past month, looked every bit as lovely as she’d hoped.

Only none of it mattered now. Bryan loved someone else, and she was married to a man she barely tolerated.

Ah, but my career is salvaged. At least I have that.

She set her heavy bag on the marble counter and opened it, resting the floppy lid against the beveled mirror. The zipper clanged against the glass.

The carriage ride to the hotel had seemed to take forever even though it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. She was tired of pretending. Which didn’t bode well—the entire next year would consist of nothing but pretense, and just one night of it had worn her to the bone. Her feet hurt, her head ached, and all she wanted was to slide between the sheets and pull them over her head.

Maybe it wouldn’t feel so awful in the morning. The sun would come up, it would glitter off the harbor, and the fresh air would remind her it was a new day.

At least she wouldn’t have to move from Nantucket. It had been the one thing she’d dreaded. She pictured Bryan’s apartment in downtown Boston and sighed at the thought. She’d never go there again. Never sit on his couch and eat popcorn while they watched CNN.

She turned her attention to her suitcase. Her clothing, carefully rolled to avoid creases, was packed in colorful bins all lined up in rows. She scanned the pieces and realized the satin and lace article she’d planned for tonight would hardly suffice. Instead, she pulled out a shirt with a mock turtleneck and a pair of knee-length shorts. It would have to do.

She looked in the mirror, noting her drawn expression, and willed herself not to cry. Then, with a sigh, she began the tug-of-war of releasing herself from her gown.

Lucas was sitting in the armchair when she reentered the room, his elbows braced on his knees. His gaze flickered over her, and she realized he must be eager to change.

“Anna should be here soon with your things.”

He nodded.

“Sorry she couldn’t get them over sooner.”

He nodded again.

Well, don’t go getting all chatty on me.

Giving up, Kate began hanging up her clothing, one item at a time, trying to ignore the fact Lucas was probably staring at her backside. They steadfastly held on to their silence until a few minutes later when a tap sounded on the door. Kate practically leapt across the room to let Anna in.

“Is everything okay?” Anna whispered with a hug.

“Sure.” Kate summoned up one last smile. She would’ve offered more, but Lucas was hovering, obviously wanting to change.

“Here you go,” Anna said to him.

He took a paper bag and a noisy cluster of keys from her.

“I couldn’t find a suitcase or duffel bag.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for going to the trouble.”

Anna looked at Kate. “Well . . .”

“Well . . .” Kate’s brain raced, trying to think of a reason for Anna to stay.
Perhaps she’ll notice the slightly manic look in my eyes and take pity.
But with a wave and a quirk of her eyebrows, Anna was gone.

Traitor.

Rather than run screaming after her assistant, Kate continued unpacking, stashing her socks and underclothes in one of the armoire drawers while Lucas disappeared into the bathroom. He returned in record time.

Wearing only a pair of shorts.

Oh
. . . Kate’s gaze skittered away. As if things weren’t awkward enough already.

She was acutely aware of his appraisal as he sat in the armchair. What was he thinking? More specifically, what did he expect from this marriage? If it were Bryan, she’d ask—or likely, she’d already know. How many conversations she and Bryan had had about their expectations. They’d been as prepared as an engaged couple could be.

Feeling him watching her, knowing she was procrastinating, Kate placed her alarm clock and Day-Timer on the nightstand, then stowed her suitcase in the closet. When she could delay no longer, she returned to the bed and pulled the covers down, glancing at the pillow on the other side.

Just what does Lucas expect tonight?

Does he think . . . ?

She sat on the edge of the bed, facing the wall and a framed print of a lighthouse, back rigid, heart racing. She wasn’t naive. Men expected sex on the honeymoon.

She and Lucas were married now, and, technically, it was his right to expect it. But . . . it seemed wrong. Theirs wasn’t the typical marriage. There was nothing typical about this honeymoon. And there was no way she was offering her body like some . . . some ancient temple priestess.

Still, this was a conversation they should’ve had before the wedding.

She didn’t want to fret over it all night either. She glanced at him, still sitting in the chair. He was leaning back, his head turned toward her. The room was big, and he seemed far away. A good, safe distance. But she could hardly yell across the room.

Kate forced her tired legs to support her weight and walked toward him.

It’s okay to window-shop. Whether you’re
grieving a previous relationship or just
not ready to date, it’s okay to stay out of
the stores.

—Excerpt from
Finding Mr. Right-for-You
by Dr. Kate

Chapter Five

Lucas watched Kate sit on the edge of the couch, perching like a robin on the rim of its nest, alert for the first sign of danger. He wanted to put her at ease, let her know she was safe with him. He wanted to protect her. He would never hurt her.
You are so precious to me, Kate.

My bride.
He savored the word on his tongue.

Kate wrapped her arms around her stomach. “It occurs to me there are some issues we haven’t addressed. Perhaps we can discuss the most imminent one now.”

So formal. He half-expected her to produce a twenty-page document, spelling out the lay of the land for the next 365 days, and insist he sign it.

“What’s on your mind?” He folded his hands on his bare stomach.

She licked her lips, her eyes flashing down to his bare chest for the briefest of moments before she stared at her tanned knees.

“Sleeping arrangements.” She cleared her throat. “I appreciate what you did today by stepping in for Bryan. I don’t know what you expected from me tonight, but—”

Her cheeks bloomed with color.

“I don’t know what you expected from me tonight, but I have no desire to sleep—or do anything else—in that bed with you.”
He imagined the words she didn’t say. Was that what was worrying her? Making her clutch at the nun-high collar of her shirt, making her face turn a dozen shades of pink?

What kind of jerk did she think he was, expecting to be compensated after she’d just been jilted at the altar by the man she loved? As if he’d want her like that—still pining for someone else. After the tenderness of his previous thoughts, the idea sickened him.

“Believe it or not, Kate, sleeping with you is the last thing on my mind.” It came out sharper than he’d intended, but blast it all if it didn’t tick him off that she thought so lowly of him.

“I was planning to take the couch,” he said. “The bed’s all yours.”

Her gaze bounced off him, and she stood, nodding once. He watched her go without a reply, long legs extending from knee-length beige shorts. She flicked out the bedside lamp before slipping into bed.

He turned out the other lights and settled on the sofa. Grabbing one of the puffy throw pillows, he turned on his side and drew up his knees so he’d fit.

Does she really think so little of me?

His thoughts returned to the first time he’d met her, when he’d shown her the space above the shop. She’d worn white slacks, a blazer, and fancy heels that made him wonder how she climbed the stairs without falling flat on her face.

“It’s a large space,” she’d said. “I didn’t realize it would be wide open.”

He looked around at the scuffed white walls and wood floor, dulled by a layer of dust. Except for the small office and restroom at the back of the building, it was an open space. “Used to be a photographer’s gallery. You said something on the phone about making it a living space and an office of some kind?”

She walked the room, her skinny heels clacking on the floor. “I’m a marriage counselor. I’d need a small lobby area and a private room for counseling. I was hoping to make my living space up here too. It’s big enough, I think.”

With rent so high on Nantucket, it made sense to combine the two. She moved toward the back of the building, jotting something on a clipboard, and he walked to the front of the room, giving her time to look around undisturbed. Outside the front windows, dead leaves sailed on a gust of wind. A handful of tourists walked the brick sidewalks.

“What’s your policy on renovations?” Kate was making her way toward him, her silky black hair swinging. She was all business, straight to the point. He wondered if she was good at what she did. She didn’t seem warm enough to be a therapist. Then again, what did he know about it? Or about her?

“How long were you planning to stay?” He didn’t mind renovations so long as she’d be there a while.

“It depends on the terms of the contract.”

The space had been empty for two months. The summer people were gone for the season, and with winter coming he’d have a hard time renting it to a merchant. “If you cover cost of materials, I’ll see to it the renovations are done.”

She nodded, glancing around at the space as if she was trying to envision it completed.

Now that the season was over, he’d have extra time. Too bad Brody was back at college or he’d ask his brother to help.

“How soon would you need it done?” he asked.

Kate wrote something on her paper while he noted that she had a tiny mole on one side of her pointed chin and lips full enough to beg a man’s attention. “I’d like to get my business up and running as soon as possible. The living portion is less urgent. I can sleep in the office back there or even in my new office until it’s finished.”

It was an awkward time of year to open a business. She seemed a little citified, and he wondered if she’d ever wintered on the island before. Oh, well. Wasn’t any of his business.

“Give me a day or so to think it over, and I’ll get back with you,” she said, extending her hand and shaking his.

The next day she signed the contract and moved her luggage into the old office at the back of the building. They agreed to meet that afternoon to go over renovation plans. She was waiting for him when he arrived, and he realized he was probably a tad late. She checked her watch before sitting at a padded card table she must’ve brought.

“The builder’s coming, isn’t he?” She set a manila file on the table and folded her long, slender fingers on top of it.

Did she think he was hiring a crew or something? “I’m the builder.” He took a seat opposite her.

Her eyes widened, and she blinked twice, her black lashes fluttering. “But—but I thought you built furniture.”

Her eyes were a bewitching mix of green and brown. He wondered what color her driver’s license said they were. “I do build furniture. But I’ve done plenty of carpentry and plumbing and wiring. I built my house, and I’ve done room additions.”

“Do you—Are you a
licensed
builder?”

He found her tight little smile amusing. Did she think his walls were going to collapse or his wiring was going to burn the building down? “I’m licensed. If you want to check out my work, I did all the renovations downstairs. It was an open space like this when I bought it.”

“Oh. Well, your shop is very nicely done. I just didn’t realize you’d be doing the work, that’s all.”

Ever since that first meeting, ruffling her feathers had served as a cheap form of entertainment. He knew she’d been pleased with his work, though his pace seemed to aggravate her. She even tried to put him on a schedule at one point, telling him when he should have the drywall completed, when he should have the bathroom and kitchen plumbed. The woman lived and breathed by the agenda she had with her at all times.

Still, there was something about her.

Now, as he lay staring toward the shadowed fireplace in the darkened room, he realized all her plans had blown up in her face. He wondered what she would’ve thought if he told her that first day that she’d marry him three years later. She probably would’ve laughed in his face.

And yet here they were, on their honeymoon.

Yeah, I’m on the couch. She made it real clear she wants nothing to do with me.

And he’d made it just as clear he wasn’t interested. Too clear, maybe. He hadn’t exactly been the picture of loving-kindness.

He heard a sound coming from the general direction of the bed and lifted his head. A sniff, muffled by a pillow or the bedspread. A quiet hiccup, then another sniffle.