Stranger on the Shore (Mirabelle Harbor, Book 4) (18 page)

I shook my head, cutting him off. “Actually, I’m thrilled to be able to help your sister and excited to have a part-time job for a month. It’s just that it reminded me that I don’t have one to go back to.”

“Ah.” He paused. “Is the end of July a firm deadline, or might there be some leeway in when you have to leave?”

“My sister’s bungalow is rented out for August, so I do have to move out by then. And most of my things are in a big storage unit in Mirabelle Harbor. I might be able to keep them in there for a few more weeks, but not indefinitely.”

“Ah,” he said again, but nothing else followed. His attention had returned to his sister and the business guy, who looked more than half infatuated with Joy already. Not surprising, of course. She was adorable. But Gil didn’t seem too pleased with Peter’s overt interest.

“I’m always happy for her when her artistic talent is recognized and supported,” he murmured to me. “But this dude seems a little too good to be true. Not sure I trust him.”

“Shouldn’t you warn Joy, in that case?”

He chuckled softly. “If I say anything to her, she’ll prattle on about his warm aura or the colors of his voice and tell me to mind my own business.” Gil paused. “So, no. I’ll just have to investigate him behind her back.”

I shot him a surprised look. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

Gil and I didn’t have a chance to talk privately again until well after the Craft Festival had ended. We had last-minute customers to attend to, supplies to take back to Castaways and The Beaded Periwinkle, and the tent to pull apart and pack away.

Joy, who seemed to be running on green tea and elation, said, “What an incredible day, y’all. We’d better relax and get some sleep tonight, though, because staring tomorrow, we’ve got two thousand bracelets to make!”

Nevertheless, she glanced between me and her brother and broke into a grin that rivaled the sunrise over the Gulf. Out of Lorelei’s and Abby’s earshot, she added, just to Gil and me, “Have fun tonight, you two. Stay strawberry.” Then she flitted away like a water sprite.

Gil and I exchanged a look.

“One of her synesthesia expressions?” I asked.

He laughed and motioned for me to follow him. “Not exactly. Or at least not entirely. My sister always considered fresh strawberries to be one of the best desserts around. They mean pure sweetness to her. So, she was essentially telling us to ‘stay sweet.’ Not sure how much that’s synesthesia or just the uniqueness of Joy.”

We walked to where our vehicles were parked, and he instructed me to follow his car to the lot a few miles down the beach, nearest to where the drumming would be taking place.

“The community drum circle isn’t too far from where you’re staying on Siesta Key,” he said. “Every Sunday, about an hour or two before sunset, a group gathers at Siesta Public Beach. It’s definitely something worth experiencing at least once while you’re here.”

And, so, after we’d parked in that public lot, we wandered down to the beach where, already, a crowd had formed. A dozen people had percussion instruments with them—from big bongo drums to small tom-toms, from cymbals and tambourines to wood blocks, claves, shakers, and guiros. And many of the people playing or just attending had formed a large circle on the sand, expansive enough for participants of all ages to dance in the middle.

All along the shore, there were residents and tourists alike enjoying the rhythm of the twilight, as the bright Floridian sun sank gracefully toward the calm waters of the Gulf.

I was mesmerized by the celebratory atmosphere. No national holiday or special occasion needed—just a group of individuals united in their desire to express a beat that was at one with the waves lapping against the shore. At one with our hearts pumping blood through our veins. At one with both the music of the heavens and the pulse of the tiniest sea creature. For a moment, the gargantuan and the infinitesimal stepped in time to the same syncopation and carried me along with their shared rhythm.

“Wanna dance in the middle of the circle?” Gil asked, pointing toward the deeply tanned woman in shimmering belly dancing gear who was currently inhabiting that sacred space.

I shook my head and smiled. “I’m happy right here.”

He turned me to face him, held my gaze for a long moment, and then began dancing in place, right in front of me. Silently inviting me into his private circle.

The beat—already a part of me now—flowed through me as I joined him. No fancy footwork or glitzy moves between us, just the kind of dance where our bodies knew instinctively how to flow and sway to the music.

And then, even as the rhythm persisted, Gil stopped, put his arms around me, and brought his lips down to meet mine. The sun slanted beams of orange and gold across the water in its final ray burst before disappearing behind the veil of waves. But I was too lost in sensation to mind the coming darkness. I was—after all—floating above the sand and sea on a virtual wave of exhilaration and infatuation.

When Gil and I finally pulled apart, he swallowed and reached for my hand, his gaze turning again toward the Gulf as we both tried to catch our breath and process this attraction between us.

In broken whispers, he spoke of coming to this beach to get quiet. To breathe in and out with the tide. To center himself when life seemed uncertain.

“I can always count on the water to restore my equilibrium,” he said. “We live in a world that’s determined to derail our inner sense of balance. I think we need a place where we can go to reclaim it.”

“I love the sea, the waves, the shells on the shore, the warm white sand, the breathtaking shades of blue,” I told him. “But I’m not sure they can fix within me all of the places where my life went off kilter.”

He moved to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, warming me with the heat of his torso, and letting me lean back against his chest.

“It’s not that the sand and sun can fix it, Marianna. It’s more like you’re able to put whatever’s been unsettling you into better perspective. You find elements of the natural world that hold meaning for you, and you can cling to the reality of them. It’s paradoxical, really, that a place so transitory—with shifting sands and tides—can be so grounding and stable.”

“Has it helped you?” I managed to ask, despite being so turned on by having the full length of his body right behind mine. When I leaned back too quickly, too suddenly, and caught him unaware, I could feel the ridge of his erection against my hip. He’d always pull his lower body away again, but his arousal was nothing short of thrilling to me. “Has it made it easier for you to keep things with your dad in perspective?”

I felt him stiffen at once (and not in that fun, sexual way). “Joy told you about him, huh?”

“Sorry, Gil. I shouldn’t have brought it up, but—”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Truth is, just because I know what to do to be all Zen-like and calm, doesn’t mean I always follow through myself. Relationships with real, live people are complicated.”

I thought of my ex-husband, my daughter, my sister. “No kidding.”

He laughed lightly, his breath tickling my ear. “I’m not trying to distract you or change the subject when I say this, Marianna, but talk of my father can’t hold my interest alongside these fantasies I’m having about you... ” He held me closer to him and, this time, didn’t pull back when my body made contact with his erection. “You must’ve guessed that already.”

There was no way I could have expressed to him just how gratifying his words and his body’s natural reaction were to me. After years of feeling unattractive and nearly invisible in the eyes of my ex, to inspire fantasies in a man like Gil rendered me momentarily mute. The physical chemistry we shared was tangible, but my interest in him went beyond his beautiful body.

I’d spent several long days with the man, and I was drawn to Gil’s mind as well. To his kindness toward others and to me. To his creativity and artistic talent. Perhaps, our connection had happened too fast to be labeled anything but an infatuation on either side, but I knew more than just lust or an immature crush was at play here—at least for me. All of his wonderful qualities contributed to why I decided to say what I did next.

“Would you like to come to the bungalow?” I blurted. “I have a bottle of wine and a few pieces of fudge.” I swallowed. “It’s nothing much, really, and I’m not trying to proposition you or anything, but I just thought, maybe—”

I stopped. He was gazing at me strangely, an odd gleam in his clear blue eyes and a growing smile on those warm lips of his.

“What?” I asked.

He leaned in close and then kissed me so gently and, then, so deeply again—even more passionately than our first kiss and so much like a “get a room” kind of lip lock—that I forgot what I’d even asked him. At least until he whispered, “I can only hope that, one of these days, I’ll be so lucky as to have you proposition me, Marianna. But, for now, I’m just excited about the wine and the fudge and this conversation with you lasting for a while longer.”

“Mmm,” I murmured, the delicious taste of him still lingering on my lips. “We can do more of
this
, too, you know?”

“Hey, I don’t need any further convincing.” He took my hand and led me across the sandy beach to the parking lot and followed my car to the Siesta Sunset complex. I’d never been so glad to be there.

A soft glow emanated from all of the bungalows, giving them a homey warmth. In my imagination, I’d progressed several steps ahead of where we were in time and place. I was already cozying up on the floral sofa with Gil, wine glasses in hand initially, and then carefully set aside on the coffee table, so our fingers could be free to stroke and caress. We would soon sink deeper into the sofa’s cushions and begin making out like teens. First base. Second base. Maybe third? I could see it all in my mind’s eye. I could nearly feel it happening.

But one of the advantages of not being an adolescent anymore was that I knew a good thing when I saw one. And Gil was a good, good thing.

It wasn’t until I’d inserted the key into the door to #26 and twisted it in the lock, that a disturbing thought occurred to me: Why was there a glow coming from my sister’s bungalow? Did I forget to flick off the light switch when I left for the Craft Festival this morning?

Gil was right beside me, his arm slung gently around my shoulders as I pushed open the front door.

“Hi, Sis,” Ellen said from the middle of the floral sofa. She smiled one of her triumphant grins at me and then shot a curious glance at Gil. “Who’s he?”

Two Ships That Pass in the Night

E
llen had never been afraid of making a dramatic entrance but, honestly, this time she’d actually been aiming for low key. From the shocked expression on Marianna’s face, though, it looked like she screwed up big time. Seemed she may have overestimated her sister’s ability to roll with a slight change of plans.

And then there was the super studly man with his arm draped around her sister. What the hell had she walked into tonight?

Ellen stood up, put her hands on her hips, and leveled her most commanding stare at the Stud Muffin.

Marianna, whose mouth had dropped open like a fish when she’d walked in a moment ago, managed to find her voice. “Ellen, um, wow. What a surprise to see you.” Then her sister glanced over at the hottie who was calmly taking in his surroundings. “This is my sister, Ellen Slater,” she told the guy. “She’s the one who owns the bungalow.”

He nodded pleasantly. He had a kindhearted look in his eyes and seemed protective of Marianna. Ellen liked that about him even before she knew his name, but she wasn’t sure she liked that Marianna was involving herself with some unknown beachcomber type. Her baby sister had never been a great judge of men.

“And this is Gil Canton, a new friend of mine,” Marianna continued.

“Nice to meet you, Ellen,” the guy said to her, offering his hand.

She stepped forward and shook it. A good firm grip. Strong and sure. Well, that was something. At least her sis hadn’t been hanging out with another weenie like Donny this time around.

“So, w-what brings you d-down to Florida?” Marianna stuttered, her voice sounding a bit breathless.

“To see you, of course,” she shot back. “And there are a few other reasons,” she added quickly. “It was a last-minute trip. I’ll explain later.”

“Sure,” Marianna said, but there was a brittleness to her tone that Ellen couldn’t help but detect.

Huh. Okay, so she was pissed. Well, Marianna would have known all about the visit if she hadn’t been so dismissive on the phone. Serves her right.

Mr. Tall and Suntanned, apparently sensing that three people might just be a crowd, gave Marianna’s shoulder a quick squeeze and then said, “I don’t want to interrupt a sister reunion.” He looked her sister in the eye. “Thanks for the fun beach visit and for all of your hard work at the Craft Festival this weekend.”

“I
loved
it,” Marianna said with feeling.

Ellen raised her eyebrows at this. The Craft Festival? What was Marianna doing there?

“With your sister here now,” Gil continued, “you’ll probably want to spend some time together this week. If you can’t come into the Circle tomorrow, I can tell Joy—”

“No,” Marianna all but shouted. “I promised I’d help with the bracelets, and I’ll be there as planned.” Then she rose up on her toes and kissed her Floridian hottie on the cheek. “Thanks for everything, Gil. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay,” he said to her, grinning as if he was half undressing Marianna in the doorway. What the hell?

He turned to Ellen and added, “I hope you’ll enjoy your visit to Sarasota. You have such a wonderful sister but, then, I’m sure you already know that.” He was smiling as he spoke, but Ellen couldn’t mistake the steeliness beneath his tone. It was as if he were actually issuing her a warning:
Be nice to Marianna, or else.

Who the fuck was this guy?

“Yep,” Ellen said. “I know. Thank you, Gil, and good night.” Then, because two could play that game, she sent him a steady look that was in no way casual or sweet. It, too, held a warning:
If you hurt my sister, I’ll crush your bones.