WidowsWalk

Genevieve
Ash

When Lindy, an American romance
writer, inherits a craggy house by the sea in Cornwall she expects to sell it
and use the proceeds to fund her career. But upon arriving in England she
discovers long-forgotten love letters chronicling her Great-aunt Emmaline’s
ill-fated romance with a sea captain.

Entranced by the story the letters
tell, Lindy starts pining for her own impossible love and meets Tom, a
charter-boat captain who lives nearby. Despite Tom’s intense travel schedule,
they start an affair fueled by heated emails and phone calls.

When Tom suggests that Lindy join
him on a trip to Spain, their virtual relationship soon becomes very real
indeed. A week of sensual delights and romance leads to passions that cannot be
denied but past hurts have made Lindy and Tom cautious about commitment.

Can history repeat itself with a
much better outcome or is this romance destined to be washed out to sea?

Inside Scoop:
Lindy’s
journey contains
female/female sensual exploration.

A
Romantica®
contemporary erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Dedication

A kiss for you, my
darling.

The wide-bodied jet picked up speed and Lindy sighed as the
wheels left the tarmac. Heading off to Cornwall might have been a bit rash but
once Lindy set her mind on something she did it.
What’s the worst thing that
could happen?

When her mother had passed away she inherited her Great Aunt
Emmaline’s dilapidated old cottage on the southern coast of England. She
wondered how quickly she could sell it and use the money to support her “nasty
habit”, as her mother had called it—her writing habit. Sure, she wrote her
romances on the spicy side but didn’t people in love have sex—lots of it?

Once the plane reached cruising altitude Lindy let out the
breath she hadn’t remembered holding. Flying over the Atlantic, she was looking
forward to some time away—time away from grieving over her mother’s death and
time away from seeing her ex-boyfriend Stephen with his perpetually happy
fiancée. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time finding another woman. Knowing
Stephen he probably had been seeing Rachel long before he and Lindy had split
up.

Forget it. This is a new beginning, an adventure!
Lindy lifted the tiny window shade and let the sun blind her. For the first
time in months she was excited about something. She loved to discover new
places. She knew there was a story in each and every one of them. She would
clean up the old place, relax a little—maybe even start a new novel just as
soon as she finished the current one. A summer by the sea might be just the
break she needed.

Lindy had never met Emmaline but had read some of the
letters she had sent to her mother. Her mom had promised they would visit one
day but the plans were lost in years of pain, promises and disappointment.

The documents from the attorney contained her only real link
to her deceased aunt. A note in a spidery hand in the margin read, “This house
is magical. Open your eyes and allow it in. Do not be afraid of whatever it
brings you.” Lindy’s natural cynicism reared up and she scoffed at the silly
note but her romantic nature overruled it and she shivered, suddenly very
afraid indeed.

* * * * *

The taxi dropped her at the top of the road. The Italianate
structure had been somewhat of an amusement when it had been built over one
hundred years ago. Emmaline’s father had been a sea captain and had traveled
the world. The house was a combination of all the beautiful places he had seen,
mashed together in a gingerbread confection of wood, slate, copper and glass.
Quite unusual compared to the drab stone boxes that lined the beaches of
Cornwall. The weather-beaten gate swung softly in the breeze, its rusty hinges
begging for oil. The pampas grass in the dunes waved a welcoming hello. Lindy
pulled the pointless shrug closer around her shoulders.
It is almost June
for crying out loud! Why is it so cold?

Her carry-on slipped off her shoulder as she dragged her
suitcase behind her down the twisted walk. She could just see the gabled roof
rising high into the pale sky above the sea grass and she smiled when she noted
the widow’s walk at the top. Well that was a familiar sign of home. Her parents’
home in New England had boasted one of the most intricately wrought walks in
the area.

When Lindy was a young girl she would wait until everyone
was asleep and she would carefully climb the attic steps and crawl though the
cupola window. Standing at the wrought-iron rail, she would look out at the
water, pretending that she was waiting for a handsome sea captain to return to
her. She made up glorious stories in her head using scenarios from the constant
stream of romance novels she’d read.

If her parents had known she was up there she would have
been punished. But she loved to daydream and the romance novels she sneaked in
to her room would have only added to her punishment. Her rather patrician
parents, a couple of academics, would not have understood.

After her father had passed away, her mother became lost in
memories and Lindy had the freedom she had always craved. One day while
visiting her mom in the hospital, she told her the story about the widow’s walk
and how she had recently been writing stories of her own. Her mother had smiled
and said, “Such a dreamer, Lindy.” She would not accept the fact that her
daughter was a writer. What she wrote didn’t count, she had said, published or
not.

Lindy’s heels wobbled in the worn grooves of the rotting
timbers that lined the path to the door and she cursed at her choice of shoes.
Why
do I always insist on dressing for the occasion?
In her mind this was a
romantic adventure. Her flowing sundress and strappy sandals added to the magic
of the day. Who knew what she might find in this place?

As she reached the front steps to the porch her mouth fell
open. The wooden screen door hung haphazardly on a single nail, flapping in the
breeze. She wasn’t sure how she would maneuver the decaying steps to the door
without falling through the boards. The attorney had said the house needed some
work but this was worse than she thought.

Leaving her suitcases on the walk, she removed her heels and
carefully stepped near the outside edges of the planks until she reached the
porch. The skeleton key slid into the keyhole and turned around and around in
circles. Shoulder against the jamb, she rested her hip against the door and
gave it a shove as she turned the knob.

Screaming with years of neglect, the door moved slowly until
it caught momentum and then flung Lindy roughly into the main foyer. She landed
square on her bottom. Dress around her hips and legs in the air, Lindy lay on
the smooth tiled floor and laughed.
Quite the welcome, that!

The soft chuckle floated through the air and Lindy froze. A
man stood in the open doorway, his gaze travelling the length of her exposed
pale legs. Lindy was sure her telltale blush showed her embarrassment as she
yanked at the fabric bunched around her thighs.

“I beg your pardon, miss.” His tone was as formal as his
words. “I saw you struggling with your bags and just thought I might lend a
hand.”

Lindy looked at the well-tanned hand reaching out to her as
if it were a snake. The light-golden fuzz on his knuckles and strong-looking
fingers made her want to take it but she was hesitant. Looking up, she smiled
warmly to try to excuse her poor manners.

His grin was wide—bright teeth and sensual lips, the warmth
of it reaching his sparkling eyes. A mane of sandy hair lightened by the sun
framed his face, not quite reaching to his broad shoulders. Lindy thought she
must be describing a hero in her head but this guy was seriously hot.

When she looked into his eyes she shivered. Blue-green like
the sea outside the door and for a moment, she thought she saw the whole world
floating within them.

Taking his hand, Lindy stood beside him. “Thank you. Much
obliged,” she said politely.

“Ah—an American.” Lindy thought she picked up some smugness
in his voice.

“Why is it you Brits always seem to say ‘American’ with such
disdain?” she asked with equal smugness.

“Why is it you Americans are so paranoid?” he replied,
laughing. “Captain Thomas Phillips at your service.”

“Well, pardon me. Miss Lindy—Belinda Ann Reddington—of America,”
she added caustically.

“Well Miss Belinda Ann Reddington of America, it is a
pleasure to meet you.” He took her outstretched hand, effortlessly pulling her
up from the floor. Lindy saw the corded muscles in his forearm bunching under
the tanned skin. He was saying something and she looked back into those ocean-deep
eyes. “Looks like you have your work cut out for you here.”

“Yes, it certainly does,” Lindy sighed, the dejection
filling her heart as she turned slowly in a circle.

“Would you like me to stay until you have taken a walk-through?”

“No! I mean no thank you. I can manage.”

“Of course, strong woman and all.” She might have mistaken
the disdain but his patronizing tone rang clear as a bell.

“Well, strike two for me. Nothing wrong with self-reliance,
Captain.”

“Tom will do—Lindy.” Was it the familiar way he used her
nickname that made her tremble or the gleam in his eyes as he said it? Lindy
looked at him intently, wondering what his story was, her mind writing him a
steamy history with a girl in every port.

The sudden flutter of wings startled them both as the
blackbird swooped through the foyer and quickly headed back out the broken
window. Lindy squealed and without thought grabbed on to Tom, pressing her face
into his broad, welcoming chest. His faded t-shirt was soft on her cheek and
she took a deep breath. He smelled fresh and clean, like a green forest after a
summer rain, making her want to snuggle even closer before realizing what she
was doing.

“Umm, oh sorry,” she said, extricating herself from his arms
that had snaked protectively around her shoulders. “I don’t like things that
flutter about.”

“Not a problem, I assure you.” He let his arm drop slowly,
sliding his hand down her back, lightly brushing the curve of her hip. His fingers
were warm on her skin through the thin material of her dress and Lindy shivered
inside, enjoying his touch.

Lowering her eyes in embarrassment, Lindy couldn’t help but
notice the tightening fabric at Tom’s crotch. It would seem he liked feeling
her as well.

“If you’re sure I can’t be of assistance?” Tom raised a brow,
the low tone of his voice like warm honey trickling down her spine.

“No thanks. I’ll be fine.” Lindy tried to keep her voice
from quavering as she put a little distance between them.
What is wrong with
me? It must be jet lag or dehydration or not having had sex in far too long!

“If you look just down the beach to the south, you’ll see my
place. The one with the Siren masthead hanging from the eaves. Can’t miss it—if
you need anything.”

“Thank you, Tom. Really, I am grateful.” Lindy extended her
hand once more, not to be polite but because she needed his touch.

“Not a problem. Take care, Lindy.” Her name rolled off his
tongue in a whisper. He held on to her hand just a little longer than was
necessary, strong fingers wrapped around hers. Lindy could imagine them on her
body, stroking, squeezing.

Tom spoke, preventing her from sinking deeper into her
reverie. “You might want to fix that first.” Removing his hand from hers, he
pointed at the octagonal window above the door. She saw the star-shaped hole
where the glass was missing, letting the sun burst through. She groaned at the
thought of the weather it must let in as well—as well as fluttering creatures.

Tom’s whistle seemed to carry an air of superiority as he
walked across the porch and deftly maneuvered around the missing boards in the
steps. “Damn Brits, think they know everything!” she muttered as she walked to the
door.

She found herself on the porch watching the sun glinting off
his golden hair. Lindy let her gaze linger on the denim tightly stretched
across his taut, muscled ass, the shorts clinging like a second skin and moving
with him as he walked away. She wondered what it would feel like to cup her
fingers around his bottom and pull him closer…

Oh forget it! I did not come here for complications.

After the initial walk-through Lindy wondered if she shouldn’t
just check into a hotel. The house had sat empty for years and the task ahead
was daunting. She wanted to sit in the middle of the kitchen floor and cry. She
yawned and trudged into the parlor, her footsteps slowing, her arms limp at her
sides. She was tired and jet-lagged. She needed to at least find a spot to
sleep.

A little elbow grease and a lot of disinfectant and she
could manage for tonight. The antiquated plumbing and wiring might need a bit
more care but it was kind of quaint and Lindy liked quaint. She had always
entertained romantic notions about the past and now for a while she could
pretend she was living there.

As twilight approached, she pushed the round nub on the wall
switch to illuminate the kitchen. Nothing. She had asked them to turn on the
electric…
Too late to call now.
Besides, she’d better save the battery
on her cell for emergencies.

The sea breeze was fresh and invigorating as she gathered
some driftwood from the beach. Back in the dim house, she lit a fire in the
parlor and found a few candles to chase away the gloom. Digging in her purse,
she came up with a protein bar and a half of a bottle of warm water. It would
have to do. Too tired to care, she pulled the dust cover from the old camelback
sofa and sent up a silent prayer that the bugs were long dead. Pulling the
dusty, gray sheet over her, she slept.