Wild: Whispering Cove, Book 1 (3 page)

“That I did.” There was no apology in her grandfather’s tone. Instead, he stepped back and held the door open. “Come inside before you wake the neighbors.” Andrea had just passed through the door when he spoke again. “Brody, would you be a good laddie and fetch her luggage out front?”

Andrea couldn’t help it, but her suspicious mind began to churn. “How did you know where my luggage was?”

He cocked a brushy brow. “It’s not here beside you. Where else would it be?” Pivoting, he placed his hand in the small of her back and ushered her inside while Brody disappeared around the house.

Upon entering the kitchen, she was assailed by a host of memories, but this time they made her smile. When her grandmother was alive there was always something cooking on the stove or in the oven. Even now Andrea could almost smell the fresh scent of zucchini bread or oyster fritters. “Nothing has changed.” From the seashell curtains along the bay window to the copper pots and pans hanging over the large island, it was just like she remembered.

“When something is perfect, lass, there be no need for improvement. Now come here and give your grandpa a hug.”

Taking the necessary steps to close the distance between them, Andrea fell into his arms. His embrace was warm and inviting. Arms that had held her when she cried, and refused to release her when she had told him she had to leave Whispering Cove.

“I’ve missed you.” Was that a tear she heard in his voice?

She bit her bottom lip to keep the emotion at bay. “I’ve missed you too.”

“I’m so glad you came home.”

Stopping short of saying
me too
, Andrea inched back so she could see his face. Lord. He had aged. His hair was silver, but still thick and full. Time had made tracks around his eyes and the sun had weathered him even more. He was still plump, huggable and loveable. “Why aren’t you in the hospital? Are you okay?”

“Hospital?” Brody repeated as he entered the room, but she ignored him.

Her grandfather stepped away, turning his back to her as he walked to the sink. The splash of tap water running didn’t drown out his reply. “Outpatient.” The cupboard creaked as he reached in to retrieve a cup, before placing it beneath the faucet. “A yearly checkup. I’m as good as an old man can be.”

“What?” she screeched, eyes widening.

His hand shook as he tipped the glass to his mouth and swallowed.

“
Grandpa!
” Her palms shot to her hips. She resisted the urge to tap a foot in frustration. “Why didn’t Byron just tell me it was a regular checkup? He made it sound like—”

Like what? Like her grandfather needed her.

“This is un-be-lieve-able.” A spark of anger flared. Did he have any idea what it took to rearrange her schedule? The effect it had on her to come back to Whispering Cove? Just as quickly as her resentment rose, it dissolved. “Why were you slurring your words?”

A pinkish splotch appeared on each of his cheeks. His ears reddened. “Too much rum.”

“Rum?” An exasperated huff was followed by a moan. “Ohhh…Grandpa.” Eyes clouding with disappointment, she continued. “Do you have any idea what I thought? What I’ve been through?” Not to mention the hell she was going through seeing Brody again.

“I’m sorry.” How her grandfather managed big doe eyes, she’d never know. He looked pitiful, leaving no doubt in her mind that he was indeed ashamed. “Are you angry with me, lassie?”

She glanced at Brody leaning casually against the doorjamb. The breadth of his broad shoulders seemed to consume the room. She didn’t remember him being quite so tall. He had to be at least six feet, a half foot taller than her. When he smiled that drop-dead smile that could melt her heart, she momentarily lost her concentration.

“N-no.” Focusing back on her grandfather, she lowered her chin and let all that was Irish in her spill out. “But don’t you
ever
do this to me again.”

The grin was back on her grandfather’s weathered face. “Then it’s time for this old man’s bed. Good night.” On the way through the kitchen he planted a gentle kiss on her cheek, then looked at Brody and winked.

Andrea gasped.

Had her conniving grandfather orchestrated her arrival?

Nah…

He couldn’t possibly. As she stood alone in the kitchen with the man she had loved since elementary school, the thought disappeared.

Brody moved closer and she couldn’t help stepping back. “Take a walk with me, Andie.”

Her nerves were frazzled. “It’s late, Brody.” Besides, she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him.

“Too late?” he asked.

Andrea didn’t miss the connotation in his question. But, yes. It was too late for them.

Grasping her arms, he pulled her nearer. “You’re not scared to be alone with me, are you?” Slipping his hand into hers, he gifted her with another one of those heartbreaking smiles.

Damn him.

Andrea licked her lips. “No,” she replied when she should have said yes, because she was scared. Scared shitless.

With a tug, he pulled her through the house, grabbing a checkered black and white afghan off the cream-colored couch, before opening the front door and leading her outside.

As the salty air brushed her cheeks and the sound of the ocean lapping at the shore filled her senses, so did her suspicion. “What’s the blanket for?”

“So you don’t get cold.” She almost laughed as he draped the afghan over her shoulders. But then he eased up behind her and whispered, “Remember the nights, Andie?” His voice was a little too low, a little too sensual.

A tremor assailed her. How could she not remember all those nights lying naked on the beach in his arms? Or the many make-out sessions held on Dresden’s Bluff, a popular place for all the teenagers to hang out. But the one memory forever engraved in her mind was the first time Brody declared his love and took her virginity. Lying on a blanket laid across the bottom of his father’s boat, the ocean waves had rocked them into ecstasy.

But that was then—and this was now.

Somehow she found solace in the fact that they were much different people now. Over the years her heart had withered, hardened.

It was too late for her—for them.

Chapter Three

The rush of the ocean slapping against the rocks echoed the beating of Brody’s heart. His hand tightened around Andie’s more delicate one before he drew her cool knuckles to his lips and kissed them, because he had to. A slight tug revealed her indifference, but not even she could rob him of this moment of happiness.

The woman he had loved forever was home.

Still caught in a state of semi-shock, he couldn’t believe she was in Whispering Cove. Nor could he deny the passion and love that had skyrocketed through him when he had discovered it was her he held on the back porch of her grandfather’s house. A flash of memories had turned him into one big knot of emotion. Even now her feminine scent, laced with a light, powdery perfume, made him dizzy with desire. With an overpowering need to get even closer, he tucked their joined hands to his chest, right above his heart. The adjustment drew the sides of their bodies so near that their hips and thighs brushed with each step. The black-and-white checkered afghan around her shoulders almost slipped, but she caught it, wrangling it back into place.

The young girl he once knew had vanished. A sophisticated, sexy woman walked beside him, hand in hand.

Like a school boy smitten for the first time, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Her hair was shorter now, a stylish shoulder-length cut, where she use to wear it down to her waist in a thick braid. Briefly he closed his eyes, remembering how he enjoyed releasing those silky strands, running his fingers through them, and how they slid seductively over his naked skin.

Andie had been a fervent lover. Not afraid to explore her sexuality or, for that matter, his. Her kiss. Her touch. Her soft hands caressing his heated skin.

A shiver raked his spine and he barely suppressed the moan that lingered in his diaphragm. But that was the effect she had on him. All he wanted to do was lay her on the sand and make love to her until the sun rose, but her standoffishness warned him to curtail his lust. Yet his willful mind was on a single track.

Andie.

Naked.

In his arms.

A sharp, abrupt bark tore him from his wanderings, startling Andie as she bumped into him. Brody shot a glance into the direction of the Krueger’s beach house. Their fawn boxer barked again, jumping against the wooden fence that swayed beneath his weight.

“Hush, Trojan,” Brody scolded.

The yipping stopped, but Trojan’s stubby tail wagged so hard the boxer almost lost his footing. Brody would have to remember to bring a doggie treat when he patrolled the beach later on.

A heavy sigh brought his attention back to Andie. What was she thinking, looking at the row of beach houses aligning the beach? Did she miss Whispering Cove? Him?

Absentmindedly, he squeezed her hand again and she glanced up at him. The exchange was brief, before she looked away. Unashamed, he studied her, as much as he could beneath the moonlit night.

More than the length of her hair had changed. Lord have mercy. His eyes had nearly jumped out of their sockets when he’d seen her in the kitchen light. Just the thought of those long, shapely legs wrapped around his waist made blood rush to his groin.

Yet it was her full, tantalizing breasts peeking seductively from between her partially unbuttoned shirt that he longed to cradle and savor. His palms itched with anticipation. Bittersweet pressure built behind his zipper, causing his pants to rub and tease the sensitive head of his cock, making walking difficult.

Not to mention, the silence was killing him. “So how have you been?”

Staring straight ahead, she gazed across the dusky horizon. “Good.”

Short. Sweet. To the point.

Not exactly what he had expected from someone he had known all his life, or from a successful, articulate attorney. Yet again, it could be her training. Keep it brief. Say nothing that can be held against you in a court of law. Or maybe she was as nervous as he. Brody could stare down the barrel of a gun and get the job done, but with Andie he lost control. Even after all these years she remained the axis his world spun on.

Her tongue slipped between lush lips and he almost died with the need to taste her. Instead, he reeled in his obstinate hunger. “California? You like living there?”

“It’s beautiful. No snow. Yes. I like LA.”

Hurrah!
He scored a multiple-word answer. But he wasn’t a fool. The lie she told stood out like the cove’s shiny lighthouse beacon. Andie had always loved the snow, especially the winters in Maine. She was the only girl he knew who would run barefoot through the cold powder, spin in circles, and then fall back in the white cloud of flurries, laughing.

At one time, the redhead next to him had had a wild streak in her deeper than the ocean. No one could test boundaries like Andie. No one. Maybe it was the Irish in her, but that’s one of the things that had attracted him.

In third grade when the others were on the playground as directed, Andie was squeezing her small frame through the hole in the fence to escape to the ocean. Her grandfather used to call her his little mermaid. Quietly Brody chuckled, thinking about how Mrs. Adair would run her fingers through Andie’s hair pretending to look for gills.

When they came upon the rocky portion of the beach, Andie stumbled over a stone in their path. He had to release her hand long enough to steady her. This time when he reached, intertwining their fingers, she pulled against him, making sure their fastened hands remained along their hips, placing space between them.

“You enjoy your work?” he asked.

“Yes. You?”

Brody smiled because he couldn’t help it. “You know I love Whispering Cove. It’s home. If I can make it better, safer, then I’m happy.”

Finally, she stared up at him, but he couldn’t read her expression in the shadows before she glanced elsewhere. Either way she still didn’t instigate conversation.

For the longest time they walked the beach without talking, sand crunching beneath their feet. When Brody couldn’t stand it anymore, he again broke the silence. “Why didn’t you answer my telephone calls or letters?” Not a single one. When Andie left Maine, she severed all ties, at least with him.

Something had died inside him the summer she left. A year in pursuit of her failed. Even a visit to Los Angeles to speak with her, ask her to come home, had ended poorly. A business trip had taken her to New Orleans. Judging by his arrival and her departure, their paths must have crossed unnoticed in the LAX airport. After that Brody had joined the Marines. When his tour of duty was up, he attempted to call her, facing a clerk insisting that Andie was unavailable. Not contacting her from that point onward had been the hardest thing he had ever done. At times it had nearly killed him.

“Brody, let’s not go there.” Was it anger or annoyance that made her tone tense?

“I think I deserve to know.” His feet slowed, pulling them both to a halt. “Did I do something wrong that night?” The threads of his control were unraveling like a pair of old, cutoff jeans. “Tell me, Andie, did you ever love me?”