The Inn at Eagle Point Read online

  She declined again.

  “Candlelight?” he offered.

  “Just you,” she told him, giving him a gentle shove.

  “Well, you can’t turn me down if I do this,” he said, scooping her into his arms and cradling her against his chest.

  Abby immediately snuggled into all that amazing heat and relished the comfort of knowing that same strength would always be used to protect her.

  In his bedroom, which had little in the way of decoration, the king-size bed stood out in sensual invitation. He set her down in the middle of it, then followed her.

  For what seemed like an eternity they simply lay there, face-to-face, gazing into each other’s eyes, absorbing the moment that had been inevitable, but forever in coming…ten impossibly long years, in fact.

  It was Trace who finally broke the spellbinding moment. “I’ve missed you, Abby. For all these years, I’ve felt as if a part of myself was missing.”

  She started to speak, but he touched a finger to her lips. “Don’t,” he said. “I know you had another life during that time. I don’t expect you to feel the same way.”

  “But I do,” she protested. “I don’t think I realized how much I missed this, missed us until right this second. Now I can’t imagine how I went so long without you.”

  A slow, soft smile of satisfaction spread across his lips. “Let’s see if I can remember what you like,” he said, his gaze intense.

  His mouth found the spot at the base of her neck that made her head fall back. Pushing aside her blouse and un-hooking her bra, he nuzzled each breast, his tongue flicking over the nipples until they hardened. With sure, tantalizing strokes, he caressed her stomach, his fingers dipping low until they found her moist, hot core. Abby would have moved away to shed her slacks, but he kept her in place, tormenting her until she was gasping for air and for the finish he was carefully, deliberately denying her.

  “You’re a tease,” she accused when she could find sufficient breath to speak.

  He grinned. “And you love it.”

  “I could turn the tables on you,” she said. “I’ve learned a few moves over the years.”

  He stilled at that and she thought at first she’d made a terrible mistake, inadvertently dragging Wes into bed with them without even mentioning his name. Then Trace regarded her with an intrigued expression and flopped over onto his back.

  “Show me your stuff,” he teased, whatever emotion he’d felt before nowhere in sight now.

  Responding to his good-natured taunt, she rose on her knees and bent over him, peppering his face, his bare chest and even lower with kisses, all the while slowly sliding down the zipper of his jeans. When she reached inside, his sharp, indrawn breath told her he hadn’t expected that, hadn’t anticipated the bold touch and clever, wicked way her fingers were dancing over his hard shaft.

  His eyes alight with amusement and barely banked desire, he flipped her on her back and went to work stripping her of her clothes. Then with a few clever, wicked touches of his own, he brought her right to the peak of satisfaction, but wouldn’t let her tumble off that beckoning cliff.

  “Not without me,” he said quietly, his gaze locked with hers as he knelt over her. He slowly slid deep within her, never once looking away, as if to be sure she knew it was him, experienced this moment with him.

  No, she realized, it was more than that. It was as if he needed to, was determined to see right into her heart.

  Their bodies fell at once into a natural rhythm. Like waves on the shore, the sensations rose and fell, gathering intensity, stealing breath, demanding…everything. Passion peaked with an explosion of fireworks brighter than anything she’d seen in ten years of New York’s most spectacular Fourth of July celebrations.

  As the sparks died down and the colors faded, she snuggled into Trace’s embrace. At home. Again.

  Trace awoke slowly to moonlight streaming in his windows and the sound of distant thunder rumbling in the air. Waves were crashing on the shore as an early-summer storm approached. He relished the wildness of it, a wildness that could only be lackluster in comparison to having Abby back in his bed. In astonishment, he realized this was the first time she’d actually been in his bed and not wherever they’d been able to steal a few hours alone, most often a blanket on the beach.

  He rolled toward her, then realized she was gone. For a moment, he felt an almost incomparable letdown, but then he heard her stirring around in his kitchen.

  Pulling his jeans back on, he went in search of the woman he would never again deny loving.

  He found her setting his table with the mismatched plates and silverware that had come with the apartment, items culled from Mrs. Finch’s attic. She’d lit two candles, maybe for the ambience, maybe in anticipation of a likely power outage if the storm hit hard. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, which came to midthigh and outlined the shape of her breasts and hips in a provocative way he doubted she’d realized.

  For the moment, she was oblivious to his arrival, so he stood perfectly still, watching her work. She was cutting and dicing with surprisingly sure strokes given that the knife probably hadn’t seen a sharpener in fifteen years. There was a little mound of onion and another of green pepper on the cutting board. To that, she added some tomato when she’d finished.

  She tossed a dollop of butter into a large skillet, then waited until it started to sizzle before adding all the vegetables. After giving them a chance to cook for just a moment, she poured in a bowlful of eggs she’d whipped into a froth.

  Every movement, each time she stretched, hitched the T-shirt a bit to give him a brief and intriguing glimpse of her bare bottom. As starved as he was, it was a toss-up whether he wanted the meal she was making or her the most. To his delight, he realized he could have both.

  He walked up behind her, lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck.

  “You’re bothering the cook,” she said, though it sounded as if that pleased rather than annoyed her.

  “I’d be interested in bothering her a lot more, if she’s willing.”

  She faced him with a grin. “Before we eat?” she asked in disbelief.

  He drew in the aroma of the frittata she was apparently creating. “Maybe after.”

  “Nice to know what your priorities are,” she commented, as she sprinkled grated cheddar cheese over the top of her creation, then slid it into the oven to set the eggs and melt the cheese.

  “What time is it?” he asked, trying to focus on the mundane since looking at Abby was getting him hot and bothered all over again.

  “Not quite ten,” she said. “There’s a storm brewing. Is that what woke you?”

  He shook his head. “I think I woke up because I knew instinctively that you’d left my bed.”

  She slid an arm around him and tucked her hand just inside the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. The comfortable intimacy of that touch suddenly made him think about having nights like this for the rest of their lives. That’s what he wanted. He was pretty sure she did, too. Coming here tonight was an admission of that, in its own way. She wouldn’t have come, if on some level she wasn’t ready for a shared future with him. How long, though, would it take for her to admit that to herself? And when the time came could they find a compromise about their living arrangements?

  A few minutes later they were seated at the table just inside his balcony doors where they could feel the cooling air as the storm got closer. At first they both ate as if they were starving, but then Trace leaned back and studied her
. Despite the rumpled sensuality of her appearance, the slightly swollen lips and rosy cheeks, there was an unmistakable hint of sadness in her eyes.

  “Okay, spill it,” he said to her.

  “Spill what?”

  “I know you came over here tonight for my body,” he began, drawing an annoyed look from her. “But what drove you to my doorstep, when all the other O’Briens are at your place? You usually love those family occasions.”

  “Not tonight. I didn’t want to spend the evening with them,” she said stiffly.

  He studied her with a narrowed gaze. “You and your grandmother have a fight?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You and Mick?”

  “Mick and I are fine.”

  “Then unless those little girls of yours have found a new way to get under your skin, the problem has to be Jess.”

  Her instantaneous frown told him he’d nailed it. “What’d she do now?”

  “Do you really want to spoil this evening by talking about my sister?”

  “I don’t want to spoil anything and I could care less about Jess. I do care about anything that upsets you.”

  She set her glass down on the table with a thump, her eyes flashing with fire. “We had an argument,” she said tightly. “We’ll both get over it. Now drop it, okay?”

  He persisted. “About something at the inn, I assume,” he said, assailed by guilt once again. “Dammit, I never should have used my position at the bank to put you in this position. What was I thinking?”

  “You were thinking that somebody has to make Jess understand reality,” she countered, then added with an air of resignation, “It might as well be me.”

  “No,” he said forcefully. “It shouldn’t be you. You’re sisters and I’ve driven a wedge between you. That’s insane. Tomorrow I’ll talk to Laila about taking over. You’ll be free to head back to New York, if you want to.”

  She stared at him in astonishment. “You want me to go home now? After this?” She waved her hand in an all-encompassing gesture that he assumed was meant to include him and what had happened here tonight.

  “I never said I wanted you to go. I said you’d be free to go if that was what you wanted.”

  “No,” she said at once, her chin jutting defiantly. “I’m seeing this through.”

  Despite his willingness to let her go, relief flooded through him at her refusal. He could only hope that her determination to stay was not only about Jess, but maybe about him and their future, as well.

  Abby got home before dawn, after spending most of the night in Trace’s bed. She slipped inside, doing her best not to wake anyone, but to her dismay she encountered Mick on the stairs. He was on his way down, fully dressed and ready to start his day. He eyed her with a look she couldn’t entirely interpret. It was somewhere between protective fatherly concern and amusement.

  “Long night,” he commented. “You must have found a way to occupy your evening.”

  Abby regarded him with defiance. “I am not discussing my evening with you.”

  He held up his hands. “Believe me, I do not want to hear details.” Still, he gave her a hard, assessing look. “You know what you’re doing?”

  She sighed at that, thinking of all the possible complications there would likely be. “I hope so.” Hoping to force a change of subject, she asked, “The girls okay?”

  “They’re still sound asleep. I checked on ’em just now.”

  “Okay, then, I’m going to take a quick shower and get ready to go to work.”

  He frowned at that. “Come with me,” he ordered. “You can spare time for a cup of coffee before you take that shower.”

  Abby followed reluctantly. She knew that tone, though. Ignoring his command would only delay whatever he had to say.

  When they were in the kitchen and he’d filled the coffeepot and turned it on, Mick sat down at the table opposite her. “Did I miss something? Did Jess apologize?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t she order you off her property?”

  Abby gave him an incredulous look. “Do you honestly think I’ll pay any attention to that? I have a job to do, whether she’s happy about it or not.”

  “Why does it have to be you? You know the bank could give someone else oversight of the inn’s finances.”

  “Trace already offered to do that,” she admitted. “I turned him down.”

  Mick looked dismayed. “Why would you do a darn fool thing like that? Do you want to ruin your relationship with Jess forever?”

  “I’m not going to ruin anything,” Abby said, leaving the table to pour the coffee. She handed Mick his in his favorite mug, one Connor had gotten for him years ago that said World’s Best Dad. She sat back down and tried to make him see her point of view. “Dad, if someone else takes over they’re not going to be half as understanding of all Jess’s issues.”

  Even though she said it, she knew that wasn’t entirely true. Laila would certainly understand. She’d been around the O’Brien house during all those difficult years after Megan first left. She knew about Jess’s tendency to lose focus. She’d cut her some slack.

  But not as much as Abby would. And she certainly wouldn’t insist, as Abby intended to, that Jess find some manageable way to organize what needed to be done and started to follow through. So far, none of the techniques she’d learned to stay on task seemed to be working.

  Mick shook his head, his disapproval plain. “You can’t spend your entire life bailing your sister out of jams. She has to grow up sometime.”

  “She will, Dad. She’s accomplished so much. We’ll figure out the best way to make sure she handles all the rest. First, we just have to get the inn open.”

  “How’s that coming? I know what Jess has told me, but I want your assessment.”

  “We’re actually in very good shape. All of the redecorating and renovations are finished. Jess hired a chef.” She made a face as she said that.

  “The one who wanted the fancy range?” he asked.

  Abby nodded. “I honestly don’t think she made a big issue of it, though. I think Jess just got it into her head that we had to have it.”

  “You sure this isn’t a necessity? If it is, I could…”

  “No, absolutely not,” Abby said at once. “The equipment we have is perfectly fine for now. And if you go out and buy it, it will undermine the lesson I’m trying to instill in Jess about fiscal responsibility.”

  He nodded. “You’re right, of course. I just thought maybe I could make some kind of contribution, something to commemorate the start of the business.”

  Abby saw that he really did want to do something to show his support of Jess. “Dad, it’s a really expensive range. Wouldn’t a bouquet of flowers be enough?”

  He laughed. “Not my style. Your mama’s the only one who ever got flowers from me and that was only after I discovered the kind of reward I could get for my thoughtfulness.”

  Abby held up a hand. “Too much information,” she said, but then turned thoughtful. “You could send Mom flowers for her room at the inn, you know. It would be a really nice gesture of welcome.”

  Mick scowled at her. “Don’t go getting any ideas about your mother and me. That ship has sailed.”

  Abby thought it might be about to return to port, but she kept her opinion to herself. “Dad, do you really want to make a gift of the stove to Jess? It would be an amazing gesture, and I s
houldn’t be the one to stand in the way of your making it.”

  “I’d like to do it,” he confirmed.

  “For Jess? Not because you think it’ll make peace between us?”

  “It’s for your sister, so she knows she has my support. If it eases things between the two of you, so much the better.”

  Abby studied him and saw the real yearning in his expression to make this grand gesture. How could she stop him from reaching out to Jess? She stood up and hugged him. “Do it, Dad. I’ll bring the paperwork back with me later today and you can call and make the arrangements.”

  He nodded. “Consider it done.”

  “Then I’m going upstairs to take that shower.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re a great guy, you know that, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I may be a great guy, but I haven’t always been the best father. I’m going to do my best to fix that before it’s too late.”

  Abby heard the determination in his voice, saw the commitment in his eyes. It was a far cry from the sad, defeated man he’d been in the months and years after Megan had left.

  “If I know one thing about you, Dad, it’s that you can do anything you set your mind to. You planned and built an entire town, for heaven’s sake. Anything else you decide to tackle should be a piece of cake.”

  He shook his head. “I understand bricks and mortar and infrastructure, and maybe even a little bit about what it takes to turn a bunch of houses into a real community,” he said. “You kids…you’re a whole other kettle of fish.”

  “Well, I have faith that you’ll figure it out,” she told him.

  To her surprise, she wasn’t just saying the words he wanted—or needed—to hear. She meant every one of them. Her dad, the man she’d idolized as a little girl, was really trying to find his way back to his family.

  On Monday Trace once again cajoled Laila into coming into his office to pick up the folders scheduled for review by the loan committee on Tuesday. To his relief, though not his surprise, she didn’t put up much of a fight.