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There was something about him, something compelling.
Her mother used to talk about people having auras. Zoë thought it was nonsense, but for some reason it came to mind now. The biker had an aura. That, and sheer animal magnetism. His hair was so unusual, white-blond and heavy. If he were in bed with a woman, would it brush over the woman’s body, heightening her pleasure? The thought made her want to find out. With those stark cheekbones and unusual eyes, he had a hellish sexy look.
She couldn’t help wishing she really had broken down and needed his assistance for a bit longer. She reached over to turn the radio up. The raunchy rock music she’d had on at a low level in the background had hardly touched her consciousness on the entire drive up here, and yet now it made her hum along. She signaled, checked the rearview mirror, and pulled back onto the road.
Winding down the steep cliff side into the village, she turned a corner, and there it was. Pretty, pastel-colored cottages lined up either side of a meandering road that led down to the harbor. “I made it.”
Carbrey was a small fishing village. There were other villages nearby but the nearest large town was some twenty miles along the coast. Zoë had come for the sea views and the coastal paths, and the place was postcard perfect. She had a stack of books in her suitcase and her walking gear. That was all she needed, although a bit more time around that sexy biker might make it a holiday to remember, she mused.
The locals watched her car go by with undisguised curiosity. Several of the children waved, making her smile as she waved back. Passing by a pretty pub called the Silver Birch, a tiny school, and a chapel interspersed with quaint houses, she drew to a halt at the crossroads at the bottom of the hill. A marina provided safe harbor for around forty small boats that were bobbing merrily on the incoming tide. It was gloriously sunny but windy down here, the sky a blaze of blue, the fast-moving clouds barely blocking out the sunlight as they sped across it. A handful of tourists drifted about the harbor area, three teenagers eating ice cream, a young family posing for photographs by the boats. It was almost the end of the season and Zoë imagined it was much busier in the middle of the summer.
On her right a corner shop with a post office sign marked the place where she had to pick up the keys. To the left, Shore Lane ran down to the very edge of the water. The last few houses existed on a limited lifespan as the sea ate away at the land. That was a big selling point about the fisherman’s cottage she’d rented. It was a beautiful little place, over three hundred years old, but in a decade or so the sea would erode another few feet of the coast and the cottages out on Shore Lane wouldn’t be habitable.
She turned left, figuring she’d park up and walk back to the post office for the keys. In the distance she could make out a small island where a lighthouse stood. The sun gleamed on the water. Driving slowly along the narrow street, she marveled at how close the water came to the houses. On her right-hand side, a large workshop took the last bit of land, backing onto the marina, before it dropped away completely into the sea, right behind the wall at the edge of the lane. A sign read Logan’s Boat Yard. As she drove by, a tall young man appeared from inside the boat workshop to watch.
He leaned against the upturned helm of a boat, staring blatantly at her. Something about the way he watched her compelled her to slow down and open her window to ask for directions. She didn’t need directions. Zoë knew she was on the right track. A top-notch London PA always had her map memorized.
“Hello, am I in the right place for the cottage called Her Haven?” She blushed as she said the name of the cottage. She thought it was a silly coincidence, but her sister had found the place and insisted it would be the perfect spot for Zoë to take a break. Gina said it was meant for her, since she hadn’t had a proper holiday in three years.
The young man smiled and sauntered over to the car, like a languorous young lion staking her out. Again she felt that strange feeling pass over her, as if someone was there in the car with her, turning up her internal thermometer and nudging her every time a sexy hunk of man passed by. Ridiculous though it was, she wondered if being away from home for the first time in ages had given her an over-exaggerated sense of self-awareness. Either that or the holiday spirit had infected her already. She’d read about women who had flings while they were away from home. Would the opportunity come her way?
She certainly wouldn’t reject it, if it did. Her job kept her far too busy. She stifled a smile as a confessional magazine headline she’d read flitted through her mind: “My holiday fling with a lusty local hunk.”
Would she have her own holiday confessional? Maybe.
The man bent down and leaned into her window, suddenly inside her personal space, a lazy smile on his face as he looked her over and then glanced around the interior of the car. “You’re in the right place.”
His brogue was heavier than the biker’s had been. He had inquisitive blue eyes and thick brown hair. She estimated he was in his early twenties. Well built, under the loose T-shirt and combat pants he wore.
“Second house from the end of the row.” He pointed farther along the narrow street, without breaking eye contact with her. “I’m Crawford Logan,” he added, reaching one large hand into the car.
She rested her hand in his, taking a sharp breath when he squeezed it firmly with his boat builder’s grip.
“Zoë Daniels,” she replied, marveling at how quickly they had exchanged names. Living in London was so different, she supposed. In a small village like this they’d be interested in the tourists that came and went. “I’ve rented Her Haven for a few days.”
That’s pretty obvious, she realized, after she said it. Throw a girl out of her regular routine and this is what happens, one minute clinging to a biker on the side of the road, the next playing ditzy and wide-eyed for the local boat builder. It was no bad thing, though. She wanted to loosen up. She needed it.
Crawford seemed to let go of her hand reluctantly. She liked that. When he stood up, he saluted her and she drove on.
She parked the car outside the second cottage from the end of the row and got out, stretching as she did so. Over the door, a carved sign bore the words Her Haven. The front of the cottage suggested cozy and inviting interiors; whitewashed walls, a heavy studded oak door to keep out any stormy weather in the winter. Picturesque windows with lacy curtains shaded the interior.
The house next door stood on the end of the row and didn’t look quite so cared for. It was at the mercy of the elements, being right on the end. Over the door the word Cornerstone had been etched into the plaster.
She locked her car and walked back along the road, waving at Crawford, who still stood by, watching her with a half smile. She could feel his suggestive stare as she passed by, as if he was assessing her, intimately.
It had been too long since she’d been away from home, Gina was right. Gina was the one who’d insisted Zoë take a vacation, her first proper break since their mother’s death three years before. Sure, she’d thrown herself into her work after that. She was good at her job and it made her feel needed, made her feel productive and useful. Why not? But she felt different here and now, out of her efficient business suit and heels. She felt more conscious of everything, and that made the old adrenaline pump. As she walked along the street she nodded at the passersby who smiled cautiously as they c
hecked her out.
The village had a wistful, eerie quality about it, she thought, as if somehow captured in a bygone era. The staggered houses were built around the harbor and looked as if they were huddled together for security against the elements. It was unusual, and very appealing.
The post office looked like something out of the 1950s, and when she pushed the door open a bell tinkled overhead.
“Well, hello, you must be Zoë Daniels.”
Zoë stared at the woman speaking to her from behind the counter. “How did you know who I was?”
“You’re dot on time to pick up the keys to the cottage, and I know pretty much everyone who stops by here, apart from the day trippers.” She looked Zoë up and down with a curiously satisfied expression on her face. “And you don’t look like you’re on a day trip, sweetheart.”
