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But Celestine Broussard Dupuis had been too starry-eyed, too sweet and gullible and idealistic to see it.
He shook the memory loose, felt the shudder of long forgotten anger racking his body replaced by irritation.
Jesus, where had that come from?
He wasn’t a sap, like his mom.
He had loved her dearly, but he’d always been aware of Celestine Dupuis’s faults. The most glaring of which had been to mix up sex with emotion—to think that making love with a guy meant he cared about you. That he would protect you and provide for you.
Love had been a trap for her, and ultimately for him, because it had anchored them both in a place where no one had respected them thanks to the crimes of someone else.
It had been the only upside of growing up as the son of the town’s biggest screw-up—learning to be cynical about the starry-eyed hogwash called love that robbed you of your common sense, your dignity and self-respect.
Had his conversation with Cassandra shaken all that loose again? Because if it had, he had even more reason to be mad with her.
He flung his towel and his wetsuit over his shoulder and headed round the point to where he’d anchored his kayak.
He shoved the boat off the rocks and jumped in.
Cassandra James had messed with his head two days ago and now she was doing it again.
Well, that ends now.
He’d given her space and she’d taken advantage of that. Coming out here and spying on him when she’d promised not to. Why was he even surprised she hadn’t stuck to her word? It was just one more example of how he couldn’t trust her.
He sliced the paddle into the water, picking up speed as the kayak rode over the surf and caught the tide.
He could see a new storm gathering, and the sun was starting to sink behind the point. She had a long walk back to the house—and once she got there he would be waiting.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CASSIE TOOK THE steps two at a time, with the long shadows chasing her all the way to the back door of the imposing wood and glass structure.
She pressed her forehead against the cold steel, stupidly pleased to have got to the house before the last of the light faded on the horizon. The sun had set less than five minutes ago, but even so the familiar vice around her chest tightened.
She forced herself to even her breathing. Grow up. You’re fine...you’re safe...you’re back now. You did not have to spend a night lost in the forest.
She had always had an idiotic fear of the darkness, and had been forced to sleep with a light on at night ever since she was a little girl.
Except when...
The recollection of strong arms cradling her, a hard body cocooning her against the storm, protecting her after dark, pushed against her consciousness... And the disturbing truth occurred to her for the first time.
Except when I fell asleep in Luke Broussard’s arms.
She blew out a breath, pushed the unhelpful thought away.
Wonderful, Cassie. Just what you need to make you feel even more pathetic.
She rubbed her open palms down her jeans, inhaled and exhaled several more times.
She’d got lost on her way back from Pirates’ Cove—probably because she hadn’t been able to think about anything except Luke Broussard and his naked body.
Her map-reading skills were rusty at best—when was the last time she’d been outside of London, let alone hiking in an Oregon island wilderness?—so it had taken her several wrong turns before she’d finally found the coastal path that would take her back to Luke’s house.
But she’d still been a good two miles away—according to the map—when she’d noticed the sun starting to dip ominously towards the horizon and the wind beginning to whip away the last of the day’s warmth.
Suddenly getting caught eyeballing Luke Broussard’s very delectable naked body had been the least of her worries...
