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“My parents were thieves,” she mumbled into his chest. “My dad, Connie’s son, got caught up with the wrong girl—the wrong crowd—in college and was never right again. They were training me to be like them when my grandparents intervened and took me in that summer.” He was warm and strong and he hadn’t shoved her away yet, so she kept going. “I think Will knew. They consulted him, I’m sure. All those training runs had to be part of making sure I was staying on the right path.”
Travis chuckled. “You’re hardly the type to veer off into criminal behavior.”
“Says the man who wanted to arrest me a couple days ago.”
“My bad.” He caught her chin between his fingers. “My initial doubts were more about shock than anything else. It’s pastry or death for you.”
She laughed. How did he manage that? “Pastry or death?” She held his gaze, too surprised by the reflection of her own desire to say anything more.
He watched her, his thumb gliding over her cheek. “Fits doesn’t it?”
Pretty much.Her hands curled into the fabric of his shirt as she drew herself into his embrace. Pressing onto her toes, she kissed him. There was more to say, more to discuss, but first this.
She breathed him in, reveled in the heat of his mouth, his tongue tangling with hers. It was perfect. Better than any other kiss she’d had. The sensual promise in the way he held her was laced with more than desire. Though that pulse of lust was beating hard in her ears and quickly overwhelming her in the best way possible.
He was warmth and strength and hope.
Suddenly she knew—with him—she could be safe and daring. With her secrets. With her body. Possibly even with her heart.
“Lila.” He spoke her name, over and over, into her skin as his mouth trailed down the column of her throat. “You. I want you. If—”
“Yes.” Cool air drifted over the places his mouth had been. This time the shiver was pure pleasure. “There’s more.”
“Let it wait,” he whispered. “It doesn’t matter.” He cradled her head in his palms and kissed her deeply.
She melted, needing his support to stay upright, clinging to his shoulders. She heard footsteps, a faint “whoops” and then they were alone again. “We can’t stay here without causing a scandal.” She swallowed a giggle. “And there is more. More to say,” she clarified.
He tucked her head under his chin. “More to this too.”
His words echoed in her head and through her body—a vow, a promise, a temptation—all the way back to the Inn.
Chapter 9
Travis’s pulse thundered in his ears.
From a kiss. A hot and involved kiss, to be sure, but his body was responding as if his life depended on kissing her again.
They only had a short drive to the Inn and yet, it felt like they’d never get there. He needed a distraction, but he didn’t want to crush the mood. Far from it. The sooner he had Lila in his arms again, the better he’d feel.
She’d trusted him with her past and what seemed to be her deepest worry. He wouldn’t let her down. Reaching across the console between them, he caught her hand. “Tell me more about the Inn.”
“What?”
He rested his fingers on the inside of her wrist, more than a little gratified to feel her pulse racing too. “The Inn. A place like that doesn’t just materialize on an island like this.”
“Oh. But—”
“Distract me, Lila. Or I might combust before we get back to the room.”
“Oh.”
This time she dragged out the word and he would’ve sworn she was trying not to laugh. Thankfully, she did as he asked and started spewing the facts.
“It’s an island fixture,” she began. “Back in the 1940s it was pretty small. Thirty luxury suites, a grand ballroom and upscale dining room dripping with chandeliers. By the ‘70s it had fallen into disrepair, mostly due to a hurricane and for a time, according to Gram, people on the island considered it an outdated eyesore.” He laced his hand with hers as he turned into the long driveway. “So what changed?”
“A very determined mayor. He had serious political clout in the state and some financially savvy friends. He drummed up interest and support for the idea of community ownership. The Inn is owned by Brookwell residents who bought into a reinvestment and refurbishment campaign. Everyone who did that, my grandparents included, still owns a little piece of the Inn and receives dividends each year.”
“Impressive,” he murmured.
