Книга - Married One Night

Married One Night
Amber Leigh Williams


What happened in Vegas…followed her home! Olivia Lewis is not the marrying type. So when a wild weekend in Vegas leaves her with a surprise husband, she's happy to sign anything to erase her mistake–even if that mistake is handsome, charming and comes with an English accent. Fortunately, her groom has other plans.Bestselling author Gerald Leighton knows he can make his new bride fall in love with him–he just needs time. In exchange for a quickie divorce, Olivia grudgingly gives him a few weeks to attempt to woo her. And whether Olivia likes it or not, Gerald plans on using every second to win her heart!







What happened in Vegas…followed her home!

Olivia Lewis is not the marrying type. So when a wild weekend in Vegas leaves her with a surprise husband, she’s happy to sign anything to erase her mistake—even if that mistake is handsome, charming and comes with an English accent. Fortunately, her groom has other plans.

Bestselling author Gerald Leighton knows he can make his new bride fall in love with him—he just needs time. In exchange for a quickie divorce, Olivia grudgingly gives him a few weeks to attempt to woo her. And whether Olivia likes it or not, Gerald plans on using every second to win her heart!


“What memories do you have of our time in Nevada?”

“Our one-night stand, you mean?” Olivia asked.

Gerald grinned. “Precisely.”

She sighed, lifting a hand. “Oh, I don’t know. Not much, to be honest. Tequila has a debilitating effect on my ability to retain information.”

“As it does for all us mere mortals,” he said with a thoughtful nod. After a moment’s hesitation, he covered her hand with his free one. “I hope you don’t take this too hard, but it seems on that night in Las Vegas, somewhere along the line we happened to find ourselves embedded in a wedding chapel.”

Her lips twitched in wry humor. “A wedding chapel. You’re kidding me, right?” When those grave, green eyes neither smiled nor strayed from hers, she fumbled. “You’re…you’re not? Kidding?”


Dear Reader (#ulink_cd180ed4-22b4-5a80-8f7b-353d9c105957),

I’m thrilled to give you the second book set in Fairhope, Alabama, Married One Night. If you have not yet read the first book, A Place with Briar, that’s okay! You don’t need to read it to enjoy Married One Night. If you have read Briar’s book, you’ll be happy to know that this is Olivia’s story.

It seems that everyone’s got that one friend, the hopeless matchmaker. In the first book, Olivia’s cousin Briar even goes so far as to compare her to Emma Woodhouse…that is, if Emma were a forthright tavern-keeper with a bawdy laugh. It struck me that, although Olivia’s character likes to match up friends and family members with their prospective mates, she’s alone. A few allusions to her past reveal that her own love life has not been ideal. My editor must have noticed, too, because in her notes to me, she seemed to want to know more about Olivia’s history and what it would take for her to meet her match….

Enter Gerald Leighton! He’s charming, handsome, British…he’s even wealthy, a self-made man (and, believe it or not, a renegade earl). Another fun fact about Gerald? He’s a man not at all afraid of commitment, and from the moment he sees Olivia, he knows what he wants. When I realized that Gerald would be Olivia’s hero, he struck me as an unlikely match for her. I dove in and hoped for the best…and (as Gerald would say) blimey, did I have a blast! Pitting the commitment-phobic heroine against the idealistic yet irresistible hero was an entertaining experience. I was surprised, too, by how much they had to learn and gain from each other. As the saying goes, opposites attract, and oftentimes it’s because one gives the other something no one else can.

I hope you enjoy Married One Night! Stay tuned for the third book in the series—Adrian’s story—coming soon…

Amber Leigh Williams




Married One Night

Amber Leigh Williams







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ulink_df014282-de92-5c3e-9acc-211e28c398e2)

Amber Leigh Williams lives on the Gulf Coast. A Southern girl at heart, she loves beach days, the smell of real books, relaxing at her family’s lakehouse and spending time with her husband, Jacob, and their sweet blue-eyed boy. When she’s not running after her young son and three large dogs, she can usually be found reading a good romance or cooking up a new dish in her kitchen. Readers can find her on the web at www.amberleighwilliams.com (http://www.amberleighwilliams.com)!


To family—near, far and dearly departed.

I respectfully ask forgiveness for borrowing a few footnotes from our respective Scottish and English (even the illegitimately royal) bloodlines. Enormous gratitude for writing down and passing on the stories.

Cheers to you for the inspiration (and hold fast)!


Contents

Cover (#u3c6163f3-6dec-5c31-b916-4fd20ebe789b)

Back Cover Text (#u2d251209-70a8-5dc2-8255-10ec75fad22f)

Introduction (#u74c21dbe-9cf2-5cb8-b1a7-01a4a29f9408)

Dear Reader (#ulink_5833386c-8730-57f5-9039-1bcbbe42ebd8)

Title Page (#ud7dbca11-a1f7-5a63-8f6b-9fd7df3e1e33)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ulink_86479e35-f886-51f4-b1c5-a7a25ca71682)

Dedication (#u90a9f5dd-3781-5d33-b169-c6000422b290)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a7bef80b-fa27-5994-b9f0-5bf2ded36f15)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_b9d7a631-ef77-53d2-a5f7-e7b481c3a1d6)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a4a6e170-b84b-5217-b7f5-0119f314a7fe)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_4b8ac1d9-a58c-552d-93e7-c3a3a1fc5acd)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_cabab114-9a1e-547e-8651-583a1c8c394b)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_d15004d5-dd66-51e9-87a5-14d94f4b0f25)

OLIVIA LEWIS WOKE up in a Sin City penthouse amidst petal-strewn, silk sheets. She bolted upright in bed...and groaned, wavering as the world turned. And turned again.

Okay, makethat silk sheets, rose petals...and the most vicious hangover of her life.

Hissing, she pressed a hand over her eyes, the other on her head to stop the contents from sloshing around. Her mouth felt like sandpaper, and her stomach writhed. Obviously the obscene amount of liquor she’d consumed the night before was turning on her in sickly rebellion.

“Oh, holy moly,” she wheezed. “What the hell happened last night?” Peering around, she squinted against the desert sunlight streaming through the undraped floor-to-ceiling window that spanned the entire left wall of the bedroom. At the sight of several curiously unmentionable items scattered across the bed and floor, she became more than a little curious about the events of the previous evening. Especially when she saw the tattered remains of her red dress hooked on the wall sconce at the other end of the room.

Frowning, she lifted the covers and looked underneath. She was naked as sin. And she’d spent enough nights with men to know how she should feel the next day. With a groan, she laid back into the pillows and pulled the covers over her head.

So sometime during the night, she had snuck away from the bachelorette party for her friend Roxie Honeycutt and gotten frisky—very frisky—with an unknown man.

It wasn’t her first one-night stand. Nor did she think it would be her last. But considering she’d been the hostess of Roxie’s bachelorette party and it had been her idea to bring the bash to Vegas, Olivia felt shame rushing up to meet her.

She sighed, flopping her arms over her head. “Well done, Liv,” she muttered at the ceiling. It was painted with a mural complete with puffy white clouds and baby-faced cherubs.

How many inappropriate things had those cherubs seen last night?

Olivia pursed her lips, thinking back hard to what she could remember of the past twenty-four hours. She and her friends had flown into Vegas, then checked into their casino hotel room. They’d gone to a bar...no, a club. The venue had been packed elbow to elbow. Olivia’s other friend and invitee, Adrian Carlton, had kept ordering drinks for the three of them. Tequila shots. That would explain the gargantuan headache pounding away at the inside of Olivia’s head and the base of her neck.

Then...there’d been dancing on the parquet dance floor. And a man. Olivia braved the thumping, eyes watering as she thought hard to bring him into sharper focus. She got only an impression—tall. Tailored suit. A black necktie, which she’d had fun unknotting later here in the penthouse...with her teeth?

She grimaced and focused again on the man’s features. Blond hair, a bit tousled as the night wore on. There was a limo, one exclusively for Olivia and her mystery man. Some frisky business in the backseat as Vegas lights blurred together outside the tinted windows. Yes, she’d run her fingers through that gilded crown of his, raking her nails lightly over his scalp. He’d liked that. Big, skillful hands on her hips. Roaming over her back...getting lost in her hair. He’d spoken to her, sweet endearments. She wasn’t usually one for sweet endearments—just the answer of skin on skin and the satisfaction that came with it.

But he’d been different. Why, Olivia couldn’t say.... The accent. His sweet words had been accentuated with a devastating—British?—accent that had, quite literally, charmed the pants off her.

Olivia raised a hand to her hair as her scalp tingled in remembrance. She smiled a bit at the memory, then closed her eyes on another wave of fierce pounding. If she could summon enough energy to rise from the rumpled bed, she might be able to find her purse amidst the chaos of the room. There was aspirin in that little red handbag. She needed aspirin. ASAP.

Carefully, she sat up again and braced her hands in the thick bedding. She waited for the world to stop revolving and settle back on its axis before taking a deep, bracing breath and pulling the covers back. Instant chills racked her skin, made worse by the fine sheen of sweat courtesy of the savage aftermath of tequila drinking.

She slung her legs over the side of the bed. Her toes sank into a thick black rug. Shivering, she wrapped the white silk top sheet around her, knotting it at her collarbone so that it stayed as she stood.

It took more effort than she would have liked to stay upright. She reached forward to catch the wall as she staggered in the general direction of what she hoped was a bathroom. The floor quaked beneath her and she could feel dregs of nausea rising up from the pit of her stomach. Yes, yes, that’d better be a bathroom.

Before Olivia could shoulder her way through the door, it opened quickly. She felt herself pitch over, tripping over the edge of the bedsheet. Cursing, she fell against the lean, chiseled chest of the man on the other side of the bathroom doorjamb.

She heard his surprised whoosh just before his arms snagged her under the shoulders and curled around her to keep her from falling at his feet. Her cheek pressed tight against his sternum. He was so warm. The deep timbre of a chuckle trebled beneath the ear pressed to his chest and words, rough around the edges, came floating from his mouth. “Ah, she wakes.”

When she tried to pull herself back, he held her fast to him for a moment longer to make sure she had her footing. With a murmured, “Easy there, love,” he released her and she stepped away, seeking his face.

He was smiling. The soft expression was tense around the edges, probably from what she could guess was a good deal of pounding happening on the inside of his head, too. She drew in a breath. His eyes were a brilliant shade of green. Dimples, or laugh lines, dug in around his mouth and the corners of his eyes. A man who smiled often and laughed well, Olivia surmised. His hair was blond and wet from a shower she assumed, judging by the steam behind him. He’d combed the hair back from his forehead, leaving his high brow bare.

A towel hung loosely around his waist. She blinked. She was staring. But the longer she stared, the more she could remember from last night, and the giddy spontaneity and blistering heat of all that had transpired made her forget for a moment how miserable she felt.

And, bless him, he didn’t seem to mind the staring. He was doing a good bit of his own. The smile on his lips deepened into a full-fledged grin, eyes softening further as he took her in. “Well. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

She found a smile curving at the corner of her mouth. He was British. His words were enunciated with the high-class sounds of English breeding and good humor. His voice was like fine-aged wine. Or whiskey.

Whiskey, she decided. It had a good, old-fashioned burn to it.

Keep it together. Lifting her hands to the sheet knotted just under her collarbone, she made sure it was in place before dragging a hand back through her long, curly, bedraggled tresses. “Erm...good morning?” Olivia said, unsure of herself. Usually, she knew how to navigate the awkward, morning-after interlude. But this stranger’s clean-cut, unexpected appeal threw her for a loop.

He beamed and held out a hand, skimming far and above the awkwardness of the situation with good-natured ease. “Gerald Leighton. It’s lovely to meet you...again.”

She stared at the hand. Ignoring the wariness inside her, she reached out and took it. Again, she felt warmth. She wanted him to fold his hand close around hers until the chills deserted her. It was much larger than her own. Built for creating, shaping. A sculptor’s hand. The fingers were long and narrow. Aside from the absence of well-worn calluses and wrinkles, they actually reminded her a bit of her grandfather’s, a lifelong carpenter.

When she found nothing to say in return, he firmed his lips together. Scanning her face a bit more carefully this time, a frown touched his features. “Headache?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said, wrinkling her nose and squinting once more at the light. “I think tequila was the culprit.”

“I felt the same when I first woke,” he explained, voice lowered gently. “Not to worry. A glass of water, a couple painkillers and a hot shower set me halfway back to rights.” He stepped aside and lifted a hand to the marble counter of the bathroom. “Aspirin’s there with a bottle of water. There’s a robe, too, if you need it.”

She licked her lips as they both glanced back at the torn dress. “I think it’s my only option at this point.”

Gerald ran a hand through his hair and she thought she saw a wink of sheepishness flash in those kind, green eyes. For some reason, her heart stumbled over itself.

She blinked. Was the tequila still in her system?

“I apologize...for the dress,” Gerald added quickly. “I’ll be happy to reimburse you for it. Or I can have the concierge send out for another one.”

Olivia lifted a hand to stop him. “It’s all right. I brought other clothes with me. It shouldn’t be too much trouble. That is if we’re in the same casino my friends and I are staying at. Please tell me this is the Bellagio.”

“Yes,” he replied. “That’s what the hand towels say, at any rate.”

“Good,” she said with a sigh of relief. She gazed longingly at the shower. It was crooking its finger at her. Her feet were starting to feel like ice cubes and the chills were coming back with a vengeance.

“Take your time,” Gerald told her. “I’ll have something sent up to eat. It should be here when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Gerald.” Olivia ducked into the bathroom. The steam from his shower hugged her as he closed the door behind her. She locked the door, crossed her arms over her chest and faced the long, fogged mirror above the marble counter. Fearing what she might look like, Olivia went to the glass-walled shower stall instead and turned the knob all the way to hot.

* * *

OLIVIA MEANT TO hurry, but she soon discovered that the shower had two jet showerheads. And the towels. Oh, the towels were so big and fluffy and, fresh off the heated rack, blessedly warm. She indulged a bit, sitting at the vanity as she took some aspirin and dried her hair with the available hair dryer. Her reflection still looked gray around the edges, but there was nothing she could do about that. She hadn’t yet found her purse and she didn’t carry much more than lipstick and concealer in it anyway.

Clearly, she hadn’t been prepared to meet some tall, ridiculously good-looking and charming Englishman who made her tummy flutter even after a night drinking round after round of Jose Cuervo.

While showering and then attempting to make herself somewhat presentable, more memories from the night before came flashing back to her. More drinks in the casino. More kissing Gerald in the elevator. God, she hoped the hotel didn’t have cameras in there. Then there was the penthouse. The penthouse sofa. The big, plush bed. Gerald. Clashing mouths, tangled limbs and staggering streams of need and pleasure.

Suddenly she was no longer cold, but instead felt nothing but the heat from last night. Looking up at the mirror, she saw that her cheeks were flushed and she scrubbed her palms over them to chase it. The Brit packed a wallop. That was for damn sure. She took several careful breaths to beat back the memories and high color and wrapped the white hotel robe around her.

Fastening it with the rope around the waist, Olivia exited the bathroom, regrettably leaving the enveloping steam behind for the bawdy, orange gleam of midmorning Vegas spilling into the bedroom through that long line of crystal-clear glass.

She, Roxie and Adrian had a flight to catch in a few hours. Bearing that in mind, Olivia grabbed the shredded remains of her strapless dress off the wall sconce, then bent to pick up her platform heels off the floor. She had to get down on her hands and knees to locate her purse under the bed...where she also found the pathetic remains of her underwear, deciding to leave them where they had fallen. Rest in peace, Victoria’s Secret.

Instead of wrestling her bra back on, she shoved it into her purse. A quick look at her cell phone told her it, too, had died sometime in the night. She hooked the sky-high heels over her fingers and wandered into the main room of the penthouse.

The smell of coffee, toast and sausage greeted her. Gerald hadn’t lied; room service was waiting for her on a covered rolling tray. A silver teapot sat next to a pot of coffee that smelled hot, fresh and strong. She desperately wanted a mug of that to push away the lingering fog of the hangover. After a few sips, she’d definitely feel closer to human.

There were covered trivets from which the breakfast smells were coming. Next to them there was a glass of orange juice and a tall Bloody Mary to top it all off. She practically whimpered at the sight.

Who was Gerald Leighton and where had he been hiding all her life?

Olivia was reaching for the coffee when the sliding glass door leading onto what appeared to be a balcony slid open and Gerald walked in. Her hand pulled back from the tray quickly as if he’d caught her stealing. While she was in the shower, he had dressed in pressed black tailored suit pants and a crisp white oxford shirt he had left unbuttoned at the collar, so the hollow of his collarbone peeked through and the tendons of his neck caught her eye. His feet were bare.

She fought the urge to lick her lips and gathered the guilty hand that had been reaching for the coffeepot back into the flaps of the robe. “Hello,” she greeted as his eyes found hers. Determined to get the upper hand on the conversation this time—and make up for her earlier bumbling—she pasted on a smile.

“Feeling better?” he asked, his smile answering hers.

“Loads better,” she admitted. “Thank you—for letting me use the shower. I don’t want to take up too much of your time—”

“No, please,” Gerald said, walking toward her in a handful of long, smooth strides. “Have a seat. Have something to eat. I didn’t know what you’d like so I ordered a bit of everything.”

“I can see that,” Olivia said, scanning the tray admiringly. “And thanks for that, too. But I really should be going.”

He stopped just shy of her and the tray, a disappointed frown touching his lips. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. My friends and I have a plane to catch in a couple of hours. I need to get back to our room and make sure they’re okay. Pack up.” Out of excuses, she made herself look away from those eyes. In addition to kind, they were wise. It was a disconcerting mix, at least for her. She gestured to the room at large. “Your penthouse is beautiful, by the way.”

Gerald looked around, reaching up to scratch his chin with his knuckles. “It is rather, isn’t it? I’m afraid it’s new to me, too. I was staying in one of the business suites.”

“Oh,” Olivia said. “So you’re in town on business.”

“Well, for the most part.” His gaze crawled back to her, that shade of timidity flashing across his face again before he hid it with a wry grin that creased the corners of his mouth and eyes and simultaneously disarmed her. “Until I met you, of course.”

She lowered her eyes, pressing her lips together to hide a sly smile. “I hope I was a good distraction at least.”

One of his brows arced knowingly. “Oh, quite. A worthy distraction.”

She did smile a bit to herself, then sighed, realizing she was lingering here with him. Something about him. A pull, a tug. A compelling stir that toggled her in all the right places, particularly the area of her heart. Her smile quickly turned into a frown and she tugged the lapels of the robe together, gathering them tight against her throat. “Well, Gerald Leighton.” She made herself meet his eyes again. “It was nice meeting you.”

His grin turned kind again. “I couldn’t be happier that we did, love.”

Love. Yes, she liked the sound of that a shade too much. Olivia gripped the handle of the door and had opened it only slightly when he said, “Wait a moment.”

She looked around, and her breath snagged. He was closer now. Jesus, what was this hold he had over her? She didn’t know how to handle it.

His eyes narrowed on her face. The lines of his mouth were tense now, his jaw squared as he searched her expression. He reached out and took the door but didn’t shut it. She was free to go if she wanted, but his gaze and the urgency she saw there hooked her and made her knees buckle. “I’m ashamed to have to ask you,” he said, “but can I have your name? It seems I’ve forgotten it after last night’s tequila-fueled debauchery.”

She pursed her lips. “Why would you want to know? I mean, let’s be honest. We’re clearly never going to see each other again....”

Gerald lifted his shoulders and shook his head. “Not likely.” He stilled and the urgency blinked into his eyes again, heightened. “But you never know, do you? Maybe...one day I’d like to find you. Or you’d perhaps like to get in touch with me. I don’t know....”

As Olivia searched his eyes and the moment between them stretched, the link between them humming, she weighed his request. Weighed him. Reaching out, she touched the arm he was using to hold the door open. His muscle tightened at her touch. She slid her fingers up to the back of his and squeezed them warmly as she memorized his face. She would be glad of it later, when she returned to her hometown in Alabama. She would remember him and her night with him in the Bellagio penthouse fondly. “Olivia,” she said finally. “My name is Olivia.”

“Olivia,” he said, smiling softly.

She nodded, then stepped back, pulled away and broke his spell. “I think we should leave it at that.”

His lids came down halfway over his eyes, hiding resignation, or disappointment perhaps. “Right. It’s enough. For now.”

As if there could be a later. She cleared her throat and backed away from him, through the door into the hallway. “So long, Gerald.”

“Goodbye, Olivia.”


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_b185772c-67c5-54a3-a353-5c77b8a71262)

GERALD PARKED THE rental car at the bottom of a steep incline on the main drag of Fairhope, Alabama. He frowned through the light drum of rain and the protesting whir of the windshield wipers at the barricades in front of his headlights.

It was nighttime on the snug shoreline of Mobile Bay. And according to all the local radio stations he’d scanned during the drive from the airport in Pensacola, there was apparently a large and ominous hurricane headed in this general direction. The woman at the rental car company had told him he was lucky to have found an available flight from New York to the Gulf Coast at all.

When Gerald told her he’d be driving west toward Mobile and farther into the possible cone of impact, the woman had eyed him balefully and reluctantly handed over the keys.

The inclement weather didn’t faze Gerald too much. The rain was coming in bands and though the wind did slap the rain against the car at a sideways angle and tug at the wheel a bit, it was all spotty at best. Nor did the fact that he’d lost his way worry him too much. He grabbed the map from the passenger seat and flipped on the cab lights to scan it. He’d gone on drives in the New York countryside with the purpose of getting lost—lost in the scenery, lost in his head. Getting lost was nothing new to him.

What did give him pause was the fact that he had just driven through the downtown area and Fairhope appeared to be a ghost town. As he drove farther and farther away from the Florida-Alabama line and toward the bay, he had come across fewer cars on the road. By the time he got to his destination, the streets were all but deserted.

He wasn’t the worrisome sort, but he would be glad for a familiar face right about now, as well as the warm, homey lights of companionship.

What better place to find it than Tavern of the Graces where he had finally tracked down Olivia Lewis, the woman who had so captivated him in Las Vegas three weeks ago. Nearly a month had passed and Gerald still couldn’t get her out of his head. It might have been foolish to go flying off impulsively to Alabama when he had a manuscript due to his editor in New York very soon.

But he’d needed to see her. Something had driven him here to this small Southern town he’d never heard of, and he wouldn’t rest, much less write, until he got to the bottom of it.

Gerald brought the map closer. If he was reading it right, the tavern Olivia owned and operated on South Mobile Street was only a few blocks to the south. All he had to do was turn the car around, go back up the hill, then turn right and drive a half mile. He had made the mistake of going down the hill, which led into a park and a long pier overlooking the moody bay.

Brows raised in interest, he peered over the steering wheel, squinting through rain and wind, trying to see beyond the roadblocks. The rain was down to a light patter now. He pulled on the long wool coat he’d brought from New York and grabbed the emergency flashlight from the glove compartment. Led by that foolish, towering impulse that had brought him here to begin with, he fought the wind to open the driver’s door and left the car running. He curled one arm over his forehead and bent over slightly as he walked into the brunt of the wind.

Gerald squeezed between two roadblocks. He could see why everyone had been chased into the stillness of their homes. The hungry gale wolfed off the bay, the balmy breath of Mother Nature itself. The water that he imagined was usually calm, presently chopped and slapped the eastern shore of the bay in whooshing crests. The rain seemed to slacken off as he neared the entrance to the pier and the edge of the seawall that dropped straight into briny waters. Even without the rain, the air kissed the skin with salty residue. Licking his lips, Gerald tasted it on himself already.

The wind whipped at his coat, grabbing and tugging. A gust hit him in the middle and pushed him back from the edge of the long plunge into the bay—a fair warning. El Niño was bitter and hungry and, despite the fact that it was now getting on into fall, it wasn’t giving up its hold of the Gulf Coast quite yet.

A particularly large gray wave came rolling toward the seawall and him. Gerald took several quick steps in retreat but the water sprayed up and drenched him as the wave pounded into the wall below.

Gerald laughed, rubbing a wide-palmed hand over his wet face. “Bloody marvelous,” he murmured, grinning like the fool he was.

Yes, he had been right to come here. He hadn’t seen it in the light of day yet, but Gerald knew without a doubt that he could write in this sleepy little bay town. Turning regrettably away from the storm’s impressive display, he walked back to the rental car.

Now, to find Olivia and get the answers he’d been desperately scrambling for since she left their honeymoon suite in Las Vegas.

* * *

BLENDERS BUZZED, BOTTLE tops sucked and hissed, and glasses clinked. Speakers blared, pool balls clacked and hearty conversation all joined the tavern chorus to drown out the wind rattling the windows facing the listless bay. Only a handful of days away from Halloween, the wooden walls of the tavern were strewn with faux cobwebs.

“Jimmy Buffett, eat your heart out,” Olivia announced with a wink to the gentleman on the other side of her bar who’d ordered a tall margarita.

“Hold on to your hat, newcomer,” one of her regulars, Charlie, muttered, giving the gentleman a supportive pat on the back.

“How much do I owe you?” the newcomer asked her.

Olivia beamed. “On me. Didn’t you hear? That storm is headed for N’Awlins. We’re celebratin’.”

“Though God bless all those poor Cajuns,” Olivia’s part-time waitress Monica Slayer said. “First Katrina. Then Gustav. Now this. They can’t ever seem to catch a break.”

Charlie snorted. “It’s what they get for living below sea level.”

“Careful, Charlie boy,” Olivia warned. “We’re not too far above sea level ourselves. Another beer?”

“Still nursing this one, sweetheart.” Charlie’s eyes twinkled. “You’re pretty as your wildcat mama, you know that?”

Olivia shook her head. “You’re shameless as a hound dog, old man.”

“You tell Rosa I’m still waiting for her,” Charlie advised before tipping his bottle back and gulping deep.

Monica nudged Olivia with an elbow. “If that Freddie character comes on to me again, I’m gonna show him what it’s like to have a three-inch heel shoved up his ass.”

Olivia eyed the gangly giant in question. “Oh, come on. He’s harmless. What’s he doing to harass you?”

Monica rolled her eyes. “His lips are moving.”

Olivia belted out a laugh. “When you first started working for me little over two years ago, you said he was pretty hot stuff.”

Monica snorted. “That was before he went and married Elaine.”

“You’re still sore about that?” Olivia chided, brow quirked. “It’s been eight months.”

“Well, yeah, I’m sore! The few decent guys there are in this town get hung up in seconds...usually with the worst women.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Olivia said with a doubtful glance around the room. Fairhope was as peaceful as small Southern towns got. It might be the quintessential place to retire or raise kids, but like most small towns there was a deplorable lack of good, unattached men to go around. “Don’t sweat it. She’ll get bored with him, and you can be the first to lick his wounds.”

“I don’t do seconds.” Monica brooded before chugging down the shot of Jack Daniel’s the wizened man across the bar had bought her. Her lips curved into a practiced simper. “Thanks, Pete.”

“Hey, Liv!” someone called from the other side of the bar.

Olivia laughed fondly at the baby face of Skeet Bisbee. “Hey, cutie. I haven’t seen you since you left for Tuscaloosa. What are you doing here?”

Skeet grinned, radiating collegiate charm as he sat on the vacant stool next to Charlie. “I came to order a drink.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes and angled her head in scrutiny. “Does your mama know you’re here?”

Skeet beamed. “I mean it. I want a black jack.”

“As pretty as that face is, I’m gonna have to say no,” Olivia told him.

“All right, all right.” Skeet reached for his billfold and held it out to her. “Check this out. I turned legal just a few hours ago. I was lucky the DMV was open. You know, with the storm and all.”

Olivia scanned the temporary license. “Hell, that ain’t even in plastic yet. That can’t be legal. What do you think, Monica?”

Monica glanced at the ID, then up at the hopeful, handsome face before her. “Come on, Liv. Give the man a drink.” The waitress poured a jigger of Jack herself and sent it sailing across the bar with a wink. “On me.”

Skeet blushed to the roots of his hair.

Olivia cackled, grabbed Skeet’s face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. A chorus of catcalls went up around the tavern, and Skeet bloomed from pink to cherry-red.

“Happy birthday, Skeeter baby,” Olivia said before raising her voice over the music. “Hey, everybody, it’s Skeet Bisbee’s birthday and I want you all to buy him a drink!”

Obliging volunteers pushed their way toward the bar and the two tavern-keepers got busy quickly.

Though Fairhope wasn’t as exciting as...say Vegas, the town and the tavern had been Olivia’s one and only home for twenty-nine years. It was practically her lifeblood. The minute her adventurous parents handed the reins of the business to her seven years ago to fulfill their cross-country traveling dreams, she’d found a deep sense of purpose in keeping the family trade alive and strong. Her mother and father had built it from the ground up. It was her job to nourish and sustain it. And that she had, even through the worst downturn of the local, small business economy.

For seven years, her life had been a chorus line of late working nights. It’d take more than a hurricane to break that chain and her love of it.

“Oh, my,” Olivia heard a stunned Monica say over the jukebox crank of Boston’s best. The waitress’s hands were frozen in midair and her eyes were locked on the tavern doors. “What have we here?”

Olivia looked around, up over the heads of her patrons to the big, heavy, distressed-wood-panel doors. She took one look at the man who had just blown in from the windy outdoors, running a hand through his wet golden hair, his long wool jacket soaking wet, and her heart struck a drumbeat.

No. It couldn’t be.

His kind, intelligent eyes scanned the shiny wood carvings on the walls and the web-strewn lights overhead before settling on the long bar. They passed over the heads of her customers and snagged on her. That drumbeat inside her kicked into a cadence as he grinned wide, knowingly, his gaze warming on hers, and inclined his head.

Monica gasped. “You know that piece of man candy?”

Olivia opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. So few times in her life had she been truly speechless. But seeing Gerald Leighton walk into her tavern on the most unlikely night of the year might have been the shock of her lifetime. Shaking her head, she gawped like a fish as she and Monica both watched him walk the rest of the way to the bar and take up one of the few empty stools on the far end.

“Liv?” Monica said, snapping her fingers to get Olivia’s attention. When Olivia blinked and focused on the waitress’s face, Monica narrowed her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Olivia said, glancing back at Gerald, who had eyes only for her. “Just...handle the bar for a bit. I’ll be right back.”

Monica looked from Olivia to Gerald and back. Then she shrugged. “All righty, then. I’d ask you to get me his name and number...but it seems he’s already taken.”

Olivia opened her mouth to deny it, then decided not to when Monica quickly went back to work. Clearing her throat, Olivia took off the apron at her waist and left the bar, rounding it to meet Gerald on the other side.

He smiled at her approach, those laugh lines digging in and charming her all over again. Three weeks. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him in three weeks. She’d counted on not laying eyes on him ever again. And here he was, having the same effect on her that he’d had the morning after in Vegas. As he stood up for her, she slowed her steps and licked her lips. “Gerald,” she said simply.

“Olivia,” he said with a nod and a widening grin. Those green eyes washed over her like a head-to-toe caress. “You can’t know how relieved I am to see you.”

“Yeah, about that.” Olivia cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest, shifting from one black-heeled boot to the other. “How did you find me exactly?”

“I had to call in a few favors,” Gerald admitted. “In the end, it was my publicist who was able to nail down your current address. You’re not an easy woman to find, Olivia Lewis. Particularly in the middle of a hurricane.”

She looked toward the glass doors leading onto the veranda. Nobody had dared to brave Mother Nature and sip their drinks outside this evening as they did most other nights at the tavern. Seeing the sturdy wooden chairs being whipped about by the wind and the soaking wet, weathered planks of the floor, she frowned at him. “You drove through this to get to me?”

“Yes,” Gerald confirmed. And there was that hint of sheepishness crawling into his eyes. He blinked and interest filled them, chasing away the momentary embarrassment as he jerked his thumb toward the bay. “Is it always like this?”

“Only occasionally, during the latter months of hurricane season. I’ve seen way worse,” Olivia told him. “Why?” When he looked at her in question, she added, “Why were you so desperate to track me down that you couldn’t wait for the storm to pass?”

Gerald cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Perhaps we’d both better have a drink.”

She stared at him a moment, the muscles tightening around the smile on his mouth. “Yep,” she agreed with an answering nod. “You might be right about that.”

* * *

OLIVIA STILL COULDN’T get over the fact that he was here. The man who, despite Olivia’s best efforts, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for three weeks. Particularly when she was in bed, alone. Or making coffee in the morning. She’d hardly been able to shower without thoughts of him rising with the steam in the bathroom.

Monica had brought their drinks to a table in the corner of the tavern, farthest away from the bustling bar and the two pool tables and televisions broadcasting sports and the weather radar. Gerald had taken off the wool jacket as well as the sports jacket he wore beneath it. The sleeves of his crisp, green, button-down shirt were rolled up over the muscles of his forearms.

Olivia watched those muscles flex as he gripped the pint of Sam Adams. Gerald brought it to his lips, tipped it back and made a sound of assent. “Bloody good draft.” Shooting a glance at her over the rim, he added, “Have you always been in the tavern business, Olivia?”

She pursed her lips. “You’re the one who had your publicist track me down. Shouldn’t you know that already? Stalkers usually do a background check, right?”

Gerald chuckled, his shoulders moving under the shirt. What kind of material could look so soft yet be able to fold on a knifepoint as his did at the collar? It looked pricey. Olivia wondered if it had cost as much as a man like Gerald could potentially cost her. “Details aside, love, I’m not stalking you,” he explained. “I actually had a very practical reason for tracking you down.”

“And that is...?” Olivia asked.

Gerald jerked his chin toward her untouched pint. “You should drink first.”

She gestured to the bar. “I’m a busy woman, Gerald. I don’t have much time.”

He leaned forward in his chair and braced his elbows on her table, those nice, solid shoulders settling over his bent arms. “What memories do you have of our time in Nevada?”

“Our one-night stand, you mean?” Olivia asked.

He grinned. “Precisely.”

She sighed, lifting a hand. “Oh, I don’t know. Not much, to be honest. Tequila has a debilitating effect on my ability to retain information.”

“As it does for all us mere mortals,” Gerald acknowledged with a thoughtful nod. He turned serious, almost grave. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and covered her hand with his free one. “I hope you don’t take this too hard, but it seems on that night in Las Vegas somewhere along the line we happened to find ourselves embedded in a wedding chapel.”

Her lips twitched in wry humor. “A wedding chapel. You’re kidding me, right?” When those grave green eyes neither smiled nor strayed from hers, she fumbled. “You’re...you’re not? Kidding?”

Gerald took a breath. “No. Apparently, Elvis presided over the ceremony. It’s a bit hazy to me, too. Two ladies by the names of Roxanna Honeycutt and Adrian Carlton—who, I’m assuming, were the friends you were in Vegas with—served as witnesses. By all accounts, the entire wedding party was inordinately pissed.”

“No,” Olivia said. She snatched her hand out from underneath his. Her heart plummeted down to her toes. She shook her head in automatic denial even as dread crawled over her. “You’re wrong. We didn’t. I didn’t.”

“We were drinking, love,” Gerald reminded her gently, as if he were treading on eggshells. He watched her face closely. Concern rose through the gravity as her dread became apparent. “There’s no shame in it.”

“No shame?” Olivia muttered, disbelieving. Damn it, how had she gotten herself into this situation? Hadn’t she learned enough the first time? It didn’t matter that she’d gone several rounds with Señor Cuervo. She’d gotten married. In Las Vegas. To a complete and total stranger.

“Olivia,” Gerald said. He uttered her name again, reaching out to touch her shoulder and bring her back to him. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she snapped, then checked herself and cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” It wasn’t his fault. If he was right, everyone involved had been plastered. There was no way her cynical friend Adrian in her right mind would have let her elope with a stranger. And Olivia liked to think, without the influence of alcohol, Roxie wouldn’t have allowed her to do something that stupid, either.

She took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the table in front of her. “So...what do we do about it?”

Gerald trained his gaze on some point over her shoulder. “Well, I’ve already spoken to my attorney. He’s assured me that he will take care of it with little fuss if we decide to go the route of separation.”

“Okay, good,” Olivia said, relieved. But that relief dissolved little by little as she watched him take another long sip from the pint. “Wait. You said ‘if.’ Why is there an if?”

Gerald pressed his lips together, either savoring the Sam Adams or bracing himself. She had a very frightening suspicion it was the latter. He planted his elbows on the table again and leaned toward her, smile warming the lower half of his face. “I have a wee bit of a suggestion.”

“If it’s not related to annulment or divorce, you might not be walking out of here in one piece,” Olivia pointed out, trying to smile. He couldn’t be crazy enough to suggest that they actually remain married, for heaven’s sake.

Could he?

Gerald made a thoughtful noise in his throat. “Well...”

Olivia’s smile fled and she looked at him as if he were crazy. “Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

“Just hear me out,” Gerald advised, lifting a hand in plea.

“No,” she said and snorted out a mirthless laugh. “No,” she said again just to get her point across. “I have no idea who you are. You don’t know anything about me, despite what your publicist or whoever might have told you. The only thing we have in common is one drunk night in Las Vegas.”

“How do you know that, love, when, as you say, we don’t know each other yet?” Gerald challenged.

Olivia’s mouth dropped open. “Because this is me,” she told him, lifting her arms to encompass the tavern. “And you’re...well, you’re expensive shirts and tailored suits and spicy aftershave, which I have no doubt costs more than our sham wedding. We’re clearly from different parts of the world as a whole. How could you possibly think there’s anything there?”

Gerald’s eyes locked on hers and sobered once more. “Because of what I felt, the morning after.”

Olivia fell silent. “What you felt?”

“Yes,” he acknowledged with a dip of his head. “I...” He sighed, shook his head and narrowed his eyes on the windows next to the table as if trying to see the squall beyond the weeping, wind-buffered panes. “Well, suffice it to say, I felt more in that one morning than I’ve ever felt during any one of the lengthy relationships I’ve had throughout my entire adult life. And I think that’s worth something.”

Olivia’s mouth opened, then closed and opened again. “It was the drinks, like you said.”

Gerald gave her a baleful stare. “We both know we were clean and sober the next morning, Olivia. Can you honestly tell me that night or what was shared between us the following morning meant nothing to you?”

She chose to ignore the fact that she’d been thinking of little else since her flight back to Alabama with the girls, and simply lifted her hands and shoulders in a helpless gesture. “It couldn’t. There was nothing. It was nothing.”

Gerald studied her carefully for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, a slow grin crept over the lower half of his face, warming his eyes. The smile was like a sucker punch to her resolve. And damned if he didn’t know it, Olivia thought. He took another sip of beer, leaned back in his chair and hooked one loafer-clad ankle over the opposite knee. “I’d like you to prove that.”

“What?”

“A wager, if you like,” he told her. “Come now, Olivia. You’re a small business owner. Small business is a gamble at one time or another. And you strike me as a woman who enjoys a challenge.”

“So what if I am?” Olivia asked. “How would that change anything?”

He lifted his finger and pointed at her discerningly. “There’s a lovely bed-and-breakfast next door to the tavern. If my publicist’s sources are correct, it’s your cousin who owns it. I’ll stay on there for three weeks, just long enough for you to prove to me that what we shared in Vegas was indeed nothing.”

Olivia frowned at him. “If I were to agree, you realize you’re betting on a losing hand, right?”

“Maybe,” Gerald said with a considering nod. “But my gut is usually right. And it tells me that the place I need to be, at least for the time being, is right here in your charming little hometown.”

She narrowed her eyes as she considered him. Damn it. She did love a good challenge. Especially one where all the odds were in her favor. “Hmm. What are the stakes?” When Gerald’s brows arched, she added, “What’s a wager without stakes?”

“Oh, right.” He grinned, lifting a hand to scratch his chin in a pensive manner that made her stare a moment too long at his wide-palmed hand with its narrow, creative fingers. “If you win, I will humbly admit defeat and hand over the divorce papers. And I’ll pay whatever legal costs filing them incurs.”

“And if you win...?”

Gerald’s eyes shined anew with the light of promise. “Then what do you say we give this a shot, aye? You and me. I have a feeling it’ll be worth it. And on a hunch I’m rarely wrong.”

Olivia weighed him and his challenge. When he extended a hand for her to shake in agreement, she sighed and lifted hers to take it. “What the hell? You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Leighton. I hope you’re not a sore loser.”

Gerald didn’t shake her hand. He squeezed it warmly and leaned forward until his green eyes yawned before hers and that aftershave of his washed over her in a splendid wave she was sure never to forget. “I rarely make wagers, Mrs. Leighton. But when I do, I play to win. And I’ll be damned if I don’t win this one.”

Olivia swallowed, then released his hand and lifted her pint to take a gulp of Sam Adams. She had a feeling she was going to need it—and perhaps a few more—if Gerald was indeed sticking around.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_bad08bfc-019d-5fc7-b2a0-232682c05437)

IT WAS CLOSE to midnight, but Olivia got in her old burnt-orange 1980s-model Ford pickup she liked to call Chuck and drove through the rain band currently battering the shoreline. By morning the storm would not only have made landfall but be sweeping its way west toward Texas, hopefully bringing the sun back out to dry this part of the coast.

However, Olivia didn’t want to wait until then to confront her friend Adrian Carlton. The florist and single mother lived a few blocks south of the tavern in the old fruit and nut section of Fairhope. It was a quiet neighborhood, particularly at this late hour. Olivia pulled the truck into Adrian’s driveway and ran to the small porch underneath the gable that crowned the front of the snug but well-kept cottage.

Balling her hand into a fist, she pounded on the door, then hugged her arms around herself, huddling as close to the door as she could to keep from getting whipped to death by wind and sideways rain.

It took several moments, but she heard the small sound of several locks clicking before the door opened and dim light silhouetted the small, redheaded woman who peered out at her in disbelief. “Liv? Is that you?”

“Yeah,” Olivia said. “Let me in, will you?”

“Jesus,” Adrian said as she stepped back and let Olivia stride into her tidy, shabby-chic living room. She took a moment to lock all the doors again and then turned to frown at her impromptu guest. “Why the hell are you pounding on my door at midnight? Is something wrong at the tavern? Is water getting into the shops?”

Olivia waved off the suggestion impatiently. “Never mind that. Remember when we were in Vegas?”

Adrian rolled her eyes and groaned, crossed to the sofa and had a seat. “Are you kidding? I’m still trying to live it down.”

Olivia not only remained standing, she chose to pace from one wall to the other, gesturing in jerky, sweeping motions as she spoke. “Do you happen to remember the hot blond British guy who I spent the night with?”

“Yeah, we talked about him on the flight back,” Adrian reminded her, placid in the face of Olivia’s franticness. “You two met at the club. You danced. We all drank and you two wandered off for a night well spent from what you told us.”

“It was more than that,” Olivia said. She stopped in the middle of the room and spread her arms. “We’re married.”

Adrian raised her brows. “Married. As in...”

“As in white gown, black tie, bouquets and corsages.”

“Boutonnieres,” Adrian, the florist, corrected her.

“Whatever,” Olivia said, waving that off, too. “Only it wasn’t any of that. No, for me it was a red clubbing dress. My groom might have been wearing a black tie. Though I’m not quite sure because I was one shot of Cuervo shy of drooling on Elvis’s gold lamé cape. And for all I know you and Roxie, who served as witnesses, by the way, carried shiny silk flowers.”

Adrian winced. Whether it was from the image of shiny, silk bridesmaids bouquets or from being told she’d served as a witness, Olivia couldn’t be sure. “Wow. That’s...something.”

“And get this,” Olivia said, lifting a finger. “My hot British stranger of a husband is here, in Fairhope.”

Adrian shook her head slightly as if dazed. “Wait. Now you’ve got to be jerking me around.”

“Nope. He popped by the tavern this evening and is at this very moment checking in to one of Briar’s suites at the inn. When she called just a few minutes ago, she said, ‘Um, Liv? Do you know there’s an Englishman here renting a room who says he’s your husband?’ He’s telling people, Adrian.”

“Get out of town.”

“And as if that weren’t enough...” Olivia laughed a sour laugh “...he wants to stay married.”

Adrian frowned. She raised her hands to stop the fast flow of shocking information. “Okay. Now you’ve lost me.”

“That’s what he said,” Olivia informed her, pacing once again. “He says he wants to give it a go. He wants to see if what he felt that one night in Vegas is enough to sustain a bond everlasting. I didn’t know whether to pat his head and coo over his eight-year-old-worthy idea of married life or call up the deputy and have him hauled out of the bar for lunacy.”

“Huh.” Adrian fought a smile. “Interesting.”

“So...” Olivia stopped pacing to face Adrian, and lifted her shoulders helplessly. “What do I do?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Do you see anybody else here?”

“No, but if we don’t keep our voices down, there might be.”

Olivia glanced toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms where Adrian’s seven-year-old son, Kyle, was down for the night. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“I don’t know, Liv,” Adrian said, rubbing her eyes. “I’ve never been in this situation. Or anything quite like it.”

“I don’t know too many people who have.”

“You’ve got that right.” Adrian sighed, dropping her hands into her lap. “How long does he plan on sticking around?”

“Three weeks.”

“Does he strike you as...all there?” Adrian pointed to her head.

Olivia nodded slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes. Despite the frightening optimism and the fact that he braved tropical storm conditions to tell me all this, he seems pretty lucid.”

“What’s your impression of him?”

“He’s...” Olivia stopped, thinking of the man who’d sat across the table from her tonight. She lowered into a cozy armchair. “He’s...sexy.”

Adrian nodded approvingly. “Uh-huh. Go on.”

“He’s intellectual, but in a sexy way. Very Tom Hiddleston. Proper and upper-crust but not at all haughty. He’s accessible, down-to-earth and so damned charming he can make your toes tingle just by smiling at you....”

“I’m intrigued, and also slightly confused.” Adrian licked her lips. “What you’re saying is...this Tom Hiddleston-esque, sexy, intelligent man-hunk walks into the tavern and has decided to stay next door for three weeks so that he can, basically, try and woo you into staying married to him. Correct?”

Olivia nodded, thinking it through carefully. “In a nutshell. Yes.”

“And you, Olivia Lewis, who has no problem letting men woo her is freaking out because...”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “He and I are married.”

Adrian shrugged. “In my experience, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But, hey, some people like it. Look at Briar and Cole. Look at your parents.”

Olivia made a thoughtful noise as she gnawed on her thumbnail. Her parents’ partnership, which had spanned three decades and the hell-raising teenage version of herself, was a lot to live up to. From an early age she’d known that it was the ultimate ideal—the kind of love she’d once ridiculously envisioned for herself.

As a young adult, however, she’d learned the hard way that that kind of love and bond didn’t come easily. Nor did it happen for everyone. And she was sure it never would for her. “So you’re saying...” Olivia took a deep, steadying breath “...I should just let it ride?”

Adrian lifted her shoulders. “Why not? He’ll definitely be gone by the end of the three weeks?”

“He says so. And he said he’d file for separation himself, take care of the legal fees, everything—as long as I give him these three weeks.”

Tired, Adrian gave Olivia a telling look. “Then what’s the harm?”

Olivia narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Usually, I can count on you for cynicism. What the hell?”

Adrian lifted a shoulder. “It’s midnight. I’ve been up since 5:00 a.m. Penny and I threw together over a hundred arrangements at the shop today. My bed’s calling me. That’s all. Talk to me tomorrow after coffee if you want practical advice.”

Olivia sighed. “Right.” She rose. “Sorry to barge in so late.”

Adrian stood. “For curiosity’s sake, what’s the name of this British man-hunk who intends to sweep you off your feet?”

“No sweeping,” Olivia said pointedly. “There will be no sweeping. And his name is Gerald Leighton, for what it’s worth.”

Adrian blinked in surprise. “Gerald Leighton? The writer, Gerald Leighton?”

“That’s his name,” Olivia said. “I don’t know what he does for a living. I don’t know anything about him.”

“Hang on.” Adrian disappeared into the hall where she kept books on built-in shelves. She strolled back in with a dog-eared paperback, turned it over and opened the back cover for Olivia to see the black-and-white picture on the inside. “Is this him?”

Olivia gawped at Gerald’s face for what had to be the third time that night. “Oh, my God. What’s he doing there?”

“Liv.” Adrian closed the book, firming her lips together as her eyes lit up and she clutched the worn paperback to her chest. “Your husband is Gerald Leighton.”

“So?”

“Gerald Leighton,” Adrian said again, a bit louder this time. “The fantasy writer. He’s an international bestseller. He’s won all kinds of awards in the genre, not to mention for writing in general. He writes the Rex Flynn series.”

“Who?”

“Rex Flynn.” Adrian made an impatient noise. “Come on, don’t you read?”

“Not really,” Olivia admitted. “Just the occasional romance novel, heavy on the smut. Short ones—I don’t have time for anything else.”

Adrian raked a hand through the red cap of her hair. “Oy. Okay, Rex Flynn is this amazing hero who has this weird but really awesome time-traveling ability that just gets him into trouble at first but eventually becomes useful for rescuing people, spying and, of course, saving the world. But the best part about it is the love story. In book one, Rex accidentally travels to the fifteenth-century Highlands where he meets the love of his life, Janet MacMillian, and so starts this epic love story that continues throughout the rest of the series.”

“You read love stories?” Olivia asked doubtfully. “Since when?”

“I started out reading the series because Dad suggested it for the history and time-travel elements. But it’s more than all that. There’s intrigue and action and magic and ancient history and love and even a little bit of smut.... Oh, it’s just perfection! He is the best writer. And he’s, like, a multimillionaire.”

“No, he’s not,” Olivia said automatically.

“No, really. He’s an actual multimillionaire. He gets seven-figure advances and he does these book signings where people line up for city blocks just to meet him. They’re talking even about doing a Rex Flynn movie. Liv, this is a big deal. He, Gerald Leighton, is a big deal.”

“Calm down,” Olivia ordered. She put her hands on her head and shook it in denial. “I can’t process this right now. I just can’t. You’re right. We’ll talk more in the morning. Postcoffee.”

“Liv,” Adrian said, snagging Olivia’s arm as she opened the front door. “Can I meet him? Do you think it would be okay if I met him. I mean, meet him again...when I’m not drunk? Maybe he could sign a couple of my hardbacks or something?”

Olivia took one good look at Adrian’s animated expression and shook her head. “For Christ’s sake, Adrian. Get a hold of yourself.” She walked out of the cottage, back into the rain.

If the man had Adrian Carlton of all people beaming sunshine and rainbows, Gerald Leighton was going to be far more trouble than Olivia had initially thought.

* * *

THE BREAKFAST OLIVIA’S cousin, Briar Browning Savitt, served for guests and family at Hanna’s Inn was not to be missed.

Olivia walked around the tavern and the adjourning shops facing South Mobile Street. She crossed the gravel parking lot to the proud white three-story bed-and-breakfast that had been owned by the Brownings for decades. She saw her cousin’s small sedan, the four-by-four owned by Briar’s husband, Cole, who used the brawny vehicle to haul landscaping materials and such, Adrian’s ten-year-old SUV and what looked to be a luxury sportster Olivia could only guess was Gerald Leighton’s rental car.

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who had shown up for Briar’s cinnamon rolls. Frowning at the blue skies scant on clouds today, Olivia mused that if not for the wet and battered leaves littering the ground and the tangled state of her cousin’s climbing roses and jasmine bushes, one might never have known that the coast had had a very near miss with a Category 3 hurricane. And despite the fact that it was late October, the brush with El Niño had left the Eastern Shore warm enough for it to be mid-May.

Nobody could ever be prepared for Gulf Coast weather. It changed on a dime, rain or shine. In summer, residents suffered through weeks of dry, dusty drought followed by a month-and-a-half straight of coastal flooding. Halloween was on the horizon and Olivia was wearing flip-flops.

She smiled. The unpredictability of the weather was one thing most people around these parts tolerated. Olivia, a creature of unpredictability herself, thrived in it.

She bounded up the steps to the inn’s glass-front entry doors. The bells jangled as she opened them and the smell of cinnamon and home struck her.

Olivia followed the voices coming from the back of the house. She made her way down the hall, past the fancy dining room full of antiques and the living room with its plush, half-moon sofa and flat-screen television. Here brilliant streams of sunlight beamed unfiltered from the connected sunroom, which overlooked Briar’s gardens. Cole’s trim, green yard tumbled down to the rocky, sandy shore and the small dock with its Adirondack chairs and chaise longues.

The bay was still choppy but had settled back for the most part. The storm had stirred it into a murky brown. Light beamed off the surface of the crests, however, and it wasn’t hard to see the gleaming spires and bottlenecked cranes of the city of Mobile beyond it.

Olivia peered through the swinging door into Briar’s kitchen. Standing at the counter, a steaming mug of coffee clenched in one hand and an infant tucked against his opposing shoulder, Cole Savitt was the first to catch her eye. He grinned a lazy morning grin and tipped his mug toward her in greeting.

She pressed a finger to her lips, slipping quietly into the room. Adrian and Kyle sat at the round nook table and Olivia could hear Briar’s voice floating from the open pantry doors. She walked to Cole and placed her hand gently on the baby’s back. “How’s our Harmony this morning?”

“I think she’s out,” the man said, dipping his head close to his daughter’s. “She kept us awake most of the night.”

Olivia got on her tiptoes to get a better view of Harmony’s face. Her eyes were closed and her cheek was adorably mushed against the broad shoulder of Cole’s black T-shirt. Olivia grazed her fingertip over the bridge of the two-month-old’s button nose and sighed. “I was hoping for a smile this morning.” Lowering herself back to the heels of her feet, Olivia asked, “Colicky again?”

“Yep,” Cole said, carefully readjusting the weight of the baby so that she settled against his chest and not his arm. “It’s winding down, though. She hasn’t had a rough night like this in a couple weeks.” His smile turned sly as his dark eyes settled on Olivia’s face again. “I just hope she didn’t disturb our latest guest.”

Olivia groaned. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Oh, come on, Liv,” Cole said, setting his coffee down so he could run a tan, calloused hand over Harmony’s back. “I recall a time, about a year and a half ago now, when you teased Briar and me mercilessly just for glancing at each other at the breakfast table. Now you’ve gone and found yourself not just a boyfriend but a bona fide bridegroom and I can’t make a comment?” He smirked and shook his head. “I don’t think so, cuz.”

She had a hard time holding the frown on her lips when he looked so mischievous. Olivia had been raised with Briar. They were more sisters than cousins, which made Cole the closest thing to a brother Olivia would ever have. It did her well to see light and laughter in his eyes now, when a year and a half ago there had been none of that. “Just do me a favor and tell me where I can find the man of the hour?”

Cole nodded toward the pantry. “Bartering a couple of jars of Briar’s homemade jam off her. She’s practically fawning over him.” He grabbed his coffee again, raised it to his lips with lowered brows. “If I weren’t so secure in our relationship, I might feel more than a small stab of jealousy.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” she pointed out. “Me, on the other hand? That’s a whole different ball game. I’m gonna try to rope him out of here.”

“Good luck with that,” Cole muttered into his coffee.

Olivia mussed a hand over Kyle’s rusty brown crop of hair, leaning down to press a loud kiss to the boy’s freckled cheek. “How are ya, slugger?”

Kyle beamed up at her, displaying a new gap between his teeth. “Great. Gerald gave me a euro.” He raised the small European coin from the table. “Look, Liv! Isn’t it neat?”

“Yeah, how ’bout that?” Olivia said, narrowing her eyes on Adrian across the table.

Adrian shrugged, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “You were right. He is a charmer.”

“Oh, you, too, huh?” Olivia muttered through gritted teeth as she eyed the hardback book next to Adrian’s plate.

Her friend lifted her shoulders again and lowered telling eyes to the coffee in her hands. “Yeah. You’re on your own.”

“Brutus.” Olivia sneered. Cursing, she stalked to the pantry. It was small, but the floor-to-ceiling shelves were all stocked neat as a pin with every label facing outward. The man in question was reaching up to grab a jar of rhubarb jam off the top shelf for Briar, who beamed wide at him as he handed it to her. “Aren’t you sweet?” Briar asked, a pink flush staining her cheeks. “Thank you, Gerald.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Savitt,” he said. “Your husband’s a lucky man. He has a pretty wife and envious access to all your jams, jellies and homemade treats.”

Briar tittered over him. Actually tittered. Olivia scowled. That was the last straw. “Gerald,” she barked.

Briar jumped, startled at the intrusion. Gerald steadied her with a hand on her shoulder as he turned to Olivia with a beaming smile, one arm laden with mason jars full of jam. “Well, if it isn’t my gorgeous wife.” His eyes dipped over her from head to toe. “You’re looking fine today, Mrs. Leighton.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes on him in a blistering stare. “We need to talk.”

He looked from her furious, gleaming eyes to Briar’s flushed face. “Your cousin’s just been telling me how you used to steal jam from her mother’s cupboard, which is why it’s still kept on the top shelf to this day. She also says you used to steal liquor from your parents’ bar. That’s why they put a lock on the storeroom door.”

Olivia’s frown deepened as she looked at Briar. Her cousin had the gall to look innocent. “I’ll be talking to you later,” Olivia warned Briar. “You, on the other hand...” She grabbed Gerald’s hand and tugged on it hard to get his feet moving. “Outside. Now.”

“Thank you, Briar,” he managed to say as Olivia hauled him away. “I’m looking forward to sampling each of these. Perhaps you’ll make me some more of those delicious scones to go with them?”

“Of course, Gerald,” Briar answered. “Whatever you like.”

Muttering, Olivia got behind Gerald and pushed him out the screen door before he could respond to her cousin. Grabbing the sleeve of his oxford shirt, she pulled him in the direction of the jasmine arbor where the garden surrounded them, blocking the view from the inn’s many windows. Rounding on him, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing?” she asked, indignant.

Gerald blinked and lifted a mason jar for her inspection. “Just talking jams. Your cousin’s a gem. The way she talks about you...it’s more like a mother. It’s illuminating.” His grin turned wry. “Do you need a mummy, Olivia?”

Olivia groaned. “I’m not talking about...that. This whole marriage business was to stay between us.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I thought they were your family.”

“They are my family—”

“And as your family, who loves you dearly, they’d have a right to know who I am and why I’m staying here. That is, unless you weren’t planning on being honest with them? It was my impression that your relationship with them means a great deal more to you than that.”

Olivia’s mouth fumbled. She raked her hands through her hair in frustration. “You’re just trying to figure me out—get inside my head.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Stop it!”

Gerald chuckled. The laughter settled into a warm smile as he turned and set the jars in a neat row on the arbor bench. “You’ve a lovely family.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped and sighed. “Yes. I know.”

“I’ve gathered the Savitts have had a spot of trouble with the inn over the past couple of years.”

“Yes.” She waved that off. “Well, the trouble started before they were together, when my aunt died several years back. Briar almost lost the business, but thankfully some investors swooped in and saved it from going under, just around the time she and Cole met. It doesn’t feel right, though, not completely. Briar’s still innkeeper and the inn is doing well again, but the family name isn’t on the books anymore. It’s a weight on them both.”

“And you,” Gerald surmised, wise eyes combing her face.

Olivia nodded. “Yeah, I guess it is.... Wait, why are we talking about this?”

His eyes dropped to her waist and he took a step closer to her, closing the space between them. “I realize I’ve disrupted your life without any warning. So, I have a proposition to make it up to you when all of this is settled.”

She tried to step back to keep from getting lost in that teasing aftershave of his. Her back came up against the side of the arbor and the jasmine still blooming around it. “What?”

The light dappled onto his face as a smile warmed it. “If this doesn’t end the way I want it to between you and me, I’ll pay what Briar and Cole owe to their investors and restore the inn in their name.”

“You’ll...what?”

“Perhaps it will make up for my intrusion into your lives,” he told her. “You’re good people. Your cousins certainly don’t deserve to have anyone mucking about their lives. It’s the least I can do.”

“No,” Olivia argued. “It’s too much.” When he opened his mouth to insist, she stopped him. “Look, I know who you are. I know you have more money than God. But buying things isn’t the way to woo me.”

Gerald raised his brows. “Duly noted, Mrs. Leighton. But this has nothing to do with wooing you. This is me doing what I view is the right thing, for your family, since you are all welcoming me into your lives—even if only for a short while.”

Olivia scanned his face carefully, looking for flaws. There had to be a catch. Some angle he was trying to play to win his bet against her.

He pursed his lips. “You would deny your cousins peace of mind, after all they’ve been through?”

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “No matter what I say, you’re going to do whatever you want, aren’t you?”

Grinning, he lifted his hands to her face. He cupped one hand over her cheek and brushed her hair back from the other. “Look there. We’re beginning to understand one another already. You know not much will stop me from getting what I want—you. And I know you would do anything for your family. Even if it means putting up with a gentleman like me.”

Her brows came down over her eyes. “Who said you were a gentleman?”

“Do you not like gentlemen, love?”

Despite the fact that she had more than a few notches on her bedpost, Olivia didn’t have much experience with so-called gentlemen. This was all new, rocky terrain. And she was very much afraid that this gentleman might make all the men she’d slept with before him dim in comparison.

She glanced back to the inn. “Do whatever you want. Just... I don’t want them getting attached to you. I don’t want them buying into this...” She gestured between them. “Whatever this is you’re trying to make happen between us.”

His eyes dimmed. “Have you so little faith in men?” Both his hands gripped her face now. “I won’t hurt them. And I won’t hurt you, Liv. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She thought of her lack of faith more as keeping the status quo of low expectations. Raising them only meant being disappointed. She wanted to believe Gerald when he said he wouldn’t hurt her—and that right there was trouble. Stick to the status quo, she told herself firmly. Or you will most certainly get hurt...whether he intends to hurt you or not.

Grabbing his wrists, she lowered them from her face and released them. “This isn’t going to work, you know. I hope you’re still prepared for that.”

“I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to change your mind,” he told her.

“Why?” she demanded. “Marriages based on one night of passion have terrible track records.” “Trust me, I know,” she almost added then closed her mouth quickly.

“I don’t believe that’s always the case,” Gerald said thoughtfully.

She raised one brow. “Are you always this idealistic when it comes to relationships?” she asked.

He reached up again to brush a hand back through her hair, lowering his face close to hers so the green of his eyes all but swallowed her. “I prefer to think of it as faith.”

She frowned. “Were your parents blissfully happy or something?”

“No. Their marriage was a rudding disaster and a bitter one at that.”

Olivia lifted her shoulders, disbelieving. “I was wrong, then. You’re not idealistic. You’re just plain crazy.”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” he said. Before she could stop him, he bent down and touched his lips briefly to hers.

Off balance, she staggered, her mouth suddenly very dry and her heart dancing on twinkle toes.

Backing away toward the shore, he grinned at her stunned expression. “Tonight at the tavern. I’d like to see you again in your element. You can fix me a drink, and I might steal a dance.” Winking, he turned away and left her standing under the shade of the arbor.

As she watched him stroll away, all confident strides and whistling a jaunty tune, Olivia caught herself lifting her hand to her lips.

Hell. She had to pull it together.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_935c2f33-e83d-5283-ad9e-0bff1cccf8d3)

“LIV, I THINK you’ve gone and married Jude Law,” Roxie said in a whispered hush as she all but crawled onto the kitchen counter to better see the man strolling around Briar’s garden beyond the windows.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “I can’t catch a break with this guy.”

“You know—” Adrian pitched in, lifting her mug to her lips and tilting her head to better admire Gerald from the back as he turned to inspect a row of azaleas “—I think he’s more Colin Firth.”

“You would,” Olivia snapped. “And you’re no help, by the way.”

“Sorry,” Adrian replied. “Couldn’t resist ribbing you a little. It’s nice for a change.”

“He’s out of my league,” Olivia said matter-of-factly.

“I didn’t think anyone was out of your league,” Roxie claimed. “You could have anyone.”

Adrian snorted. “You have had anyone.”

“Jerk,” Olivia said, but without much heat. It was the truth. She wasn’t picky when it came to the men she invited into her bed...so long as they were agreeable to leaving it the following morning. “This is Gerald’s type we’re talking about, not mine. Audrey Hepburn is more his speed. Not Marlene Dietrich.”

“Don’t knock Marlene,” Cole, standing close by, advised.

“There’s nothing wrong with Marlene or you,” Roxie helpfully intoned. “Not that that matters because Gerald is so taken with you. When he looks at you, he just lights up.”

“Roxie,” Adrian said with a smirk, “you’re such a romantic.”

“Damn right I am.” Roxie beamed. “And as far as types go, I’ll warn you—it’s those we don’t expect to sweep us off our feet who we fall for the hardest.”

Nobody would be doing any falling, Olivia determined. Least of all her. When something inside her niggled doubtfully, she frowned and turned her attention quickly to Cole. “So what’s up with you and Briar?”

He frowned at her, switching Harmony’s weight from one arm to the other. The baby whined, wriggled, then settled after grabbing a fistful of the dark hair at the nape of Cole’s neck. “Excuse me?” he asked.

“Don’t give me that.” Olivia elbowed him. “You looked at her over breakfast like you wanted to slather her on your toast.”

“Yeah, but you couldn’t because she wasn’t on the menu,” Adrian added.

Cole frowned at their knowing faces. “Did she say something to you?”

“No, we’re just intuitive,” Olivia reminded him. “All except for Roxie here, bless her heart. She’s blinded by soon-to-be marital bliss.”

“Shouldn’t you be blinded by marital bliss, too, Liv?” he returned with a wry smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Touché,” Adrian intoned, then cleared her throat when Olivia glanced askance at her. “Despite all appearances, Cole, we are known to be helpful on occasion. You should know that better than anyone.”

Cole sighed, glancing the way Briar had gone. “I don’t know what you could do in this case. It’s been a few months since Harmony came.”

“Two,” Olivia said handily.

“Not that I’m counting,” Cole retorted.

“And you two haven’t messed around since?” Olivia guessed.

He shifted uncomfortably under their expectant looks. “Things have been busy. There’s the baby. There’s taking care of the inn, the new advertising initiative to bring in more guests.... There hasn’t been time for messing around.”

“There’s always time,” Olivia said.

When Cole turned stoic again, Roxie clasped a hand to her heart. “Aw. You’re waiting for Briar to make the first move because you don’t want to rush her. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing?”

“She hasn’t shot me down,” Cole added quickly in defense of his wife. “We just don’t talk about it.”

“Who needs to talk?” Adrian asked.

“Excellent point.” Olivia faced Cole, setting her mug aside so she could level with him. “Look, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Briar when you first came to Hanna’s. Get over yourself and jump her damn bones.”

Cole choked on the second cup of coffee he’d only just finished. Looking around, he made sure that Kyle was still eating, safely out of earshot. “Christ.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” Olivia challenged. “It’s what you both needed then, and it’s what you need now. Do it. We’ll all be happier for it.”

A frown tugged at Cole’s mouth. “And here I thought it wasn’t any of your damn business.”

Roxie’s cornflower-blue eyes gleamed as they found Gerald through the window again. “You know, all this talk about Briar and Cole getting together...it gives me an idea....” She looked at Olivia. “You’re usually the matchmaker, of all of us. I think it’s time we return the favor.”

Olivia didn’t like where this was going. “Huh?”

Roxie smiled. “I like Gerald. I think he might be good for you. Even if that doesn’t mean staying married to him, I think you should give whatever he believes you two have a chance. And, I’ll be honest, if over the next three weeks I discover a way to help him convince you to do this, then I’m going to take it.”

“I like this plan,” Cole piped up. He slung an arm around Roxie’s shoulders and squeezed companionably. “I’ve been waiting for the chance to give our cousin here a taste of her own medicine.” He winked at Olivia. “Yeah. I like this plan a lot.”

“You want revenge,” Olivia told him. “It’s enough having to deal with Cupid,” she added, nodding toward Roxie. “I don’t need Machiavelli working against me, too.”

“Machiavelli is no stranger to your matchmaking ways,” Adrian informed her.

“Whose side are you on?” Olivia demanded.

“Hey, I’m Switzerland,” Adrian said, raising her hands. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun watching you deal with Gerald and the rest of them.” She swept her arm out to encompass both Cole and Roxie, who already had their heads together.

Olivia gave up trying to reason with any of them. “I’m gonna get out of here before Pinky and the Brain get too far into their plotting. I have a tavern to clean.”

Before Olivia escaped through the swinging door, Briar swung it open first from the other side. “Not so fast,” Briar said. “I think I’ll have a word with you now.”

“I’d love to stay and chat,” Olivia lied, pivoting toward the screen door, “but the bar opens early on Fridays, remember, and, frankly, I don’t need a lecture.”

“That’s too bad.” Unfazed, Briar gripped Olivia’s wrist and pulled her into the privacy of the sunroom. “If it were up to you, we’d never find the time and place for me to lecture you.”

Olivia held up her hands in defense as Briar whirled on her, stemming the torrent of words that her cousin had no doubt been waiting all morning to say. “Wait. Before we do this, let me ask you something. Why aren’t you sexing Cole up?”

Briar balked, went pale. “What?”

“We just talked to him,” Olivia said, lowering her voice to a discreet level. “He said you’re not putting out.”

“He said that?” Briar asked, horrified.

“Not those exact words, but that’s the gist of it, isn’t it?”

Briar flustered for a moment, then scrubbed nervous hands over her thighs, looking anywhere other than at Olivia as her face reddened. “There hasn’t been time—”

“Yeah, he tried to give us that line of bull, too. What’s going on, Briar? Really?”

She threw her hands up. “Nothing. Nothing’s going on, Liv. It’s just... I was hoping that maybe he’d say something...or do something.”

“Like what exactly?”

“Like...say that he wants me,” Briar said with a consternated expression. “I know it sounds silly, but—”

“It’s not silly,” Olivia muttered. “Unless you consider the fact that he’s also been waiting for you to say or do something, too.” At Briar’s helpless look, Olivia sighed. “Look, I’m begging you to put an end to it. Don’t even talk about it. Just do it. Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Briar said, breathing out and looking dazed.

“That’s all I have to say,” Olivia said quickly.

“Wait a minute!” Briar recovered, gripping Olivia’s elbow to stop her from retreating. “We need to talk about Gerald.”

“I’m talked out as far as he’s concerned,” Olivia informed her.

“He’s a nice guy,” Briar said, managing a stern brow for Olivia and a small smile for Gerald all at once. “In fact...” Her eyes softened and went dreamy. “Liv, he’s a wonderful man.”

“Cole’s right. Maybe he should be jealous.”

“No, he shouldn’t,” Briar said firmly. “Listen, I know better than anyone that you like having your own space and your own set of rules when it comes to men. But...Gerald’s different. You know that, right?”

“I know that for all his charm, brains and good looks, he needs his head examined for thinking even for a second that this has the tiniest chance of working out,” Olivia said.

“I’m not worried about what he’s thinking,” Briar explained. “What I’m trying to figure out is why my cousin, who’s never had a problem flirting with a man, can’t even entertain the idea of this one sticking around for three weeks for what seems like a perfectly harmless wager.”

Olivia pursed her lips but said nothing, just kept her arms locked tight over her chest. When a shape passed the glass windows on her right, her gaze snagged on it and her heart rapped when she saw it was Gerald, talking on the phone and laughing as he paced absently across the inn’s lawn.

She didn’t owe Briar an explanation. Neither was she going to change her views on marriage and commitment. She’d made her mind up long ago on both. Or it’d been made up for her when the last man who had proposed marriage to her left her with nothing but broken dreams and an even more broken heart.

Yes, Gerald was a perfectly good man. He might be the perfect man. But that didn’t change the fact that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him in. Even if it was just for fun.

Briar patted her arm, drawing Olivia’s gaze away from the man walking around outside and back to the sunroom and their conversation. “Just promise me you won’t do anything drastic to chase him away. Give him the three weeks, even if you think he can’t change the outcome.”

“He can’t,” Olivia said firmly. “But a bet’s a bet and I plan on keeping my word and letting him stay here.”

“Good,” Briar said, relief shining into her honey-brown eyes. “I’ve got to go clean up the kitchen and nurse Harmony before today’s guests arrive.”

“Let Cole do the cleaning,” Olivia told her. “He’ll make it shine just as much as you would. And then the both of you should try to get some rest and take some time for yourselves. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need a babysitter.”

“Thanks for that,” Briar said with a smile. Her eyes widened. “Wow. If you’d have told me we’d be trading marital advice a few weeks ago, I would’ve pulled a Rochester and locked you in the attic.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Let’s not get too used to it. Gerald will be gone in three weeks.” And for her, that moment could not come soon enough.

* * *

GERALD STUFFED HIS hands in the pockets of his slacks as he roamed the shoreline. Though a stiff breeze blew off the choppy bay, the sun was warm and he lifted his face to it. Where before the water had risen high on crashing, angry waves, the morning after the storm it moved in on lightly whooshing crests that rolled into the sandy shore in front of Olivia’s tavern and the inn. The water sluiced around the thick, wooden pillars underneath the inn’s dock. He was surprised to hear the cry of seagulls and the honk of geese coming from the parks that lined the neighboring bluff.

Apparently the calm came after a storm here. It was almost like a religion, this kind of serenity. Though the main road wasn’t far behind Hanna’s and Tavern of the Graces and its adjoining shops, the whish and roar of vehicles didn’t penetrate the quiet October morning.

Gerald’s shoulders relaxed, any lingering tension left over from his journey here sliding away slowly but surely.

His instincts were right about this place. He was sure of it—as sure as he was about the woman he had married.

The morning after their alcohol-fueled romp around Las Vegas, Gerald hadn’t been lying when he’d told Olivia that he had been staying there for business. In fact, he had been there for two straight weeks meeting with the motion picture studio that wanted to make his Rex Flynn book series into a film franchise.

The negotiations had been far more stressful than he’d anticipated. After two weeks of trying to hash things out with screenwriters, movie producers and potential directors, there were still too many decisions to be made, compromises to mete out.... Was it any wonder he’d been having trouble writing lately? All the noise created by the business side of his successful writing career was drowning out the quiet voice of his muse.

At the end of those two weeks in Nevada, sitting at the bar that fateful night in the club downing his Scotch like water, Gerald had wondered how the idea of making his Rex Flynn books into a movie franchise had ever seemed like a good one. The character belonged on paper where Gerald—or, rather, his muse—called the shots.

Gerald watched as two pelicans winged lackadaisically overhead, the prehistoric-looking birds in no hurry to be out on the water for their morning catch. They seemed to gaze on the quiet shore and the lone man walking it with jaundiced eyes.

His irritation with the negotiations had been compounded by the fact that he had a book due soon. Very soon, and he’d barely begun writing it. Plus, he’d scrapped most of what he’d written so far. Fears he hadn’t felt since he first began to write were plaguing him. What if it didn’t come as naturally as it had before? What if everything he put on the page was complete shite? He hadn’t been able to connect with Rex. He’d hardly been able to envision where this next saga of Rex Flynn’s story would take him.

That was...until he met Olivia. She’d been dancing so joyfully out there on the parquet floor of that frenzied dance club. Gerald had watched her dance, hardly seeing her friends or the crush of other dancers packed shoulder to shoulder with her on the floor. Scotch forgotten, motivated by a driving force that felt a lot like that exhilarating, creative freefall he’d somehow lost touch with over the past six months, Gerald had made a beeline for the blonde siren.

Though he hadn’t remembered much from that point on the following morning, Gerald’s mind had slowly filled in the blanks after Olivia’s departure. Dancing. Drinking. More dancing. More drinking. Talking. Riding in the limo. Kissing there. Watching the fountain in front of the Bellagio rise into the night. Holding each other there. More talking. More kissing.

From there they went back to the casino. A bit of gambling. A bit more drinking. Another limo ride to the little white chapel, where he had only vague impressions of gold walls, red carpet, an organ and an Elvis Presley to officiate. He’d meant his vows. It didn’t matter to him that his intoxication level had been as high as it had ever been. More than anything else he remembered about that wild Vegas night was looking into the eyes of his bride and speaking promises meant only for her.

More dancing from there. Maybe at the club. Maybe there in the chapel, for all he knew. But from the chapel, they had taken a final limo ride back to the casino, apparently rented the honeymoon penthouse suite for the night and then...well, the marriage consummation, of course, which he was fairly certain had started in the casino elevator.

From the moment he’d woken next to her in the big, plush bed strewn with rose petals and what remained of the clothes they’d in essence torn off each other hours earlier, Gerald had known despite the headache and sore muscles from the eventful evening that he didn’t have any regrets. Speaking to Olivia in the morning had only reaffirmed that conviction. And after the blonde siren left him to find her friends and fly back to her stretch of sandy shore on the coast, he’d hardly finished breakfast before he’d gone back to his business suite to write.

He’d written for hours, until the light from the window began to lower, harden, then dim. All the while, the face of the woman he could now credit as his unexpected muse had stayed at the forefront of his mind. That night, as he’d made arrangements to travel back to his home in New York, he’d known that the first thing on his agenda when he got there would be tracking down the mysterious Olivia.

Gerald hadn’t expected the place she called home to be as spectacular as she was. But when he’d checked into the bay view suite of Hanna’s Inn the night before, he had immediately set up his notebook computer on the room’s antique secretary in anticipation. He had a book due in three weeks. When he wasn’t wooing Olivia or grabbing small snatches of inspiration from the Eastern Shore, he’d go back to the desk and see what the muse had to offer him.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. Gerald knew who was calling before he pulled the smartphone out to answer. When he saw it was indeed his editor back in New York, he lifted his thumb and pressed the answer key.

He had avoided this conversation for weeks. Now, though, he had answers. “Dwight,” Gerald greeted, putting the phone to his ear. “It’s good to hear from you, old boy.”

“Then why have you been dodging my calls?”

Gerald reached back to rub his neck as he walked onto the inn’s dock, his footsteps loud on the hollow, wooden planks. He and Dwight had been working together for years on the Rex Flynn series, along with a few spin-off titles. He’d come to know Dwight as a friend as well as a professional. “I wasn’t dodging. Just waiting for the right moment.”

“To tell me what—that the book isn’t finished? Tell me something I don’t know.”

“How do you know the book isn’t already done?” Gerald ventured.

“Because this is the first book in eight years you haven’t turned in two months ahead of schedule,” Dwight told him. “And when the writing’s going well, you’re not afraid to call and chat about it. Usually, I can’t get you to shut up. You haven’t so much as shot me an email in a month’s time in this case, which tells me you’re cowering in a hole somewhere hoping I’ve forgotten about you.”

Gerald pursed his lips and scuffed the bottom of his shoe against a dry patch of earth. “You know I was in Las Vegas dealing with film negotiations.”

“Yeah, and before that you visited your family in Yorkshire. Before that, you were, what, betting on the ponies in Jersey?”

“Are you spying on me now, Dwight?” Gerald asked.

“When you’re a well-known author, people notice when you go places you shouldn’t. Like Belmont.”

“For the record,” Gerald explained, “I was not betting on the ponies. A friend of mine breeds horses. He named one of the Thoroughbreds after Rex. I was simply making an appearance. And that could technically be lumped into the working category, you know...”

“Fine, but then your sister wrote to tell me what a good time you’d had together and thanked me for letting you fly off to England when you had a book due. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I knew nothing about the trip.”

“It was my niece’s birthday,” Gerald reasoned.

“Vegas might be forgivable at least,” Dwight went on. “But let me ask you this, my friend, where are you now?”

Gerald gazed across the water toward Mobile. “I can’t claim to be at the writing desk....”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Gerald—”

“Hear me out, mate,” Gerald said. “I won’t deny I’ve been blocked. I won’t lie to you and say I’ve not struggled with this one. In truth, piecing this story together has been like trying to carve a diamond. But that’s all about to change.”

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten me.”

“I’ve found inspiration,” Gerald said. “The characters are talking to me again, and I’m starting to see the pictures, the easy flow of scenes. I’ve also found a quiet place, one where the rush and bustle of business and city life is far enough away that I’m no longer bound to it. The words will come. And when they do, they’ll come fast and hard. You’ll have the book on schedule, Dwight. You can count on it.”

“You’re giving me your word?” Dwight asked, surprised. He knew as well as anyone that when Gerald pledged something, he meant it wholeheartedly and would rather see his soul shattered than his word broken.

“Consider it a promise,” Gerald said, glancing back toward the tavern and the woman he knew dwelled within. “You won’t be disappointed, my friend.”

“I rarely am.” Dwight sighed. “All right. If you’re so sure...I’ll expect the completed manuscript in three weeks.”

Gerald grinned. “Give it two. Goodbye, Dwight.”


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_577e200e-8472-5a14-9995-73e63cbb6d58)

THE EAGLES’ “WITCHY WOMAN” rumbled through Tavern of the Graces as Gerald entered it later in the evening. The establishment was packed with men mostly, he noticed. Glancing around, he admired the remarkable woodwork highlighted by tray lights on the walls. The carvings seemed to follow the history of Mobile Bay. The room was warm, battling the chill that had settled over the shoreline as the afternoon wore thin.

Appreciating the vintage rock music and more than willing to sit back, relax and enjoy the atmosphere, Gerald spied an empty table and veered toward it.

It wasn’t long before the waitress manning the tables with a flirtatious smile and a finesse only experience could teach spotted him and made her way over. “What can I get you, hot stuff?”

He returned her smile of greeting. “What would you suggest?”

She raised a dark, impossibly thin brow. “Well, if you haven’t already heard, we’ve got the finest margaritas east of The Big Easy.”

“How fine is that?”

She smirked, red lips bowing and chocolate-hued eyes drinking him in. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No.” Gerald laughed. “London originally, but I’m afraid that might be a bit obvious.”

“Love the accent,” she purred and set a basket of tortilla chips on the table in front of him. “If you’re not brave enough to try the margarita, I’d suggest something on tap.”

“The house margarita is fine,” he told her. “But tell your bartender to go easy on the tequila, if she knows what’s good for her. And if I could, I’d like a moment of her time.”

The waitress smiled warmly. “Oh, Liv’s always got time for a good-lookin’ guy like you. Right now you’ll find her over at the pool tables. Clint Harbuck challenged her to a game.”

Gerald turned in interest toward the billiards. When he saw his wife leaning over a cue stick, about to sink the black eight ball into a corner pocket, he beamed. “Who’s winning?”

“Oh, Liv—by a mile.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He chuckled, then gave the waitress a warm smile, lifting a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket. “Keep the change, love. And bring us all a round of draft beer.” Shrugging off his sports jacket, he hooked it over the back of the chair and walked across the room to better entertain himself with the game and its two opponents.

Clint, the giant of a man who had challenged Olivia to a game, had a ruddy face, watery blue eyes and a rough, red beard that was days past the point of trimming. He stood with the back of his extralarge flannel shirt pressed against the wood-paneled wall. Sipping from a bottle of Budweiser, he lifted it to gesture toward Olivia. “You’re never gonna make that shot, sweetheart. Not at that angle.”

Olivia, focused, didn’t budge as she eyed the round, white cue ball with fierce intensity. “You just shut your trap and watch how it’s done, Harbuck.” Pulling the stick back slightly, she tapped it hard enough against the cue ball to send it skidding into the eight ball. The eight ball spun drunkenly toward the corner pocket and sank in with a resounding clack.

A cheer went up through the tavern. As Olivia stood and turned to Clint, victorious, there was a smirk painted on her lips. “That’s an even thirty you owe me this time. You’ll pay up now, not like the last time when you snuck out on me and claimed to have forgotten about it next time I saw you.”

“Aw, hell,” Clint muttered, tossing his cue stick onto the table in frustration. In jerky movements that lent themselves toward impatience, he dug his wallet out of the saggy back pocket of his faded blue jeans and peeled three wrinkled ten-dollar bills from the fold. “Woman’s a regular pool hustler,” he growled, handing them over.

“Thank you,” Olivia said cheerily, making a point of counting the bills before standing on the toes of her high heels to give the man a deprecating pat on the cheek. “Until next time.” She spun toward the bar, then came up short when she saw Gerald in her path. Her smile fled...and wasn’t that a shame?

Olivia’s direct gaze was like a punch to his sternum. She’d put on enough smoky eye shadow to make the effect twice as overwhelming. He towered over her by a foot at least even after the spiky black boots that wrapped her legs to the knees before dark, taut denim took over. Both hugged what he imagined were even finer attributes. While her red halter dipped over splendid cleavage.

Recovering quickly, Gerald dipped his head to her. “Mrs. Leighton.”

Olivia chanced a look around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “I thought I told you not to call me that.” She groaned as she crossed the few feet between them.

Gerald raised a brow. “Did you?”

She thought about it, then frowned. “Well, I’m asking now. So...stop. Before someone hears you.”

“I was thinking of making an announcement, actually,” Gerald said with a good-natured grin even as her face drained of color. “Every man in this room has taken a wayward glance at you in the short space of time since I walked through the door tonight. And while I can’t blame them for admiring your many attributes, its best they not get their hopes up.”

Olivia’s frown deepened. He missed the light in her eyes he’d seen earlier when she was with her family. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught the eye of a tall and well-built man leaning against the bar. “Deck,” she called and crooked two fingers in invitation. “Would you come here for a moment?”

Deck stood instantly at the summons and strolled over in three quick gaits. Nodding a hurried greeting to Gerald, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and bent over to Olivia’s level. “Something you need, Liv baby?”

She gripped him by the collar of his striped, polo shirt and pressed her lips to his cheek, leaving a smudge of red from her lipstick. “Why don’t you come upstairs later for a drink? I want to know all about that new contracting job you and the guys were celebrating yesterday afternoon.”

Deck lit up like a theme park at the suggestion. His shoulders straightened and his eyes gleamed as he grinned at her. “You mean it?”

“Of course, I mean it,” she said easily, rubbing a hand over his large biceps. “Stick around?”

“You bet I will,” Deck replied, clutching her around the waist. “Let me just tell the guys I won’t need a ride back home.”

When Deck loped happily back to the bar to relay the happy news, Olivia crossed her arms and gave Gerald a pointed look.

He pressed his lips together. Not normally the jealous type, he was surprised by his reaction to seeing Olivia’s lipstick smudge on Deck’s cheek, her hand on his arm, his arm low on her waist. She’d fired her weapon, straight and true. And Gerald felt the impact of envy down to the bone. It took more time and effort than he would have liked to school his expression into one of indifference. It was harder still to wrangle another good-natured smile onto his lips. “Well played,” he admitted finally.

She lifted a coy shoulder, the smirk touching her lips again. “Decker and I go way back. We met in high school. It wasn’t until I moved in upstairs alone, though, that we started things up. Just the occasional hayride. You know how those things go, don’t you, Gerald?”

“You might be surprised to know that one-night stands are of no interest to me,” Gerald said. There was a gravelly base note in his voice he’d never really heard before. He had difficulty accepting the fact that it was the jealousy talking.

Her brows came down over her eyes. “Then what the hell was I?”

Considering her, he took his time tracing his gaze across her fair, heart-shaped face, down the blond curls tumbling over her shoulders and the shapely form she kept well in tune from the look of her. Words, man. You usually have a way with them. Settling on her searing, emerald eyes, he said, “That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Mrs. Leighton.”

“Lucky for me,” she muttered.

After a moment’s tension, Gerald asked, “By any chance, is Clint one of your many admirers, as well?”

She wrinkled her nose back toward the corner where the large ginger was currently trying to win his money back with an arm-wrestling match. “Just because I bring tavern men back to my place doesn’t mean I don’t have standards.” Scowling, she looked back at Gerald and added, “Believe it or not, I haven’t slept with every man you see in this bar tonight.”

He cleared his throat and shifted his feet. “I’ll offer my apologies, then, since mine was perhaps an unfair question.”

She jerked her head in a terse nod. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Gerald reached up to scrape his knuckles over the small growth of stubble along his jawline. “I was sent here with a message.”

Lifting a pitcher of beer and a small tray of chips from the bar, she took it to a nearby table. “Let me guess,” she said. “From Briar?”

“She said something about the music being too loud,” Gerald relayed, though he gleaned from the canny look on her face she’d already figured that out.

“What do you think?”

“Pardon?”

“The music,” Olivia prompted, planting an impatient hand on her hip as she turned back to him. “Think it’s too loud?”

How had she managed to turn this around on him? Gerald shifted his feet, glancing over at the blazing red, brightly lit jukebox in the corner. “Happen to have any Queen in there?”

She brushed by him on a wave of vanilla fragrance that toggled all those teasing memories of their time in Las Vegas.

He closed his eyes. If her outfit didn’t drive him to insanity, her scent definitely would.

He watched as she leaned over the jukebox, scanning titles, flipping pages behind the glass with the buttons of the console as she wiggled her foot absently behind her. He couldn’t help but admire the way the denim hugged her bum.

Many attributes, indeed.

She popped a coin in the slot and peered over her shoulder, pinning him with a very effective how-’bout-now? look as the first base notes of “Under Pressure” began to play.

She might as well have hit him over the head with a hammer.

“That just happens to be a personal favorite,” Gerald told her when she crossed back to him.

“Then that makes us all happy,” she said, spreading her hands. When he only looked at her, that wary shadow shifted back into her eyes. She moved her hands to her hips again and looked around. “I’m sure you’re more accustomed to fancier drinking establishments than this.”

“This is all pretty familiar actually,” he said. “Cozy taverns and pubs have always suited me. It certainly suits you,” he said with a knowing smile.

Olivia blinked. “Was that a compliment?”

“Indeed.” He lifted a hand to the walls. “The woodwork is fantastic.”

“My grandfather did it all,” she explained after a beat of breath. “He was a carpenter, the best in the area. When it slows down, I guess I’ll have to give you the verbal tour.”

“Yes, you will,” Gerald asserted. Especially if it meant delaying her having drinks with that Decker chap upstairs.

“I have to get back behind the bar....”

Gerald grinned, looking in the direction of the polished wood counter and the waitress behind it. “Take me with you.”

Olivia’s eyes snagged once again with a frown on his face. “Where?”

“Behind the bar,” he expounded. When she only stared, he chuckled. “I worked at a pub while I was at university.”

“You don’t say,” she said. “What was that, like fifteen years ago?”

Now he laughed wholeheartedly, reaching out to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Was that a dig at me, love?”

A wry expression crossed her face. “What if it was? You couldn’t keep up with the after-work rush if you tried, Shakespeare.”

“You think not?” He reached down to the cuffs of his shirt, unbuttoning them one by one. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“You’ll just get in our way,” she pointed out. “When it comes to work, I don’t like people getting in the way.”

“If I get in your way, you’ll have the immense pleasure of having one of your score of admirers haul me out of the tavern,” he promised. “But if I out-tip you by night’s end...you agree to go on a date with me tomorrow night.”

She shook her head. “You’re terrible about making bets you can’t win, you know that?”

“Do we have a deal, love?”

Pursing her lips, she watched him roll up his sleeves. “Sure. But when I win, you have to agree not to step foot back in the tavern during your three weeks here. Got it?”

It wouldn’t come to that. Gerald was determined to make that a reality. “You drive a hard bargain. But I’ll accept those terms.”

She grinned widely and meant it by the light in her eyes. “Good.”

As soon as they both ducked behind the counter, an eager face emerged from the crowd on the other side. “Hey, Liv!”

“Hey there, Skeet,” Olivia greeted fondly. “You back for more?”

“Sure thing,” Skeet said. Gerald saw his eyes dart in the direction of the waitress.

Apparently, Olivia did, too, because her smile grew into Cheshire cat terrain. “Monica’s a little occupied at the moment. What’ll it be?”

“Something hard and straight,” Skeet replied absently, keeping Monica in his peripheral.

“Hard and straight it is,” Olivia said, reaching for a brown liquor bottle.

Gerald stopped her with a hand on her arm, flashing her a smile. “Allow me.”

After a hesitant moment, she stepped back, hands raised. “Knock yourself out, Shakespeare. But remember—you break it, you buy it.”

Gerald grabbed the bottle by the neck, lifting it from the shelf under the counter. He set a shot glass on the bar. In the other hand, he flipped the bottle over the back of his hand, caught it nimbly and poured the liquor into the glass. With a wink at Skeet, he passed it over the bar. “Liquid courage, my friend,” he said before facing Olivia.

He was pleased when it took her a moment to find her voice. “Well, I’ll be.”

* * *

“LIV, YOU GOT yourself a challenger?”

Olivia rolled her eyes in the direction of one of her regulars, Freddie. “Settle down, settle down. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Too rich for your blood, eh, Liv?” Clint added.

Olivia scowled at him but before she could open her mouth to retort, Gerald replied for her. “The lady and I have ourselves a little arrangement, gentlemen.”

“Uh-oh,” Monica muttered behind them.

Olivia narrowed her eyes on him. “Making a show of it won’t help you. These are my customers. They’d side with me any day of the week.”

“I made a living off tips for four years,” Gerald explained, a mischievous smirk playing at his lips. “I know how to work a crowd.”

Olivia blew out an unbelieving laugh. “You’re a cocky son of a bitch, you know that?”

He moved quickly to toss a bottle her way. The gleam in his eyes deepened as she sucked in a breath, catching it before it shattered on the floor. “You like that about me, love. Admit it.”

“Careful there, pretty boy.” Olivia tossed the bottle up once, caught it smoothly, then flipped it and set it down easily on the bar. “Now I’m going to have to embarrass you in front of an audience.”

Gerald offered her a come-hither motion with his hands. “Let’s go, Mrs. Leighton,” he added in an undertone.

“Stand back, Mon,” Olivia warned, then raised her voice over the noise and spread her arms wide. “Who wants to buy me a drink?”

Men rushed for the bar. Gerald turned to the women who’d already moved forward in curiosity, and offered them a charming grin. “Ladies?”

The bet went on for several hours. Their tip jars began to flourish with wrinkled singles. Bottles flipped in the air with an encore of shot glasses and bottle caps. Blenders churned and the beer taps flowed as Gerald and Olivia tirelessly worked the Friday night crowd.

He impressed her, Olivia thought. He didn’t once falter, tire or hang back for a sip of water. However, Olivia didn’t begin to worry about losing until she realized that the women in the crowd were starting to outnumber the men by a hair and she caught Monica sneaking a five-dollar bill into Gerald’s tip jar.

Olivia watched the smug grin spread over his face, his dimples and sexy crow’s-feet digging deep. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his pricey oxford shirt and untucked it from his suit slacks. His rich laugh rose over the din, beckoning her.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he’d fallen from heaven right at her feet.

Yeah, let’s not go there, she thought, stifling the stirrings she was beginning to feel more and more toward him.

It was close to midnight when the crowd thinned and finally dispersed, leaving behind the lone form of Skeet Bisbee. Olivia had counted out her tips as Monica cleaned up and Gerald offered to wash glasses. After he’d worked as hard as he had, Olivia was stunned to see him still on his feet, much less cleaning up after her customers. She wouldn’t argue, though. It was nice to put her feet up for a few moments after the record rush.

Word of the challenge had spread from her customers to their friends and family. Olivia couldn’t remember a busier October night that didn’t involve a football game or holiday. Tonight’s challenge would go a long way toward her sales quota for the month.

Olivia eyed Gerald, elbows-deep in suds at the sink. She’d have to thank him for that. However, she had no plans of telling him that she’d sent Decker home early and disappointed.

Skeet’s head was down on the bar and he was tonelessly crooning along with Bad Company’s “Ready for Love.” Olivia got up from her stool and went over to pat him on the back. “You all right, slugger? It’s past your bedtime.”

Skeet lifted his head to reveal a crooked smile and bloodshot eyes. She’d cut him off an hour ago, but he’d remained, mooning after Monica. “I’m a’right,” he slurred. “And I love you, Liv. Did I ever tell you that I love you?”

“I love you, too, honey,” Olivia said, kissing his puckered lips briefly before exchanging looks with Monica. “Come on now. Monica will take you home.”

“Monica.” Skeet gazed, awestruck, at her. “Liv, isn’t she the purtiest thing?”

“The purtiest,” Olivia replied, trying to haul Skeet to his feet.

“Allow me.” Gerald stepped in. The scent of his aftershave teased her nostrils. “Come on, son. Let’s get you back on the wagon.” He hooked an arm under Skeet’s shoulders and all but dragged him to the door with Monica and Olivia in pursuit.

“So?” Monica whispered, bumping an elbow into Olivia’s ribs. She admired Gerald’s rear as he bent over to help Skeet into the passenger seat of her old, beat-up, two-door Saturn. “What’s the skinny on Mr. Shakespeare?”

Olivia shook her head. “It’s complicated. I don’t feel like getting into it.”

“He’s all over you.”

“You think?” Olivia asked, curious despite herself.

“Like white on rice,” Monica informed her. She dug her keys out of her purse. “I’m gonna take the little boy home.”

Olivia stopped her before she could get behind the wheel. “Take it easy on him.”

Monica chuckled. “I’m going to get him some hot coffee, give him a cold shower, then a religious experience.”

Olivia smiled and shook her head. “No shame.” As Monica shut the door and cranked the car to life, Olivia waved to Skeet. The car pulled out of the parking lot, and she turned to Gerald. “Thank you,” she made herself tell him. “It would have taken both me and Mon to haul him out of there. He might be a lightweight, but he’s big enough to be a linebacker.”

Gerald’s verdant eyes gleamed with laughter in the dark. He’d undone a couple of buttons on his shirt. Not that she was looking at the skin beneath. So not looking... “He revealed to me his intentions to marry her.”

Olivia laughed. Really laughed for the first time that night. “I can’t wait to see how that goes over.” When he only eyed her in the low light, she felt that stir underneath her skin. His effect on her combined with the chill in the air made her shiver. “We’d best go inside. I’ll finish cleaning up.”

“And perhaps you could give me that tour,” Gerald suggested, opening the door for her.

“Oh, right. Well...” She’d told him she would, hadn’t she? No use trying to get out of it. Lifting her hand to encompass the west wall, she began her spiel. “The profiles are explorers and original settlers. The Spanish arrived first, around fifteen-hundred. They fought the Muskogee tribes who lived here first, circa fifteen-forty.”

Gerald peered closely at a line of text under one of the more prominent profiles. “‘Bahía del Espíritu Santo.’ Bay of the Holy Spirit?”

“That name changed when the French came through in the early seventeen-hundreds to establish Fort Louis de la Mobile,” Olivia continued, on a roll now as he looked at her with interest. “They made Dauphin Island a seaport and founded the French Louisiana capital at Mobile. Then, of course, the land was bought up by the American government. Alabama eventually became a state but decided to cede from the Union in 1861 when civil war broke out. And that led to the Battle of Mobile Bay in August of 1864.”

Gerald glanced over the most intricate carvings in the room—seven late-nineteenth-century ships. “And these were the vessels lost?”

“Their wrecks still lie on the floor of Mobile Bay,” she explained. “My grandfather researched the ships carefully in order to re-create them.”

“It’s impressive work,” he mused, running his fingertips over the bow of the CSS Gaines.

Olivia swallowed hard when she caught herself staring at his hands—again. They were nice hands, she had to admit. But she wasn’t going to think about the many things they’d done to her on their wedding night. No sirree. Turning, she walked to the other side of the tavern and the map etched on the opposing wall. “This is my favorite. You can see all the bay’s cultural landmarks, down to the cotton. It was the bay’s chief export in the nineteenth century. Here’s the Fairhope Pier. And here are all the Eastern Shore townships, and across the bay the cities there and the USS Alabama.”

“Was this fort used in the Civil War, too?” he asked, pointing to the star shape at the bottom of the map.

“Mostly in the War of 1812,” she told him, meeting his stare with a catty expression, “when you British attacked during the Battle of New Orleans.”

“Ah,” he said, unable to fight a grin. “Yes, well, there’s no use apologizing for my ancestors. So which hurricane is this?” he asked, pointing to the large rotated eye at the entrance to the bay.

“Frederic,” she answered. “That was 1979 and it was pretty catastrophic. Memories of it were still fairly fresh when my grandfather first started carving the tavern walls. That’s actually sort of where my parents got the name for this place—Tavern of the Graces. They were interested in buying the property but thought that Frederic would level the building as well as Hanna’s Inn when the storm came through. But by the grace of a higher power both were still here after Frederic passed through. They took it as a sign and put all their money into renovating it.”

“And ‘Jubilee’?” Gerald said, pointing to the word scrawled into the wood vertically along the Fairhope shoreline. “What does that stand for?”

“It’s a natural phenomenon that takes place at night in the summertime. Fish, shrimp and crabs gather close to shore in hoards and make it easy to catch them in large numbers.”

“And it only happens here?” he asked, surprised.

“It’s been reported elsewhere, but Mobile Bay is the only place where it happens regularly each year,” she said. “It’s the fourth largest estuary in the country.”





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