Christmas at the Cove. Rachel Brimble
rushed his bloodstream. He wanted to grab her, shake her, kiss her and make love to her. God, he wanted to drop to his damn knees in front of her and beg her to tell him where she’d been and now she was back, was she back for good?
“Scott?”
He closed his eyes, barely resisting the urge to cover his ears and block out her voice, achingly laced with the unmistakable sound of a plea. “Whether you want to see me or not, I have to talk to you, and I won’t leave the Cove until you listen to me.”
Her heels clicked closer and his body tensed, waiting for what came next. The dangerous, musky scent of her perfume wafted under his nostrils and he inhaled. She approached the bench beside him and put down a business card. “My number’s on there. I’m staying at the Christie. Call me when you’re ready to talk. It’s important or I wouldn’t have come.”
He glanced at the card. Carrie Jameson. Producer.
She turned and walked away. He let her go, feeling like a smashed-up car after a hurricane, tossed and turned through the air before being spewed crudely across the highway, left to rust and burn.
He picked up the card. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Carrie was back and his libido told him only too clearly there was no way in hell he wouldn’t go to her. How was he supposed to let her leave again when he’d lived the last three years regretting he didn’t stop her the first time?
CARRIE LEFT THE garage and strode into the street, her legs trembling. She clasped her hand over her mouth and ducked into an alleyway. Dropping her head back against the damp brick of the building, she welcomed the heavy rain as it battered her skin.
My God, he looked...amazing.
Scott Walker was still gorgeous, sexy and alive with a fire she stupidly thought she remembered so clearly—but hadn’t remembered accurately at all. The irresistible intensity surrounding him hadn’t lessened with time. It still seeped from every pore. His inexplicable manliness appealed to her senses and scored over her skin, like nothing she’d ever known with another man. It was crazy—yet so very, very real. She closed her eyes.
God, why did I come here expecting to control the situation?
When he stood in front of her, broad chested, with grease-smeared overalls hanging loose at his hips...Carrie drew in a long breath through flared nostrils as her center shamelessly pulled. The man burned with passion. When she looked into his eyes, his shock over seeing her scorched right through her skin and deep into her heart, making her want to kiss him...comfort him. Apologize. Ask him to forgive her. But how was she supposed to talk to him about Belle and get the hell home as quickly as possible when he affected her like this?
From the dark fall of his thick hair to the shadow of stubble at his jaw and upper lip, he was so entirely masculine she couldn’t stand how weak with desire he made her. This wasn’t who she was. She was a mum. A producer. A daughter. A widow...
Confusion and shock rocketed through her and she pushed away from the wall. She needed to get a grip. This was about Belle. Not her. Not Scott. There was no way she’d leave Templeton and go back home without doing what she came to do, so she’d better find a way to deal with his pull on her and find it quickly. She couldn’t let her fear of Scott’s potential to take her as easily as he did the first time change the reality he was Belle’s father. And she’d promised herself she’d tell Scott the truth.
Smoothing the front of her coat, she hitched her belt tighter and inhaled the moist winter air. Belle was growing and growing fast. Carrie could scarcely believe this was her daughter’s third Christmas. God, she should have done this months ago—why had it taken Gerard’s death to make her take responsibility for her actions?
Because I’m a coward. Because I was scared of this. Scared that I’d still be as attracted to Scott today as I was then. Scared that the suspicion in Gerard’s eyes whenever I spoke of Scott would be proven justified. Scared I would have to accept what Gerard knew all along...Scott matters to me.
Carrie’s tears slipped from beneath her closed lids and trickled a warm path down her icy cheeks. Gerard was a brave man. A selfless, wise and mature man. Her antithesis and, as far as she could tell, Scott’s too. Hence why she’d taken over a year to grieve and gather the strength to get through what she now had to do alone. Carrie shook her head. She’d convinced herself the time was right because with the time that had passed since she’d seen Scott, surely her attraction would be gone, obliterated by a loving marriage and a beautiful child teaching her so much about motherhood.
But no. It was still there, maybe burning more dangerously than before because this time she and Scott had a child together. The potential was there to know each other for the rest of their lives; to be side by side at Belle’s parent-teacher interviews, birthday parties, Christmas holidays...
Oh, God. Carrie paced left and right as though looking for an escape as the alley’s walls closed in on her. I have to take control. Arranging for Scott to see Belle at some point in the future is all that matters here. He doesn’t want me. He’s never wanted me. I have to remember that. If he felt half of what I felt, we would have found a way to be together. She gave a curt nod and swiped at her face as sanity returned.
She glared toward the opening of the alleyway and belatedly opened her umbrella. Her carefully styled hair now hung in limp rats’ tails down her back. The next move was Scott’s, and she’d learn to be patient. There was nothing else to be done today. It was only fair she gave him a little time.
She exited the alley and, at the entrance, cast a glance toward the garage. She half expected him to be standing in the doorway, watching her with those midnight-blue eyes. The area in front of the garage was achingly empty.
Ignoring the jab in her chest that felt far too much like disappointment, Carrie dragged up the courage she needed if she had any hope of getting her mission done. Gripping her umbrella in front of her face against the wind and rain, she hurried along the road that would take her back to High Street. The rain hammered on her umbrella, matching the chaos screaming inside her.
The welcome sight of a bakery with lights burning through the cottage-style windows came into view. Tinsel and baubles glinted and twinkled behind the glass, beckoning Carrie inside. She yanked her umbrella closed and stepped gratefully through the door.
The bakery was deserted. Not a single customer sat at the pine tables or booths to keep her company...or better still, keep her hidden from observation. Yet, the smells were as close to heaven as a girl could get, and Carrie firmly closed the door. She’d enjoy a cup of coffee and then head back to the hotel.
Scott had twenty-four hours to contact her before she’d return to the garage and confront him a second time. He might have shaken her today, but she was determined that wouldn’t happen tomorrow.
She fluffed her hair that was already beginning to frizz and met the gaze of the woman standing behind the counter. She had a welcoming smile, but Carrie was shrewd enough to recognize the baker’s intense appraisal.
Carrie planted on a smile and approached the counter. “Hi.”
The woman’s gaze softened. “Good afternoon, lovely. What can I get you?”
Inexplicable warmth replaced the chill in Carrie’s bones that had bothered her every second since seeing Scott. She dropped her tense shoulders. “A cappuccino would be great. Thank you.”
“Anything else? I have freshly baked Christmas cookies and sweet mince pies, too.”
Carrie dragged her gaze from the woman’s sparkling brown eyes and looked through the pane of the glass-covered display counter. Her stomach grumbled with insistent demand. Every Christmas cookie imaginable was laid out on red, gold and green trays. Iced cakes and chocolate éclairs, grinning marshmallow snowmen and sparkling angel biscuits cruelly arranged and made purposely impossible to resist.