Christmas at the Cove. Rachel Brimble

       PROLOGUE

      Summer, Three Years Earlier

      THE DOOR OF The Coast Inn swung open and Carrie looked up from her shot at the pool table. The stranger in the doorway was tall and broad, his face in shadow as the freak summer downpour flowed in torrents behind him. She straightened, inexplicable tension lifting the hairs at the back of her neck. The reggae track that blasted from the jukebox faded, and the chattering laughter all around her subsided.

      He stepped inside the bar and shook the rain from his dark hair, pushing his fingers through the wet strands. She tried to drag her gaze away but instead openly stared at his wide, powerfully built chest. He didn’t wear a jacket and muscles rippled beneath translucent white cotton. Her gaze wandered lower over his flat stomach to linger shamelessly at his groin encased in blue jeans.

      “Carrie? What’s wrong?”

      Carrie blinked and plastered on a wide smile. She turned and met Michaela’s slightly wine-glazed stare. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m working out my strategy for this next shot.” She focused on the task at hand, her grasp trembling around the cue. “Hold on to your hat. You’re going down.”

      She shot the ball and missed by inches.

      Michaela gave an inelegant snort. “Oh, yeah, you’ve got this game in the bag.”

      Carrie shrugged and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Fine, let’s see if you can do any better.”

      She stepped back when Michaela elbowed her out of the way. The music and chatter had re-emerged and Carrie breathed a little easier. With her friend’s back turned, she looked at the stranger again. He faced away from her, laughing with the bartender as he snapped the top off a beer bottle and slid it across the bar. When her object of fascination lifted the bottle to his lips, the skin at his throat shifted and moved as he drank, hitching every nerve in Carrie’s body to high alert.

      Never in her life had she looked at a guy and wanted to keep looking like she did now. I have to talk to him. Her head swam with too much wine and too little food. What else could be the cause of this momentary lapse in the sensible and steady personality she’d worn with ease her entire adult life?

      She was here for a fun weekend with her girlfriends. A hardworking, ambitious woman working as a TV producer for a national network. A woman who went through life with methodical precision. A woman who dated and carefully considered...who never leaped into bed with a guy she’d only just seen.

      So why did she want to do exactly that?

      She couldn’t think past walking over to him, sliding her hand into his and leading him out of the bar to the hotel where she and her friends were staying.

      She swallowed and hungrily ran her gaze over the back of his head, continuing her perusal. Muscles flexed and relaxed beneath his shirt; his butt was firm...the side of his thigh muscular and thick. Her body yearned with a desire she couldn’t explain.

      He turned and her breath lodged in her throat.

      Their eyes locked and his laughter came to an abrupt stop. His smile dissolved as the beer bottle hovered at his mouth and everything quieted once more. She tried to move, to turn and rejoin her friends, but her feet remained welded to the wood flooring.

      With his eyes still on hers, he put the bottle on the bar and stepped toward her. Panic rushed through Carrie and she shot a glance over her shoulder. Her three friends watched him approach, their cheeks flushed and their eyes agog. Carrie’s heart pounded and her mouth drained dry. She turned to face him.

      He stopped directly in front of her and she tipped her head back to look into his eyes. In the muted light, they shone a bright blue, striking against his deep olive skin. His gaze roamed over her face, down to her breasts and back again.

      She wet her lips and forced a smile. “Hi.”

      “Hi.” The seconds beat like minutes before he took another step closer. “I’m Scott.”

      “Carrie.”

      “I haven’t seen you before.”

      “I’m visiting for a few days.” She glanced behind her. “These are my friends.”

      He turned to Michaela and the others and dipped his head before facing Carrie once more. “You look as though you’re having a good time.”

      She lifted her chin, forced nonchalance into her stance. “I am. Templeton seems a nice place.”

      “How long are you staying?”

      “Until tomorrow.”

      His gaze bored into hers. “Then we don’t have much time.”

      She stiffened. No. He can’t mean... She huffed out a laugh. “For what?”

      His eyes gleamed. “You know what.”

      She crossed her arms to hide the trembling, to stop from reaching up and grabbing his jaw to bring his lips to hers. “Do I?”

      “We need to get out of here.”

      Oh, my God. “I don’t think so.”

      “Why not?”

      Carrie glanced toward Michaela and the others and bit back a bubble of nervous laughter. Her friends wore identical, jaw-dropped expressions of fascination. “I can’t just leave—”

      “You don’t strike me as the type of woman who lives to other people’s schedules.” His gaze glided over her face in a steady, soft caress that made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. A way she’d never felt her entire life. He lifted his shoulders. “Or maybe I’m wrong.”

      Carrie drew in a long breath as her habitual need to maintain control rose. He’s a player. Walk away. Go back to your friends. “You’re right, but I don’t know you.”

      His gaze darkened and settled at her mouth. “Ditto.”

      “Then