“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s my fault entirely.”
“Does anyone in your family know? Your sisters? Your brother?”
“Good God, no! And I’d very much like to keep it that way.”
“You should tell them.”
“Can’t we just let this…die? I’ll do whatever you want. Tell everyone I was cheating. With a woman, please. Tell them I beat you. That I have gambling debts. However you want to handle the breakup, I’ll go along. Just don’t tell my family. The press. My coworkers. Please, Marin.”
“Tell me this. Would you have gone through with the wedding?”
A long pause followed, and then he admitted, “Probably.”
“Wow.” She shook her head. “Fine. Tell everyone you had an affair with some woman, if that makes it better for you. I really don’t care anymore.”
Marin hung up the phone, flicked off her light and stared outside. A full moon shone down on the trees, casting creepy shadows on the grass. She cracked open the window, letting the still-warm late summer breeze flow through the room. It was quiet here, so quiet she could hear the wind rustling the leaves of the towering old maple just outside her window. Maybe Saint Barts wouldn’t have been a good idea. She needed this time away more than she’d realized.
All her life, she’d swallowed hook, line and sinker her father’s rhetoric about how Camdens being Camdens needed to lead by example. She’d meticulously dotted her i’s and crossed her t’s. She’d been a high achiever, some said overachiever, in both academics and athletics throughout her childhood. She’d graduated summa cum laude from Harvard. She donated heavily from her trust fund to worthy causes. She spent every Wednesday night at the women’s shelter, every Sunday at the food bank. Worst of all, through it all, she’d even imagined herself happy and in love. It had all been a lie.
Well, now she had to find out what she wanted from life.
Her gaze was suddenly, inexplicably drawn to Adam Harding’s backyard. Would she find him, once again, leaning against his tree? But no. He was inside, his house completely dark but for one dim light at the first floor. Pale sheers fluttered with the breeze blowing through his open window. His bedroom? Probably not. The bright glow of a computer screen indicated it was likely an office. He was working late.
She would’ve sworn she could hear him talking, possibly on the phone. Holding her breath, she strained to listen. Whether real or imagined, there was no doubt he had a nice voice, deep and calming. And that faint touch of a Southern accent? Mmm. What would it feel like to kiss that lush lower lip? To nip at him softly? To feel that big, warm body around her, over her?
Oh, hell.
Needing a distraction, she picked up the romance Missy had given her the other day. If nothing else, it would put her to sleep. By page ten she realized her mistake. She was going to be up for a long, long while.
“WE’RE LATE,” MARIN WHISPERED as she followed Missy into the large room at the community center amidst an uproarious discussion.
The town meeting, apparently one of many that would be had over the coming months to discuss the progress on Mirabelle’s rebuilding, had started several minutes earlier. As quietly as possible, she slid after Missy into the first available seats in the last row.
“Didn’t you just recently have one of these meetings?”
Missy nodded. “The engineers finished with their building assessments and Adam wanted to go through the results in person.”
“So what was the point in dragging me here?”
Missy grinned. “Because I want you to come to the yoga class I’m teaching right after this.”
“Yoga?” Marin rolled her eyes. She should’ve guessed something was up when her sister had also suggested Marin wear something loose fitting and comfortable. Why did it not surprise her that her vegetarian, tree-hugging little sis was also a yogi?
“And I wanted to introduce you to some of my friends.” Missy pointed toward the front of the room. “Sarah is one of the council members. She’s sitting up at the table next to Garrett.”
An old woman in front of them shifted and glared pointedly at Marin. “Shh!”
After the hag turned back around, Missy grinned and whispered in Marin’s ear. “Mrs. Gilbert. Runs a mean bed-and-breakfast inn.”
Marin snapped her mouth closed and looked toward the front. Several townspeople were sitting behind a long table, but it was Adam who captured and held her interest. For close to an hour, she listened to him field one question after another in a detached and unemotional, but somehow compassionate, mode.
People were angry and frustrated. There were any number of times islanders said things clearly inflammatory in nature and Adam not only didn’t react, he also managed to defuse every one of those situations, turning them to his advantage. You couldn’t teach a man that kind of control over his emotions.
What would it feel like to snap his concentration? To release his power, his energy behind closed doors, to feel his passion running wild? Nothing like Colin’s lukewarm attention, that’s for sure. She’d always dated professional, white-collar men. Intellectuals. Thinkers, not doers, but Adam seemed to bridge that gap. Maybe her mother—her own mother—had been right. Maybe what Marin needed right now more than anything was no-strings-attached sex. Hot, passionate, burn the bedsheets sex. Maybe Adam Harding was man enough to wipe away every bad memory of Colin. But was Marin woman enough?
The thought had barely entered her mind when the town meeting abruptly wrapped up. Suddenly, Missy was introducing Marin to several people. Then she asked, “Coming to my yoga class?”
Marin shrugged. “No offense, but I’m not really into yoga.”
“You should try it,” Sarah said. “Missy’s a very good teacher.”
“I’m sure she is.” Marin chuckled. “But I’m more of a…kickboxing kind of woman. I think I’ll just go home.”
Missy looked disappointed, but she’d live.
Marin turned to head for the exit and almost ran into Adam’s back. She put her hands out to steady herself. “Sorry. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”
He turned. “Hey, there. I’m surprised to see you here. Find it interesting? Or entertaining?”
“I thought you were nothing short of amazing,” she said honestly.
“I’m not too sure about that.” He laughed, although he looked tired and wrung out, and who could blame him after the way the locals had raked him over the coals.
“How do you do what you do?”
“What do you mean?” he said as they pushed through the exit doors and stepped out into the cool evening air.
“There was so much emotion in that room. At one point, it was so tense you would’ve needed a stainless steel blade to cut the air.”
“I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”
By unspoken agreement they both turned in the direction of their tree-canopied street. “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. “Either you have an incredible gift, or you have ice running through your veins. Which is it?”
“Those are the only two options?” He grinned. “Then I’ll go with ice.”
No way.
“I’ve been in the construction business a very long time,” he explained. “Something always manages to go wrong, no matter how well you plan. There are just too many variables out of a contractor’s control. You either learn how to deal, or you get ulcers.