Rachel Brimble - Christmas at the Cove

“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 I should stay here.”

He lifted his gaze to hers and said nothing.

Time stood still as her heart beat fast and her mind whirled. How could she not go? Every nerve in her body screamed for this man; every second that passed felt wasted. She waited for the rush of her returning sanity, but instead, relief swam through her. Relief he’d suggested they leave together first, that this madness was his idea, not hers. Could she do this? Just go with him and to hell with the consequences?

“Do you do this often?” She lifted an eyebrow, going for the breezy rather than the terrified. “Approach women in bars and ask them to leave with you?”

“Never. You’re the first.”

She looked into his eyes and nothing but sincerity shone back. God, she wanted to go with him. Desperately. “You could be an axe-murderer for all I know.”

She said the words, but no part of her was afraid of this man. Instead, she wanted to comfort him, to soothe the deep frustration emanating from him. The look in his eyes wasn’t full of male ego but intense inquiry, mixed with a hint of disbelief that she understood only too well in that moment.

He exhaled. “I could be, but I’m not. I’ll look after you, Carrie. I promise.” He raised his hand. “Scott’s honor.”

Her stomach knotted and laughter bubbled in her throat once more. “Well, in that case...” She smiled, still apprehensive. “I’ll grab my purse.”

For the first time since he’d left his barstool, he smiled. A smile so soft, she sensed his mutual relief. Sensed he was as unsure about what he was doing as she was. On shaking legs, Carrie approached her friends and glanced at each of them in turn, desperate for the words to explain she had to make love to this stranger or regret it for the rest of her life. She wanted him to take her and feel the weight of his body pressed down on hers. She wanted to smell him, touch him and hear him groan.

She focused on Michaela, her best friend and only hope of being understood.

Michaela frowned. “Carrie?”

Carrie smiled, even though nerves and doubt danced in her stomach. “I have to go with him.”

She moved to walk away, but Michaela gripped her wrist. “You don’t know this guy.”

Aware of Scott watching, Carrie pulled back her shoulders. “But I will.”

“Carrie—”

“I have to do this.” She eased her arm from her friend’s grip. “I’ll call you. If you don’t hear from me in a couple of hours, call the police.” She winked and pushed away the seriousness of the implication.

“That’s not funny.” Michaela glanced toward Scott before facing Carrie again. “If you want to go, I can’t stop you, but for God’s sake, call me later so I know you’re okay.”

Carrie smiled even as unease rippled through her. Michaela’s concern was justified. Wouldn’t she have been saying the same things to her friend if the roles were reversed? She squeezed Michaela’s hand. “I will. I promise.”

After a final worried look in Scott’s direction, Michaela smiled and raised her hands in surrender. “Fine. Then get out of here.”