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  “Tell me what you want,” he said against her mouth.

  Ginger didn’t hesitate, feeling as though she’d been waiting eons for this man to ask her that. “I want what we started last night,” she whispered.

  Gavin did smile then, one of his bone-melting, full-dimple versions. Before she knew it, they were on the bed, his mouth eating at hers. Her hands slid beneath his shirt, cruising along the smooth muscles of his back while her heart pounded in anticipation.

  The pounding grew louder and Midas began to bark. Ginger froze. The pounding wasn’t just in her chest; it was at the door to Gavin’s loft.

  “Gavin! Open up. It’s Miles.”

  Gavin stilled above her, drawing in a heavy breath before he swore violently. The pounding and barking continued.

  “Open the damn door, Gavin! One of Mom’s guests is missing from the inn.”

  “Oh, God!” Ginger tried to shove Gavin off her. Midas continued to bark.

  “No,” he groaned. “You’re not missing. You’re right here where you’re supposed to be. With me. Just ignore him.”

  “What if he’s talking about Diesel?” Panic flared in her belly.

  Gavin swore again as he rolled off her and adjusted his jeans.

  “Don’t make me call the sheriff, Gavin,” Miles called from outside the door. “Not that he’d answer because he’s too busy doing our mother!”

  “For the love of God!” Gavin stormed out of the bedroom. “Crate, Midas!” he yelled at the dog. Ginger could hear Midas’ paws scurrying across the wood floors as she pulled her bra back into position and straightened her blouse.

  “What the hell are you doing in Chances Inlet, Miles?” She heard the door open and the footsteps of hard-soled shoes on the wood floor. Midas whimpered and wriggled in his crate.

  “Hello to you, too, little brother. Mom insisted I come over from Raleigh to meet with the DA in Wilmington.”

  From her perch on the bed, Ginger watched a tall man dressed in an impeccably cut suit wander into the living space of the loft. Miles was as tall as Gavin, but his build was much leaner, similar to that of a marathon runner. Unlike his younger brother, his light brown hair was neatly cut just above the pristine white collar of his shirt. He reached into the crate to give Midas a pat and the dog nearly toppled it over in his enthusiasm to get out.

  “Mona has agreed to a plea deal. She’s going into a state-sponsored rehab facility today. Cassidy is going to stay with Mom for the time being. Another of her special projects gets a second chance on life.” Miles’ voice held an exasperated edge. “Of course, by my count, this is Mona’s fourth chance.”

  “Good to know,” Gavin said tersely. “Now get out.”

  “Wait.” Ginger scrambled from the bed. “Was Diesel at the inn?”

  Crisp blue eyes met hers as Miles turned sharply to study her. He wore a knowing look on his handsome face. “Damn,” he said. “I owe Will Connelly fifty bucks.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Gavin said, squeezing his eyes shut.

  “If Diesel is the guy with all the tattoos, then yes, he’s fine,” Miles said as he walked toward the bedroom. “He’s just a little freaked-out that you didn’t come back last night.”

  “The whole town saw me carry her out of Pier Pressure,” Gavin practically yelled. “Where else would she be except here?”

  Miles chuckled as Ginger dug through her purse to find her cell phone. She needed to call Diesel, but her phone was out of battery. No wonder Diesel was getting a little frantic.

  “They all assumed you were doing your knight-in-shining-armor thing and took her back to the inn. According to Bernice and Morgan, you have more sense than to fool around with—” Miles eyed Ginger carefully. “Is your name Ginger or Destiny? I’m confused.”

  Gavin sounded as if he were grinding his teeth to dust. “It’s Ginger. And she isn’t a registered voter in this town, so back off.”

  Ginger yanked her purse onto her shoulder. She had to get out of here. Diesel needed to know she was okay. And she certainly didn’t want to hear more about how the people in this town didn’t think she was good enough for their golden boy, Gavin.

  “Mom sent me over to ask where you’d seen her last,” Miles was saying. “Although, now that I think about, I’m sure she knew I’d find Ginger here. I don’t think she was too pleased about it.”

  “Too bad,” Gavin bit out, and Miles jerked around as if he was startled by his younger brother’s reaction.

  “I have to go,” Ginger said as she charged past Miles.

  “No!” Gavin shouted, gesturing at Miles. “He’s leaving. You’re staying.”

  Ginger swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat. “This isn’t going to work, Gavin. I’m sorry.”

  She’d almost made it to the big metal door before Gavin pounced on her. The fresh scent that was uniquely his tortured her senses as he pulled her back against his broad chest.

  “Don’t,” he breathed in her ear, and Ginger’s knees nearly buckled at the raw need in that single word.

  Not wanting to be a coward, she turned in his arms to face him. That amazing mouth of his was drawn tight and Ginger wanted nothing more than to kiss it until he smiled. But that would only bring on more anguish. Her finger reached out to trace his pectoral muscle before she pulled it back. She gave her head a firm shake.

  “I won’t come between you and the people of this town.”

  “I don’t give a shit about the people in this town!” he bellowed.

  Unable to hold back any longer, she placed her palm on his chest, his heartbeat booming beneath her fingers. “Yes, you do. And they worship you. Whatever is between us is just temporary. I’ll be leaving in”—she was surprised that she had to wrack her brain to come up with the number—“seventy-eight days. You’ll still be living here in Chances Inlet.”

  Something fierce flickered in eyes. “No, I won—” He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who was across the loft tossing pool balls around on the pool table. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  She bit her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. Gavin was the best part of working in Chances Inlet, but as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t let herself go down this path with him. It would only bring heartache at the end. She knew that now. And she wouldn’t let him destroy relationships that meant more to him than he knew. Not for her.

  “I don’t want to come between you and your mother,” she whispered. “Don’t lie and say she doesn’t matter because she does. You wouldn’t be doing what you’re doing to protect her if she didn’t.”

  His grip tightened on her arms and he pulled her closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “No one in this town—including my mother—is going to tell me how to live anymore.”

  He kissed her then. It was a savage kiss, one that told her exactly how much he wanted her. Ginger let his mouth have its own way for a few minutes, her body responding to the demands of his own without much protest. When she eventually forced herself to pull free from his lips, they both were breathing hard.

  Gavin rested his head against the door, his breath caressing her ear. “Go back to the inn, Ginger. Let Diesel know you’re okay. But this isn’t over by a long shot.”

  He pulled away and Ginger had to keep her back pressed to the metal surface so that her traitorous body wouldn’t follow his. Swallowing a sob, she pushed away from the door and hurried out of his loft.

  ELEVEN

  “Remind me why I haven’t killed you yet.” Gavin pulled a beer out of his refrigerator, twisted off the cap and guzzled half the bottle.

  “Jesus, Gavin,” Miles said from his seat at Gavin’s kitchen table, where he sat pulling apart the cold toast and tossing the pieces up in the air for Midas to catch. “For a guy who just had a night of sex with a hot soap opera actress, you’re awfully bitchy.”

  “I’m bitchy because we never got to the sex part!” Not exactly true, but his brother didn’t need to know last night had been all one-sided.

&nbs
p; Miles laughed. “According to Ryan, you struck out with a stewardess last weekend, too. Your shine must be fading.” He grabbed the bottle of beer out of his brother’s hand and took a swig.

  “Isn’t it a little early for you, Congressman?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s had a shitty morning,” Miles said as he strolled back over to the pool table. “I had the good fortune of catching our mother in bed with the sheriff.” Miles’ whole body visibly shook before he rolled the eight ball into one of the pockets. “I can’t ever unsee that,” he said, his voice raspy.

  Gavin would have normally laughed at his brother’s obvious discomfort, but today he was just too frustrated and angry to enjoy the situation. “Maybe you should try knocking first before you go barging into the carriage house.”

  “Damn it, Gavin, she’s not supposed to have strange men in her bed! She’s our mother!” Miles pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re supposed to be looking after her.”

  “I am looking after her,” Gavin snarled. He was looking after their mother in ways none of his siblings could or would ever know. And he was getting pretty damn tired of everyone telling him what he should and shouldn’t be doing. He snatched the beer bottle back and guzzled its contents. “And Mom doesn’t need a keeper. She’s a grown woman.”

  Miles snorted. “Now you sound like Kate. Our sister seems to think it’s ‘cute.’” His fingers made little air quotes. “Well, it won’t be so cute when the guy up and leaves town just as quickly as he blew into it and Mom is left brokenhearted.”

  Gavin sighed. “He’s a nice guy, Miles. Maybe if you talked to him instead of grunting all the time, you’d figure that out.”

  If Miles heard him, he didn’t acknowledge Gavin. “Not only that, but she’s hiring strange women again. That new girl, Lori, is hiding something. I know it. She’s way too dark and dangerous-looking to be normal. Did you know she’s talked Mom into stocking a wine cellar?”

  “Who do you think built the wine cellar,” Gavin said. “You’re seriously paranoid. And that’s another reason you need to make friends with the sheriff. Lamar discreetly performs background checks on anyone who works at the inn.”

  “Yeah? And what did his background check reveal about Mom’s new sommelier?”

  “Nothing.” Not exactly true. Now that he thought about it, the sheriff hadn’t mentioned whether he’d discovered anything about Lori. Usually, he gave Gavin the lowdown on what he’d found, but not in this case. Still, the sheriff was as protective of his mother as the rest of the McAlister family, and that was good enough for him. Miles was just being a prick.

  Gavin shucked his shirt as he headed to the bedroom. If his overbearing brother wasn’t leaving, then Gavin would. “I’m going for a run. Are you sticking around in town today?”

  “Aw, man, I won’t get a run today,” Miles said.

  Gavin bit back a sly grin as he took in his brother’s shiny wing tips and his politician’s uniform. Miles was an Ironman junkie, constantly training for one race or another. Given his early meeting in Wilmington, he’d obviously missed his daily workout, which meant he’d likely be jonesing for a run all day. After the morning he’d had, Gavin allowed himself to enjoy the payback of taunting his perfect older brother. “Too bad. It’s a beautiful day out there.”

  Miles muttered a few obscenities. “Hey, can I borrow Dad’s office for a meeting later?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks. I won’t need it too long. I’ve got some donors coming to town and I still haven’t gotten any space for my campaign headquarters yet.”

  Gavin stilled as he laced up his running shoes, an idea percolating. “Hey, use the space as long as you want. I do most of my work up here, and with the restoration show going on we’re all up at Dresden House most days anyway. Bernice can help you out with anything you need,” he casually tossed over his shoulder as he clipped on Midas’ leash.

  Miles shook from head to toe again. “Bernice, ugh,” he said. “She keeps sending me e-mails about the Founders’ Day parade with some soap opera actress named Savannah. FYI, I think they’re bringing her to town to set her up with you.”

  Gavin scowled at this brother. “No, thanks. I’m sticking with the one I’ve already got.”

  “Huh, based on the way she booked it out of here, I’d say ‘got’ is a relative term.”

  Gavin flipped him off, slamming the door on Miles’ laughter.

  * * *

  “It’s all your fault,” Ginger said later that afternoon before taking a swallow of restorative caffeine. She and Diesel were sitting along one of the paths leading to the town square and its historic Civil War cannon. When they’d passed by the Java Jolt, the old crone who worked there had nearly fallen over another customer so that she could call them in from the sidewalk. Once inside, she’d wrapped Ginger’s fingers around a steaming cup of latte.

  “It’s low fat, just like you like it, and it’s on the house,” she’d said, giving Ginger’s hand a pat. “It should cure what ails you today.”

  All Ginger could do was stare at the little old lady who’d been nothing but condescending to her for an entire week. Diesel was no help deciphering the woman’s abrupt role reversal. Instead, he chuckled beside her before ordering a panini sandwich to go. Still, Ginger had made him take the first sip as they continued on their way. Better to be safe than sorry.

  “It’s not my fault you can’t handle your liquor,” he said. “A smart woman would have downed some nachos with her Jack Daniels.”

  She made a face at him. “You were the one who told me to ‘run with it’ and be a rebel.”

  He laughed. “So you listen to that part of my advice and not the part about staying away from the hottie contractor. Smooth. Although, he does look pretty heroic in the YouTube videos from last night. At least he didn’t carry you out in a fireman’s hold.”

  Ginger leaned back against the bench and took another sip of her latte. She had to admit, the geriatric barista was right. She was starting to feel a little better. Of course, sex with Gavin would have been a much nicer hangover remedy. “I told you, nothing happened,” she said, ignoring the now-vivid mental image of her head between his legs. She squirmed on the bench.

  “No one else in this town seems to have a problem accepting that I slept it off in the ballet studio. Why can’t you?” Ginger tried to hide the bitterness in her voice. When she’d made it back to the inn, she’d told the assembled crowd of her would-be rescue searchers that she’d spent the night in the dressing room at Audra’s Tiny Dancers. She’d done it to protect Gavin’s reputation, but it stung to see how quickly everyone bought the story. No one wanted to believe that she was good enough for their town’s prodigal son.

  “Don’t fool yourself,” Diesel said as he wadded up the bag his sandwich came in. “Your lover’s mom isn’t buying a word of it.”

  “He’s not my lover.” She shifted again, her insides tightening at the memory of how close they’d come to making that statement a lie.

  Diesel laughed again. “Then the guy’s not the stud I thought he was.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “Hey,” he said, playfully rubbing his side. “Is Audra gonna at least back your story up?”

  “For a price.” She glanced at Diesel sheepishly. “I’ve agreed to teach beginning ballet to a bunch of preschoolers.”

  “Uh, Ginger, you work for me, remember?”

  “Relax, Your Majesty. They only meet twice a week and it’s at five o’clock. Unless we’re filming at night, there shouldn’t be a conflict.”

  “For someone who had to practically be dragged back into a ballet studio, you sure are caving pretty easily to Audra’s blackmail.”

  Ginger bit back a smile as she peeled the label off her coffee cup. Blackmail was probably too strong a term to describe her about-face from yesterday. When she’d snuck through the ballet studio this morning in order to give herself an alibi, she’d run into one of the little girls from the class: an adorable five-year-old with D
own syndrome named Hannah. Her older brother was trying, with little success, to coax her from the studio.

  “Sorry,” he apologized. Ginger recognized him as the driver of the car full of boys teasing Cassidy the other day. “My sister, Hannah, loves dance class. She wants to come here every day. But you don’t have class today,” he said to the girl, gently prodding her toward the door. “You have to wait until Monday.”

  Hannah shook her head fiercely. “No class on Monday. Shayla is sick. No class ever.” A crocodile tear ran down her cheek. “I want to be a butterfly.”

  Exasperated, her brother tried to pick her up, but Hannah wouldn’t allow him to; she plopped down on the floor instead. He heaved a sigh. “Come on, Hannah, stop being a pain. I have to get to work.”

  The little girl’s belligerent posture stirred something inside Ginger. She could relate to the child’s keen disappointment—especially after having just walked out of Gavin’s loft. Not only that, but she was being lulled into action by the sounds of ballet slippers brushing against the wood floor as a class rehearsed in the studio behind them. Dancing could still make Ginger happy. I have the power to make this child happy. It seemed she was fated to be more Pollyanna than Destiny after all. Crouching down in front of Hannah, she tenderly pushed a wisp of hair off the girl’s face.

  “Don’t cry, Hannah. You are going to be a butterfly. I’m going to be teaching your class from now on,” she said. The girl’s eyes grew wide. “My name is Ginger and I’m going to show you how to be the best butterfly ever. Won’t that be fun?” The little girl nodded vigorously. “Right now, though, you have to go with your brother. But I’ll see you Monday afternoon, I promise.”

  A face-splitting grin lit up Hannah’s face. “Monday is in two wake-ups,” she said, holding up two fingers.

  Ginger smiled back as she helped Hannah off the floor. “That’s right. So you’d better practice flapping your butterfly wings until then.”

  Hannah’s brother shot Ginger a relieved look. “Thanks.” He took hold of his sister’s hand as she skipped out to the studio.