Wanting a Family Man (Raven’s Cove #3)

Chapter Eleven

T he first touch of Trystan’s lips was just that. A touch. Not even quite resting into a chaste kiss. It was a question. Do you want this?

She did. Her heart had been replaced by a trapped bird that fluttered and was trying to break free of her rib cage. It wanted to soar.

Almost instinctively, she pressed onto her toes to increase the pressure, silently urging, Yes. Kiss me .

He tilted his head ever so slightly. The angle deepened the contact and parted her lips and her stomach swooped. They began to kiss. Kiss .

It was like falling off a cliff and plunging deep underwater at the same time. Nothing existed, not even her breath, no sound, only the feel of his hand cupping the back of her neck and his arm hard around her and his mouth consuming hers.

She slid her arms around his neck, pulling herself higher against him, crushing herself against the wall of his hard chest. When his tongue swept across hers, her whole body caught fire. He wasn’t moving his hands, but she felt caressed everywhere, across her bare arms and down her spine and into her thighs. Her breasts ached and a sharp point of need flowered between her thighs.

She had thought she was a low-sex person and that whatever she was capable of feeling had died after Ivan’s betrayal, but desire consumed her in a wrathful type of fury, punishing her for giving herself to someone who wasn’t worthy when she could have had this. Him .

She greedily chased each small sensation, sifting his short hair through her fingers and tasting deeper into his mouth. He was hard against her stomach and her knee crooked upward in reaction, encouraging him to hold her closer. Tighter.

With a growl, his hand slid down to her ass and cupped the underside of her cheek, lifting her an inch higher so his erection pressed against her mound. His fingertips grazed where her shorts ended and the bare skin of her thighs began. His touch was so teasingly close to where she was growing damp and filled with longing, she melted. Moaned.

They should stop, she thought distantly. This was too intense. Their breaths were hissing and jagged, but she couldn’t make herself pull away.

He was equally unrelenting, drawing her deeper into the thicket of their kiss, sucking at her bottom lip and slowly riding his hand over her breast so the desperate darkness behind her closed eyes shot with stars of every color. Whatever secrets she thought she might retain, whatever pieces of herself had not yet been crushed and lost, were being sought out, turned over, and claimed by him.

A burst of laughter and slapping footsteps crashed into her ears, breaking them apart.

Trystan jerked up his head and shifted his grip to cradle her as though the sky were falling down upon them. His heart slammed against her cheek where he tucked her against his chest.

She was shaking with arousal. The world felt tipped upside down.

Into her dazed vision, the German boys came even with them. They abruptly stopped.

“Hello,” Stefan said, cheerfully oblivious.

Karl was old enough to realize they’d interrupted something. He blushed and said a strangled “I’m sorry.”

“No problem.” Flustered, Cloe tried to step away from Trystan, but he only let her turn so he remained behind her. He was using her to hide his erection, she realized when it brushed her buttock. Another hot flush of disconcerted awareness engulfed her.

“Trystan was telling me these berries are edible. I was going to bring a few to the boat for you to try,” she said, trying to regain her composure.

The boys each tried a few, then took off in their footrace to the dam.

Their parents strolled up before she and Trystan had properly caught their breath or managed to meet each other’s eyes.

After chatting briefly with them, Trudi and Renz followed the boys while Cloe and Trystan made their way back to the Storm Ridge .

She rubbed her arms, still trying to put their kiss into perspective. She would love to say she was reacting to her celebrity crush or that he was a practiced playboy, but neither of those explanations rang true. He was great at kissing, but that’s not why she’d exploded with desire. She found him sexy as hell and it continued to intensify as she got to know him. As she began to really like him.

How were they supposed to go back to working together now? The silence between them rang with the power of their kiss. A first kiss was supposed to be awkward and friendly. Something you laughed about. That kiss hadn’t been friendly. It had been a precursor to sex. Great sex. She couldn’t rule out the possibility that, if they hadn’t been interrupted, they’d be screwing each other’s brains out on a bed of moss.

She knew they had to talk about it, but the very last thing she wanted to do was acknowledge it. Or, worse, talk about why it shouldn’t have happened. Ugh. What was he thinking over there? That she was like Yasmine? That she was coming on to him because he was famous?

“I’m really sorry, Cloe,” he said gravely, making her wince that he’d got to the apology first. “I let it slip my mind that you work for me. And that you’ve been in these shoes before.” He swore under his breath. “That won’t happen again. I promise.”

Her shoes felt as though they were on the wrong feet. Her knees were wobbly and her cheeks stung. Please don’t fire me .

“It’s okay. I mean—” She had to clear her throat. All she could think about was how many times the defense team had tried to throw blame back onto her. Why hadn’t she left Ivan if she suspected him of criminal behavior? Why hadn’t she quit? “Yes, I worked for Ivan’s dad, and I felt like breaking up with Ivan would cost me my job and vice versa, but you don’t have that kind of leverage over me.”

“Only Storm,” he acknowledged grimly.

“You wouldn’t.” Would he? Trystan wasn’t manipulative the way Ivan had been. She was sure of it. No, the danger he presented to her was emotional. She didn’t want to be drawn and fascinated by him, but she was. That’s where his leverage really existed.

“I wouldn’t,” he agreed solemnly. “That doesn’t mean you don’t feel like I could, though.”

She stopped in the middle of the lane they were following. On either side were bungalows slowly being swallowed by the forest. A berry bush was growing in the moss beside the chimney on one. Brambles were stretching their tendrils into the open window of another.

“I know I’ve been very meek and weak since I got here—”

“I didn’t say that.” He halted to face her.

“—but you’re meeting me after I finished a marathon. No. One of those ironman things where you swim and cycle until you puke, then run a marathon. I learned a lot from that experience. I know how to pace myself. I know how to avoid injury and ignore the pain and dig deep. How to keep my eye on the end goal, which was getting here to Storm. So even if you did try to manipulate me by keeping me from seeing her, I know how to fight back now. It might take me a while, but I would sue the fuck out of you until you had no breath left.”

His brows went up. His tongue ran across his teeth behind his closed lips.

“It’s always nice to know where I stand,” he drawled. The corners of his mouth kicked up in something that might have been amusement, but also approval? “Let me return the favor. As you may have guessed, I’m attracted to you.”

His statement, spoken in such a sensual timbre, went into her like a physical wave, leaving a vibrating sensation in her chest and a searing heat beneath her skin.

“You’re attracted to me,” he continued, not even making it a question, but why would he? She had basically eaten his face ten minutes ago.

That’s all she could think about as she held his gaze—which felt so intimate, so revealing, she was almost in pain as she did it, but she couldn’t look away.

“If we were both in our best place, I’d say let’s go for it. See where it takes us. We aren’t. So let’s not.”

That commanding tone hurt. It made the decision for her. He wasn’t trying to be cruel, but the loss, and accompanying sense of rejection, of falling short because she wasn’t in her best place, was acute.

Maybe he saw how much it stung, because when she gave a jerky nod, his mouth tightened as though he regretted everything about this conversation. Maybe it was the kiss he regretted.

She swallowed the thorn in her throat, and they finished the walk back to the wharf in weighted silence.

Johnny was still sitting on the deck of the Storm Front . Trystan brought her aboard to meet their captain, Vic, and Cheryl, who would be replaced by Sarah when the Storm Front embarked again on Sunday.

After some chitchat that thankfully filled the man-made void between her and Trystan, Cheryl reminded Cloe they had appetizers to prepare.

Cloe went with Cheryl into the Storm Front ’s galley as she examined her remaining groceries, deciding what she could contribute.

“Thank you for making the switch to the other job,” Cloe said. “I’m realizing how precious jobs are here. I really need this right now, but as soon as the season is over, I’ll look for something in one of the bigger towns.” It depressed the heck out of her to say it, but Trystan was right. She wasn’t in her “best place” and wouldn’t be as long as she was relying on him and his family.

“Honestly? They wouldn’t have thought to offer the other position to me if they hadn’t been trying to make room for you. It’s a really good opportunity for me so I should be thanking you. Okay, I have four tortilla wraps and some spinach-artichoke dip. How about I make pinwheels and you put out your scallops and bacon? Wayne can make the Caesars from our stock. Not many guests have been drinking them this tour so we still have lots of clamato and vodka.”

“Sure, but… What’s clamato?” A fruit she’d never heard of like huckleberry?

“Cocktail mixer made from clams and tomatoes.”

“Wait. Actual clams? Cooked, I hope.” She was trying to imagine choking down a chewy clam as part of a cocktail.

“Just the clam juice. Have you never milked a clam? Trystan.” Cheryl looked past her with an exasperated frown. “Why didn’t Sarah train Cloe on milking clams?”

“I don’t know. She has the hands for it. Look at her delicate fingers.” His gaze skimmed downward.

Cloe curled her hands into self-conscious fists, but she also knew when her leg was being pulled. She played along.

“She didn’t tell me how to get the clams into the milking barn, either. Oh, I know. Seahorses, right?”

“She’s onto us.” Cheryl wrinkled her nose.

“Seems like it. Some of the guests are heading back,” Trystan added. “Wayne and I will put out the tables if you want to start getting the food ready.”

Cloe hurried across to the Storm Ridge , where she put her scallops in the oven, then brought out plates and glasses for the mix and mingle happy hour.

Three of the Storm Ridge guests were intrigued enough to try the Caesar. In addition to vodka and clamato juice, it was spiked with Worcestershire and hot sauce. Johnny poured it into tumblers rimmed with lime and celery salt, then topped it with a spear of dill pickle.

“Purists use celery,” he said as he handed them out. “I think the tang is better. Let me know what you think.” He even made a few virgin cocktails for her and the youngsters to try.

Cloe liked it and made note of the recipe, suspecting by the enthusiastic reception that she’d be making more through the duration of the sail.

After some lively chatting and sharing of notes between guests, they parted ways and embarked on an evening cruise. Trystan motored them past the falls so people could take photos before they made their way out of the inlet to the main channel.

Later, Johnny took the helm when Cloe served butter chicken with a cucumber salad and miniature sweet potato samosas. Trystan helped her extend the table so there was room for everyone. The younger boys chose to go upstairs to eat in the flybridge with Johnny, but the adults got to know each other better while Trystan checked in with everyone, making note of what each party hoped to see or do before the trip was over.

By the time the sky was staining gold and pink and indigo, they were anchored in a quiet cove. Everyone began to properly relax, finding nooks to sit and read or enjoying a glass of wine on deck, chatting while watching the stars come out.

Cloe was surprisingly tired and searched out Johnny, who was in the bridge with Trystan.

“I was going to head to bed soon. Sarah told me you sleep up here,” she said to Johnny, glancing at the settee that she supposed converted into a bed. “I don’t mind sleeping here if you’d rather have the cabin.”

“This is a bigger bed so I prefer it,” Johnny said. “Also, I listen for any chatter on the radio or whatever sensors or alarms might ping in the night.” He nodded at the instruments. “I stay up until the last guest turns in. Once you and Trys get up, I’ll head into our cabin and catch a few more hours.”

“You don’t mind breaking up your sleep like that?”

“We have a baby and a toddler at home. I haven’t slept through a night in three years.”

“Oh. Okay,” she chuckled. “I’m going to bed, then. Good night.” She included Trystan in her wave. “See you in the morning.”

*

Cloe didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning between Kiss me again and Why did I let it happen?

She rose at six, the time that Sarah had said she started breakfast preparations. She was achy behind her eyes, anticipating the coffee she was about to start when Trystan poked his head out of the door to his cabin.

“Cloe!” he whispered. “C’mere.”

He sounded so urgent, she immediately replaced the lid on the coffee grounds so it wouldn’t spill if the boat happened to list and slipped around the island, moving closer so he could keep his voice down.

“What’s wrong?” She tried not to ogle his naked chest as she came down the stairs. His darkly tanned skin was stretched like oiled satin over his powerful shoulders and well-defined biceps. His chest hair looked natural, lying in a thin, fine layer across his pecs, thickening down his sternum to where his gray drawstring shorts hung low across his solid, six-pack abs.

Okay, she was ogling.

They hadn’t been alone since their walk yesterday. Everything they’d said—and done—rushed back with a flush of heat. Longing tangled into a knot in her belly.

As soon as she reached the bottom step into the stairwell, he touched his lips and caught her wrist. She wasn’t sure which made her heart pitch more wildly, the feel of his warm grasp or the insistent way he drew her into his cabin.

Fresh morning air hit her, telling her his other door was open before she could grow alarmed at being pulled inside. Sunlight poured in from the stern along with the sound of a distinctive, wet exhale.

She dropped her mouth open. “Whales?” she mouthed.

“Orcas.” His voice was a scant whisper. His wide hand splayed on her back and steered her ahead of him, out the door.

The space out here was like a narrow covered balcony. It was mostly taken up by neatly stowed safety equipment and the stairs that descended from the upper deck, plus another set that flipped down to provide access to the diving platform off the back of the boat.

Cloe stepped up to the rail and Trystan stood half behind her.

A fin drifted past the rail, almost as tall as Trystan. She could have touched it if she had leaned out. All the hairs on her body rose and butterflies of awe released inside her. She was utterly transfixed, not knowing where to look when she felt as though she was as close to swimming among them as it was possible to get.

“Calf.” Trystan’s breath tickled her ear. His long arm came up in her periphery. A small fin mirrored the one that had just disappeared. A short distance away, another fin sliced up to break the surface before disappearing again.

“Should we wake the guests?” she whispered.

“They’re on vacation.” His hand settled lightly on her shoulder. “We’ll see more. Maybe not this close, but…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

He had wanted her to see them. That’s why he’d called her to come out here and watch with him.

It didn’t mean anything. He was just being nice, but the backs of her eyes grew hot with emotion. She let herself breathe in the moment, memorizing it so she could hold it within her forever—the brush of his body against her back, the way the boat bobbed ever so slightly beneath their feet. The peaceful glide of the orcas and the puffs of their breaths. The call of birds from the shore.

The way her heartbeat seemed to fall into sync with his and the feel of his thumb drawing an absent circle against her shoulder, lifting the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

Just as she would have let her weight settle back against him, there was a sense of movement elsewhere on the vessel. She tossed him an unsteady it was nice while it lasted smile, disconcerted to find him watching her, not the orcas.

He stepped back and she moved quietly back to the galley.

The boys came upstairs, followed by their father and Elodie.

Trystan came out of his room seconds later wearing cargo shorts and a Raven’s Cove T-shirt. He went on deck with the guests to answer their questions about the huge mammals.

“Did you get some good photos?” Cloe asked Elodie when she came in for coffee. The senior was an avid photographer who had shared some very artistic shots of Ocean Falls over dinner last night.

“Animals and children are always a challenge,” she said with a tsk .

“They don’t hold still and say ‘cheese’?” Cloe joked.

“Never.” Elodie clicked through her shots, showing them to Cloe. They were all prize winners in Cloe’s opinion, crystal clear with the light catching in the spray of their spouts.

The boys came in a moment later. Stefan hurried to fetch their bingo cards, eager to record the sighting. Karl was more interested in breakfast. He attacked the baked quiche cups and toasted bagels with gusto.

Everyone but the honeymooners were up by the time Trystan raised anchor and took them up the channel.

Today, they would visit a tiny bay where a natural hot spring flowed into a concrete pool constructed during Ocean Falls’ heyday.

Trystan had the boys help him bait a few crab traps when they dropped anchor, then he offered up the two double kayaks while Johnny launched the inflatable Zodiac.

The boys wanted to try kayaking. The New Yorkers took the other, promising to stay with the boys since this was their first time. Johnny ferried the rest of the guests ashore.

It wasn’t the best day for an outing. The clouds had thickened through the morning and a fine mist was falling, but most of the guests were going into the hot pool anyway so they didn’t care.

Nathan and Christina, the newlyweds, wanted to hike so Trystan handed them a day pack with a few essentials, including a bear bell and bear spray.

Christina looked skeptical as Trystan explained how to use the repellant.

“We don’t have to go all the way,” Nathan assured her.

As soon as they were in the Zodiac with Johnny, heading to shore, Cloe blurted out what she was thinking. “I bet they go all the way.”

“Which is impressive, since they spend more time in their cabin than out of it,” Trystan replied with a smirk, watching out the galley window with her. “Good for them.”

Cloe was biting her lips, embarrassed that she’d made a sex joke when all she could think about was the kiss she’d shared with Trystan. Did he realize they were the only two people on board? She was dying to ask him if he had ever had sex in the woods, but that led her to wondering with whom, and she actually didn’t want to dwell on that. But also, had they almost had sex in the woods yesterday?

“Do you want to go ashore for a soak?” Trystan asked her, yanking her out of her erotic ruminations.

“I don’t have a bathing suit.” Now she was thinking about skinny dipping with him and it had to stop .

“Wear that.” He nodded at her shorts and T-shirt. “Johnny will bring you back to change after.”

“I’ll get my work done and think about it.” She started to turn toward the stairs to the guest cabins.

“Hey,” Trystan said, making her pulse leap as she turned back to him.

He opened a drawer and offered her a handful of rubber bands. “For the origami bunnies.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She plucked them from his palm and slipped downstairs to air out rooms, make the beds, and wipe down the heads.

Most people were being respectful of water conservation and were reusing their towels, but she gave each of the boys a facecloth bunny on his pillow, adding a wrapped butterscotch from the tin in the saloon.

When she finished her chores, she made two cups of coffee and brought one to Trystan in the bridge, where the marine report was droning in the background.

“What else can I do?”

“Relax?” he suggested. “Or I can radio Johnny to bring you ashore? You have to take your breaks when you can on these cruises.”

She looked to where the kayakers had joined Johnny on the beach. He was serving the boys from the cooler she’d sent ashore. It was filled with sandwiches, fruit, and iced tea.

A month ago, she would have given anything for the chance to beachcomb or visit a hot pool or do anything except be confined to one place, but she didn’t feel like doing those things right now.

“I miss Storm.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. It just came out.

Trystan made a noise that was acknowledgment and empathy. He reached to the smartphone tucked into a cupholder on the dash and briefly thumbed it, then handed it to her.

“That’s all the photos I’ve taken of her along with any that Em sends me.”

“Really?” All the air in the room came into her lungs in one giant ache.

She hitched herself onto the elevated chair beside his and began going backward in time, starting with one of her and Storm on the beach during their hike. When had he taken it? She didn’t ask. At least it was flattering.

Besides, she was too hungry for the rest. Storm with food all over her face, Storm pulling at her hat, Storm showing her four little white teeth in a happy grin. Here she was all big-eyed and there she was looking cross. Here she slept like an angel. There she was with Reid, with Logan, hanging in the sling on her brother’s chest like a parachuter hung up in a tree. She was with Sophie and Biyen and in the arms of an octogenarian Cloe suspected was the grandfather Sophie had lost not too long ago. Was this older woman the esteemed Glenda? She had Logan’s eyes.

Storm went from standing at her crib rail to crawling to sitting. She grew smaller and balder. She was on her belly and reaching. Here she was on her back, her little face solemn. Drinking a bottle and—

“Oh my God.”

“What—?”

The image of Tiffany holding a newborn while standing tucked under the arm of an older man blurred as Cloe’s eyes grew wet and hot.

“Oh.” Trystan came to stand beside her. “Em took that when she arrived to nanny. She sent it to me not long after we got here, so I could get a print made while I was in Port Hardy. It’s framed and on the wall in Storm’s room.”

“It is ?” She was falling apart, struck by grief, but also by the fact that Emma had been that thoughtful. That she had taken the photo and wanted Storm to know who had made her.

Cloe couldn’t see it now. Her vision was nothing but swimming colors.

“Hey. Come on,” Trystan said gently. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Here.” He handed her a tissue.

She blew her nose, but the tears kept seeping from her clenched eyes.

“Cloe, you’re killing me. Come here. You need a hug?”

She nodded and slid off the chair and stepped into the harbor of his strong arms.

He enfolded her and she wrapped her arms around his waist and let all her emotions release. The sadness and loss, the anger and fear, the yearning and frustration, and her deep gratitude that Trystan was being so kind to her when no one had been kind to her in a long while. Not like this. Not as if he really, truly cared that she was hurting.

“You’ll be okay,” he murmured but he let her cry. He rubbed her back and tucked her head beneath his jaw so his throat was against her eyebrow. “It won’t hurt this bad forever.”

It took way too long, but he held her until her wrenching sobs let up. Then she became more aware of him. Of his strength and the soft, damp cotton of his T-shirt beneath her cheek and the way his warm hand roamed her spine and shoulder blades.

Lovely sensations unfurled in her belly. She drew back enough to look up him.

His expression tightened and he reached for the box of tissues, releasing her so she was instantly cold and bereft.

She grabbed several tissues and mopped up, mumbling with embarrassment, “I’m really sorry.”

“No. Cloe—” He took the crumpled tissues and threw them into a waste basket. “This is why I said what I said yesterday. You need a friend right now.”

She swallowed, trying to push the stinging lump out of her throat while nodding with understanding.

“Plus, who wants to kiss this mess, right?” she joked in a very strained voice.

“I’ve kissed worse.” He stood with his hips against the dash, arms folded, ankles crossed. “Your niece can be a real snot monster.”

“Oh my gawd,” she said with an appalled chuckle, burying her face in a fresh handful of tissues.

“But I do,” he said gravely. His heavy hands settled on her shoulders, startling her into jerking her head out of her tissue-filled hands. “I want to kiss this face.”

He cupped her cheeks and pressed his lips to her forehead so briefly, she only knew it happened from the branded sensation that remained there, then he stepped away and nodded to the window.

“Johnny’s coming back.”