Carolina Home Page 11

  “Candidate?”

  “It doesn’t matter. The point is, she’s lonely.”

  “She has your father, right? They’re still together.”

  “Yes.”

  There had been a time, after Miles left, when she’d thought her parents’ marriage would not survive the strain. But a divorce was too expensive for her father, too embarrassing for her mother, to be pursued.

  “My father’s gone a lot, chasing projects, entertaining clients. He has more important things to do with his time than go shopping and out to lunch or listen to my mother talk about her flower arranging class.” Allison stared at Matt, struck. “Oh, God, maybe I’m turning into my father.”

  He refilled her glass. “Not happening.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I don’t want to go out with your father. I definitely don’t want to see him naked.”

  She snickered before she could stop herself. “Thanks. I feel so much better now.”

  “Well,” he said mildly, “that was the idea.”

  She sipped her wine, aware she was talking too much. The goal was to get to know him, not to blurt out every pathetic detail of her family relationships. “They’re not bad people, my parents. It’s just that when I’m with them, I revert to this awkward, uninteresting twelve-year-old. I can’t please them. And they can’t accept that.”

  “Listen, it’s none of my business, but maybe you’re fishing with the wrong bait.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He unwrapped another sandwich and laid it on the napkin by her knee. Somehow, without noticing, she’d eaten the other one. “I read that syllabus you sent home with Josh. It was great. You lay it all out, what you expect from the kids, what they can expect from you. You’re nice about it, but you let them know what your boundaries are, what your consequences are. You want your parents to see you as an adult, you need to treat them like you do your students. Set boundaries.”

  He was right.

  Wine, or maybe frustration, made her say, “I don’t see you setting boundaries with your parents. You live with them.”

  “Behind them, yeah. The rent helps in the off-season. They wouldn’t accept money from me otherwise. That doesn’t mean we’re in each other’s business all the time.” He smiled a little. “They have boundaries, too.”

  She sighed. “You’re lucky to have them.”

  “I know.”

  “And they’re lucky to have you.”

  He shrugged. “They take care of me and Josh, I take care of them.”

  “I envy you. It’s easier for me to blame my parents than to try to change them.”

  “You can’t change them.”

  “Meaning, I’m the one who has to change?”

  He moved his shoulders again, clearly uncomfortable with continuing the conversation, just as obviously committed to help. “Meaning all you can do is be straight with them.”

  “I’m afraid if I’m honest, I’ll alienate them completely,” Allison confessed. “The way my brother did. I won’t have any relationship with them at all.”

  “Your brother was a kid. Eighteen when he left home, right? You’re not the person he was.”

  “They still get to me.”

  “Because you love them. That’s a good thing.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingered. “Just don’t let them use it against you.”

  Their eyes met.

  He was so sane, strong, solid. A nice guy.

  Sometimes that’s enough, Thalia’s voice whispered in her head.

  Leaning in, she laid her lips on his.

  HEAT. HUNGER.

  She tasted salty sweet, like woman and wine, and when she licked his bottom lip, Matt angled his head, taking her in, taking control.

  Her bare shoulders were driving him crazy. He ran his hands up her smooth, toned arms, jerking her forward, pushing her back, falling with her into the deep and the dark as he kissed the hell out of her.

  As she kissed him back.

  His head spun. His blood rushed in his ears like the sea. Her arms twined around his neck as she stretched beneath him, as she arched against him. He sank into her, taking the kiss deeper still, tongues tangling, desire rising fast and hot. He skimmed his hands along her sides and felt her tremble, nudged his thigh between her legs and heard her moan. She was taut and pliant, moving under him, her mouth eager under his. His hand brushed the side of her breast, and she gripped his wrist, guided his hand beneath her top. His mind blanked.

  No bra. Only flesh, only Allison, soft and warm. He palmed her breast, scraped the delicate point with his thumb. Her breath hissed.

  Too hard, he thought.

  Too far, too fast.

  He had to stop.

  She had to stop him. They were—he was—rapidly reaching the point of no return.

  Goddamn it. He didn’t want this time to be like the others.

  He raised his head. Jesus, she was beautiful, her hair spilled like moonlight over his arm, her mouth wet, ripe, swollen. She curled up to kiss him again, stealing his breath, robbing his reason, but his conscience was awake now, prodding, chafing.

  She didn’t do one-night stands, his conscience said. She was vulnerable. She’d been drinking. All reasons, good ones, not to take this where he wanted to go. He had more respect for her, more restraint, than to peel her out of those tight jeans and fuck her on a public beach on their first real date.

  Didn’t he?

  Quickly, before his lust overcame his good intentions and his judgment, he rolled off her and onto his back, willing his body to cool, his erection to subside.

  If she touched him, he was toast.

  He heard her sigh and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t turn his head, so he couldn’t watch the rise and fall of her breasts under that flimsy excuse for a shirt she wore.

  “You okay?” His voice was hoarse. Rough.

  She emitted a choked sound. He thought…God, he hoped it was a laugh. “Yes. Thank you,” she added.

  He had no idea if she was expressing polite appreciation for his question or if she was grateful because he hadn’t fucked her in the back of his truck.

  Maybe he was better off not knowing.

  The sounds of the night and the sea washed over them, the whisper of the wind, the rush and retreat of the waves.

  She touched him, just the tips of her fingers to the back of his wrist, an almost-by-accident brush of hands.

  Turning over his palm, he laced his fingers with hers and gripped hard.

  She sighed again.

  He could feel the tension leaching from her tight muscles as they lay side by side, as his blood hammered in his head and behind his fly. The stars swam overhead. He drifted, anchored only by the feel of her hand warm and delicate in his, wanting her so badly his balls ached.

  “Come on.” He jacked to a sitting position, tugging at their joined hands.

  She sat up, blinking, mussed, and beautiful. “Where?”

  “For a walk.”

  Before he did something they’d both regret.

  THE FOAM RUSHED in, the foam rushed out, breaking and dissolving around Allison’s ankles. She struggled for footing, her bare feet sinking in the sand.

  Matt gripped her hand.

  Swept away.

  She’d never actually believed it could happen, that it would happen to her, that she’d be leaving her shoes and inhibitions behind on a moonlit beach.

  But then, she’d never been with anyone like Matt before.

  She snuck a look at him, his strong profile etched against the night sky, his thick hair tousled by the breeze. He’d rocked her world and seriously shaken her self-perception.

  “You know, Gail Peele warned me about this,” she said conversationally.

  He slanted a smile at her, still holding her hand. “About…?”

  “About you and your amazing effect on women.”

  His face froze for a moment before he grinned. “I never touched her. Not since t
he fifth grade dance.”

  Despite her pounding heart, Allison smiled. “Your moves must have improved since then.” She cleared her throat. “I should probably thank you.”

  He shot her another sideways look and she flushed. Because she had thanked him. Less than half an hour ago. Right after she’d put his hand on her breast and her tongue in his mouth and he’d still pulled away.

  Why had he pulled away?

  “You want to thank me,” he repeated. “For what? Showing you my moves?”

  “For not…you know. I don’t usually get swept away like that,” she continued. “I’m not a go-with-the-flow kind of girl.”

  “I get that. You want to establish expectations. Set boundaries. I respect that.”

  She turned, digging her heels in the sand. “Is that why you stopped?”

  The pier loomed closer, its misty lights gleaming on the water, casting deep shadows on the beach.

  Matt moved his shoulders uncomfortably. “We got carried away.”

  “I certainly did. That doesn’t mean I expect you to be responsible for my behavior. My choices.”

  His jaw set in a way she was coming to recognize. “I figured we should take a breather, come up for air.”

  “That’s very sweet,” she decided. “And now?”

  “Now…” Waves slapped and echoed against the pilings of the pier. “I think we should go back.”

  She blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t want to go back. I think if we just talk about this, we can find a way to move forward.”

  “To the truck, Allison. We should go back to the truck.”

  She opened her mouth to argue.

  Light flashed at the corner of her vision. She caught a scramble of movement between the black pilings, voices floating on the fitful breeze.

  “Shit. It’s my dad.”

  “Who’s he with?”

  “Is that Miss Carter?”

  Allison froze. Busted. The Dare Island teenagers were on the loose, hanging out under the pier on a Friday night.

  “Now can we turn around?” Matt asked grimly.

  Nine

  MATT PUT HIS arm around Allison to get her out of there.

  Too late.

  As they turned, he heard, “Man, Miss Carter’s hot. Think he tapped that?”

  “Shut up, asshole.” That was Josh.

  Allison covered her face with her hands. “I’ll never live this down.”

  Matt didn’t blame her for being upset. He tightened his arm around her shaking shoulders as he led her away.

  “But it’s almost worth it.” She lowered her hands, her face alight with laughter. “Their reactions were priceless.” She dropped her voice in wicked mimicry. “‘Think he tapped that?’”

  “Little bastard,” Matt said.

  “Maybe they won’t say anything,” Allison said. “Outside of school, I mean. Maybe they don’t want to have to explain to their parents what they were doing under the pier on a Friday night.”

  Their parents knew. Matt knew. He should never have taken her down that way.

  “Josh won’t say anything.”

  Not if he knows what’s good for him.

  “Oh, who am I kidding?” Allison said. “They’re teens. They’ll talk. Talking about a teacher is irresistible. I just hope they don’t post pictures on Facebook.”

  “They didn’t see anything. We were walking. We had our clothes on, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Except for my shoes. But it doesn’t matter. I’m new and I’m young and I’ve been spotted with you. They all talk about you anyway.”

  Gail Peele. Matt remembered. He frowned. “Being seen with me doesn’t make you some kind of…”

  “Island slut?” Allison supplied with forced cheerfulness. “I’m going to embroider a shirt to wear to school on Monday. With the letter A. If I have to face the gossip, I might as well look the part.”

  He admired her ability to joke about the situation, but he could hear the effort her humor cost her. If she was right, at least some of the gossip she would have to endure was because of him.

  After Kimberly walked out on their marriage, he’d kept his life and his relationships as uncomplicated as possible. Keep things light, keep things simple, and nobody got hurt. He’d never considered his choices could create complications for a woman like Allison.

  Not a go-with-the-flow kind of girl, she’d said.

  Maybe that’s why he admired her, because of her willingness to take a stand, to put herself out there for the things she believed in, the people she cared about. Her students. Josh. Taylor.

  He could put himself out just a little for her.

  Because she was different from the women who had come before. He needed to prove that. Not to the island grapevine, but to Allison.

  And maybe to himself, too.

  “You could come to dinner,” he said.

  She shook her head. “You’re not listening. Going out with you is what got me in trouble in the first place.”

  “Not out. In. Come to Sunday dinner with my family.”

  She looked at him in disbelief. “And you think inviting me home to meet your parents will stop people talking?”

  “No,” he said truthfully. “But it might change what they say.”

  “WHY ARE WE eating in the dining room?” Josh asked Tess on Sunday.

  “Because your English teacher is coming to dinner.” Tess coated the bottom of a rectangular pan with a ladle full of red sauce. No big deal, Matt had told her. Just a nice, family style dinner to welcome the new teacher to the island.

  That didn’t mean they had to eat in the kitchen, Tess thought, arranging a layer of flat noodles on top of her sauce. According to Lois Howell in the school office, Miss Carter came from money, some fancy Philadelphia family.

  “Six place settings,” she directed Josh. “Use the good plates in the china cupboard.”

  Josh shuffled his feet. “I was going to Ethan’s house tonight. We have a big project due for science class next week.”

  Tess narrowed her eyes. She’d never known her grandson to turn down her lasagna to do homework before. “Josh, it’s Sunday. You know the rule. It’s the only night we can count on eating together as a family. Taylor, honey, can you fold these napkins?” She wiped her hands and grabbed the stack of pretty flowered napkins, checking the oven temperature with one eye. “Besides, your father only invited Miss Carter because of you.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Josh lifted a shoulder. “Ask him.”

  “I will. In half, sweetie, like this, see?” Tess demonstrated the fold for Taylor. “Right now I’m asking you.”

  “Is Miss Carter your teacher?” Taylor asked Josh.

  “English teacher, yeah.”

  Taylor nodded and made a precise fold.

  “Why?” Tess asked.

  “Nothing.” Taylor concentrated on the napkins. “She’s nice.”

  “Good job,” Tess said.

  She laid down a layer of browned ground beef and sausage, her mind returning to The List.

  The powder room was clean, the guest soaps out, the toilet seat down, at least for now. There were candles on the dining room table. No flowers. She still had time to cut some from her garden. No fuss, Matt had said, but, really, when was the last time he’d invited somebody to dinner?

  Not in years.

  She dolloped her ricotta mixture on top of the meat. “Taylor, when did you meet Miss Carter?”

  “When Uncle Matt picked me up from school.”

  Tess hummed in her throat. The hat incident.

  “She’s not his girlfriend, though,” Taylor added.

  The oven dinged as it came up to temperature.

  “Oh, really.” Tess struggled to keep her tone casual. “How do you know?”

  “I asked him.” Taylor frowned at the salad bowl on the counter. “Why does the lettuce look funny?”

  Tess reached for her patience. “Because it’s
not lettuce. It’s a spring green mix.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  Josh snorted.

  Tess shot him a look. Her grandson grabbed a handful of silverware and bolted for the dining room.

  The back door banged open. Her men, returned from the sea.

  “Something smells great.” Matt came in and set three bottles of wine on the counter. He’d already shaved, Tess noticed, and changed his shirt. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you.” She looked at the wine, her suspicions now thoroughly aroused. “Are those to replace the bottles that went missing Friday night?”

  “Yep. Plus a nice red to go with dinner.”

  “Excellent. Matt…”

  Tom strode in with Fezzik panting at his heels, bringing muddy paws and the strong smell of wet dog into her kitchen.

  “Hey, babe.” He kissed the back of her neck on his way to the refrigerator.

  “Hey, yourself.” She smiled. Sniffed. “Okay, we’ve got company coming in half an hour. Somebody get that dog out of here. He smells like rotten fish.”

  Tom twisted the top off a beer, standing in the draft from the open refrigerator door to drink it.

  “Must have rolled in bait again,” Matt said. “I’ve got him.”

  “Not you. You’re all clean.” Tess raised her voice. “Josh, take Fezzik out back and hose him down. Matt, do you have a minute?”

  Alerted by her tone, Tom gripped his beer and began to back away. “I’ll just give the boy a hand.”

  God forbid her husband stick around for any discussion that might actually mention feelings, Tess thought, amused.

  “You need to shower before our company comes. Taylor can help Josh. Go on, sweetie,” she said when the girl gave her a wide-eyed, doubtful look. “I want to talk with your Uncle Matt.”

  “Some-one’s in trou-ble,” Josh sang.

  Matt snapped a dish towel at him, locker-room style. Josh laughed and ducked out the door.

  Boys, Tess thought.

  Matt leaned against the counter and cocked an eyebrow. “Am I in trouble?”