Island Summer Love Read online

  Something about the way he said her name made her breath tighten. She sat down and spread her fingers on the clean table. “You have a nice little house.”

  Brent’s amused snort startled her. “Little is right. It’s certainly not much compared to the Hollingsworth place. But I like it this way, strange as that may sound. I wouldn’t trade this little shack for the Hollingsworth cottage if you paid me.”

  “Really?” Allison gave him a puzzled look. “What’s wrong with it?”

  He laughed. “To begin with, it’s not a cottage. This is a cottage. Second, Mrs. Hollingsworth may be rich, but she’s about the unhappiest person I’ve ever met. All that money doesn’t do her any good when it comes to relating to other people.”

  “You sound bitter.”

  “Let’s just say her world isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.” He had his back to her, spooning ground coffee into a percolator. “So tell me something about yourself.”

  “Me?”

  “Sure. Like where you got that big rock on your finger.”

  Allison looked down at the diamond solitaire on the fourth finger of her left hand. She was so used to wearing it, she no longer thought of how ostentatious her engagement ring was. She remembered her initial reaction to its size, a mixture of shock and embarrassment.

  “A friend gave it to me,” she said quickly, wondering why she wasn’t able to say the word “fiancé.”

  “Then you’re engaged?” He turned to look at her, and she was instantly unnerved by the penetrating look in his blue eyes. She nodded.

  Without taking his eyes from her, Brent opened the refrigerator door and took out a carton of eggs.

  “When’s the wedding?”

  “September twentieth.”

  “So, tell me why you’re here on Harper’s Island with Martha.”

  “I wanted to get out of the city for a while. Martha invited me, and I’ve never been north of Portland before. It sounded like a nice vacation.”

  “Funny,” he said, bending over the frying pan and cracking eggs into it rapidly, “but something about you doesn’t strike me as being Martha’s type.” Allison stared at him. She had no idea how she was supposed to respond to such a statement. She’d never met anyone so blunt, so forthright.

  Brent turned, lifting the frying pan from the stove. He gave her a quick grin. “I offended you, didn’t I?” She shook her head, wishing suddenly that she’d braided her hair. A long strand hung over her right eye and she quickly brushed it away. “I’m just not used to people being quite so direct.”

  “Martha should have warned you. I’m known for being candid. It gets me in trouble sometimes, but most people appreciate it, once they get used to it.”

  He spooned the eggs onto two plates and set one of them down in front of her. “But you didn’t satisfy my curiosity yet. What’s your real story, Allison Curtis?” He slid into the chair across from her and handed her a fork.

  “I don’t really have a story.” She looked down at the enormous pile of scrambled eggs. The aroma was delicious, but she no longer had any appetite.

  He laughed. “Everybody has a story. And I’d put money on the fact that yours is fascinating. For instance, how’d you get hooked up with Martha in the first place?”

  Allison looked up at him, “I met her at college, and she took me under her wing. If you’re saying I don’t come from her social class, you’re right. But she’s not snobbish or anything. She’s friendly, fun-loving, great to be around. She was the one who introduced me to Cabot—”

  “Cabot?”

  “Cabot Wilder. The man I’m engaged to.”

  “And Cabot doesn’t mind you going off for a whole month?”

  “I think he understands.”

  “Well, he’s either a blind man or a darn sight more liberal than he ought to be.”

  She felt herself color as he met her confused gaze. “Cabot’s not like other men.”

  He grinned. “He must not be. If you were my fiancée, I wouldn’t let you get farther away than the end of my arm.”

  She bent her head quickly and scooped a forkful of eggs into her mouth. She was grateful for the protective shield of hair as it slid across her blazing cheeks.

  “By the way,” said Brent quietly. “I like your hair. Long hair on a beautiful woman is very sexy.”

  She looked up at him. He was leaning toward her, smiling. He finished the last of his eggs and stood up, carrying his plate to the sink. “Coffee’s ready.”

  Allison could hardly swallow. She didn’t speak when he placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of her. She found that she could no longer look at him directly. His frankness and rugged masculinity challenged something deep within her. With great difficulty she managed to gather her wits and ask a question.

  “Do you really catch lobsters for a living?”

  He raised his mug to his lips and smiled. Once again she saw the dimple deepen beside the corner of his mouth. “Ay-uh,” he said, drawing out the word in an exaggeration of his down-east accent. “It’s not really much of a living by most standards. I like it, though.” He sipped his coffee and regarded her more seriously. “I’ll never be wealthy enough to buy my woman a rock like that.” His glance flicked to her hand. “But I’m happier than most men. And free. Got nobody to tell me what to do with my time. No clock to punch, no supervisors to deal with. What about you, Allison? Do you work for a living?”

  She brightened. “I teach—that is, I taught—at a private school in Boston.”

  “Taught? As in past tense?”

  She shrugged. “Well, I’m getting married, and I don’t think I’ll have much time for teaching as Cabot’s wife.”

  “What, he’s going to put you to work in his office?”

  “No, it’s just that there are all kinds of volunteer things I’ll be expected to do as his wife.”

  Brent nodded but didn’t say anything. Allison drank her coffee nervously under his penetrating gaze.

  “You see, Cabot’s family is different. They trace their ancestry back to the Mayflower, so certain things are expected of them—charity work and things. . . .” She fumbled for words, conscious only of Brent’s hard stare.

  “He must be a very important man. And well-off, judging by the size of that diamond.”

  Allison nodded. “He is. Very.”

  “Well.” Brent cleared his throat and rocked back in his chair. “Seems like you got yourself quite a catch, Miss Allison Curtis. Congratulations.”

  “I’d better go.” Allison stood up quickly. “Martha will be wondering where I am.”

  He didn’t move, but sat gazing at her with a long, knowing stare. Allison felt a shiver flick across her shoulder blades and looked quickly past him out the window. The wind had come up, rippling the surface of the harbor; the colorful lobster boats rocked gently at their moorings.

  “Which boat is yours?”

  “The blue and white one,” he answered proudly. “I’ll take you out in her someday.”

  “No! I couldn’t!”

  “Why not?”

  “I . . .” She shook her head.

  “You can and you will,” he said in a low voice. “Wait and see.” He got to his feet.

  For some reason, Allison couldn’t take her eyes off the harbor. Her heart started beating wildly as Brent stood up and came around the table to her. She was sure he was going to touch her, and, if he did, she was afraid she would burst into tears. She didn’t know why she was feeling this way, her body so filled with a tumult of confused emotions. Why was she so shaken by Brent’s presence, and his words? She didn’t know him, didn’t even like him; he was nothing to her.

  She walked quickly into the living room and past the couch to the door. She was about to open it when Brent’s powerful arm reached out in front of her, blocking her exit.

  “Allison.” His lips were very close to her ear. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to face the truth. It would be easier for you if it was sooner. Believe me, I
know.”

  “What?” She spun to face him, and found that her mouth was only inches from his. She took a step backward and bumped into the door.

  Brent put his hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She straightened, lifting her chin. “And thank you for the breakfast. It was very good.”

  “Forget the breakfast. Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I frankly find it insulting that you would even suggest that I’m not facing some truth. I hardly know you.”

  “Allison.” His hand was still on her arm, and he was smiling calmly. “I happen to know what I’m talking about. Believe me, it doesn’t do any good to run away from it. The truth has a tendency to catch up with you and hit you from behind, if you don’t face it straight on.” He sighed. “I only wish somebody had said this to me six months ago. It could have prevented a lot of pain.” He slid his hand away; her skin tingled where his fingers had been.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said hoarsely.

  “I think you do. Your body betrays your feelings, even if you don’t want to recognize them.” He leaned closer. “You don’t love Cabot.”

  The explicitness of his statement shocked her. She gaped up at him. He was smiling at her gently.

  “Just think about it.” He opened the door, and Allison hesitated only a moment before stepping into the sunlit morning.

  She stumbled down the steps, aware that Brent was still gazing after her. In the driveway, when she glanced briefly over her shoulder at him, he flashed his grin once more and waved.

  “See you tonight, Allison,” he called softly as he closed the door.

  Chapter Four

  Allison walked quickly back up the wooded path to the Hollingsworth cottage. She felt as if she were suspended on a tightrope over an enormous canyon; one look down and she might fall to her death. The only thing to do was to keep walking, praying that she wouldn’t lose her balance.

  She knew one thing. Brent Connors had a powerful effect on her; she had never met a man who made her pulse race so wildly, or whose words disturbed her so deeply. What had he meant, that her body had betrayed her feelings, that she didn’t love Cabot? Of course she loved Cabot! How could anyone not love him? What woman wouldn’t give her right arm to be his fiancée? All right, so maybe she and Cabot didn’t have the kind of passionate relationship that was written about in books. That didn’t mean she didn’t love him. There were other things that mattered in a marriage: comfort, compatibility, future security. And Cabot could provide all those things. She would be an idiot to turn her back on her good fortune. She had heard stories of women who waited all their lives for the man of their dreams to come along, and he never came. As she entered the house, she tried to compose herself; she had no desire to let Martha see how upset she was.

  She found her friend in the kitchen, wearing a pink satin bathrobe, spooning strawberry preserves onto a toasted English muffin. Martha grinned at Allison.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for ages to talk to you! Come and have some breakfast. You must be starved!”

  Allison shook her head and slid into the rocking chair by the window. “I’m really not hungry. I guess the exercise must have taken the edge off my appetite.”

  “Don’t tell me you explored the island already!” Martha wailed.

  Allison kicked off her shoes. “Just the village. I’m really not used to so much fresh air all at one time.”

  Martha laughed. “Well, anyway, I’m glad you’re back. We have to get our plans straight for tonight.”

  Allison felt her cheeks grow warm. “I’ve been thinking about it, Martha. I don’t think having Brent for supper is such a good idea.”

  “What?”

  Allison shrugged. “You can still entertain him, of course. I’m just going to beg off. I’m not up to it.”

  “Is this about Cabot?”

  “Well, I doubt that the idea would please him very much,” she said quickly, grateful that Martha had supplied her with an excuse for her reluctance. “I mean, he practically had a fit that I was going off to Maine without him, and if he knew the two of us were entertaining a man . . .”

  Martha laughed. “Cabot’s not some Neanderthal macho type, Allison. You keep thinking he’s like all the boys you knew in public high school. It’s different in the world Cabot and I grew up in. Social occasions are just part of our everyday lives. They’re duties.” She grinned. “You might as well get used to it. It’ll be part of your daily routine soon enough.”

  Allison gave her a doubtful look. “I can’t believe he would take it so calmly.”

  “Cabot doesn’t have a jealous bone in his body. Besides, do you think that he doesn’t see other women socially? He’s always going off to dinners and parties with a beautiful woman on his arm.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Of course it is! Anyway, you have to do it. For me.” Martha jumped to her feet. “And we’d better start planning or we’ll never be ready by the time Brent comes.”

  Allison realized that unless she revealed her disquieting morning encounter, she had no valid reason to balk at her friend’s plans. And she certainly had no desire to put the disturbing details into words.

  “All right,” she sighed. “But just remember, this wasn’t my idea.”

  Allison grew increasingly nervous as the day went on. In the afternoon Martha insisted on driving down to the general store for food supplies, and Allison rode along, hoping that the trip would distract her mind from its preoccupation with her morning conversation with Brent. As they pulled up in front of the store, Allison’s gaze swung out over the harbor and she noted that Brent’s boat was gone from its mooring. She felt herself relax, and realized that she had been unconsciously dreading the possibility of another encounter with him ever since she’d agreed to go to the store.

  The general store had a surprising abundance of supplies tucked away in its dark corners. Allison walked slowly up and down the aisles, studying the miscellaneous items, while Martha ordered sirloin steaks from the stocky, affable man behind the meat counter. The store sold everything from finishing nails to gourmet teas. It even held a shelf of pharmaceutical supplies. Allison reminded herself that she was on an island, and that such a store, while appearing quaint to her city-bred eyes, was probably viewed as a great convenience, even a luxury, to the year-round residents. Its hardwood floors were polished to a dark patina by years of muddy boots and shoes. It occurred to her suddenly that Brent’s feet were among them; they had probably been familiar with these floors since childhood. She felt a warm rush in the pit of her stomach as she imagined rounding the corner of an aisle and coming face to face with him. What, she wondered, would it be like to live on Harper’s Island year-round?

  As Allison left the store fifteen minutes later, carrying a heavy bag of groceries, she saw that Brent’s boat was coming into the harbor, moving slowly toward the long wharf where the ferry had docked. She felt a thickening in her chest and forced herself to think of Cabot as she climbed into the car beside Martha. She was relieved as they left the village behind and sped back up the hill toward the cottage.

  “I’ll show you around the rest of the island tomorrow,” Martha promised, apologizing for not having given Allison a full tour. “But I really want tonight to be special.”

  “I’m sure it will be,” Allison murmured. There was nothing to be done but grin and bear it. The evening ahead might not be so terrible after all, Allison told herself. Martha’s presence would be certain to keep Brent’s focus off her; if he was still as interested in Martha as she hoped, he might not pay her any attention at all. At any rate, she planned to make herself as inconspicuous as possible and to retire to her bedroom at the first opportunity.

  The dinner preparations went smoothly. By five-thirty the salad was made, the steaks had been basted with a special barbecue sauce that Martha had concocted out of tomatoes and W
orcestershire sauce, the stove-top grill had been checked out, and Allison was standing in front of her bathroom mirror, trying to decide what to wear. Although she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, it went against her nature to ignore the finer points of good grooming. She finally decided on a lavender chamois dress with three-quarter-length sleeves, a self-belted waist, and a softly tailored neck. It wasn’t new, but she knew that it complemented her hair and figure. She decided not to bother with makeup; it was something she used only sparingly anyway, and the fresh sea air had heightened the natural color in her cheeks and lips. She spent a long time working with her hair, first braiding it and winding it around her head, then tying it back with a wide barrette, before she finally brushed it out and left it hanging, unadorned, to her waist. She couldn’t forget Brent’s comment about long hair being sexy. Perhaps she should pass that piece of information along to Martha, who had often asked her if she should grow out her short, brown curls.

  As she descended the stairs in her low-heeled, white sandals, Allison heard the sound of an engine outside. Through the circular landing window she could see a black pickup pulling up in front of the house. A moment later the door opened and Brent stepped out, his blond hair glinting in the late afternoon sun. He wore a blue knit shirt and brown corduroy pants. Obviously he had dressed up for dinner. It was the first time she had seen him in something other than blue jeans.

  The doorbell rang, and she waited for Martha to come running. The front door was in the foyer immediately below her. She started back up the stairs; the last thing she wanted was for Brent to catch her observing him as he entered.

  “Allison, can you get that?” came Martha’s frantic wail from her upstairs bedroom. “I’m not quite dressed!”

  The doorbell rang again, more insistently. Allison put her hand on the banister to steady herself.

  “Allison?”

  “Yes, I’ll get it.” So much for remaining in the background for the evening. She descended the rest of the stairs and crossed the foyer to open the heavy door.