Slow Summer Burn: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance (14 page)

“It’s more than that. It’s part of a legend.”

“Nigel, really,” Cameron interjected. “You don’t know that.”

Lexie just shrugged. “Legend or history—I just don’t have time to worry about it. I’m too busy as it is.” Nigel’s face fell, so Lexie kept going. “If you want to keep mine, by all means, do so. I doubt the others will care, either.”

“Truly?” Nigel looked stunned.

“If it’s okay with you, Lexie,” Cameron said. “I can get the key back whenever you want.” She gave her uncle a warning look, but he was back to studying the keys.

Cameron turned back to Lexie, who gave her a little smile. “You coming tonight?” Lexie asked.

“Yes.”

“With Val?”

Cameron nodded. “Yes.”

Lexie grinned. “That’s what I like to hear. I’ve got to get back to the kitchen, but I’ll see you tonight. Nigel,” she added, “really nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure was all mine. And thank you for the opportunity to examine this further.”

“Don’t worry about it.” With a wave, Lexie was off.

“Lexie mentioned a ‘Val.’ ” Nigel gave her an inquiring look.

“Yes,” she said, taking a bite of her omelet.

“Anything you want to tell me?”

“Not yet,” she said simply.

“Mmm,” Nigel said.

“Let’s finish our brunch,” Cameron said, forking another piece of omelet. “Then we can walk back to the Front Street Boutique and I can show you the store.”

“I couldn’t imagine anything nicer,” Nigel said.

“You want a beer?” Cole asked Val, making his way over to the cooler tucked under a beach umbrella next to a large sand dune.

Val nodded. “Sure.”

“Cameron?”

The black-haired beauty by his side shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said, holding up her can of soda. “I’m covered.”

Cole nodded and returned with an already opened lager.

“Thanks, man,” Val said. It seemed as though everyone they knew was on the beach tonight with beer and bonfires as they waited for night to fall. His brothers and their women were there, as were Babs Kincaide and Buster Quigley, the grill cook at the LMK. Emma and Jimmy Bishop completed their large group. Farther down the beach, Val could see other groups with other bonfires blazing, getting ready for the evening.

Cole rejoined Julie on a large blanket and took a drink before sitting down and kissing her neck. The doctor looked as happy as Val had ever seen her, and Cole was looking better and better with each passing day. Underneath a huge beach umbrella, Theo was on his stomach, scribbling in a notebook. Next to him, Avery was lying on a blanket, her eyes closed.

Emma and Jimmy were down by the water, watching the waves roll in and out. The big man had an arm around his wife, who was nestled in by his side.

Over by the two-foot-deep pit he and Buster had dug earlier in the day, Seb and Lexie were engaged in deep discussion, probably about something clambake-related. Val had enjoyed helping build the pit. They’d lined the hole with rocks and lit a large wood fire. When the fire was good and hot, he, Seb, and Theo had worked quickly to cover the rocks with wet seaweed Julie and Lexie had gathered on the shore. Lexie had then piled in the potatoes, ears of corn still in their husks, and all the clams, then layered the pit with more seaweed. Finally, they’d unfurled the tarp over the top of the pit and weighed it down with more rocks.

That had been four hours ago. Soon, they’d dig up the feast and fill plastic plates high with potatoes, corn, and of course, loads of clams. And once the sun set, there’d be fireworks
over the water.

Val leaned back in his low beach chair, tucked against a sand dune, and took a long, slow drink. The ice-cold beer down his throat felt like heaven.

With an icy drink in his hand and a smoking-hot woman by his side, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend the Fourth than on the beach, surrounded by people he cared about.

He took a look at Cameron, who was sitting in a matching beach chair. She was wearing a shimmery tank top and a pair of slim white pants—rich, but not ostentatious—and her nose was buried in a book with a cracked, peeling cover.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“I’m trying to learn a bit more about seventeenth-century New England. Trying to figure out why my uncle is so obsessed.”

“Obsessed?”

“That’s the best way I can phrase it. He’s passionate about antiques—he always has been—but he’s truly crazy about the
Siren Lorelei
. He waxed poetic for nearly the entire day about Gold Coast history. And it’s not the time period per se. It’s what happened here during that period—pirates—and all the trappings of that life.”

“Which now may be valuable artifacts of great interest to an antiquities dealer.”

“You know what my uncle does?” She smiled. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Nigel Endicott is pretty well known.”

“Yes,” she said. “Much to the chagrin of my mother.”

“I take it she doesn’t approve of his lifestyle.”

Cameron shook her head. “He’s a man, so working’s all right. His personal life is a different matter. Clarissa wants him to date some proper miss who will settle him down and make him dull as a doornail. Act like a proper Endicott and all that.”

“And for you?”

“Oh, a politician’s wife, for certain.” This said with a wry smile.

There was only one man who fit the bill, so he hazarded a guess. “Edward Kirkland, Jr., I presume?”

“Junior’s one of the few things she approves of, and she doesn’t approve of much.”

Val’s work brain and his personal brain warred over whether to keep on this topic. Work brain won. “You’ve been friends a long time, I take it?” he asked.

Cameron nodded. “Yes. Our parents have been friends forever. I’ve known the Kirklands all my life. Junior and I grew up together. He has a younger sister, Taylor. Cici’s close with her. And I’ve served on a few boards with Grace—that’s Mrs. Kirkland. People see the congressman as this all-powerful, important man. But to me, he’s like another dad.”

Would that make Junior her brother?
He damn well hoped so. “I’m envisioning polo matches, tennis games, cocktail parties, travel …” He let the word hang out there.

“So you have me pegged, do you?” she said with a rueful smile. “Sadly, you’re not wrong. Add garden parties, ski vacations, and charity events and you’ve got the gist of it.” She sighed. “You have to understand, my parents are pretty conservative. They feel safe with what they know.”

It looked like that line of inquiry was being shut down, which was all right with him. He was feeling guiltier about pushing it than he’d anticipated. “And you?” he asked.

“I used to feel that way,” she said, giving him a once-over. “But I’ve started to change my mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She was close enough to touch, so he did, skimming his knuckles over the soft skin of her shoulder and then trailing his hand down her arm. All thoughts of work faded away as heat hit him low and hard. Just the smallest touch had him raring to go. Cameron felt it as strongly as he did because when he let his thumb rub lightly on the sensitive skin of her forearm, she gave a little shudder of pleasure. Desire flared in her eyes, and his own body echoed that need. He wanted to haul her out of her chair; visions of disappearing behind a sand dune while he showed her exactly how hot she was making him flashed in his brain.

But then her eyes flicked over to where Seb and Lexie were standing.

“Ten more minutes,” he heard Lexie say loudly. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“But it’s done now,” Seb responded, his voice a low rumble. “In fact, it was done fifteen minutes ago. I’ve been timing it.”

“By what? The sun? You never wear a watch.”

“I know when we covered it up. I hate overdone corn.”

Lexie groaned. “You and your overdone corn. There’s no such thing.” She turned and called out. “Buster? How much longer?”

Buster, a tall, slim, worn-around-the-edges man, didn’t even pick his head up from his newspaper. “Ten minutes.”

“There!” Lexie said triumphantly.

“Buster can’t be neutral. He’s your employee!” Seb argued.

“He still knows clam pits better than you.”

“Oh, give her the ten minutes,” Babs Kincaide piped up. “Who cares if the corn’s overdone, anyway?”

“Fine,” Seb sighed. “Ten minutes. But if the corn sucks, you’ll have to make it up to me tonight.”

Lexie’s lips curled into a little smile. “All right.”

Seb smiled too, and he bent down to kiss her—a long, deep kiss that lasted and lasted. Val knew exactly how he felt. If he and Cameron were alone, he’d be devouring her, too. When Theo eventually cleared his throat, Seb picked up his head and grinned unrepentantly.

“What?” he said. “If I’m going to put up with mushy corn, I may as well enjoy myself while I let it happen.”

Cameron laughed beside Val, and he reveled in the warm, musical sound. It wasn’t just the heat between them that was so enticing. Since he’d picked her up that afternoon, she’d been comfortable—not just in his presence, but with the whole group. He didn’t know why he was so surprised. She was friends with his brothers’ women. That was the beauty of being with her. She fit into his life.

Though he still had niggling doubts as to whether
he
fit into
hers
.

What was wrong with him? He’d never had doubts about anything in his life before. Not about putting aside his own happiness to focus on his brothers. Not about working a full-time job while he put himself through law school. And definitely not about taking the position at the DEA, even though he could have pursued something much more lucrative.

So why, when it came to this one beautiful, privileged woman did he start to second-guess himself?

Why was he even thinking like this? It wasn’t as if he was offering her a permanent place in his life.
Yet
. After Seb’s restaurant opening, they’d spent a full week apart and he’d missed her. Missed her smile. Her laugh. Her warmth. Missed the way she surprised him daily. She had her own work, her own life, and that was a good thing. But that little voice inside his head kept
running on and on.
She’s too good for you
, it whispered.
Just look at her hands
. They were perfect—soft and silky. And he would know. He’d had them all over his body just last week.
Now look at yours
. Work-roughened, and cracked in places. Definitely not the hands of a politician. Not even the hands of a DEA agent. They were the hands of a fisherman. Just like his dad’s, for as long as he lived.

But she’s with you now. If you can keep her
.

Yeah, she was with him, for as long as he could make it last. So they’d try it out and see how it went. Complications could always be dealt with later. That was what he was best at, after all.

But figuring out how to get close to her and to the congressman was dredging up some serious concerns. He knew he wasn’t with her to pump her for information, but sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. It was ingrained in him to get intelligence from whatever source was available. What if she found out about the investigation and started to think he was using her? Time was against them—it wasn’t a question of
if
he’d take down the congressman, but
when
. And when he did, she’d be furious that he busted a man who she’d just admitted was like her own father. He was walking a fine line—and at some point he was going to slip and fall. It was clear to him now that the only way to have her in his life, at least for the present, was to keep her far away from his investigation.

Cameron looked over at him and smiled, and something in his chest wound up tight. Then she put one of those smooth-as-silk hands in his and slowly, very slowly, the tightness went away.

Enjoy it while you can
.

So he did.

Chapter 14

“Thank you again for a lovely evening,” Cameron said. “I always have such a good time with you and your family.” It was just about midnight. After the fireworks were over and the bonfire was extinguished, Val had walked her back to the piers, where her car was parked. He was holding her hand—he hadn’t relinquished it since they’d started their walk—and it felt good. She was slowly growing used to the heat that licked at her whenever they touched, and she had stopped thinking about it as disconcerting and instead focused on how whenever he was near, warmth pooled in her belly … and lower. Always lower.

And no wonder—with his burn-you-up-from-the-inside gaze that never failed to make her heart pound. The way he was looking at her right now. She’d brought a sweater for the evening, but she still felt chilly, so he wrapped her up in his thick barn jacket. She could tell he liked the way his utilitarian, masculine jacket looked on her. When she put it on, something dangerous flared in his eyes, and never left. Maybe he thought he was marking her as his.
His!
The thought thrilled her.

She was still wearing it, the big coat hanging off her slim shoulders, her long black hair spilling out over the collar. Val still didn’t speak; he just pulled away and stared at her, his eyes drinking her in, sizing her up. Weighing. Assessing.

She cleared her throat. “Shall I get your jacket back to you tomorrow?”

He stepped toward her, reached out, and grabbed the lapels of his barn jacket, one in each hand. Then, slowly, he pulled, waiting for the resistance, the hesitation. She didn’t give him any. Every tiny step she took was one step closer to his lean, hard body. A body she fantasized about in the dark of the night, alone in her room. This man wanted her in a way she could never have fathomed. And she wanted him right back.

She was trapped against him now, inside his jacket, chest to chest. Her heart was pounding so hard, he had to feel it. When she lifted her gaze, he was staring at her with a disarming intensity.

“Keep the damn jacket,” he growled, before sealing his mouth to hers.

Heat flashed through her, head to toe, and she closed her eyes. Behind her lids, stars
burst, little fireworks going off again and again.