Slow Summer Burn: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance (35 page)

Val, the oldest, stood against the far pylon, his lean, wiry frame concealed by an oversized fisherman’s jacket, longish black hair curled at his nape. Cole, second in age, was seated with his broad back up against another pylon, his eyes covered by mirrored sunglasses. Theo, Seb’s twin, had one long leg folded against his chest as he leaned on a bench, his rod in one hand and a book of Whitman poems in the other. Theo’s green eyes were the exact mirror of his own, and right now they were crinkled in mirth.

The Grayson brothers, Star Harbor’s former resident bad boys, were back in town and
ready for business.

That is, after Sebastian got his coffee.

Farther down the wharf, a few older men who’d cast their lures at the crack of dawn were silently packing up to leave, their thick jackets buttoned up against the early autumn chill as they gathered their morning’s catch. Each of Seb’s brothers had already caught a few fish large enough to keep—striped bass and mackerel, mostly. If Seb had been out here fishing at five-thirty like they’d been, he’d have something to show for his efforts, too.

“Sleep well, princess?” Cole asked, his deep voice cutting through the mist. Theo snickered softly from behind his book.

“Mmm,” Seb grunted. He tried to ignore them but he knew it was futile. His brothers were dead set on giving him hell for sleeping late. Cole pushed his sunglasses up on his head, revealing deep blue eyes. Funny, he didn’t remember his brother looking so hardened. Ever since Cole had returned from Afghanistan where his Special Forces unit had been stationed, he’d been on edge. Seb was glad Cole had left his job as a cop in Boston to become the sheriff of Star Harbor. Maybe being back in their small hometown would do him good.

“Seb needs his beauty sleep, isn’t that right?” Theo teased with a smile.

They weren’t going to quit ribbing him until he rose to the bait. “Any one of you could have woken me up,” Seb complained.

“No one would dare. Don’t you sleep next to your wicked sharp knives rolled up in that nylon bag?” Cole said, his mouth curving up in a half smile.

“At least I don’t sleep with a loaded Glock on my nightstand,” Seb retorted before he could stop himself. In less than a second, Cole’s smile was gone and he was standing up, his posture putting all of Seb’s senses on high alert.

“Not today.” Val’s calm, even voice sliced through the tension. Both brothers backed down, realizing that Val was right. For a moment they had forgotten that they were here in Star Harbor for one reason: to pay homage to their father, who’d died twenty years ago during a hurricane. No matter where they were or what they were doing, they always gathered together in
their hometown on Labor Day weekend, the anniversary of his death.

Val and Cole lived in Star Harbor, but Seb had driven his motorcycle in from New York City and Theo had flown in from San Francisco. As was their tradition, they’d spend the long weekend together, remembering their dad.

Seb swept his gaze over the misty water, watching the boats pitch and roll through the haze as the tide slowly went out. Then he turned toward the town. The old-fashioned gas lamps that stayed on all night were still lit, but the fog was thick and he could barely make out the Victorian houses lining Harbor Street. Star Harbor looked exactly the same as it did when he’d left it so many years ago.

God, being here brought back so many memories. Like the time he and his brothers had rigged those fireworks to go off seconds before the annual summer small craft regatta started. It had taken the organizers at least an hour to get everything back on track. Or the time they all ditched school to head to Providence for Oktoberfest. Their mother had been furious. A smile crept onto his face. For a few moments, he could almost forget his weariness and the mountain of work waiting for him back in New York—planning his fall menu, brainstorming for his television show, and figuring out where he was going to open his new restaurant. He thought he might have settled on Boston, but he couldn’t be sure until he found the right venue. Crap, he’d better be sure. He’d already spent too much time trying to make that decision.

Seb sighed. He used to love being a renowned chef, and had thrived on the sheer volume of work. But lately, it had started to seem like a slog. Had he lost his passion or was he just exhausted?

Damn
. He had to stop stressing so that he could enjoy the weekend, but that probably wasn’t going to happen. He had only himself to blame. His plan was to stay in Star Harbor for a full week, but it wasn’t going to be much of a vacation. He would need to spend at least part of the time working on his upcoming projects. Later on in the morning, he was scheduled to scout out spaces in Boston for his new restaurant. His brothers weren’t too happy about it—their tradition was to spend the weekend
together
, after all—but it was rare that he ever got time away
from his restaurant, Helena. Suddenly, the fact that he was tired, damp, cold, and seriously decaffeinated started to wear on him. He needed that coffee, bad.

“So how’s the writing going, Theo?” he asked, trying to think about something else.

Theo set his book down. “Not as well as I’d like,” he admitted. “I’m having trouble getting started on my next project.”

“Lower your standards,” Cole joked.

“Never.” Theo shook his head. “I just wish I could find some real inspiration.”

“It’s everywhere, all around you,” Val said sagely. He was right. Seb himself could draw inspiration for one of his entrées from anything—a smell, a color, or even an interesting texture. Val didn’t talk much. Never had. But when he said something, it was worth it to listen. Val had been his rock—everyone’s rock, really—since their father had died. And after their mother had passed away twelve years ago, taken from them by a stroke, Val was the closest thing they had to a parent.

He looked at his oldest brother. Calm. Resolute. His face bracketed by a square jaw and steely blue eyes. Their mother’s eyes. He’d trust Val with anything. He trusted Theo and Cole, too, of course, but Val was the most solid of them all. The younger Grayson boys had gone wild when their dad had died. But somehow, despite the fact that he was only a few years older than Cole, Val had brought them back to Earth. Grounded them. Without him, they would have stayed adrift. Val hadn’t supported most of their rowdy adventures, but he had always stepped in to keep things under control. It was Val who’d suggested Seb travel to pursue his passion. He had taken that advice, and now he was at the top of his culinary game.

“Maybe you should come back to Star Harbor for a while. Get some good ideas for your new book,” Cole suggested.

“Maybe,” Theo responded ambiguously and went back to reading. Though not as soft-spoken as Val, Theo was quieter than either Cole or himself. They’d called him “the Professor” growing up because he’d always had his nose in a book or his pen to paper, meticulously plotting their escapades. Cole had been their logistics guy, so it had come as no surprise to anyone when
he joined the military. And Seb? He’d been the charmer, able to sweet-talk anyone into anything. Just like their father.

Seb had loved his mom, but like most boys, he’d worshipped his dad—his slow but easy smile. The way the corners of his eyes would crinkle up when he found something funny. The old pirate stories he used to tell the boys before bedtime. Seb thought about him every day. It was hard not to. Every time he opened his mouth or looked at himself in a mirror he was reminded of his father. But most of all, he missed his dad’s laughter echoing off the sides of his fishing boat as he hauled in the day’s catch.

“Hey, you guys talk to James Bishop lately?” Seb asked, trying to snap himself out of his funk. Jimmy had been a part of their high school crowd and Seb felt a brief twinge of regret that he hadn’t kept in better touch.

“I haven’t talked to Jimmy in years,” Theo said as he broke down his rod and reel.

Val nodded. “Yep. Owns his own tour boat and sailing company now. He’s getting married in a few weeks. Asked me and Cole to be in his wedding party.”

“Really?” Seb couldn’t imagine Jimmy—a huge bear of a man with an outsized voice and a nose for trouble—tying the knot.

“To Emma Newbridge, Kate Everhart’s niece,” Cole said, as if he were reading Seb’s mind. “Emma’s been helping run the Star Harbor Inn since Kate was diagnosed with cancer a few months ago. Jimmy’s a changed man. Or so he says.” Cole chuckled as he reeled in his line and started packing up his gear.

“I’ve met Emma,” Seb said. “Can’t imagine how Jimmy snagged someone so … so …”

“Sweet?” Theo interjected.

“Yeah.” Emma was appealing and engaging, the exact opposite of Jimmy. Or at least how Jimmy used to be.

“Well, you can ask him yourself. He’s at the Rusty Nail most nights after work,” Val said. “We can join him later for a beer.”

“Beer sounds good,” Seb said, reminded of his aching body, “but coffee sounds better.
Any idea where I can grab a decent cup of joe around here?”

Val smiled and closed his tackle box. “I know just the place.”

Read on for an excerpt from Elisabeth Barrett’s

Blaze of Winter

“Men,” Captain Aldous Crowley shouted, his auburn hair whipping in the wind as he paced back and forth on the quarterdeck of the
Valiant
. “We have been betrayed by General Strainhorn. In spite of our privateer status, and our legally issued letters of marque, we have been labeled pirates. Pirates! We all knew such a day could come and now it is here.”

Crowley looked off into the horizon where a ship-of-the-line was fast approaching them. Within minutes, they would be overrun.

“The
Justinia
is upon us. You know as well as I do that they intend to smite us to a man if we resist. And ’twill be the hangman’s noose for any of us unlucky enough to be captured.” On the main deck, trusting faces were upturned as the men hung on his every word. Knowing that they might all be dead within the hour, he stared back, trying to memorize the way they looked at this instant. He’d led them through many a battle, but never one with such inequitable odds.

“So we will fight,” he said, his words echoing off the prow. “Make no mistake about that. We will fight hard and we will fight strong. We will
not
be cowed by traitorous actions and we will
not
go quietly.” His voice rose. “Do you believe in truth? Do you believe in justice? Then let God alone be our judge.”

With a firm hand, he drew his sword from his scabbard and thrust it into the air. “Death comes but once,” he roared.

“But the brave live forever!” his crew, to a man, yelled back.

“Prepare for battle!” Crowley shouted.

Excerpt from
The Pirate’s Sextant
, by T. R. Grayson, © 2012

CHAPTER 1

Of all the possible pranks a person could pull in the Star Harbor Library, putting a dead fish in the heating vent ranked high on the list of ones to try. And Theodore Grayson would know. He’d played that very trick twenty years ago, with his brothers Cole and Seb as his partners-in-crime. Still, the risk—considerable, given that every wall vent in the main room was visible from the circulation desk—had been worth the payout. His large frame tucked into a carrel at the very scene of his youthful misconduct, Theo smiled at the memory.

They had done the deed in the middle of one of Star Harbor’s coldest winters, and with the heat on full blast, it had taken precisely thirty-seven hours for the smell to become overpowering. Even better, he and his brothers had all been present to witness the prank’s outcome—the unholy stench, a furious search for the source, and finally, a full evacuation of the library. And as any good trickster—Theo himself included—would acknowledge, a key component of every good prank was the payout.

The payout. The completion. The end. If only he could achieve the same with this damned book he should be writing. His smile faded fast.

“What the hell am I doing back in Star Harbor?” he groaned, shoving his chair back from the desk and abruptly standing up. An octogenarian seated on a nearby love seat flipped down Wednesday’s edition of the Boston
Globe
and gave him a disapproving look from beneath her tightly curled blue-tinted locks. In return, he gave her a dirty grin, and she let out a small gasp as her head disappeared in a rustle behind the Arts section.

Glancing around the library, he noted that nothing much had changed in twenty years. Same taupe walls, same signs over the reference desk, same green-shaded banker’s lamps on each long table. Only the posters displaying the covers of the latest bestselling books were
different. Wryly, he noted that his own book wasn’t represented. Theodore Grayson, better known as T. R. Grayson—Star Harbor’s native son, bad boy made good.

But perhaps not good enough to warrant a place on the hallowed walls of the library.

No one met his eyes as he glanced around, so he sighed and slouched back down into his seat, pulling it forward until his fingers were once again aligned with the keyboard of his laptop. Then he took off his glasses—the stylish frames had been a gift from his publicist—and rubbed his eyes, willing the thoughts, phrases, and sentences to come.

They didn’t.

What the hell was wrong with him? In a few short months he’d gone from literary darling to feeling like a hack. He was in a funk, unable to make the stubborn words emerge from wherever they were hiding in his brain. A change of scenery—more accurately, a change of coast—hadn’t made a whit of difference. Trying to plot and write his latest book was just as slow-going here as it had been in San Francisco.

Worse yet, it wasn’t just the writing. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the problem, but it was obvious he was in some sort of a slump.

Over Labor Day weekend, Cole had mentioned that he might be able to find renewed inspiration in Star Harbor. At the time, he’d thought his brother’s idea was brilliant. Ditch his bohemian, intellectual lifestyle in San Francisco and reconnect with his roots by spending the fall in Star Harbor. It was the most beautiful time of year in his hometown, and he’d been certain it would give him the fuel he needed to write his book. Plenty of stimulation, ideas, and solitude.