Tangled Love on Pelican Point (Island County Series Book 3) Page 3

  “Is your imagination always that twisted?” Anthony asked, turning toward me.

  “It’s an exhausting curse.” I smiled at Anthony, feeling a warmth wash through me right when a big gust of wind slapped the side of the car and brought me back to reality.

  “So it’s been decided. To ensure the longevity of my music career, I’ll walk you to the door so I don’t get a bad rap in the tabloids. Glad we have our priorities straight.”

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Rock Star.” Opening the door, I shot out of the car as the rain soaked all of me in a matter of seconds. By the time I reached the front door, my jacket was drenched and my scoop neck sweater clung to my skin. The water was dripping from the building’s overhang, and with each passing second, I was quickly freezing to death and had no way to warm up inside.

  Anthony was right behind me as I attempted to insert the key in the lock, but I kept missing as my fingers trembled and water dripped from my lashes. Anthony shined the light from his phone at the lock, and I slid the key right in and pushed open the door. Having him so close behind me added a complication I didn’t expect, and I needed to get inside.

  “See?” I asked, taking a step forward into my tiny apartment. “All alone.”

  Anthony kept his word and stood outside my apartment, continuing to let the rain pelt him as he flashed his light around my apartment. Even with only the glow of his phone, he was the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on. The rain slowly dripped from his hair, trickling down his chiseled features, along his neck to his chest . . . and I was in deep trouble with him around. No doubt about it. He was fully clothed, and somehow, my imagination was picturing him sans shirt and jeans with that fresh, out of the shower look.

  “Do you by any chance have a towel?” he asked, breaking me from a trance I didn’t even realize I’d been in.

  My gaze flicked back to his, and I motioned for him to come inside.

  “I’m so sorry. Yes. Let me grab one.” I reached into the drawer of an end table and grabbed a flashlight so I could get down the hall without killing myself.

  He took one step onto the linoleum tile floor and glanced around my tiny living room, which opened into an equally small kitchen. A smile spread across his lips as he looked around, and I hurried down the hall armed with a flashlight to grab a couple of towels. I grabbed one of the ratty towels and quickly dried myself off as much as possible before searching through the rest of the stack, trying to find one that had some life left in it. Most of my towels either had small holes in them or frayed edges because I was too cheap to buy new ones.

  “Bingo,” I whispered, finding my two favorite periwinkle blue towels, reserved for guests.

  I sailed back into the living room where he still stood, dripping wet but staring intently at one of my painted wood signs that was waiting to be shipped. My cheeks flushed as he bent down to get a better look, shining his light on the words. This particular project was especially romantic—for a newly married couple—and I briefly wondered what he thought about the poem.

  Fire Upon My Heart, My Love

  My Always.

  Let the Mysteries of our Love

  Give Only Us

  the Clues to Remain Forever in

  One Another’s Universe

  Far Away from the Troubles

  of Today . . .

  “You’re looking at my fourth job,” I said, handing him the towels, “that I hope to turn into my first and only job.”

  “Wow.” He stood back up and took one of the towels from me before stepping back toward the door. “That’s really cool. Where did you get the poem? I love that line, fire upon my heart.”

  He began rubbing his hair dry as he waited for my answer. Thankfully the power was out so he couldn’t see the level of embarrassment running through me. I bit my lip and debated whether to tell him I’d written the poem. I’d told no one—not even my best friends, Natalie and Nick—that I loved to write poetry.

  Not to mention, I’d already managed to insult Anthony’s lyrics, so who was I to pretend my words counted for anything? It would be easy enough to fib, get him dried off, and boot him out the door, never to see him again, but the way he looked at me shredded all common sense, and I let him in on a little piece of me.

  Curse his sultry brown eyes.

  “I wrote the poem. The couple sent me a note, and I wrote something based on their request. They approved what I came up with, and I created the sign. That’s kind of what my business on Etsy is all about, and I sell other items for the home that I make. I’d love to turn it into a design and decorating gig too. Maybe someday, everything will come together . . . but one step at a time.” I glanced around my apartment, realizing how much the décor gave a clue as to who I was, especially since I’d made most of it. But the lights were out, so he’d never know.

  “So you wrote that poem and made the sign?” he asked, sounding surprised. His first towel was soggy, and I took it away, handing him the next. “That’s really amazing.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know about amazing, but I do enjoy it, and maybe someday, I’ll be able to concentrate on it fulltime.”

  “And you said you’re on Etsy?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “What’s your shop name?”

  “How do you know about shop names?” I asked.

  This guy was supposed to be traveling the globe—getting women and sniffing glue or whatever musicians did on the road—not shopping on Etsy.

  “I’m not completely oblivious to the world around me. Believe it or not, Los Angeles gets the internet too.”

  I chuckled and took in a deep breath. What’s the worst that could happen by telling him my shop name? I walked over to the kitchen and tossed the wet towel on the counter as I dug around in a drawer for matches to light a candle.

  “Sophie’s Sweet Spot.” Once the words left my lips, I realized that was not the best name for a shop. How in the world did I never notice before?

  “That’s an interesting name for a shop.” Anthony nodded, looking like he was trying to keep in his laughter.

  “Oh. My. God.” I hung my head. “How did I never catch that before?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anthony said, feigning innocence as he held his hands up, one still gripping a towel. “I think it’s a great name for a shop, and you could really go in several directions with a name like that.”

  “That explains why I keep getting so many raunchy emails. No one else who has an Etsy store seems to get nasty emails, and I’ve asked a ton of other shop owners. People probably think I’m selling God knows what.”

  “The name could have been worse.”

  I shook my head. “These are obviously some of the little kinks I need to work out. Shop name is now being moved to the top of the list. Maybe I should have told Natalie about my venture. I’m sure she would have gently nudged me in a different direction, and if not her, Nick definitely would have caught on.”

  “Well, it’s good to know you have a sweet spot.”

  “You really didn’t go to rock star school, did you?” I folded my arms, unable to hide my grin. “There’s no way they’d let you graduate with bad jokes like that.”

  “Cole was the brother gifted with humor, and I was cursed with these good looks.” Anthony stood holding the other wet towel, and he honestly didn’t look the least bit dry. I felt bad. His clothes still clung to his body. He could have already been back at his house, all warm and toasty, with the generator I was sure he had powering his mansion, but instead, he chose to make sure I got inside okay.

  “Well, at least you also have your modesty.” I lit the candle and shook out the match. “I’d offer you my dryer for your clothes, but the lights are out, and I don’t actually have one.”

  “It’s probably best I stay fully clothed around you anyway.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re dangerous.” His brow arched.

  “I’m dangerous?” I laughed.
“Very unlikely. I’d say you’re the one I should be worried about.”

  “I’m the nice brother of the groom-to-be who offered to take a guest home who’d had a little too much. Nothing dangerous about that.”

  “What? That is so not how it happened. I was more than happy to walk home, and you just wouldn’t let up, and I didn’t want to bruise your ego.” Well, that was partially true.

  “I think I’m on to you. I’ve seen your type before.”

  “My type?” I placed my left hand on my hip, completely amazed at this man’s brazen attempt at . . . exactly what, I didn’t know. “You can’t pigeonhole me. That I can guarantee. Whatever you think you know about me, you have no idea.”

  “You might be surprised. I’m a pretty good judge of women.”

  “Ha.” I shook my head in protest. “You’re something else.”

  “Am I?” He took a step forward, and I swear the charge between us grew impossibly strong.

  “You’re a hard worker who puts everyone else’s needs above your own. You don’t allow yourself a second of time to rest or take care of yourself. You’d rather work yourself to death than give someone the opportunity to take care of you because you see it as a sign of weakness.”

  His words were like tiny stabs to the heart, but I’d never admit it.

  “So not true. That description is a little melodramatic for my taste,” I informed him just as my phone dinged.

  Thankful for the distraction, I walked over to my purse and dug my cell out. It was a text from my stepmom. My dad wasn’t doing well tonight and she needed help. A sigh escaped my lips.

  I should have known it was her. Who else would it be on a Saturday night?

  “Everything okay?” Anthony asked.

  “Yeah. All’s well.”

  Except it wasn’t.

  I needed sleep for the long day ahead tomorrow, but my dad needed me. Or maybe it was that my stepmom needed me more. Either way, I had to go, and I needed to find a ride to their house.

  “Judging by the look in your eyes, I’d say that’s not exactly true.” Anthony’s voice lowered, and a shiver ran up my spine. Did I manage to run into the one sexy celebrity with a heart?

  “It’s just my dad. I need to go over there tonight.” I slid my hands into my pockets.

  Anthony’s eyes focused on me as he shook his head in confusion.

  “My dad had a stroke, and my stepmom takes care of him, but she needs help, and I’m that help.”

  “You can’t drive.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Let me take you.”

  “I’ve already imposed enough.”

  “It’s not an imposition.”

  I shook my head. “It will only add a little more weight to your theory.”

  Anthony shrugged and flashed a dazzling smile. “I already know I’m right.”

  I ignored his statement but couldn’t avoid the glimmer in his eyes as he watched me.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked, feeling absolutely awful for bringing this much reality into one man’s life for a night.

  “Not at all.”

  I wanted to hug him, but he wasn’t Cole or Nick. He was someone whose kindness made me weak in the knees, and his good looks only made things worse. Thankfully, he’d be off the island soon.

  Putting out the flame on the candle and grabbing my flashlight, I headed down the hall to grab some items.

  “Besides, it will give me a chance to spend a little more time with you. I can wait in the car while you’re there,” he added.

  My heart skipped a beat. How in the world was this man still available?

  “No need,” I hollered down the hall. “Thank you, though. I’m packing an overnight bag, and I’ll just leave for work from there.”

  I hauled my overnight bag out of the bedroom and saw Anthony, still wet and cold, waiting to drive me into the storm.

  “Thanks for this. I totally owe you.”

  “Have dinner with me before I leave town, and we’ll call it even.”

  I shot my gaze in his direction and nodded. “I think you’re getting the short end of the stick, but it’s a deal.”

  A glint of amusement ran through his gaze and my stomach tightened. I had no idea what his expectations were, but I knew they’d never meet mine.

  This morning started like last night ended. Two housekeepers—in addition to the one who was scheduled to be out—didn’t show up, and we’d had a full house for the weekend. The housekeeping department was a madhouse. It was ten o’clock in the morning, and I was exhausted from already cleaning several of the rooms that had been vacated early.

  “Fifteen rooms down, forty-two more to go,” Marcy said with a laugh as she grabbed the cleaning solution from the cart.

  Did we really have that many rooms left? I glanced at the schedule I’d made.

  Yep. Sure did. Missing three housekeepers out of our department was going to turn this Sunday into a brutal marathon.

  “At least we love what we do,” I teased, unwinding the vacuum cord.

  “Yes. That’s the bright spot in all this,” Marcy said, bending over to wipe off the tile in the bathroom. “I couldn’t imagine having to clean other people’s filth if I didn’t love what I do.”

  “I can’t tell if you’re serious.” My brow arched in a joking manner while I flipped on the vacuum.

  I actually didn’t mind working as a housekeeper at the Loxxy. It was a boutique hotel. Most of the time, the rooms were in decent condition after the guests left. I loved to organize and make things tidy, and what better place than a swanky hotel room?

  That was my story, and I was sticking to it.

  Besides, in my current predicament, who was I to complain about money coming in?

  Several months ago, I’d gotten a promotion to Assistant Manager of Hospitality. It bumped my salary up slightly, but the workload that shifted my way made me wonder what I’d gotten myself into. In addition to cleaning, my added duties included scheduling, ordering supplies, and keeping track of inventory.

  I finished vacuuming under the bed and tidied the end table as Marcy refreshed the basket of complimentary bottled water and local chocolates.

  “Another room without a tip,” Marcy grumbled. “Is that becoming the norm, or am I bad luck?”

  “I don’t think it’s intentional. I think people just forget on their way out the door.” I pushed the vacuum into the hall and grabbed a stack of towels and washcloths. “But it’s always nice when they remember.”

  “Tell me about it. I’ve got a Great Dane to feed.”

  Island life wasn’t always easy. Some people were fortunate to have thriving businesses on the island, while others commuted to Seattle. For the rest of us, we depended on service jobs, and those gems weren’t always the most prosperous. I intended to change that. If I could just get a bigger following at my Etsy shop, maybe someday I could be an employer.

  I stacked most of the towels on the teak shelves and placed the washcloths on the granite vanity as Marcy came into the bathroom and caught my reflection in the mirror.

  “You doing okay?” she asked, placing a tiny soap on a seashell dish. “You have circles under your eyes.”

  “Just exhausted.”

  “I heard Natalie, our island’s hopeless romantic, got engaged yesterday. Does that have something to do with it?” Marcy’s smiled widened, the wrinkles around her green eyes deepening slightly. Her blonde hair was twisted into a knot and pinned with a large clip.

  “It might.” I grinned. “Can you believe our town florist held out for her first love?”

  “No, I can’t imagine playing those odds.” Marcy chuckled.

  “I always hoped that would happen for her, but I had my doubts. I honestly can’t imagine being so deeply in love with someone that no one else will do. I’m not patient enough.”

  Marcy took in a deep breath, looking horrified. “What other kind of love would you imagine?”

  �
�How long have you been with Jack?” I asked, ignoring her question.

  “Twelve years this December, and it only feels like yesterday.” She narrowed her eyes and studied me. “Are you telling me you’ve never been in love?”

  “Not that I know of.” My grin widened. “And it’s something I should remember, right?”

  Marcy laughed and shook her head. “Let’s hope.”

  “I’ve had the occasional boyfriend, but no real guy has ever just stopped me in my tracks.”

  “Real?”

  “Well, I have some fictional guys who do a pretty good job of ruining the real world for me.”

  “Speaking of . . . I know I’m too old for this question. And yes, I know better than to care, but was Anthony Hill at the party? I heard he’s back on the island.”

  I let out a groan and felt my cheeks warm.

  Marcy adjusted one of the towels. “Let me guess. He’s one of your fictional men.”

  “No comment.” The heat ran down my cheeks to my neck and chest. “Anyway, the party didn’t make me tired. My dad had some difficulties last night, so I spent the night at their house to help my stepmom out.”

  Marcy’s expression fell.

  “What?”

  “It’s not my place.”

  “Come on. It’s Fireweed. Everything is everybody’s place, or at least that’s usually how it works.” I turned around and walked out of the room with Marcy right behind. We pushed the cart to the next vacant room, and I opened the door to a mess. The sheets from the bed were draped over the couch. One of the chairs had been tipped over near the double doors overlooking the water, and the fireplace had been left blazing.

  The room felt like a sauna.

  Marcy came up behind me and gasped. “Maybe Anthony Hill stayed in this room and had a party.”

  “He’s staying at his house.” I’d said too much.

  “So Anthony was at the party.”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t say that. Now tell me why when I mentioned my dad, your expression changed.”