Page 22 of Light of Day (Sea Smoke Island #1)

Hours later, after they’d taken Andy home and delivered a half-baked explanation to his fully baked family members—cannabis-ly speaking—Luke found himself in his bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat while Heather perched on the edge of the bathtub, armed with a Q-tip and a bottle of Bactine.

“Do you think Gabby’s hiding somewhere on the island?

” Heather asked, her breath warm against his face.

Her closeness made his skin tingle with awareness.

She dabbed the wet Q-tip at his cut, which had become crusted with dirt from their adventures that night.

He hid his wince. It had to be done, and Heather had a better angle on it that he would.

“I can think of a few possibilities, and that’s one. She could have swum to a rowboat and headed somewhere else. But I haven’t heard of any missing skiffs, so I doubt that happened. Maybe someone on a passing boat picked her up.”

“If she’s safe, she would have contacted me.”

“She might not have her phone.”

Heather pulled a funny face. “I know it’s not that big of a deal in the scheme of things, but Gabby lives on her phone. I hope she didn’t lose it.”

Privately, he thought her phone was probably at the bottom of the ocean by now. If she had it, she would have found a way to reach out.

“It’s also possible that the people who were after her caught her escaping. I think it’s time that I notify the Harbortown police. They’re going to wonder what took us so long.”

She set down the Bactine and opened a box of Band-Aids. After she’d applied one to his forehead, she tossed the scraps in the wastebasket.

“Shit. I was sure we’d find her before it came to that.” Her voice caught. “I’m really scared now.”

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “I know. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Gabby, it’s that she’s resourceful. Escaping from that yacht couldn’t have been easy.”

“ If she escaped.”

“I’m almost a hundred percent sure that’s what happened. No sign of a struggle, clearly she rigged the porthole.”

Heather nodded along as she listened to him, her eyes clinging to his, her face pale with worry. He wanted to kiss her, to comfort her, to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. But they would be empty words.

“Do you, uh, want to stay here tonight?” he asked, his voice roughened with a weird mixture of fatigue and intimacy. “I’ll call Harbortown first thing in the morning. There’s not much they can do tonight anyway, except yell at me for not notifying them sooner.”

“Are you going to get into trouble?”

He shrugged and rose to his feet, extending a hand to Heather to help her up from the edge of the bathtub. “I don’t answer to them. I suppose the island could vote me out as constable. But no one ever wants the job anyway, so good luck with that.”

When they were both standing, he drew her close to him and looped his arms around her back.

It wasn’t meant to be sexual, just reassuring, but she felt very, very good pressed against him.

Desire stirred inside him—crazy, considering the day they’d just had.

He should be exhausted, and he was, but he was also flying high on adrenaline.

“Luke,” she murmured. “I’m not sure this is a great idea.

My life is pretty crazy right now. My friend is missing, my show got canceled, I might have to move to New York, though I don’t want to jinx that.

My boyfriend dumped me because he says I work too much, and the worst part is, my first thought was how much more free time I’d have, so he was absolutely right. ”

“Mmm. Sounds like a rough stretch.” He traced slow circles on her back and felt her tension ease.

“That’s on top of always wondering where my father is, worrying about my mother falling off the wagon, just generally being a hot mess. That’s us, the Messy McPhees.”

“That’s better than being a Cunty Carmichael.”

Her body quaked with what he hoped was laughter. “I can’t believe you know about that nickname.”

“It’s well-earned.”

“Maybe. But you’re different. No wonder they kicked you out of the clan.”

He stroked her hair, finding bits of pine needles from her race through the woods. Heather really threw herself full-throttle into whatever she did. He found that appealing and…well, arousing.

“Luke, I really, really…like you.” The words were buried in his chest, but he heard them loud and clear.

“That’s good.”

She snorted with laughter and tilted her head up to look at him. “That’s good? That’s all you have to say?”

He smiled and cupped his hand around her upturned face.

“There you go. I was hoping to get a rise out of you.” He dropped a kiss on her lips, a lingering one that he had a hard time ending.

“I’ve been wanting to try this almost from the start.

I don’t know if ‘like’ says it all, but it’s in the right direction. ”

Her lips quirked into a mischievous smile. “What direction would that be? And is there a bed there?”

“King-size. Soft sheets.”

“Sold.”

He took her by the hand and led her out of the bathroom.

After the divorce, he’d moved into this old caretaker cottage. He’d spent two years fixing it up to make it livable. He liked it for its location, perched on a western-facing hilltop, where he could sit on the deck and watch the sun set over the inner islands of Lightkeeper Bay.

The place wasn’t big, but it had an extra bedroom for Izzy, a modernized kitchen and that incredible deck.

After the turmoil of the divorce and his break with his family, the cottage had brought him a lot of peace.

He rarely invited other people here, even women, since it was such a sanctuary for him.

But Heather…with Heather, things were different. He wanted her here. She’d woken something up inside him. Since Carrie, he’d been emotionally…sleepwalking. Protecting himself. Feeling numb. But that was impossible around Heather. She was too…direct, too alive, too present.

I’m not sure this is a good idea , she’d said. He should take that seriously. On the other hand, he’d love to talk her out of it.

“That’s Izzy’s room.” He waved at the second bedroom, which was painted Izzy’s favorite color, a grape Kool-Aid shade of purple. “You’re welcome to stay there if you want. The bed’s already made up with fresh sheets.”

She paused outside Izzy’s door, taking in the two single beds and extensive collection of stuffed animals. “Those beds don’t look king-sized to me.”

“If you need king-sized, there’s only one choice.

” He guided her to the corner room, his room, with the bed positioned with views in two directions—the bay and the woods that stretched from here to the point.

At this time of night, there was nothing but darkness beyond those windows, but if she was here at daylight…

“You can stay here and I can stay in Izzy’s room,” he told her as he drew the curtains. “I don’t want you to feel?—”

He broke off as she stepped toward him. The light in her eyes made his breath catch. “Feel what?” she murmured.

“Um…I want you to feel…wanted. But not cornered.”

She took both of his hands in hers and gazed up at him. “How about we just lie down for a minute? We can see how things go from there.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Unfortunately—or fortunately, who knew—things went a whole different direction from there.

As soon as he stretched out on top of the covers, he felt his eyelids go heavy with exhaustion.

“Come…next…to me…” he mumbled as sleep closed in.

The last thing he was aware of was her warm form snuggling next to him.

When he woke up an hour or so later, he discovered that Heather had draped an extra blanket over him.

She herself was under the covers, fast asleep, her body curled toward him.

All the lights had been turned off. He padded into the bathroom to take a leak and pop an aspirin for his cut, which was throbbing.

Back at his bedside, he hesitated, wondering if Heather was still fully dressed under there, or completely naked.

In the end, he stripped down to his underwear and slid under the covers.

Still asleep, she nestled close to him, at which point he knew she definitely wasn’t fully dressed.

Bare legs tangled against his, her skin warm from sleep.

It took a good twenty minutes or so for him to wrestle his immediate erection back under control.

But all that hard work was for nothing, because when he woke up, dawn light seeping through the edges of his curtains, Heather was stroking his arm and whispering to him. And just like that, his damn penis turned into a freaking tentpole.

He forced himself to focus on what she was saying. “I think someone’s outside,” she said again.

“What?” He sat bolt upright, blinking the fog from his brain.

“Hear that?” She sat up too, and he saw she was wearing nothing but a sky-blue bra and panties. He devoured the sight of her bare skin, with its scattering of gold dust freckles, luminous in the dim morning light. That tentpole wasn’t going anywhere.

He listened hard, but didn’t hear anything.

“I swear I heard a sound, like someone stumbling around out there.”

“Could have been a deer. We’ve had more than usual lately. Population boom. It’s a real problem. The island association is working on it.” God, what was he babbling about? If only that erection would go down, maybe he could start making sense.

“I guess…” she said dubiously.

They both listened, but he heard nothing, and neither did she. “Maybe it’s gone. Sorry I woke you for nothing.”

“No, you did the right thing. What time is it?”

“It’s still early. You can get more sleep. Seems like you need it. You were dead to the world. Do you know how long I’ve been trying to wake you up? I was about to get desperate.”

“And do what?” He stretched back down beside her.

“Oh…maybe something like this.” She hooked one leg over his thighs. Her knee brushed against his erection, which hardened even further. Damn it. “Or this.”

She pulled herself up so she was straddling his thighs. Her breasts swelled over the edge of her bra. He skimmed his two thumbs across those curves of flesh. She sighed and leaned over him like a cat about to lick some cream.

He ran his hands down the smooth length of her back, shaping her waist and the flare of her hips, until he landed on her ass.

He slipped his fingers under the panties and felt her silky tender, plump flesh.

Gripping her rear, he shifted her body so her breasts came over his mouth.

Using his tongue and teeth, he tugged the fabric of her bra away from her nipples.

Stiffening flesh against the flat of his tongue—divinely maddening.

He twirled the point of his tongue around one erect nipple, leaving it wet and red with arousal.

She was sighing and moving over him, hips in a slow grind. Every time her warm belly brushed against his cock, he gritted his teeth at the excruciating sensation. He wanted to be deep inside her, balls deep, he wanted to flip her over and pin her to the mattress, he wanted to?—

A noise interrupted that spectacular sexual fantasy. He froze. Heather did too, her head up, hair tumbling over her shoulders, nipples exposed. A visual that he’d probably never get out of his head.

“That’s not a deer,” he muttered.

Heather climbed off him and rolled out of bed in search of her clothes. He didn’t bother with clothes; more important to grab his firearm from his bedside table. With his Glock in hand, he padded silently out of his bedroom and in the direction of the strange sound.

It came from the south side of the cottage, where a lean-to shed sheltered his garbage cans and garden tools and chainsaws. Was someone trying to steal his tools? Unlikely, as they were nothing special, and in fact had come with the place. Maybe it was an animal—a raccoon or a skunk or a lost dog.

Either way, he proceeded cautiously, easing open the back door and stepping on silent bare feet across the dewy grass.

It was still so early that the sun hadn’t risen above the horizon, and his yard was full of pearly light.

A magical time of day, when the world held its breath in profound stillness before the burst of morning birdsong and revving lobster boat engines.

He held his breath as he approached the shed.

Its interior was too shadowed for him to see anything, but the noise was getting louder the closer he got.

He really hoped he didn’t have to scare away a skunk.

There’d be no way Heather would let him get back into bed with her if he got sprayed.

Whatever it was, he’d be tempted to shoot it just for interrupting their hot make-out session—that was a shootable offense, right?

“Don’t shoot!” A woman’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “I’m not trying to steal your garbage.”

He lowered his gun to the ground as a woman limped out of the shed. Her brown skin was streaked with dirt and she was missing one shoe. Some of her hair was in short braids, and some of it had sprung free.

“Gabby?”