“Penis.”

Claire Adams choked on her wedding champagne, the fine bubbles racing into her nose with a burn as she stole a furtive glance over her shoulder at the crowd of people. The Fountain of Youth in Van Buren Square had been transformed into a glittering wonderland with gleaming silver candelabras topped with sparkling crystal globes, and the stage and seating areas were currently filled to the brim with the citizens of Cape Van Buren for the wedding of Blayne MacCaffrey and James Astor III.

Finally.

Their wedding was both ten years late and right on time.

The legend surrounding the Fountain of Youth, of explorers searching the northeast coast for its magical healing waters, must be true because nothing else could explain the miracle that brought the pair back together again.

“Maxine! What is wrong with you?” Claire whispered with an intensity she prayed would keep the woman quiet. But what was the saying? On a hope and a prayer? Everybody knew Maxine Van Buren, the previous owner of the Cape and infamous master of nature’s finest moonshine, said and did whatever the hell she pleased.

Even at weddings.

Smoothing her silver houndstooth dress, the woman downright snorted.

Loud.

With her sleek silver strands swinging just past the edge of her jaw, she flashed a grin.

Seeing the sophisticated woman act like a bar-back always took Claire off guard. Something she was long past due to get over. Claire handed her flute over to a passing waiter in exchange for a mini canning jar of moonshine brewed especially for this night. Maybe she’d handle the easy flow of Maxine’s specialty better than the bubbles.

“That’s my point, young lady. There’s nothing wrong with me. I get a wicked big dose of penis anytime I want, but you’ve been so celibate, you make the Desert of Maine look like a tropical rainforest.”

Claire sniffed, hoping the soft glow of candlelight masked the heat flushing her cheeks. “Shows what you know. That area gets plenty of precipitation.” She cringed at the petulant tone in her voice.

Maxine’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, so you’re all wet then? For Mitch Brennan, I’m guessing.”

Just the sound of the man’s name made Claire’s heart race and palms sweat...in annoyance, of course. He was Mother Nature’s ironic joke, looking like the perfect man to take home and introduce to the parents but about as likely to commit as a bull moose—they both courted a harem of willing females, but Mitch’s mating season lasted all year long.

“Ohmigod.” Grabbing Maxine by the arm, she dragged her toward a cluster of potted palms that were dripping with twinkle lights. Etta James belted the ending to “At Last” in the background while Blayne and Jay swayed together on the dance floor. “Don’t you think it’s a bit hypocritical to complain about my lack of...” She gritted her teeth to force out the word but lifted her nose instead. “After the talking-to you gave the judge, you’re not foolin’ anybody. You haven’t gotten any since before the gala.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished on every star in the Maine sky that she could have taken them all back.

But it was clearly too late for that now.

“You must have lost the taste for my moonshine.” Maxine slipped the jar from Claire’s fingers and downed it. After setting it on a passing tray, she crossed her arms over her bosom and eyed Claire with such a deadly stare she was surprised her legs hadn’t run off and abandoned her.

“I’m sorry. I...”

Maxine raised a brow.

“There you are. We’ve been looking all over for you.” One of her best friends, Larkin Van Buren, Maxine’s new granddaughter-in-law and the main driving force behind the Archer Conservation Park of Cape Van Buren, broke through the crowd, then placed a kiss on Maxine’s cheek.

Whew! Thank God for best friends with impeccable timing. Claire was so relieved she wanted to throw her arms around Larkin. But she settled instead for flashing her a warm smile.

Her friend was positively radiant in her emerald strapless pantsuit with the sweetheart neckline and faux fur wrap. Claire eyed her with the slightest sting of envy, then with a small wistful sigh, her gaze drifted to Blayne and Jamie still on the dance floor and in each other’s arms. At least her two closest girlfriends got their happy-ever-afters.

Following the tragic car accident that took Larkin’s first husband and little boy, Archer, along with Claire’s fiancé, it had been impossible to imagine either of them ever seeing “happy” again.

Now here they were. Larkin blissfully married with a new baby girl and badass Blayne gliding about the stage with hearts practically floating around her head.

Claire was ecstatic for them both.

Truly.

But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel more alone now than ever. It’d be another lie if she pretended anything else was even remotely possible. The last thing she’d ever put herself through was falling in love again. Losing the man of her dreams and her unborn child was enough loss for a lifetime. She could never survive that kind of pain again. Attachments weren’t for her.

Ryker Van Buren, Larkin’s husband and Maxine’s grandson, and his buddy, attorney Mitch Brennan, followed close behind and were deep in conversation, snapping Claire out from under the threatening cloud of despair. They made quite a pair, both well over six feet tall and standing with shoulders about as wide.

Great, just what she needed. She pretended to watch the dance floor, hoping her racing heart would ease.

Mitch rubbed her the wrong way, and the feeling was more than mutual. His arrogant, playboy attitude set her off with a simple glance, and the jerk seemed to relish goading her. It was a miracle when they could get through any communication without throwing barbs, providing endless entertainment for their friends on more than one occasion.

Maxine shot Claire a look of triumph and turned toward their new audience. “Claire here was just telling me about how she isn’t in a dry spell at all. In fact, now that Mitch is here, I believe her when she says she’s actually quite we—”

“Penis!” Claire blurted out the word much louder than she’d intended.

Both Ryker and Mitch went silent along with Larkin and Maxine, and all four pairs of eyes rotated toward her with the slow motion of shock and awe.

She tilted her head, unable to comprehend what the hell her mouth was doing and wishing it would stop. With a concentrated effort, she refused to look at Mitch, or admire how well his suit jacket stretched over his impossibly broad shoulders or how his thighs looked positively sinful encased in the rich fabric of his slacks. It was so annoying that an arrogant man like him would be so finely built. And that Maxine was right. She was in a dry spell.

One she wouldn’t risk her heart to break.

Larkin chuckled. “What did we miss?”

“Nothing,” Claire stated. “Your friend over here.” She jerked her chin toward the older woman. “Is threatening to deny me any moonshine.”

“Please. What Claire means to say is she has a hard time saying penis because she hasn’t gotten any in years, I’d guess.”

Ryker, with his dark hair and intense frown, took a step back with the familiar, panicked look of a grandson who’d seen and heard too much and grabbed Larkin’s wrist. “Save me, please.”

Larkin’s eyes twinkled, but she nodded that happy, indulgent smile of a woman hopelessly in love as she followed her husband to the dance floor.

Mitch drained his champagne glass. “I can help you with that.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Maxine exalted, clapping him on the arm.

If eyes could actually pop out of a head, Mitch almost accomplished just that, and his expression was so mortified that Claire struggled between hilarity and offense.

“I didn’t mean my penis, er, me. Fuck. Maxine!” He threw her an accusing glare.

Claire looked for an escape from the whole torturous conversation as her feisty friend peppered them with her jubilant laughter.

Could this night get any worse?

Blayne and Jamie were still on the dance floor, weaving in and out of the tall space heaters that looked like lamp posts as one love song ran into another. They’d be no help anytime soon. Her good-for-nothing friends were awful wingwomen now that they were happily coupled. Shit.

Clearing his throat, Mitch continued. “What I mean is, I can help you get back into the dating world. Offer advice, tips, and tricks. Ya know...”

Claire’s jaw dropped, then she snapped it closed, refusing to intensify her humiliation. “I’d rather sit through one of Clint Fenwick’s lectures on morality than take advice from you, thank you very much.” Clint was the self-professed moral compass of Cape Van Buren, keeping his nose in everyone’s business—for the sake of the town, of course.

“Which is exactly why you haven’t been dating,” Mitch said.

Claire put her hands on the ice-blue silk of her dress where it skimmed her hips and faced him straight on, which was a mistake. She had to force her brain to remember her words when looking at him this closely. Damn, was the man sexy as hell. It totally wasn’t fair.

But what really wasn’t fair was probably how much she resented his carefree attitude with relationships. Love was to be cherished, not played with. True love was rare, a gift, and she couldn’t stand to see it treated like a party favor.

And that was the thing, she thought, eying his long, solid form with one leisurely sweeping glance.

He didn’t love, he played. And she bet he did it damn well with all the practice he’d gotten. “I’m not dating because I don’t want to,” she returned.

Suddenly, she and Mitch were being propelled to the dance floor.

“Hey!” She tried resisting, but Blayne’s joy-filled face stopped her just short of cussing. “It’s the singles dance.” Looking every bit the glowing bride with her stunning 1920’s vintage wedding dress, upswept jet-black hair, and berry-red lips, Blayne kissed the air by Claire’s cheeks before stepping to the edge of the dance floor with an expectant look.

Claire, Mitch, and a handful of other singles from Cape Van Buren stood with confused expressions, having been herded onto the dance floor like a bunch of the cattle down at the Somerset Auction.

The blonde bombshell triplets quickly staked their claims, one of whom beelined for Mitch. A look of horror widened his eyes, and he snatched Claire’s hips in his large hands, the sudden contact sending a spark of pleasure straight through her limbs.

“What’re you doing?” She tried to push him away, but he only drew her closer.

“Saving myself, that’s what.”

His deep, husky voice so close to her ear sent a shiver along her spine.

Moving into an easy sway, he slid one arm more firmly around her waist. The heat of his body radiated through her silk dress, leaving her restless and wanting. A very bad combination.

“Saving yourself? From a gorgeous blonde bombshell?” She chuckled. “I can never tell them apart, but they are women I’d think you’d run toward not from.”

Mitch twirled them around the dance floor. “No way in hell I’m dancing with one of Coach Dawson’s daughters. That man scared the crap out of me in high school, and he still scares me now.”

Claire tried to listen to what he was saying, but his scent filled her head with images of hot, sexy nights that never ended. Which was dumb, because she would never date the guy even if her heart was available.

And she made no mistake thinking he’d ask her out either. They were like oil and water. So his fear of Coach Dawson must be real if he was choosing to dance with her.

She forced herself to concentrate on the music instead of how her body was on high alert with his closeness. “I figured you’d have made your way through each sister by now.”

“Rude much?” he growled, then turned them around the edge of the dance floor once more to Melody Gardot’s “Our Love is Easy,” his movements fluid and steady.

Claire wanted to laugh. Nothing would be easy with this man—except an orgasm.

And that was a hot promise of fun you could use, my friend.

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, you shut up,” he gritted out, pulling her closer, making her very aware of his hard, flat abs. “You know, this is what I’m talking about. There’s a reason you aren’t dating, and it isn’t because you’re not drop-dead gorgeous. You’re about as welcoming as the bees in Ryker’s hives.”

“What?” she asked, confused. “Wait a minute. Did you just call me rude?”

And drop-dead gorgeous? Now that she hadn’t seen coming.

“And for the record, bees are just fine if you know how to handle them,” she challenged.

His eyes narrowed to slits as if she had lost her mind. “Oh, I know how to handle anything. I’m dancing with you, aren’t I?”

Indignation flared, but before she could form her retort, he continued. “You just told me to shut up. Are you really going to argue?”

“I did not, I...” Wait for a minute. Why the hell couldn’t she keep her thoughts straight around this guy? Clearly, it was because he was so damn...annoying.

As the song came to an end, they passed Clint Fenwick standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Schmidty Ames, the owner of the South Cove Lobster House.

“Looks like Brennan’s got his eyes set on the widow.” This from Clint in a whisper that was anything but quiet.

It took a second for Claire to register he’d meant her, but there was no doubt Mitch understood if the sudden stiffening of his arms was any indication.

Clint was always boisterous with his opinions, but she hadn’t realized he could be quite so ignorant with them. Besides, she wasn’t technically a widow. Her fiancé died the night before their wedding. Either way, the man was a total ass for what he said. Whether she had her opinions about Mitch or not, to hear the comment from Fenwick at Blayne’s wedding was unacceptable. Anger heated her cheeks.

Mitch stopped with the music and turned to face Fenwick.

Claire had to give him credit. He might back away from commitment, but he never did from a challenge.

Which would be more interesting than it had a right to be if she didn’t find herself missing the feel of being in his arms. Maybe Maxine was right in taking the moonshine from her because something had seriously gone straight to her head.

“Do you mind repeating that to me, Mr. Fenwick?” Mitch kept his hands on Claire’s tiny waist. For one thing, they fit around her perfectly, for another, if he let her go, he might throttle the man.

Though music still played in the background and the wedding guests were swaying to the romantic melody all around them, it was as if everything had morphed into slow motion for him. This was all he needed. Rumors to accompany the applicant package he was preparing for the city attorney seat.

Being an alleged womanizer was already doing wonders for his professional reputation, adding a public beating to his repertoire would be even better. The sarcasm of his thoughts choked him almost as much as he wanted to choke Fenwick.

“Now, don’t go gettin’ on, son. Just making conversation over here,” Clint said, his arms crossed over the round protrusion of his burgundy vest.

They all stood at the edge of the stage, a dangerous place for a man throwing barbs, though he didn’t seem to know it.

Thankfully, the rest of the party continued on around them with too many people and conversations to make out anything of value. The last thing Mitch needed was for the celebration to stop on account of this asshole.

He’d been hearing all about his so-called wild ways for years and was over it back when it had begun. People liked to talk, to judge, and the more negative they could make things seem, the better. Especially people like Clint.

As the man’s words set in, Claire’s face flushed red.

Clearly, the idea of anyone placing the two of them together mortified her. He had to shove down the rejection, surprised he even cared. Which, of course, he didn’t. Not really. Though he usually loved a party, Mitch suddenly found himself exhausted from it all and craved a night with his feet kicked up by the fireplace back at the Cape house, Puzzle the house cat curled into a ball on his lap.

“Apologize to Claire,” Mitch gritted out. It was one thing to gossip about his exploits, but to comment about Claire within earshot was insulting, and he wouldn’t have it.

“Now, see here.” Clint jerked his head to where Schmidty had been standing. “We were just making conversation. It’s none of your concern.”

The man’s look of surprise was almost comical as he found himself standing all alone. Schmidty had melted back into the crowd as soon as the insolent words had left Clint’s mouth.

“Is that so?” Mitch asked, taking a step closer.

“Aw, that was great!” Blayne rushed forward with the drunk-on-love look of a woman just married shining from her eyes. Oblivious to the tension, she kissed Mitch on the cheek, laughing as he rubbed it away to get rid of any lipstick left behind.

Jay joined her and clapped Mitch on the shoulder as they moved from the dance floor. “I don’t think I realized you had such smooth moves on the dance floor, man. Though I should have guessed with the way you sail through the ladies.”

And there it was again. Jay didn’t mean anything by it, but the man had been back in town barely five months and had already joined the rest of the town on their opinion. Not one of them had it right.

Mitch rubbed his chin with a chuckle. “Yeah, you should know better by now.” The truth of the matter was that he was more honest with any of the women he’d dated than anyone else in town. They knew from “hello” it was all about consensual pleasure, making a memorable moment, and not the beginning of anything long-lasting that would lead to a night like tonight.

One too many times seeing his fun-loving mother all alone, lost in thought and staring out the front bay window when she thought no one was looking after their father had walked out on them, was enough to keep him from ever putting himself in the position to cause the same damage. Where his sister, Mae, avoided relationships for fear of being hurt, he avoided them for fear of hurting someone. It was a family thing.

Janice Brennan was known for her red, bobbing curls, bright laughter, a nose for news and an eye for detail, not to mention the most beautiful gardens in Cape Van Buren.

But most important, she was the best mother a man could ever wish for.

Mitch let Jay’s comment go. “Great wedding, man. You look happy.”

Jay gave his wife a long, drawn-out once over, leaving Mitch to feel like a peeping Tom. “I am. She scared me there for a minute. But we were meant to be together. No one else works for me.”

“Blayne’s one of a kind, that’s for sure,” he agreed.

“It was easy to see no one else would work for her either,” Blayne’s father, Noah McCaffrey, said as he joined the growing group. He smiled and listened to his son-in-law’s words in the way a father did once he was assured his daughter was happy. He looked more like an indulgent Viking than an Irishman with his great white beard and hair poking out from under his usual paddy cap. “I’m happy you’re both so happy, my boy.”

Blayne gifted her dad’s cheek with a kiss as well. “Aw, thanks, Da.”

“What about you?” Jay directed the question back at Mitch, snatching a moonshine from a passing server, taking a sip. “When are you going to let one of the fine ladies of the Cape snag the infamous bachelor?”

Mitch glanced at where Claire and Blayne and now Larkin conspired in their low hum of whispers.

Now why in the hell would his eyes drift to Claire with her pert nose and kiss-me lips at that question? As God was his witness, she was sexy as hell in that damn dress that skimmed over her curves and left her back bare so that no matter where he’d settled his hands when they’d danced he felt the burning imprint of her silky soft skin.

But no way in hell was he going there.

He loved giving the woman a hard time—she often asked for it, with her sharp tongue saved solely for him—but more times than not, he did it to see the fire in her eyes instead of the quiet, aching loneliness that often resided there. And for that reason alone, he’d never consider dating her.

“Hell no. I’ll leave that for you and Ryker. Besides, everyone already has me pegged as a terminal bachelor. No reason to let them down.”

“They only think it because you taught them to.”

Mitch snapped his head up. Had anyone asked, he’d have said the rumor was born from expectation, not the other way around.

His reputation with women really wasn’t the problem, but it was the residual effects on his character in general that wreaked havoc for him on the professional front. He loved his work with the Archer Conservation Park of Cape Van Buren. It had instilled in him a greater sense of purpose and accomplishment than anything else he’d ever been involved with.

Which was why he’d jumped at the opportunity when Ryker approached him with a new project. It would help his chances to win the city attorney position, but there was more.

He wanted to feel that way again. That sense of deep satisfaction from making a difference. Being of service was an unexpected but fulfilling calling. He had opportunities elsewhere, Portland as a matter of fact, but the Cape is where he wanted to stay.

But when anyone in town needed help, they’d look right through him and call on someone else.

Someone like Claire.

This beautiful vixen might very well be a thorn in his side, but she was always doing for others. And he admired her for that. Among her various charitable pursuits, she helped the North Cove Mavens, a group of ladies who lived north of the Cape and sparred good-naturedly over superiority with the South Cove Madams. The feud’s history was as old as the town itself. He wasn’t clear on the specifics, just that it had something to do with two sisters who had lived on opposite sides of the town and a boy.

Typical.

Claire had turned her creativity and love of helping people into a solid business and planned Larkin’s baby shower even in light of her own late-term miscarriage after her fiancé’s death. She had also planned the wedding they were all enjoying this very minute.

He shook his head as he took in the edgy opulence of her design that fit both Blayne and Jamie to a ‘T.’

But Jay’s words poked at the back of his mind like a pitchfork against the logs of their high school bonfires, sending hot cinders of ideas floating about in his head. As innocent as they seemed, if you didn’t pay attention to those damn white-hot ashes, they could start a fire.

He followed the long line of Claire’s legs up past her hips and the impossibly tiny dip of her waist, past the straight line of her spine to the platinum hair topping her head like a damned halo. Her talent and artistic eye were never in question, but her candidacy as a viable dating prospect was.

No way in hell.

She was a woman to be cherished, long-term and steadfast.

He was just fast.