Almost a week into Laire’s new job at the Pamlico House restaurant, Erik had kissed her at least a dozen more times—always outside the restaurant, under the stars, usually around ten, when she was finally finished with her shift and about to head home.

He arrived every evening between nine and ten and sat at the bar drinking red wine or beer, waiting for her to finish her shift, after which he would meet her behind the restaurant, walk her down to the dock, kiss her senseless for as long as she let him, then wave good-bye as she stepped onto her boat and drove herself home. He stayed out of her way as she worked, catching her eye as she bused a table nearby, or giving her a wink when she picked up a drink order for a busy waiter.

In public, he was her secret admirer.

In private, he was her passion.

When she woke up every morning to clean the house, fix her father’s dinner, and work on a new idea for a blouse or a skirt, she thought of him constantly. Of the way he cupped her cheeks as he kissed her, of how it felt to have that long ridge of muscle pushing against her soft, wet places through his shorts and her pants every night. She’d smile, remembering the sweet, low rumble of his voice close to her ear, or the way his tongue tasted after he finished his glass of wine.

If she finished early and they had a little extra time, sometimes they’d walk slowly, from the back door of the kitchen to the Adirondack chairs where they’d talked the first night. She’d sit on his lap, and he’d hold her tight, his lips brushing her ear and neck as he told her about his day. Other times, they would sit on the dock beside her boat, his arm around her shoulders, their legs dangling in the brackish water as they stole a few extra minutes to kiss or talk.

Laire became familiar with the major players in Erik’s life: his mother and father, his sister, Hillary, and good friends Pete and Van, who each had a summer home on the northern Banks. She imagined they were a happy foursome playing at the beach or lounging by the pool, lucky Hillary the only girl with three handsome boys who’d met in kindergarten and graduated from high school together. Laire didn’t know a ton about Pete, and even less about Van, whom Erik mentioned only in the context of the whole group, but that was probably her fault, as she focused her questions primarily on his family.

His father, the governor, was ambitious and demanding, his expectations of Erik far more onerous than her own father’s of her. And his mother, Ursula, whom he called Fancy, seemed much more concerned with her social engagements and furthering her “reach” (whatever the hell that was!) than her son’s happiness. Piecing together the unspoken parts of his narrative, she gathered that Erik didn’t really want to be a lawyer and didn’t have strong political aspirations like his father. What he seemed to enjoy most was sports—playing hockey and lacrosse, tennis and golf, sailing and swimming. She had yet to learn what he wanted from life; she only knew that following his father into government service wasn’t his dream.

But these snippets of conversation happened between soul-shaking kisses that stole her breath and her heart, making her long for things that nice girls weren’t supposed to want without a wedding ring. She often found herself reconsidering Erik’s words from the night of their first kiss: If two people care about each other, it’s up to them to make up their own rules. More and more, Laire wondered if the all-consuming, first-thing-in-the-morning, final-thing-before-sleeping feelings she had for Erik Rexford were, indeed, love. How else could she explain the waves of aching longing she felt whenever she was away from him, and the sharp, sweet relief when he finally held her in his arms? If they did fall in love, what rules would she and Erik make for themselves? And would she be able to reconcile those choices against the person she’d been raised to be? Because she wanted more from him. Oh, God, every day, she wanted more.

On Friday night, Erik sat at the bar with a single red rose before him, and as he met her outside after her shift, he presented it to her with a grin.

Never having received a flower from a beau before, Laire raised it to her nose and inhaled deeply as he walked them over to their favorite chairs and pulled her onto his lap with a happy sigh.

“What’s this for?” she asked, looking up into his dark eyes with a shy grin.

He dropped his lips to hers in a sweet kiss. “It’s our one-week anniversary. We met a week ago today.”

She giggled, nodding her head. “I guess we did.”

“You had crabs, remember?”

“Oh, Lord,” she groaned. “You ever gonna let me live that down?”

“Unlikely,” he said, nuzzling her nose with his. “Though I am curious how you knew about that kind of crabs.”

“Ha,” she said. “Can’t live in a town that catches blues and not hear jokes about crabs from the cradle.”

He chuckled, brushing his lips against hers. “Makes sense, I guess.” He leaned his head on the back of the chair and looked at her. “So! I have somethin’ to ask you.”

“What?”

“Well, this is nice, you know? Meetin’ you after work every night . . .”

“Mm-hm,” she murmured, shifting in his lap to press her chest against his and thread her fingers through his hair. “It is.”

His lips were so close to her ear, they brushed her skin with every word. “But it’s not enough, Freckles. Not for me. I know you work most nights, but I was wonderin’ how you’d feel about spendin’ the day with me sometime.”

She froze. “The day?”

“Yeah. The whole day, until you have to be here for work. You and me. Kissin’ and sunnin’ and swimmin’ and . . . whatever else we felt like doin’.”

“Hmm,” she said, pursing her lips and looking down.

This was a problem, of course, that she was scared to fix, and dying to fix at the same time. Being with Erik for only a few stolen minutes every night before she made the trek home wasn’t enough for her either, but the structure of their relationship—meeting in the shadows of Buxton, where no one knew her—had given her a false sense of security. They learned a little more about each other, they held hands, they flirted, they kissed, they fell harder and harder every night . . . all without having to mesh their worlds.

But going out on a date during the day could be risky. Where would they go? Who might see them? How in the world would she explain what she was doing with Erik Rexford if she was caught? And what if her father or sisters somehow found out?

He slipped his fingers under her chin and tipped her head up so he could look into her eyes.

“Laire, I just want more time with you.”

“I know.” Me too.

“Well, let’s make it happen. What days are you free?”

Most any day worked, honestly. She was free every day from nine until three, occasionally helping her sister with wedding plans or working for a few hours at King Triton. Carving out the time to meet Erik wouldn’t be a problem. Where and how she met him were much more worrisome matters.

“I have to help my sister a little this week,” she said, evading the question.

“Kyrstin, right? The one gettin’ married?”

She nodded. “In a week.”

“Well, is there a day that’s better than the rest? Whatever it is, I’ll make it work. I’ll come pick you up at your house, say hello to your father and sisters so they know you’re in good hands, and then we’ll go spend the day together.”

Her blood went cold and her breath caught. Her father and sisters? Out of the question. They would forbid her to see him again, and she’d be forced to quit her job immediately. Pick her up? No. Absolutely not. He could not pick her up in his fancy antique all-wood speedboat. Even if her father was working and her sisters weren’t around, someone would see them. Questions would be asked. Rumors would be started.

“No.”

She slid her fingers from his hair and leaned away from him, picking up the rose on the arm of the chair.

“No?” His voice was gentle but confused. “What do you mean? I thought—”

“No. You can’t come to Corey,” she said, leaning away a little more, concentrating on the delicate red petals and ignoring the sting of the thorns.

“Of course I can.”

“No,” she insisted, looking up at him, one of the rose’s thorns biting into her skin as she clutched it tighter in her fist. “You don’t understand. You can’t, Erik. There would be q-questions and rumors and—”

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey,” he said gently, cupping her cheeks and forcing her eyes to look into his. “I like you. I really like you. I know we’ve only known each other for a week, but I only want to be with you this summer. No one else.”

Even though this conversation was tricky and upsetting, she allowed herself a moment of pleasure that he wanted to be with her only because she couldn’t imagine being with anyone but him.

“Do you want to spend time with me, Laire?”

“Yes,” she whispered, unable to look up at him.

“Then why can’t I come to Corey and pick you up for a date?”

“Because it’s . . . it’s complicated.”

“Wait a second,” said Erik. “Does your family know about me? Do they know we’re seein’ each other?”

She gulped, forcing herself to look up at him as she shook her head.

“Oh,” he said softly. He sighed, and she heard a hint of hurt in his voice when he said, “I’m a secret, huh?”

“Yes,” she said, her heart racing, her fingers tightening around the thorny stem. One of many.

She still hadn’t had a chance to tell her father that she was working in Hatteras, not Ocracoke, although Kyrstin, who was happily waiting bar, was turning out to be a master of deception, lying to their father with a finesse that should have scared Laire. But they’d have to come clean sooner or later, wouldn’t they? She’d more or less promised herself to tell him right after Kyrstin and Remy’s wedding next weekend. He’d be good and mad, but maybe she could convince him to let her keep her job when he understood the kind of money she was making.

That said, more and more, keeping her job was the least of her worries.

He would blow a gasket if he found out she was dating a dingbatter . . . and kissing him every chance she got, pushing the envelope between what was allowed and what was indecent. Not to mention, a dingbatter was bad enough, but a dingbatter who also happened to be the governor’s son? Her father was a man of few words, but none of those words were especially fond of big government and the way rules were made in Raleigh that affected folks minding their business in the Outer Banks.

Her heart started racing as she thought about her father’s reaction to her dating Erik Rexford. It would be a disaster of epic proportions.

“. . . not sure how I feel about being a secret,” he was saying, his voice thoughtful, with an unmistakably sour edge. “It makes me feel like we’re doin’ somethin’ wrong when we’re not.”

Except, by her way of thinking and the values with which she’d grown up, they were. They were doing something very wrong. It’s just . . . she couldn’t seem to help herself. Her feelings for Erik were deeper and more intense every day.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiggling to disengage from his arms, the rose losing petals as she pushed against his chest. She perched on the tip of his knee, her back ramrod straight, facing away from him, staring out at the black Pamlico. “It won’t work.”

“The date?” he bit out. “Or . . . us?”

She shrugged miserably as a trickle of blood ran down the length of her thumb.

“You’re bleedin’,” said Erik, putting his hands on her waist and swiveling her effortlessly to face him again. His expression was stony, his voice hurt. He reached for her hand and gently unfurled her fingers. Taking the rose from her grip, he threw it to the ground beside them, then lifted her palm to his mouth, sealing his lips over the puncture and sucking.

His tongue swirled around the small hole as he tenderly tried to kiss away her pain, to no avail. Finally he looked up at her, his thumb sealing the small puncture as he searched her eyes and spoke gently.

“Darlin’, I come here every night to be near you. I live for sunset like a vampire because that’s when my heart starts beatin’ each day, when I grab the keys to the car or boat and race over here to be with you. It makes me crazy all day to be away from you because I want more. I want to talk for hours and kiss you and find out what makes you laugh and . . . Damn it, Laire, this isn’t enough.”

A moment of panic swept through her, and she wondered, for a heart-stopping moment, if he was about to tell her that he wouldn’t be coming by anymore. And in that moment, she knew that, no matter how much it scared her to imagine her family finding out that she was seeing Erik Rexford, she would risk it. She couldn’t lose him. She wouldn’t let that happen, and if it meant she had to bend, had to take a chance that frightened her, she’d take it.

Their stolen moments every evening weren’t enough for her either. She wanted more time just as much as he did. Our own rules. They could figure this out together, right?

Before she lost her nerve, she leaned into him, pressing her aching breasts against his chest and reaching up to caress his cheek. “I could meet you Sunday after work. I’m only working the brunch shift, from seven to one. I’ll be free for the rest of the day, and my father won’t expect me back until eleven.”

“I have a car,” he said, his eyes lighting up with happiness, and her heart clutched, then sang, with the knowledge that her words, her actions, had made him smile like that. “I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.”

“I’ll have to move the boat to Hatteras Landing,” she said, her mind racing, trying to figure out the best way to cover their tracks. “I can’t leave it here all day.”

“I’ll arrange for a slip and pay for it,” he offered.

She raised her chin. “No, you will not.”

“Laire, I asked you on a date. I intend to pay.”

“Date starts when you pick me up at the marina at one thirty.”

“You drive a hard bargain, darlin’,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

“Okay, then,” she sighed, her eyes flitting hungrily to his lips.

“Thank God,” he murmured.

She wound her arms around his neck and let him pull her flush against his body, melting into a hot kiss and reveling in the feeling of his chest pushing into hers with every ragged breath he took. Her nipples beaded as though at his command, and she arched her back to get as close to him as possible. Plunging her fingers back into his thick dark hair, she moaned as he sucked on her tongue before changing the angle of their heads and resealing his lips over hers.

Her stomach filled with flutters as his hands moved down her back, his palms landing on her ass and squeezing gently as his tongue slid slowly against hers before he nipped her top lip between his. She was breathless when she suddenly realized his lips weren’t moving on hers anymore.

Opening her eyes slowly, she blinked up at his smiling face, feeling hot and bothered and needy.

“More,” she murmured, nuzzling his nose with hers.

“Open your eyes, Freckles,” he said, his breath ragged against her skin. She did, and his eyes, dark and wide, met hers. “Don’t tell me this won’t work. Don’t ever say that to me again.”

Her breath caught, but she nodded. “I won’t.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and he reached up to cup her cheeks. “Our rules, Laire.”

She rested her forehead against his. “Our rules, Erik.”

“Our rules,” he whispered again, then smiled, laughing softly with happiness, and she smiled with him, vibrating with wonder, leaning forward to press her lips to his and seal their promise.

***

Freshly showered and shaved and dressed in pressed red Nantucket shorts, a blue and white striped dress shirt with rolled cuffs, and Top-Siders, Erik hopped down the last two steps with a spring in his step. It was one o’clock on a bright sunny day, and he was going to spend the rest of it with his favorite girl.

“Well, my goodness, Mr. Handsome! You’re up late today!”

He pivoted around in the front vestibule to find his mother approaching from the living room, a huge vase of blue and white flowers in her hands.

“’Mornin’, Mother.”

She offered him her cheek, and he kissed it.

“It’s afternoon.”

“Slept in.”

“Makes your father see red, you know.”

“Good thing he’s spendin’ most of the summer in Raleigh, then.”

She smiled indulgently. “Looked over those law books he left for you?”

No. “Took a peek.”

“Better take more than a peek by the time he gets here next weekend,” she said, an edge in her cultured voice. “One more year at Duke, and then you’ll be in law school. Wouldn’t hurt to be a little prepared, now, would it?”

Hiding a grimace, he turned away from her, plucking his car keys from a bowl on the sideboard by the stairs.

“Headed somewhere?” she asked.

“Yep. Plans.”

“Where to?” He turned to grin at her, and she nodded knowingly. “I’d wager there’s a girl involved.”

“You’d win that bet, Mother.”

“Secret plans every night. Now today too,” she hummed. “Makes a mother wonder.”

He gave her a look. “Wonder what, exactly?”

“Who my handsome boy is headed off to meet at all hours of the day and night.” She giggled like a teenage girl. “I can only hope that it’s . . . Van?”

“Van?” he asked, so taken aback, he said her name like he hadn’t known her his whole life. His mother thought he was dating Van?

“Miss Vanessa Osborn, you scamp.”

“Oh.”

“You courtin’ her, Erik? I hope you’re bein’ a gentleman. Tillie and Reginald are old friends.”

She used an old, formal word like courting to be charming, but the reminder of their lifelong friendship with the Osborns held a warning. Shoot. She’d really been giving this some thought. Best nip it in the bud before it got out of control.

“No, mother, I’m not seein’ Van. I’m . . .”

As he stared at her expectant dark brown eyes, his voice trailed off, and he finished up this conversation in his head quickly. . . . dating a local fisherman’s daughter who I met while she was delivering crabs to my birthday party.

His chest pinched with misgivings.

Fuck. No.

What a scene she’d make. She’d forbid Erik to see Laire ever again. She’d lecture him about his place in the world and his parents’ expectations of him. She’d tell him in no uncertain terms that the governor’s son didn’t bed the local help. And yeah, all that would hurt his ears and suck in general, but he could handle his mother. That’s not what worried him.

What made his blood suddenly run cold was the thought that Fancy would figure out a way to invade Laire’s privacy and discretion, hunt her down on her little island and make a scene, embarrass and shame her. An overwhelming protective instinct—no doubt left over from his Neanderthal ancestors—rose up within him, hot and urgent. No matter what, he would never, ever subject Laire to his mother’s judgment and scorn.

Hell no.

“Well?” she prompted, her expression wary but still curious. “If it’s not Van, who is it? Katie Healy? Stephanie Reynolds-Jones?”

Two other well-heeled daughters of North Carolina who had houses in the Banks. Fuck. She was staring up at him, waiting for an answer, and since he couldn’t come up with anything better on such short notice, he said, “Promise you won’t say anythin’?”

To protect Laire, he’d have to let his mother think he was dating Van, but the last thing he needed was for Van to find out he’d told his mother they were dating. She didn’t need that kind of encouragement, and trying to explain to her that he’d used her as an excuse wouldn’t go over very well.

“I’ll be as silent as the grave,” his mother promised, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, speaking softly as though sharing a confidence with her. “It’s Vanessa. You guessed it. But we want to keep it a secret for now and see how things go.”

“Oh, I just knew it!”

He cringed inside at her enthusiasm but plastered a smile on his face. “We’re takin’ things slow, Mother. Now, don’t wreck everythin’ by talkin’ about it, you hear?”

“I hear,” she said, grinning at him like the cat that got the cream.

Stepping back, he gave her a stern look. “Remember your promise, now.”

“I won’t say a word . . . but, Erik!” She reached out and touched his arm. “She’s perfect for you. Vanessa Osborn and Erik Rexford,” she said, her eyes taking on a dreamy look as she headed toward the kitchen to water her flowers. “Absolute perfection.”

“I’m a lucky man, Mother,” he called after her, finally allowing himself to wince.

“Yes, you are.” She sighed happily. “You treat that gal nice, now!”

The kitchen door swung shut, and Erik turned around to find Hillary standing on the stairs behind him.

“What gal?”

Shoot. “No one.”

“Well, I’m not deaf, and if I’m not mistaken, our mother just exclaimed your name with Vanessa’s and said the words “absolute perfection,” which it would be, I suppose, for Fancy Rexford. But I happen to know you’re not datin’ Vanessa Osborn.”

“Shh.”

“Why?” she asked, raising her voice a touch. “Don’t want Fancy to know you’re lyin’?”

“Maybe I’m not,” he snapped.

“Yes, Erik dear, you most definitely are. Because while you’re MIA, doin’ God-knows-what every night around nine o’clock, my heart is being ripped out at various parties and beach bonfires with our friends.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You’re off having a jolly time while I watch Pete make cow eyes at Van and listen to Van gripe about my brother’s disappearin’ act.” Hillary took another step down, placing her hands on her hips as she stood in the vestibule across from him. “So . . . who is she?”

He was torn between his loyalty to Laire and his surprisingly strong desperation to share his happiness with his sister.

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“Huh. This is intriguin’.”

“I mean it, Hills.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes locked on his. “Okay. I promise.”

“All right. Come on, then. Not here.”

He gestured for her to follow him and slipped out the front door, with his sister trailing behind, until they reached the safety of the garage. He pressed in the code to open the door and watched as it rose slowly.

Walking around to the driver’s side, he slipped into the seat of his Mercedes convertible, and Hillary sat down beside him. He turned over the motor, creating a nice hum of white noise before turning to her.

“You don’t know her. She’s a local girl.”

“She’s a—are you nuts?”

Erik braced his hands on the steering wheel and sighed. “No. I just . . . I like her.”

“Where the hell did you meet her?”

“She delivered seafood for my birthday party.”

“She’s a seafood delivery girl?” Hillary snorted. “Oh, Erik, Fancy is goin’ to shit a brick over this.”

His eyes widened. “You swore you wouldn’t tell!”

Hillary took a deep breath. “Calm down. I won’t. But she’s goin’ to find out.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Somehow. Don’t you watch movies? These things never work out well. And you just used Vanessa as your cover? Erik, Erik, Erik. This is no good.”

“Maybe I’ll just introduce her to Fancy and hope for the best.”

“Her? The local girl?” Hillary gave him a look. “The best bein’ a merciful death?”

“Then I’ll keep it a secret.”

“Good luck with that. Especially since she talks to Tillie Osborn every other day. How long you think she’ll keep your happy news to herself?”

“She promised.”

“Oh! And Fancy Rexford has never, ever broken a promise,” said Hillary, sarcasm so thick, he could almost smell it.

“I’m not breakin’ it off with Laire. I like her. This is my summer, and I want to spend it with her.”

“Laire? What kind of name is that?”

“Scottish.”

Hillary blew out a long breath, looking at him with worry in her eyes. “I’ll do what I can to run interference.”

He chucked her under the chin with a relieved grin. “Thanks, sis.”

“But, Erik, you know you can’t get serious with her, right?” His sister gulped softly. “One more year at Duke. Three at Chapel Hill. Another settin’ up your law practice. State senate. Congress. Governor. Daddy’s just warmin’ the seat for you on his way up.” She paused for a moment, her voice soft and sorry when she continued. “A fisherman’s daughter can’t be a part of that plan. You can’t—”

“Fuck! I don’t . . .” He huffed, banging his fist on the steering wheel. “Fuck!”

They sat in silence for a while until Hillary turned to him. “Sorry, Erik.”

He sighed, turning to face her. “Remember last week? When you asked me if I ever wished that things were different?”

She nodded.

“I do. Sometimes I wish things were different.”

“Like what? What things?”

“Like, I’m not interested in politics!” he blurted out. And man, it felt good to finally say it.

“You say that like it’s an option,” she muttered.

“And I don’t want to date Van, let alone marry her!”

“Somethin’ that should be made clear to her at some point,” Hillary said.

“I just . . . God! I like this girl.”

“Laire, the local fisherman’s daughter who delivers seafood?”

“She’s also a waitress.”

“Christ.”

He sneered at her. “Why is that bad? Why are we such fuckin’ snobs?”

“We’re not. I don’t care if your new girlfriend is a waitress or a seafood delivery girl. I’m sure she’s a nice person, but Fancy—”

“She’s a lot more than a nice person, Hills. She’s interestin’and fun, and she’s different, really different, than anyone we know. And she’s smokin’ hot and—”

“I get it,” said Hillary. “You genuinely like her.”

“A lot.”

Hillary reached for his arm. “Then keep her a secret. Ironclad. Don’t take any chances. Because if Fancy finds out? It’s over.”

He took a deep breath and nodded at his sister. “Will do. Thanks, Hills.”

She gave him a small smile, reaching for the door handle.

“Hey,” he said, reaching for her arm before she could leave. “Fuck Pete. Forget about him. Find someone else. If he doesn’t see how awesome you are, Hills, he doesn’t deserve you.”

She gave him a sad smile. “I wish I could. I wish I could forget about him and move on.”

“But you can’t.”

She sighed. “Not a chance.”

“Then you’re going to have to do somethin’ at some point. You know that, right? Pete’s about as thick as they come. I mean, awesome and fun and loyal, but he’s not goin’ to see you if you don’t speak up.”

“Van casts a long shadow,” said Hillary. “I know.”

Erik grinned at her. “Thanks for the talk.”

She left the car and closed the door, keeping her hands on the frame before looking down at him, a curious expression in her eyes.

“Exactly how long have you known that you didn’t want to go into politics? And when exactly are you plannin’ to share that delicious nugget of news with Fancy and Daddy? I want to be sure I don’t miss the fireworks.”

“Forever,” said Erik on a long sigh. “I have no fuckin’ interest in it.”

“What about the law?” she asked.

“I don’t mind it,” said Erik. “But all things equal, I’d just as soon go into entertainment law and work with a professional sports team.”

“A sports team. Oh, Lord!” said Hillary, giving him one last look as she left the garage, muttering under her breath. “This is shapin’ up to be quite a summer.”