After a thorough search of the cottage—even forcing myself to enter my parents’ bedroom—I’m still no closer to finding the ledger. If it’s not here, then where is it? With that question pinging around inside my brain, I turn my attention to my groceries, and to Sean. My hands shake as I unload the goods, my gaze going to the driveway for the hundredth time. I’d expected Sean to show up over a half an hour ago, and I’m beginning to wonder if he changed his mind on the job. Not that I can blame him. I wasn’t overly friendly at Benny’s, and confused him with my fake identification. I’m beginning to think his absence is for the best. Not only was he challenging my identity, a shirtless Sean in a tool belt would be too much. A girl only has so much control right?

Maybe I could get a few quotes from the other construction companies in town, play them against each other so they don’t . . . eat me alive.

I gulp and drop a can of soup. It hits with a thud and rolls across the floor. The sound echoes through me as my mind journeys back to the way Sean had climbed between my legs and feasted on me. My God, no man had ever been so thorough with my body, taking me to places I’ve never been before. Heat pools hot and low in my belly, and I hug myself. Sean Owens. Hard and solid, big and tough, and even though he was rough and dirty and deliciously naughty in the bedroom, his touch gave me a measure of comfort, made me forget I wasn’t alone in this world.

A bang sounds behind me. I turn and squeal, my hand going to my chest when I find Sean looming in the doorway, his heavy gaze latched on to mine.

“I . . . I didn’t hear you come in,” I blurt out, my breath coming a little faster, which has nothing to do with the fright he’d just given me.

His eyes narrow, skirt around the room. “You all right?”

His presence, his size and strength overwhelm me as he closes the door behind him and takes one small step toward me. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie as my ovaries jump around like they’re doing the damn Macarena.

Get it together, Summer.

“Why so jumpy?” he asks, his voice shimmering through me, the breeze blowing in off the ocean doing little to cool me down.

I look around. “You just surprised me is all. I thought I locked the door.”

I always lock the door. Well, up until today, apparently. Again, another reason to stay away from the man who can preoccupy my thoughts without even trying and has me forgetting safety measures in a time when my safety is at risk.

He angles his hard body, looks around the room. “Most people don’t lock their doors in Blue Bay. We have what we call a ‘welcome policy.’” He pauses to do air quotes around the words. “But I guess not being from around here, you wouldn’t know that.”

“You’re right. In SoCal we always lock our doors.”

“For the record, I did knock. You didn’t answer, so I let myself in.”

He steps up to me, his body towering over mine, defiance written all over him as his scent curls around me, chasing away my resolve to keep my physical distance. A delicious shiver rakes down my back, and my sex clenches. What this man can do to me with just a simple look is insane. Honey-specked green eyes move over my face, a careful assessment. Outside of the Owens boys, I’d never seen eyes quite that color before. I never knew how to describe them. Tropical forest. Marshy everglades.

The ocean floor stirred up during a storm—like the one going on inside me.

“Need help?” He looks past me, his eyes zeroing in on the bags, the soup can on the floor.

“No, the can just slipped from my hand.” I bend and reach for it at the same time he does and he sucks in a sharp breath when our hands collide. His thumb brushes my flesh—that same slow sweep that messes with my ability to think with clarity.

I clear my throat. “I got it, thanks.” I put the can on the counter, and the coffeemaker gurgles to a stop and beeps. Thanks God. “Coffee?” I ask.

“Sure. Black.”

I pour his coffee, and add a splash of milk to mine. I take a sip and wince as the nasty chlorinated tap water disguising itself as mocha java splashes over my tongue. “What is this stuff? It tastes like dirty dishwater.”

His laugh rumbles through me. “When was the last time you drank dishwater?”

“Two seconds ago,” I say and hold my cup up. “What I’d do for a grande Americano.”

“You’re not going to find a Starbucks in Blue Bay. Closest you’ll get is in Hope Falls, a good twenty-minute drive.”

“Might be worth it.”

He steps up to my tap, and turns it on. “Let it run for a bit. Who knows when the last time this tap had been turned on.”

“Thanks.” I take another sip of the coffee and shudder.

“You’re still going to drink it?”

I crinkle my nose. “Desperate times and all.”

“Addiction?”

“Possibly.”

He takes a swig and shrugs. “Not so bad. Truthfully, I’ve had worse.” My gaze moves to his lips as he swallows, and I’m once again reminded of the greedy, openmouthed kisses he pressed against my body, between my legs.

“You can’t be serious?”

“You didn’t stick around for breakfast at Dick’s.” He laughs. “Now that was some seriously bad coffee.”

At the mention of Dick’s Driving Inn and Diner, my mind instantly rushes back to all the things this man did to me in his bed. A shiver races through me, and I work to shake off the need pooling between my legs.

Stop!

Alrighty then. Time for a change in subject. I wave toward the other room. “Do you need me to show you the damage?”

“Yeah,” he says his voice a little deeper than it was moment ago. “I already took a look around outside, so why don’t you show me what you need done in here.”

Coffee in hand, I walk into the spacious living area. He follows behind me, his biker boots heavy on the floor. He stays close and I can practically feel his warm breath on my neck. I point to the ceiling. “We have water damage.”

“I noticed that as soon as I came in.” He shrugs. “Might not be so bad. Could be just a shingle or two. I’ll climb up and have a look.” Sean glances upward to take in the damage, but I’m no longer focused on the wet marks marring the ceiling. No, now I’m focused on his hard body, hewn muscles that are coiled tight and the scorpion tattoo peeking out from the top of his T-shirt. My fingers tingle, aching to trace it again, the way I had when I was in his bed.

“This wall here though,” he continues. “I’m going to have to tear it down. See how it’s bulging?” Oh yeah, I can definitely see how it’s bulging, except I’m not looking at the wall. He steps away from me, and runs one big hand over the bloated plasterboard.

He looks back at me but I’m far too slow to react. He catches me staring at his ass, and heat races through me, no doubt painting my cheeks pink.

I guess this is as good a time as any to address the tension between us. “Last night,” I begin.

“What about it?”

“It was . . .”

He arches a brow. “Fun.”

Fun? Yeah that’s just one of the many words to describe the best sex of my life.

“It was a one-time thing.” I look at my flats and wiggle my toes. “I don’t normally—”

“I know,” he says and my gaze jerks to his, to take in deeply intelligent eyes that can see right through me.

“You do?”

“Yeah, Jenna, I do. And don’t worry, one-night stands are my specialty.”

I flush at that, then realize he’d called me Jenna.

Good.

I work to pull myself together. “The floors,” I say, needing desperately to change the direction of conversation before I tell him I’m kidding—or rather show him—by pushing my panties to my ankles and asking him to take me again. It takes everything I have not to. “They’re damaged from the water as well.” I look down, but he doesn’t follow my gaze. I feel the weight of his stare as I kick at the damaged turned-up corners. “I’m on a tight budget and I can live with them like this. I think we should concentrate on the roof. I can do the cosmetic things myself, like paint and clean.”

“Jenna.”

I glance back up to find him watching me, carefully. “Yeah?”

“I’m sure I can give you a good deal, and fix your floors under budget, too.”

“Okay,” I say for lack of anything else. “I have to run to town for a few more things. Should I just leave you here to get started?” He holds his hand out, and my heart thumps wildly, the chemistry between us beating like ceremonial drums, going louder and louder in my ears. I stare at his open hand. Is he waiting for me to slide mine in his so he can take us to the bedroom?

“Key,” he finally says.

“Right.” I run to the kitchen to grab my purse, happy for the reprieve. “When I was in town I had few extra made. I’m known for misplacing my keys all the time.”

I hand him one, and he shoves it into his front pocket, the action tugging his jeans lower.

“What about the bedrooms?” he asks.

“What about them?”

His mouth twitches, presenting that sexy dimple. “Any damage?”

“Ah, no, just need to be aired out.”

“Mind if I look?”

“No, go ahead.”

I don’t follow him—after searching them earlier, I’m not anxious to enter again—instead I say, “I’ll leave you to it. I’m heading out and will be a few hours.” I leave him to his work and jump back in my truck. If I’m going to sleep here for the rest of the summer, I’m going to need to order a new mattress and fresh bedding. I pull from the driveway, and glance at the ocean in my rearview mirror.

I head back to town, and think about the key in my back pocket. I’ll have to look around, see what it might open. What I don’t want to do is run around and start checking every lock like a crazy woman. That will only draw unwanted attention to me. Sean doesn’t seem to trust the local sheriff as it is, so I don’t want him questioning my actions.

As I drive past the local pub, Winchesters, and see a HELP WANTED sign, I slow. This late in the summer most of the local students are likely heading back to college soon. Just my luck. I park my truck and steal a glance around, still a bit jumpy and worried that Jack has tracked me. When my gaze comes up empty, I try to present calm and make my way inside.

I give my eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light and catalog the room before making my way toward the bar. The dinner crowd hasn’t filed in yet, so the place is fairly quiet, just a couple guys sitting on stools across from the bartender—one of them a big scary dude full of tattoos—and a group of girls around my age, lingering at a table as the waitress serves them fresh margaritas. I catch a hint of their conversation as I pass. They’re talking about some new guy in town, and taking bets on who’ll get to sleep with him first. I can’t help but wonder if they’re talking about Sean. A flash of possession ties my stomach in knots as I step up to the bar. What the hell? Sean isn’t mine. He can date any one of these girls. I hope he does, actually. That way I can stop thinking about him and concentrate on why I’m really here. I lift my finger and gesture to the guy behind the counter. He nods and makes his way to me.

With a quick flick, he tosses a rag over his shoulder. “What can I get for you?”

“Actually, I’m here to apply for a job.”

He points to the manager’s office. “Right over there.”

“Thanks.” I push off my stool, and peruse the establishment a second time. It’s old, in need of refurbishment, but it’s clean and the waitresses don’t have to wear shirts that show off their boobs. Anything is a step up from Dick’s Driving Inn and Diner though, right? I make my way to the manager’s office and find the door cracked. I knock, and the man behind the counter perks up.

“Come in.”

I plaster on my best smile, and enter. The guy behind the desk doesn’t look much older than me. I wonder if I knew him back in the day. “I’m Jenna Garridy,” I say. “I see that you’re hiring.”

He holds his hand out. “James Beckman. Everyone calls me Beck.”

His name doesn’t ring a bell, which is good. I don’t want anyone remembering me. I’m risking enough with Sean as it is. Why again am I doing that? Because he’s giving me a good deal on renovations? Or is it because being around him makes me feel safe, even though it shouldn’t? “Nice to meet you, Beck.”

The wheels on his chair squeal as he pushes away from his desk. In typical guy fashion, he folds one leg over the other, resting his foot on his knee. “You have experience?”

I nod. “Plenty. I waitressed my way through college.”

“College?” His eyes narrow and he rubs his chin. “You think maybe you’re a little too qualified?”

“I’m a museum curator. Lost my job, recently moved here,” I say quickly before I blow this. “I’m a hard worker, and I won’t let you down.”

“Things slow at the end of the summer. Hours will be cut, you okay with that?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” I say. “Bought the old Wheeler house, fixing it up and probably won’t be here much past the summer season.” At least I hope not. I have a job in SoCal to get back to, once I figure out what it is my ex is after.

He opens his mouth to respond, but a noise at the door stops him. I turn and meet with familiar green eyes. My breath catches for a moment at the gorgeous sight.

“Hey, Beck. I’m taking off. Big brother is calling. Looks like he’s got a job for me already.” The man, a younger, more tattooed version of Sean, stops talking for a minute, and his gaze moves to mine, lingers a bit, then blatantly checks me out. His smile is that of the devil’s himself when he grins and turns back to Beck.

“Tyler, meet Jenna. She’s applying for the waitress position.”

“Jenna,” Tyler says, zeroing back in on me, my mouth specifically. The Owens boys seem to have a fixation with lips. “Nice to meet you,” he says in a sexy, lazy way that undoubtedly has women shedding their panties. He’s big, tough, and gorgeous, but he’s no Sean, at least not to me.

“Nice to meet you, too, Tyler.”

He flashes that bad boy grin again. “Talk soon,” he says, his eyes still on me.

“Later,” Beck says.

Tyler leaves and I turn back to Beck, my hands folded on my lap. “As I was saying, I bought the old Wheeler cottage. I even hired Sean Owens to work on it.” Why am I bringing Sean’s name into the conversation? Name-dropping because Beck is a friend of his brother? Or maybe I just want to hear it on my lips?

Jesus, Sean isn’t even here and he’s still messing with me.

“Already?”

“What?” I ask, dragging my mind back to the conversation.

“He just got in to town today, I didn’t expect he’d start working right away.”

I just nod, not about to tell him I know he’d just arrived in town because we had a “thing” at a sleazy motel last night. “Why not?”

“His dad just died, which is why he’s home.” He shakes his head, licks his finger and wipes something off the toe of his shoe. “I thought he’d at least take a day to mourn, but I guess we all grieve in different ways, and he’s got big shoes to fill, a lot of responsibility dropped on him.” He frowns, and looks back at me. “Anyway, about the job.”

“My hours are flexible and I promise if you hire me you won’t regret it.”

He goes quiet for a moment, then slides a piece of paper across his desk. “A friend of Sean’s is a friend of mine. The job is yours. Can you start Monday?”

“Yes. Monday is perfect.”

“Bring the papers back with you, and check with Stacey on your way out. She’ll set you up with a T-shirt and apron.”

“Thank you,” I say, and stand to shake his hand.

I check in with Stacey then make my way outside with a shirt and apron in hand. The warm air falls over me as I weave my way around the vehicles in the lot. Totally pleased with getting a job so fast, I decide to treat myself to a few new pieces of clothing, one being a bathing suit—a full piece, of course. I don’t want to do or wear anything to give Sean the impression that I want him again. I don’t. Well, I do, but I’m not going to do anything about it, no matter how delicious and tempting that sounds. I have to figure out my life, what Jack is after.

Jack.

God, why did I ever get mixed up with a man under my dad’s command? Oh, probably because he’d been so sweet and caring at the funeral, holding me close when I cried, and helping me take care of the arrangements beforehand. He and dad were close. I’d often heard Dad refer to him as the son he’d never had. Although in the end, there seemed to be some tension between them, but I never asked why. It wasn’t my business and I assume it was work related. But all that time Jack and I were together he hadn’t really been showing affection. He was getting close to me because he was after a damn ledger. So far I’m not seeing any signs of it. But if Dad had been here recently, and had given me lockbox with a key to the cottage, he must have been directing me here? Maybe I should have just gone to the police instead of running, although I had no proof other than overhearing the threat and no idea what ledger he was talking about. Once I find it, then things will be different. But at that point in time I ran, because fear makes people do crazy things.

Like sleep with old crushes.

I just hope when I get back home Sean isn’t there. Our two meetings today have already overloaded my senses, and if he’s hanging around in a tool belt, I might implode from want. My body warms at the image, but no way, no how am I going to fall in bed with him again.

I don’t think.