Chapter 1

Dawn

Rory Parker was a billionaire douchebag who looked like a movie star. I knew this because I Google stalked him when he started sending me emails. They had grown vaguely threatening the more I ignored them. He was a combo of old money and real estate mogul. Rory was planning an urban renewal project on the line of shops by the Haven docks. He was throwing money around that had everyone scrambling to sell out. I wanted to punch him in his perfect white teeth.

When the emails didn’t work, he sent my landlord in with an offer to buy me out of my lease. I ripped up the paperwork and set it on fire inside the copper bowl by my cash register. It had been worth the citation for the fire hazard. I’ll pay that fine next month, as well as another one when the next bullshit charge they try to levy on me comes around. The town’s government officials were collecting offenses hoping to evict me, but they were going to have to work a lot harder on that one. I paid my rent on time and I was a model tenant—if a little eccentric.

After that, the emails stopped and I hoped that would be the end of it. I couldn’t care less if I was delaying hometown boy’s pet project. I still had two years left on my lease. He and this town could kiss my ass until then. I’d have to find a new home for my bookstore before my lease was up, and it probably wouldn’t be in this town. No one would rent to me here. I was the quartz in their otherwise shining jeweled crown of the conservative New England town of Haven. On the shoreline of Connecticut, eight months out of the year the only customers I had were locals that I brought in through workshops and my lecture series. But during the summer, I made a great deal of money selling unique books about feminism, sex, and various forms of enlightenment.

The tinkling bells over the door alerted me someone was coming into the bookstore. I glanced up as a woman walked in with her two children. She took one look at me, grabbed their hands, and rushed out of the store.

Namaste, bitch.

I wasn’t your usual bookstore owner and I certainly didn’t belong in this stretch of storefronts—at least that’s what some of the town politicians thought. They replaced the potter who had the store next to me with a store that sold Limoges, Waterford crystal goblets, and Hummel figurines. The old fisherman on the other side of me took Rory’s generous buyout offer as well. Packing up his handmade birdhouses and fishing lures, Old Man Mack left an empty store that smelled vaguely of Skoal tobacco and codfish. They replaced him with a small art gallery, with painters I’ve never heard of and who certainly weren’t local.

The First Selectmen of the town—Rory’s father—said they wanted to replace my store with a bookstore that sold things that would be more universally appealing. I offered to put a few USA Today bestsellers in the front window as a compromise, but that wasn’t good enough.

My best friend, Camille, worked in the Selectmen’s office and overheard a secret conversation between my landlord and the Selectmen. I quickly installed cameras and put up a sign that said: IF YOU ENTER THIS STORE, YOU AGREE TO BE VIDEOTAPED. I had to assure my regulars that it was for security reasons and not because anyone wanted to spy on their purchases. It had lost me some customers.

But it saved my ass when the boy they sent in to buy a pack of tarot cards complained that I sold him drugs. I was able to show the police the video transaction and exonerate myself, much to my landlord’s chagrin.

Fucker.

It was a beautiful summer day, and two tourists wandered around my bookstore. They seemed to be boaters looking for a paperback to read on the beach or out on Long Island Sound. I could hear them giggling in scandalous delight at a few of the erotic romance novels I had in the back. I carried local self-published authors, so chances were these were new series for them.

As I eavesdropped on their whispered conversation as they read the juicy bits to each other, a man wearing black socks with his sandals stormed into the shop. The tinkling bells filled the air with music, which took some of the menace out of his entrance. He slammed a package on the counter. “I demand to speak to the manager.”

“You’re speaking to her.” I grinned as he took in my nose ring, tongue ring, and tattoos.

“You?”

Rolling my eyes at the camera that was above his head recording this transaction, I said, “How may I help you?” Unfortunately, I didn’t have any uptight-asshole remedies.

“I want a refund.”

“May I see your receipt?”

My politeness seemed to throw him and he searched the bag. “I don’t have it.”

I stifled a sigh. “When did you buy it?”

“I wouldn’t shop here.”

Yeah, he wasn’t my demographic. I couldn’t see him buying a tantric soundtrack or a fertility statue. Sliding the bag toward me, I pulled out a well-loved copy of The Woman’s Journey. Some pages had been highlighted, and others were dog-eared. I looked in the front and it had been signed by the author, Joan Miller. The dedication read, “To Delores, You are worthy of love, respect, and happiness.” I had done a book signing for Joan in January. She always drew a big crowd. Her fans were always grateful for the opportunity to meet her.

“Fill this out, please, and I’ll process your return.” I passed him a sheet I made up. He would have to put his name, address, and phone number on it.

“Do I have to do this?”

“Without your receipt, I need this filled out in order to give you a refund. Otherwise, I’ll have to give you store credit.”

He blanched and filled out the paperwork.

When he handed it back to me, I looked it up online to make sure it was a real address. Nodding, I opened up the register and handed him back a ten-dollar bill.

“The price is fifteen,” he pointed out.

“Restocking fee,” I deadpanned.

He glared at me, but he pocketed the money and strode out. I put the book inside a padded mailing envelope along with a few bookmarks. I addressed the package to Delores and put in a note that she should probably hide this better from—I looked at the return slip—Walter. Weighing the package, I printed out the stamps and left it in the bin for the mailman to pick up later.

I rang up the tourists’ books and gave them walking directions to the Village Wharf restaurant. They had the best fish stew in the state. Served up with their homemade bread, I could eat that for lunch every day.

The doorbells tinkled as they left and I went in the back to nuke my tea. That jerkoff Rory hustled the tea seller off as well. She had gone to Loonsbury, which was a hippy-er town than Haven. But it was in the center of the state. I would miss the Shoreline too much if I moved out there. I munched on a granola bar while I waited for my tea. All the talk of the Village Wharf had my stomach grumbling. Maybe I’d put the BE RIGHT BACK sign up and get some stew and a loaf of bread to go.

The bells announced another customer and I walked out of the back still chewing and dusting crumbs off my boobs. I froze mid-step when I recognized Rory Parker from his website photo. Instead of being in a suit and tie, he was dressed in a polo shirt and khaki shorts. All he needed was a sweater tied over his back and a tennis racket and he would fit right in with ninety percent of the people I went to high school with.

“Dawn Nolan?” he asked.

Nope, just another tattooed, pierced chick with purple hair. “Hello, Rory,” I said.

His smile should be illegal. He was the exact opposite of my type, yet here I was forcing myself not to smile back.

“Nice store.” He nodded without taking his eyes off mine.

I refused to let him get me hot and bothered, but the challenge in his gaze was a turn-on. “Are you looking to get in touch with your feminine side?”

“Sure, what do you recommend?”

I hated being condescended to, but I was more than up for the challenge of embarrassing the hell out of him. I brushed by him, because he wouldn’t move, and got a cheap thrill rubbing against his hard body. So he worked out. Big deal.

Trailing my fingers over the spines of the books, I found the one I wanted. How to Orgasm Like a Woman. I handed it to him and watched as he tried not to choke at the title.

“They say a man can achieve multiple orgasms, like a woman. But I’m not sure I buy that. Men don’t have the right”—I paused and looked him up and down—“equipment for it.”

Rory opened his mouth. Shut it. And repeated that a few times.

Score one for me.

I was behind the counter with my tea before he fully recovered. “You can’t possibly be making rent selling this crap.”

I bristled at the crap comment, but tried to soothe myself. It’s not like I hadn’t heard it before. “I’m sure you’ve checked my finances and my on-time rent payments. That’s $15.95, but if you sign up for our newsletter, you get ten percent off your purchase today.”

Rubbing his hand down his perfect face, he pinched his nose. “Look, you seem to be a savvy businesswoman.”

“Don’t say it like it’s an oxymoron,” I said in my coldest voice.

Rory grimaced in frustration. I found it cute. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

I’d actually like to put my tongue in his mouth and that surprised me. He smelled like the ocean and I couldn’t help but wondering if he’d be wild like the sea in a storm during sex. I licked my lips. I’d like to try him out. I tended to dominate the crap out of Ivy League boys like this and it was always fun. Once.

“I’m offering you three times your yearly income, as well as buying you out of your lease.” He slapped a check for $120,000 on the counter.

I blinked at it. I could buy my own house for that. Of course, nowhere near the ocean. Swallowing hard, I had to clench my fists to keep from taking the check. I could buy a new car and drive anywhere in the United States. Get far away from here and all the emotional baggage I still carried with me. I could find another store. Start all over again where no one knew me as Judge Nolan’s delinquent daughter. It was tempting.

“Take it,” Rory said in a voice as smooth as chocolate syrup.

Take it, the voices in my head encouraged.

I cleared my throat. “You can have the store in two years, once my lease is up.”

He ground his teeth in frustration. “Why? Is it not enough? I’ll double it.” He crumpled the check in his fist. “A quarter of a million dollars, if you clear out by this weekend.”

My heart thudded in my chest. If I worked twenty more years, I’d never see that much money. I could get a house, pay off my credit cards, and start up a store. I opened my mouth to tell him he had a deal.

Then Millie Carter came in and the jingling bells broke the spell. Millie flinched at seeing such a large man looming over me. Cringing against the wall, her big brown eyes filled with tears. Millie had been abused by her father, her brothers, her boyfriends and her husband. When her husband died in a storm off Montauk, she realized she didn’t have to be anyone’s punching bag anymore. She had been a loyal customer ever since. I really saw a difference as she bloomed into her potential. And she did it because of this store. Still, she had triggers. And whatever energy she was sensing between Rory and me had sent her to that dark place.

Not on my watch.

Reaching up, I grabbed the back of Rory’s head and kissed him on the mouth. He froze. I slipped my tongue into his mouth, rapping him on the teeth with the stud in my tongue until he opened up. Slitting my eyes, I saw Millie slump in relief and take a shuddering breath. I stood up on my tiptoes to deepen the kiss. Rory was frozen in shock, but I kind of liked that. Dragging my tongue over his, I smiled when Millie recovered and puttered around to the back of the store.

It’s okay, Millie. He wasn’t threatening me.

I was about to release Rory when he tangled his fingers in my hair, deepening the kiss. My eyes flew open in shock and then fluttered closed in bliss. Wow. Rory Parker could kiss once he got his wits back. Slanting his lips over mine, his hot mouth branded into mine while our tongues dueled. My fingers bunched in his shirt as pleasure shot down to my toes. The bells jingled again and I sprang away from him, looking down. Suddenly, I was too shy to meet his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to have turned the tables on me. The couple who had come in had their noses in their guidebook, so they hadn’t witnessed me Frenching one of my customers.

“Well?” Rory said, his breathing audible.

I forced myself to look into his scorching brown eyes. I felt like purring. “I’ll think about it.”

Tossing a twenty on the counter, he scooped up the book. “Keep the change. I’ll be back later for your final answer.”

He had an incredible backside. I savored the taste of him in my mouth and found that I was looking forward to seeing the billionaire douchebag again.