Page 18 of The Cottage on Pelican Bay

She shifted her gaze back to Saint to find him staring at her. The look in his eyes, as well as the particular song being played, seemed to have them in a seductive trance. Her entire body throbbed just by him looking at her. Shifting her arms from his shoulders she slid them around his back. His magnificent, muscled back.

At that moment she felt the need for her chest to be pressed against his. Her breasts were beginning to feel achy and needed the contact. She wondered if he realized sexual vibes were pouring off him. Off them. Then, as if their lips were magnets drawn to each other, she leaned up and met his lips in a kiss.

She immediately thought that just like that night in his hotel room, this kiss was meant to be. Here. Now. And she honestly didn’t care who was watching them. Maybe she should, but she didn’t. It was as if this moment in time was theirs to take and they were taking it.

They ended the kiss and she knew she couldn’t fight the need any longer. For two years she had thought about him, remembered that night, remembered him. She had thought their meeting had been a chance encounter and she would never see him again. However, tonight she was proved wrong. He was here, and tonight they were back in New Orleans of all places. And dancing.

When the song finally ended, they slowly parted, and she looked up at him knowing if a bed would have been close by, he would have swept her off her feet and carried her to it. And she would have been glad about it.

“I’m glad our paths crossed again, Zara,” he said in a deep, throaty voice that she found so sinfully erotic.

Her lips curved in a smile. “So am I, Saint, and I don’t regret that kiss.” And she truly meant it.

“Neither do I. Do you want to dance some more?” he asked as another slow song began playing.

She shook her head. “No. I’m ready to leave.”

He took her hand. “Where to now?”

Zara met his gaze and said, “My cottage.”

“And where is your cottage, Zara?”

“On Pelican Bay.”

9

“Nice place,” Saint said, surveying the cottage as he followed Zara into the kitchen. But then he should not have expected anything less. He recalled how wealthy her family was when he’d been a kid. That was during a time when the “haves and the have-nots” didn’t mingle. Times had definitely changed. Vaughn’s marrying Sierra was proof of that. He recalled her father used to work for Vaughn’s.

During the drive from New Orleans, Zara had told him all about this cottage and the fond memories she had spending time there as a little girl with her mother while she painted. It was their little refuge, and her mother had often described it as a little bit of heaven. A peaceful and picturesque paradise. Her mother had bequeathed it to her upon her death.

Since it was dark, he hadn’t seen much of it on the walk across the lighted pier. He’d taken hold of her hand on that stroll and doing so had felt right. Just like one part of him was saying it was right for him to be here, another part of him was asking: What the hell was he doing here? She was his boss’s sister for Pete’s sake.

“When I became a teenager, this used to be my retreat,” she said, breaking into his thoughts. “By then Mom’s hands had begun bothering her and she couldn’t paint like she used to.” Reaching into the cabinet to grab a bottle of wine, she added, “That’s when she stopped coming over here.”

He tried not to notice the tautness of her jeans on her backside. “Is this where you stay whenever you return to the cove?” he asked.

She poured two glasses of wine and crossed the room to him. “No. This is the first time I’ve stayed here since my parents’ deaths ten years ago.”

Ten years? He could only assume that meant she’d never spent time with her ex-boyfriend here. “Thanks,” he said, taking the glass she offered him. “I know you said after you left for college you never returned to the cove to live, but did you come back to visit? Even after your parents moved to Paris?”

“No,” she said after taking a sip. “Not long after I left for college my parents moved permanently to Paris. I spent my summers and holidays with them there. Although they moved abroad, the reason they didn’t sell Zara’s Haven and this cottage was because they’d planned to return on occasion to visit.”

She paused a moment. “They never did,” she said sadly.

Saint knew why. He’d heard from Vaughn how his parents had been killed in a boating accident two years after moving to Paris.

“I didn’t come back to the cove until Vaughn moved back here,” Zara was saying. “Then it was only during the holidays. Whenever I did return, I’d stay at Zara’s Haven with him.”

“But not this time?”

“No. My trip home this time was a surprise. Vaughn mentioned since Teryn is doing a sleepover with a friend, he’s staying overnight with Sierra at her place. I’m staying at the cottage tonight because I didn’t want to stay in the huge mansion alone.”

He took a sip of wine then said, “Yet, you’ll stay here alone? On a secluded island?”

She took another sip of wine. “It’s secure here,” she said. “You had to drive on a private road and then go through that security gate. You wouldn’t have entered if I hadn’t given you the access code. But then,” she said, viewing him over the rim of her glass, “I’m not alone, am I?”

He met her gaze and felt the heat. That same heat he’d felt the moment their shocked gazes had connected at the party. Even now a rush of desire was clawing at his insides. Goose bumps were forming on his skin just from looking at her. Standing in front of him, she sipped her wine and stared into his eyes. It felt like a pulse-kicking moment. Especially when his mind was filled with all the things that he wanted to do to her.

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