Page 21 of The Cottage on Pelican Bay

The waitress returned with Zara’s coffee and to refill his. Saint was well aware that Vaughn was planning to build on a tract of oceanfront property he’d purchased from Reid. In the meantime, he and Sierra were living in the spacious apartment above her restaurant. There was no need to ask where Zara was staying while in town. It would be the cottage.

Just thinking about the cottage and the two times he’d spent the night with her there made sexual need jolt his insides. She was still the only woman he’d shared a bed with since his breakup with Mia. The intimate times he’d spent with Zara—their hookups—would just happen, without any preplanning. They weren’t friends with benefits. Nor were they lovers. They were just two people who couldn’t control the degree of lust that would consume them whenever they saw each other.

The arrangement to combat their dilemma was...no emotional attachment. No commitment. No expectation of anything other than the moment. So far, it worked for them.

“How is the fashion business going?” he asked. He took a sip of his coffee and watched her sip hers. He liked the way her mouth was positioned on her coffee cup and recalled one night when it had been positioned on a certain part of him the same way.

“Business is going great. My assistant is handling things in my absence for the next six weeks, and I have all the confidence in the world she’ll do a good job.”

“You’ll be in Catalina Cove for six weeks?”

“Yes, unless I finish packing earlier.”

At that moment the waitress returned with her bacon and blueberry muffins. Even though he’d just had his own, his mouth watered at their wonderful smell.

“It’s sad when one of the main things on my list whenever I return to the cove is to come here for the Witherspoons’ blueberry muffins.”

He suppressed a laugh. “You mean Ms. Debbie’s blueberry muffins. Everybody knows she’s the one who bakes them.”

Zara’s lips curved in an amused expression. “Okay, Saint, I stand corrected. Ms. Debbie’s blueberry muffins.” She paused a moment and asked, “How are your parents doing?”

One thing he liked about their hookups was, when the lovemaking was over, they relished their cuddle time. That was when he would hold her in his arms, and they would talk about anything and everything. She’d even told him about her legs closed, options open rule she’d implemented after her breakup with her ex-boyfriend, and that she’d tossed the rule to the wind the moment she’d met him. None of their cuddle time was meant to build any emotional attachment. It was merely time they enjoyed together.

Saint figured one of the reasons was because neither would be ready for their time together to end. He would tell her about his parents or the changes he was making to his house, and she would talk about her fashion boutiques.

“Mom and Dad are fine. Moving back home has definitely made life easier for them and for me. Now I don’t go to bed worrying about them doing stuff they aren’t supposed to do.” He chuckled. “That doesn’t mean they don’t test my patience at times. They still like to flex their independence, and I’ve learned to step back and let them. They need to feel useful and not dependent.”

“Any new activities for them?”

“Dad did hint about getting a motorcycle last week, but I squashed the idea pretty fast. And Mom wouldn’t be Mom if she didn’t remind me every chance she gets how much she wants grandkids before she gets too old to enjoy them.”

“They didn’t have a problem with you moving back home, did they?” she asked, amused at what he was sharing about his parents.

“Not as long as I don’t cramp their style, as they put it. However, there is an issue I need to talk to my mom about before it gets out of hand.”

“Oh, what?” She bit into one of her muffins. When a crumb got caught on her top lip, his stomach clenched when she swiped it off with the tip of her tongue.

Saint shifted in his chair before saying, “She still thinks I need a steady woman in my life. She still won’t accept that I’m fine with the woman-less life I’m living now.”

“I understand how you feel. As much as I miss my parents, what I don’t miss is their belief that an arranged marriage is the best way. My parents believed a couple should marry for wealth and not love.”

He leaned back in his chair. “They honestly thought that?”

“Yes. Vaughn and I always suspected although they respected each other, their marriage was one of convenience. Our suspicions were confirmed when we found a marriage agreement among their important papers after they died.”

Saint lifted a brow. “A marriage agreement?”

“Yes. At the time my parents met, Mom was the daughter of a wealthy French industrialist. Dad, of course, was a wealthy American business magnate and philanthropist. He wanted a French wife and saw Mom as the perfect woman for the job.”

“Why did he want a French wife?” Saint asked.

“For the bloodline. He felt if he didn’t, the French blood in his offspring would be diluted.”

Evidently, Saint had an I-don’t-believe-it look on his face. That made her grin and say, “I know it sounds crazy that anyone would think that way, but it’s true. That’s why I know Dad would have loved Maurice. He’s French and comes from a wealthy family.”

Although the last thing he wanted to hear was anything about her ex-boyfriend, he asked, “Is that why, while growing up, French was the main language spoken in your household?”

“You heard about that, huh?”

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