Page 14 of Return By Fire

Her arms wrap around me, and I feel the desperation in her embrace, even if she doesn’t realize she’s exposing that much of her emotions. “Even though we exchange hellos and whatnot through Maris all the time, it feels like it’s been a lifetime ago.”

I have to bite my tongue to say there is an actual lifetime in between us—that of her son. My “nephew.” Still, I play along. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and guide her to the host waiting to lead us to our table. “Smith. Party of two.”

“Will a two top work for you?”

Just as I’m about to nod, Kara lifts her hand to mine and squeezes my fingers. “Actually, my brother said he might drop by after work to meet you, Jed.”

I quirk a brow in the direction of the young man who grabs an extra set of silverware and a menu. We’re led to a table for four overlooking the Atlantic. After our water glasses are filled, I query, “After work?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Dean’s a firefighter.”

Intrigued, I lean back in my chair. “Dean?” My mind whirls when I recall the name from a night I’ll never forget. I strive for a thoughtful expression. “I remember you talking about him—when Maris would let me get a word in edgewise—but didn’t remember his name.”

So, it was her brother who called that night.

“Dean’s my hero,” Kara muses. She rubs her fingers back and forth over her wrist—a compulsive act I note but don’t quite understand what’s making me think there’s something off about it.

“You’re close.”

“We’re as close to each other as you are to Maris.” She’s silent for a moment before she murmurs faintly, “Maybe closer.”

My brow wings upward. Maris and I are all that’s left of our family line that we know about. If I remember correctly, “You and you brother have a rather distinguished lineage. There’s no other family?”

Her face darkens like the storms that roll up the Atlantic every summer afternoon. “Maris didn’t share?”

“Share what?”

“Our parents passed a few years ago.”

I reach out a hand and am frankly shocked when she jerks hers back. Something in my expression must give me away. Her expression blanks into a mask. “We weren’t close to them.”

“With a pedigree as prestigious as yours? The silver spoons don’t like being in the same drawer?” I try to tease her.

She stiffens. “We were born into an unfortunate reality. Dean and me? Well, we chose not to accept the terms to remain within it.”

I hold up my hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to step into a sore subject.”

She holds out her hand. I lower mine and take it. “No, Jed. There’s just... a lot that’s happened in the last decade or so. There’s no need to ask for forgiveness. Why don’t you tell me how you ended up buying a boat in this part of Florida?”

As I stare down into her smile, I wonder how she can be so open and still hide something of such importance. Will I ever be able to look at her again and not bait her? Wonder if I can if I’ll ever forgive Kara for withholding Jennings’s baby from him? I’m curious if this unusual mix of loving, lying, and deception has become second nature to this woman.

With no compunction, I tell my own half-truth. “I’ve been debating opening a bar in a warmer weather climate.” Smith’s Brewhouse is an institution in Juneau. While I’m experiencing a bit of wanderlust, the places I initially scouted were in Hawaii, not a hoity-toity location outside Jacksonville, Florida that might turn their nose up at Louis Vuitton instead of Gucci footwear. I couldn’t imagine giving up my yearly visits to the Sunshine State.

Kara’s fingers squeeze mine tightly before she squeaks, “You mean to live here?”

I lift her fingers to my lips and bestow a gallant kiss on the back of her hand. “What? Not certain you can handle having me underfoot for half the year?”

As Kara digs deep for an answer, my phone buzzes. Figuring it will give Kara a chance to regroup, I say, “Excuse me. I need to take this.”

“Of course.” She frowns thoughtfully.

I stride to the front of the restaurant and out into the sweltering April air. Enjoying the heat enveloping my skin, I call my agent back. “Scott? What’s up?”

“Buddy, you couldn’t have picked a better market.” He goes on to rattle off information about the demographics of the nearby Jacksonville Beach area before ending with, “There are some interesting places down along the beach but real estate on the waterfront is pricey.”

“How pricey?” I ask. I let out a long whistle at the exact moment someone puts their hand on the handle of the door to the restaurant. “Scott, that’s not pricey, that’s taking it up the ass without any lube to soften the blow.”

There’s a throaty masculine laugh close to me. My head whips to the side, but all I glimpse are jean encased legs and a great ass disappearing inside. “Damn reflective mirrors,” I grumble.

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