Page 65 of Must Have Been Love

“I am not. Mr. Burns,” I say, clicking my fingers. “That’s who I meant.”

“What a compliment,” he murmurs. “Now my life is complete.”

I roll my eyes at him even though he’s too busy watching the road ahead to notice. There’s a smile playing at his lips and I like it way too much. It gives him a boyishly handsome look that sends warning claxons in my ears.

Don’t fall for him. Don’t snuggle. No beds!

Once we’re off of Main Street he takes a right, which means we’re definitely staying on the island for our date – if that’s what this is. As we progress along the country road, buildings disappear into nothing, replaced by trees and bushes that line the edges, framing the view of the sparkling ocean beyond.

“Are we going to your hotel?” I ask suspiciously.

“No.”

“Then where?” I ask. “Or are we going to have to play twenty questions?”

“Patience,” he tells me. “All will be revealed.” He looks ridiculously smug as we pass both the road to the hotel and the one to his house.

“If you wanted to drive me off a cliff you could have done it closer to town,” I say when he takes a sharp right turn, onto a rocky road that makes the car rise up and down like an amusement ride.

“I figure your body is less likely to be found out here,” he says.

“Oh,” I say as the road gets even rockier. “Are you taking me to a lookout point? Are we going to make out in the car?” I look around the tiny interior. “Because I’m not sure it’ll do wonders for your bad back.”

Hudson sighs. I wonder if I can annoy him enough to make him not want me. Maybe that would be better all around.

The problem is Iwanthim to want me.

This whole attraction thing is very confusing.

The trees that overhang the road part, revealing a cluster of old houses that look like nobody’s been living in them for years. And the most glorious view of the Atlantic Ocean as its white tipped waves lap against the golden sand in the secret cove below.

“Wow,” I whisper.

“I know.” A smile pulls at his lips. “Come on, let’s take a closer look.” He cuts the engine outside the house closest to the cliff and climbs out, walking around to open my door. “Wait, where’s your sweater?” he asks.

Oh damn. “I’m not great at taking instructions,” I tell him. He should know this by now. Truth is, I’d completely forgotten about it.

He sighs again. I wonder how many more sighs I can get out of him today. And then he opens the trunk and grabs two old pieces of fabric from the car. It takes me a minute to realize they’re blankets.

“It’s not even cold,” I tell him.

“It will be later. When the sun goes down.”

“We’re staying here that long?” I ask him.

He ignores me, grabbing an insulated cooler from his trunk. The same one as last week, with Grand Liberty Hotel written on it in swirling script.

“A picnic?” I ask him.

“Unless you want me to take you to dinner at the hotel, or back to my place. Otherwise this is our only option,” he says, inclining his head at the cliff. I follow him, wishing I’d worn more appropriate shoes. My heels keep sinking into the grass as I follow him.

“You only want to feed me in your house because it has a bed in it,” I tease, and I swear I see a hint of a smile pull at his lips.

“Luckily for you, there are no beds on the beach.” We arrive at the cliff edge. There are some old stairs carved into the stone at the top, leading to wooden ones that twist and turn down to the beach, into a little cove that is completely deserted. Even in the fading light it looks perfect.

“How beautiful,” I say. “Do you own this too?”

“All this land from here to the town,” he murmurs. “Yes.”

---