Page 90 of A Beach House Beginning

“It’s an amazing thing Hank is doing with his retirement, isn’t it? If not for his granddaughter with Down syndrome, I’m sure he never would have come up with the idea to start the center. And now look what he’s accomplishing. It’s not every day a guy like me gets to be part of a miracle.”

Hank was changing lives, helping children, while Jace had spent the better part of two years wasting every single chance he’d been given with self-indulgence.

She was silent for a few moments, watching the horses enjoy their dinner. When she turned to him, her eyes were softer than they’d been when they left the house. “You’re a tough man to stay angry with. How does anyone do it?”

“Lots of practice?”

She laughed out loud, something he sensed she didn’t do nearly often enough these days, and a warm sense of accomplishment bubbled up inside him. Maybe his life wasn’t completely a waste if he could bring a little laughter into her world.

He wanted more, he suddenly realized as he watched her features relax. She was extraordinarily lovely in the dusky light, her features soft, subdued like a pastel watercolor.

He ached to touch that skin along her jawline, to trace a finger there and feel the softness, then learn the curves and hollows of her smile.

Her gaze collided with his and after a moment, her smile slid away, replaced by something else—wariness, awareness, hunger. He wasn’t quite sure.

He only knew he had to kiss her.

Chapter Five

Christa held her breath, her heart racing in her chest like Shiloh on a wide stretch of alpine meadow.

He was going to kiss her. She had seen his gaze flicker to her mouth and saw the sudden heat flare there.

Anticipation swirled inside her, rich and sweet as the finest Belgian chocolate.

He was going to kiss her—and she was going to let him. Just one taste. That’s all she wanted, one heady, delicious taste of him that she could savor after he went back to his whirlwind life and she was left here amid the tumult of hers.

It was foolish, she knew. Selfish, even. But didn’t she deserve a little respite from her constant stress over Hope? Surely heaven couldn’t begrudge her this one indulgence.

She held her breath as he slowly moved closer, his eyes dark as a moonless night. At last—at long, long last—his mouth found hers with an aching, unexpected gentleness.

She shivered and closed her eyes as his heat and strength surrounded her. He smelled a thousand times better up close—of pine and sage and life, like her favorite mountain trail after a spring rain shower.

She was vaguely aware of the sounds of evening around them—crickets chirping somewhere, one of the horses whinnying, the wind sighing in the top of the huge elm tree.

Mostly she was consumed by Jace. The taste of him, the silk of his hair beneath her fingertips, the leashed strength in his muscled frame.

Oh, heaven.

She leaned into him, wanting this stolen moment to stretch out forever, like a sultry, endless summer afternoon. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers, and she lost all reason as heat and hunger churned through her. She wanted to be closer—and closer still.

When he finally drew away from her, they were both breathing hard, and beneath her fingertips she could feel his heartbeat, as urgent and fast as her own.

It took her several moments before she could string any coherent thoughts together and force herself to step away.

“Okay, you’ve obviously made your point,” she finally said, her voice rough.

He waited several beats before answering. “Did I...have a point?”

He looked slightly dazed; his eyes had a vague, unfocused look to them. She sternly told herself not to find that flattering in the least.

“Wasn’t this some sort of object lesson? I’m attracted to you. I told you as much the other day. Obviously that hasn’t changed, but neither has anything else.”

Not exactly true, she admitted. She was now even more attracted to him, and not just on the obvious visceral level. Yes, she responded to him physically, but watching him charm both her daughter and her mother during dinner had stirred something in her heart—something far more dangerous than simple attraction.

She was beginning to discover he wasn’t the feckless ex-rodeo star she wanted to think him, concerned with nothing but his image.

Jace was different. He had befriended a girl who could barely communicate and he had been inordinately kind to her mother, listening to her humble stories about Sage Flats as if he found them the most fascinating tales in the world.

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