Page 2 of The Summer House
Callie watched for a second, wondering what he was up to. She hadn’t seen that kind of eagerness in this small town before. She quickened her pace, curiosity getting the better of her. In only a few steps, she’d caught up with the man and realized he was nearly chasing someone. She followed him into the small crowd near the shops as she continued to look for somewhere to eat. When she caught sight of the person the reporter was after, Callie recognized him just as he zeroed in directly on her.
“Oh!” he said, linking arms with her. “There you are!”
“What? I—” Callie found herself being hurried along by Luke Sullivan, the multimillionaire heir to the Sullivan fortune. She’d read about him in the local paper. His family had made their money in early real estate development along the barrier islands and expanded nationwide. With Luke’s return to the Outer Banks, heading up their latest project—Blue Water Sailing, one of those watersports giants—he’d brought with him quite a bit of press. Blue Water Sailing had taken off just like the yacht company they also owned, based in Florida. With rumors of his father’s retirement, Luke stood to take over a goldmine, being the Sullivans’ only son. Their daughter, Juliette Sullivan, was pursuing other interests, Callie had read.
Luke’s hand was gently wrapped around her bicep as he led her forward, the face of his Rolex reflecting the sun into her eyes, despite her sunglasses, as the reporter gained speed behind them.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the reporter over his shoulder. “I’m having a… lunch date. I can’t speak to you right now.”
The reporter was still behind them, but he was slowing just a bit. They kept walking briskly. Luke faced forward, his expression determined, as he swept her further down the sidewalk. She noticed that people were looking. Finally, he nearly yanked her into a shop. The door shut behind them, plunging them into the air-conditioned entrance of a small beach art gallery.
Luke let go of her arm, his attention on the door. Callie made eye contact with the salesperson, the woman clearly as surprised as Callie at their entrance.
When it seemed like the coast was clear, Luke stuck his head in Callie’s line of vision. “I’m sorry,” he said, his gaze darting back to the door once more before focusing entirely on her.
She’d seen his face in magazine photos advertising the area for tourists. But he didn’t live like those tourists. He owned what the articles referred to as a “cottage,” but it was more like a castle, a two-million-dollar home that sat on its own acreage, probably a third the size of the entire village, secluded and smack in the sand on the edge of the sea with two pools and a tennis court.
He was tall and perfectly fit, with sandy blond hair falling across his forehead, making him look younger than his age. She’d read that he was only a year older than she was, yet he had an air of experience about him that made him seem so much wiser. He was wearing long, beachy shorts and a casual T-shirt; she could tell by the stitching that they’d cost him a fortune. As he took a small step closer to her, she felt self-conscious. What must she look like right now? Her hair was yanked into a ponytail, her arms still dusted with the soil from the yard. Luke was so impeccably clean and gorgeous as he watched her with those sea-blue eyes of his.
He offered his hand. “Luke Sullivan.”
“Callie Weaver,” she said, still a little dazed.
