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“No trouble at all!” Maisie grinned like the Cheshire cat. “And you’re right. There are no other guests. You’ll have your pick of the rooms. Won’t that be nice? Now let’s see. What do you need?” Her snowy eyebrows raised, Maisie looked around as if she expected to find Noah’s luggage. Of course, he didn’t have any. When he walked into Cupid’s Hideaway, he had no intention of staying.
“Toothbrush? Toothpaste? Comb? Mouthwash?” Maisie ticked off the list on her fingers. “We have it all in the gift shop, but of course we wouldn’t expect an old friend to pay.”
“He’s not an old friend,” Laurel said.
“I’m not an old friend,” Noah concluded at the same time.
Maisie laughed, the sound of it brushing softly against the lacy curtains and the pink lightbulbs and the gold cherubs painted on the ceiling, which featured a perfect blue sky studded with fluffy white clouds. “Of course you are,” she said, firmly ignoring Laurel. She turned a smile on Noah that was every bit as persuasive as his own and blushed as pink as the angora sweater she was wearing. “You’re my old friend. I hope you haven’t forgotten that. And I would never ask an old friend to be anything but a guest in my establishment. No more arguments,” she said when Noah opened his mouth to speak. “It’s my fault you missed the ferry. I should have warned you the schedule has changed now that it’s fall and the tourist season is over. The least I can do is offer you a place to stay for the night and a nice, hot breakfast in the morning. Be a sweetie, will you, Laurel? Help Noah pick out what he needs from the gift shop and then get him settled in a room.”
Gift shop? Room?
For a couple minutes, Laurel had been lulled into thinking she had some semblance of control. She’d spoken to Noah, she’d stood within three feet of him and she hadn’t lost her cool or the self-respect it had taken her four long years to rebuild. But now Maisie was asking the impossible. The gift shop? Laurel looked that way. Because it was late and there were no guests, the lights in the shop were off but she knew what was waiting in the darkness beyond the closed door. Edible underwear. Furry handcuffs. See-through nighties. Just thinking about it all made Laurel’s face get hot and her insides turns to mush. The gift shop with anyone else, she could handle. The gift shop with Noah? She curled her fingers into her palms and wrapped her thumbs around them, fighting to regain control.
Walking into Maisie’s gift shop with Noah would be like walking through Yellowstone Park with a Hi Bears! I’ve Got Food sign around her neck.
“Grandma, I—”
Before Laurel could say another word, the front door popped open and a familiar voice echoed through the inn. “Where’s my little honey bunch?”
At the sight of Dr. Sam Ross, Maisie’s cheeks got a little rosier and her twinkle intensified. Doc Ross was a mainstay on the island, a general practitioner who had been treating everything from broken bones to tourists who had partied a little too hardy, for as long as Laurel could remember. He’d retired four years earlier and much to Laurel’s delight, he had accepted her offer to buy his practice. Doc Ross was a big, blunt man with a ruddy complexion and iron-gray hair. In the over-seventy crowd, he was the pick of the litter, the bachelor most sought after by the island’s blue-haired matrons. Much to their dismay, Doc only had eyes for Maisie. There was no doubt that Maisie returned his affections, but no chance, or so she said, that she was looking for anything permanent. Not at this stage of the game. That didn’t stop Doc from trying. Even though it must have been the third or fourth time that week he’d seen her, he carried a dozen red roses and a bottle of champagne, and when he got to the front desk, he presented them to Maisie with a flourish.
“Oh!” Maisie twittered like a schoolgirl. She introduced Noah quickly, right before she took Doc’s arm and headed toward the back of the house and her private rooms.
She called to Noah over her shoulder, “Laurel will take care of you!”
“Oh, no, you’re not getting away that easily.” Laurel went after her grandmother. She untangled her from Doc’s grip and pulled her into a corner. “What’s going on here?” she asked.
“I don’t know what you mean, dear.” Maisie had the nerve to look straight into Laurel’s eyes and smile. She giggled, and the color rose brighter than ever in her cheeks. “If you’re talking about me and Doc, you know the answer. A woman has needs.” She gave Laurel a broad wink and when all Laurel did was stare at her in wonder, her grandmother tapped her on the arm and leaned close. “All women do, sweetie. Maybe it’s time you remembered that.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about him.” Laurel shot a look over to her shoulder at Noah.
“Yes, I know,” Maisie said. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, too. Good night, dear.”
Too stunned to move, Laurel watched Maisie and Doc disappear into the long hall past the kitchen. A second later, the door to Maisie’s private rooms closed and the muffled strains of La Bohème started up from Maisie’s CD player and seeped through Cupid’s Hideaway.
Needs?
Laurel was perfectly willing to accept that she had needs. Nobody had to point that out. She’d even indulged them a time or two in the years since she’d returned to the island and opened her practice. It was never anything serious. How could it be? Except for the small population that stayed on the island year round, most of the men she met were tourists. And there was one thing about tourists. They never stayed around.
Kind of like Noah.
The thought vibrated through her, deep, undeniable and bitter. But before she had a chance to remind herself this was not the time and place to think about it, the air warmed around her. She didn’t need to turn around to know Noah had come nearer.
A second later, she felt the brush of his hand against her shoulder.
“You still wear the same perfume,” he said.
Chapter Two
Seeing Laurel again was a lot like getting sucker punched.
That would explain why Noah’s gut was tight. Why his head was buzzing. Why it felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. She wasn’t supposed to be there, and to say he’d been caught by surprise was the understatement of this, or any other, century.
When Maisie called him earlier that morning, she said Laurel was cruising. And when Noah thought of cruising, he thought of big ships, rum drinks and steel drum music. When he thought of cruising, he thought of far, far away.
Which Laurel definitely was not.
Noah had spent a whole lot of time in the last four years telling himself that he didn’t miss Laurel. Not even a little. There were times when he even believed it.
Funny how fast all the positive reinforcement could go out the window. Funnier still that the warmth of Laurel’s skin against his could throw him back in a time warp and make all the old emotions feel new. The sensation was like a drug that lulled him into la-la land at the same time it zipped through his bloodstream and set it on fire. Allowing himself a long, slow smile, he took a step closer. He let his eyes drift shut, and drank in the scent and the warmth of Laurel and the amazing connection he’d thought he’d never be lucky enough to feel again.
It was all a big mistake, of course. Letting her know he remembered her jasmine and roses perfume. Getting close enough to feel the electricity that buzzed in the air between them. Touching her. In light of the games that former lovers played, he had to be making the strategic blunder of all times.
He supposed he could chalk it up to shock. Or an overactive imagination. Or just plain, old stupidity
But, God, it felt good to be so near her again.
“And it still smells wonderful.” Noah didn’t realize he’d spoken until he heard the sound of his own words whisper on the air between them. “Your perfume.”
“Of course I’m still wearing the same perfume.” It wasn’t so much the snap of Laurel’s words that brought Noah out of his daze as it was the fact that she stepped away from him. By the time he opened his eyes, he found himself holding nothing but thin air.
Laurel was already an arm’s length away. Her feet were apart. Her arms were tight against her sides. Her hazel eyes flashed lightning. “I’m still doing a lot of things I used to do,” she said. “But then, I’m not the one who changed.”
“So much for the formalities, huh?” Noah pulled his hand to his side. He supposed he should be grateful that Laurel reminded him of what he should have remembered in the first place. But then, she always was good at setting ground rules. Almost as good as she was at igniting his fantasies, his emotions and his libido.
Good thing she broke the spell before he could act like even more of a bonehead. Good thing she reminded him that history or no history, she was—thank goodness—strictly off-limits. He didn’t come three miles from the Ohio mainland into the middle of Lake Erie to have his ego crushed, and he didn’t need to give her any more of an opportunity to do it. Already he was sure she was marking her mental scoreboard: One to nothing, Laurel Burton.
Noah promised himself he’d even the score. Sometime soon. But if he was going to do that, he’d need to catch her off guard. Waiting for his opportunity and using the time to get himself and his thoughts on solid ground, he rolled back on his heels and took a look around the Cupid’s Hideaway lobby.
“So she finally did it, huh?” Noah asked, his voice as neutral as his look. “Maisie always talked about opening up a place of her own. It’s—”
“Amazing is sort of the all-purpose word I like to use to describe it.” Laurel’s explanation was as quick and efficient as her movements. Chin down, steps quick and sure, she headed to the other side of the big front desk. To get something? Or to put as much distance as possible between herself and Noah? He knew the first scenario was probably true. He chose to believe the second. It played better with his plan.
She scooped a strand of her shoulder-length hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Her hair was the same color as the old mahogany desk, rich with red undertones and colors that, in the soft light, reminded him of the leather covers on his collection of antique anatomy books. She was wearing it longer than she had in medical school, and Noah watched it swing against her back as she walked. He supposed here on the island, with its slow pace and its minimal demands on her education and her skills, she had more time to mess with her hair. At least more time than she’d had in the old days, when the only time she had was for her work and the only thing she messed with was Noah’s life, his career and his heart.
Not a good thing to think about. At least not with Laurel only a couple feet away. Except for the one time it really mattered, she always had the uncanny habit of reading his mind.
Telling himself it was something he couldn’t afford to forget, Noah glanced around, from the frothy paintings on the ceiling to the chintz-covered furniture and the pink lightbulbs in the fixtures on the wall in back of the desk.
“It is an amazing place, and Maisie is an amazing woman to keep it all going.” Laurel said exactly what he was thinking. No surprise there. It was a knack they’d always shared. “The people who come to visit appreciate it for what it is,” she said. She ruffled through a pile of the day’s mail and sorted each letter into one of five cubbyholes. “Quirky. Different. Fun in its own weird sort of way. They’re nice people.” She stopped and reached for another pile of mail and as she did, she allowed her gaze to travel to Noah. She looked him up and down. “At least most of them are nice.”
Noah could ignore a lot of things. This wasn’t one of them. He was at least willing to act civilized. She, it seemed, was just going to be Laurel. He didn’t need to remind himself what that meant. Laurel could be bull-headed. She could be opinionated. She could be as tough as nails and as hard as rocks and as determined as anyone Noah had ever met.
Another whiff of perfume drifted by and reminded Noah of something else.
She was also the most sensual and passionate woman he’d ever had the misfortune to fall in love with, and she’d never been afraid to show that side. At least not to him. He’d spent plenty of time trying to forget that. He wondered if Laurel had, too.
A slow smile brightened Noah’s expression. She wanted to play hardball? Maybe he’d just found a way to score some points of his own.
He waited until Laurel started sorting a second pile of mail, and when she was paying more attention to the latest sale circular from the local grocery store than she was to him, he flattened his hands against the desk and leaned forward. When she was done, he was ready for her. He was only inches away, and when she looked up and realized it, she caught her breath. Her pupils widened. Her breasts pressed against her sweater. Noah allowed himself one quick look of appreciation before he raised his gaze to hers.
“You used to think I was nice people,” he murmured.
“Yeah, I did.” Laurel skimmed her tongue over her lips. Caught by the warmth of Noah’s look or maybe by the pull of the same memories that threatened to turn him upside down and inside out, she leaned closer. Closer still. Her lips a heartbeat from his, she gave him a one-sided, cynical smile. “What the hell was wrong with me, anyway?”
“Right.” Noah pulled back and gave her a smile that was so stiff and artificial it hurt. Make that Laurel Burton two, Noah Cunningham nothing. He watched her ruffle through four sets of keys.
“What will it be?” she asked. “You’re Maisie’s only guest for the night so I suppose you get your pick of the rooms. They’re right up the stairs.” She pointed. “And they’re all marked. You in the mood for a tropical paradise?” She jingled the key, and when he didn’t reach for it, she held out another. “A flashback to the sixties? A little rock and roll? Or a whole bunch of red velvet and gold paint?”
“I’m in the mood…” Noah thought long and hard about what he was going to say next. Well, maybe not too long or not too hard, but he did think about it. He thought about what Maisie had said earlier about getting the things he needed, things like a toothbrush and a comb. And when he thought about that, he thought about the way Laurel’s cheeks went dusky at the mention of the inn’s gift shop. He was looking for a way to break down her legendary self-control? Maybe he’d just found it.
“I’m in the mood for a toothbrush.” He sang the words in a low, pure baritone and when he did, he knew he hit the mark. Laurel stiffened and that nice, dusky color in her cheeks went a little ashen.
“Toothbrush. Fine. Sure.” Laurel’s fingers fumbled over the keys. She glanced across the lobby toward a room that looked innocuous enough. The door of the room was closed but Noah suspected it had once been an enclosed porch. The door had an oval glass insert that was covered from the inside by a lace curtain. On the outside of the glass in a beautiful flowing hand were written the words Cupid’s Love Shack.
Noah’s eyebrows rose along with his expectations.
“That’s the gift shop,” Laurel said. “Right over there. You’re looking right at it. We never lock it. Go on in. Get the stuff you need.” She headed to the other side of the desk. “I’ll just go upstairs and make sure your room is—”
“Oh, no!” Before she could zoom out of his reach, Noah grabbed her hand. “I think you’d better help me out.”
“Help? You?” Laurel made an effort to sound cocky. It might have worked if her eyes didn’t dart toward the Love Shack. If her pulse wasn’t beating double-time against Noah’s hand. “Since when does the great Dr. Noah Cunningham need help from anybody? I think you can handle it, Doc. There aren’t a whole lot of choices you need to make. Green toothbrush. Blue toothbrush. Crest or Colgate. Small decisions. The kind you should be able to handle all on your own.” She stopped and her eyes widened, as if she’d just remembered something. “No. Wait a minute,” she said. “The way I remember it, you were pretty good at handling even the really big decisions all on your own.”
If she was trying to distract him, it almost worked. Almost. They’d talk about the decisions each of them had made some other time. Now was not the time for soul-searching or introspection or regret.
It was time for a little sweet revenge.
Being as gentle as he was sure to let her know he wasn’t going to change his mind, Noah wrapped one arm around Laurel’s shoulders. “I just wouldn’t feel right going into Maisie’s gift shop and taking things,” he said. “If you’re with me, you can keep a list. You know, help Maisie out when it comes to inventory.”
Laurel took one more look at the closed door of the Love Shack. She drew in a long, shaky breath and gave Noah a sidelong look. “All right,” she said, and he felt her stiffen against him. “If that’s what you want.”
They walked across the lobby, Noah’s arm looped over Laurel’s shoulders. No big deal in the great scheme of things. At least it shouldn’t have been. At least it wouldn’t have been if every step they took didn’t make Noah remember how perfectly they fit together. Laurel’s blue jeans scraped against his cashmere suit. Her hip swayed against his. Her hair spilled over her shoulder and brushed his neck. By the time she swung open the door to the Love Shack and flicked on the lights, Noah’s skin was buzzing as if he’d been loofahed from head to toe.
“Toothbrushes.” Like a sentry on duty, Laurel stood in the doorway, her back to the open door, her spine as rigid as if a broom handle had been shoved up her sweater. She pointed to a display on a glass counter to her left. “Lots of toothbrushes. Pick one. And a comb.” She pointed to another display. “Heck, throw in a bottle of mouthwash if you like.” She smiled a toothy, stiff smile. “Get what you need and let’s get out of here.”
“What’s the hurry?” Humming softly to himself, Noah did a turn around the tiny gift shop. What was the word Laurel had used to describe Cupid’s Hideaway? Amazing? Amazing didn’t begin to describe the Love Shack.
On first glance, the place looked about as normal as every gift shop in every hotel Noah had ever been in. Next to the rack of toothbrushes was one of those spinning wire racks full of postcards, islands scenes mostly, though he saw some that were sepia-toned, Victorian reproductions that showed everything from ladies in lacy underwear to a man and a woman in what must have been—at least for the time—a torrid embrace. Cute. Sentimental. Romantic, he supposed, in a fluffy, old-lady sort of way.
At the far end of the room was a display of scented candles, soaps in packaging that was tied with ribbons and a variety of massage oils in colored glass bottles arrayed on the windowsill.
“Oh,” Noah cooed, picking one up and reading the label. “Love Nibbles.”
He wiggled his eyebrows in as near as he could come to a lecherous look and got no response at all from Laurel. Too bad. There was a time when she would have been as interested in a little love and a little nibbling as he was. A time when they would have laughed over the name and hurried home with a bottle to find out if it was as delicious as its label promised.
Regret wasn’t a pretty feeling to experience or to watch, and before Laurel could suspect how hollow his stomach felt and how empty his arms had been for the four long years they’d been apart, he replaced the bottle and continued with his tour. At the door, he stopped to examine a glass display case.
The case was about five feet long and three feet high, pretty ordinary, really. The kind of display case he’d seen in bakeries and clothing stores and bookstores all over the country. But one look and Noah knew this was no ordinary display. He whistled low under his breath and bent to take a closer look. The case was filled with the most amazing variety of sex toys he’d ever seen.
Noah’s temperature shot up a degree or two. Right along with his fantasies. Most of the stuff looked pretty familiar, but there was one especially extraordinary-looking object that even he, with his medical background, wasn’t exactly sure how to use. It was hot pink and about a foot long, no bigger around than a pencil. One end of it was crowned with a flamboyant pink feather.
Imagining the possibilities, he stared at the object for a moment or two before he glanced at Laurel. “I don’t suppose you—”
“Demonstrate?” She pulled her shoulders back and marched over to the counter. “Isn’t it just like you to ask. That’s the most immature, sexist, inappropriate—”
“I was going to say gift wrap.” His hands against the counter, Noah stood and gave her a smile that was as innocent as it was wide. “I was going to ask if you gift wrap.”
“Oh.” A blush rushed up Laurel’s neck and stained her cheeks, but he had to give her credit, she kept her cool. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stepped back, her weight on one foot. “It’s not working,” she said.
“It’s not?” Noah gave her a wink. “It used to work really good.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Either she was one heck of an efficient worker or she was looking for something to do. On the counter was a stack of flyers advertising an upcoming sale at the Love Shack. Laurel grabbed them and carefully folded one after another. “You’re not going to embarrass me, Noah. So don’t even try. We’re both medical professionals. And we’re both adults. How about you cut the crap and we get down to business.”
Noah grinned. “And that business is…”
“Toothbrushes.”
“Toothbrushes. Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, the picture of compromise. “Can I get a bag or something?” he asked.
Laurel reached under the counter and came up holding a small pink shopping bag. “Here. Your bag.” She opened the bag and waited for him to fill it.
Noah took his time. He walked around the gift shop once more, checking things out. He was tempted to take a look through the antique wardrobe that took up most of one wall. The doors of the wardrobe were open, and inside was a variety of lacy lingerie. Pink. White. Lavender. Black. The colors and frothy fabric begged to be touched.
He didn’t. It was one thing teasing Laurel. It was another teasing himself with the memories the filmy clothing conjured. Laurel in lace. Laurel in satin. Laurel in nothing at all.
Shaking off the thoughts, Noah went to the toothbrush display. He plucked one from the rack and dropped it into the bag. He added a travel-size tube of toothpaste and a tortoiseshell comb, but it wasn’t until he reached for a small bottle of minty mouthwash that he realized there was a display he hadn’t noticed. A rack of condoms.
Noah glanced over his shoulder to where Laurel was waiting, the shopping bag open, her gaze fixed on the far wall.
Yeah, they were both medical professionals.
Yeah, they were both adults.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun.
He grabbed a pack of condoms and walked to the counter. It wasn’t until right before he dropped it into the bag that he read the package and saw that the condoms were glow-in-the-dark.
When Laurel looked at him, her eyebrows raised, he shrugged. “What? You never know.”
“Right.” She tapped her foot. “Are you done?”
“No.” Noah grinned and continued to explore. When he came to a display of edible underwear, he couldn’t resist. They were packed in plastic shrink-wrap, each pair different, each hung from a little satin hanger. He considered a bright pink bra, but one look at the expression on Laurel’s face and he knew she was right. It was too sexist. He thought about a purple G-string, bubble gum flavored, according to the packaging, and decided that was too blatant. The only thing that seemed just right was a pair of man’s briefs. Brief briefs. They were bright red and, if the package could be believed, tasted like candy apple.
Prolonging the moment, Noah strolled to where Laurel was waiting. He dangled the package over the counter between them, crooking his finger just enough to make the briefs swing back and forth. He watched Laurel’s gaze dip to the briefs and up again. He watched two spots of color rise in her cheeks. He watched her catch her breath.
“So,” he said, “what’s a nice doctor like you doing in a place like this?”
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.” Laurel plucked the underwear out of his hand and tossed it into the bag. “I’m here because tourist season is over and the clinic isn’t as busy now. That gives me some time for myself. And it gives me some time to stop by once in a while and see if Grandma needs anything. When she’s busy, I try to help out as much as I can. And you’re here because…”
