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Butterfly Cove
Christina Skye
Maybe opposites don’t always attract. If they did, architect Olivia Sullivan would have run away with bad boy Rafe Russo when they were teenagers.Instead, Olivia has spent ten years dreaming up designs for a life that hasn’t gone the way she planned. Still reeling from her career’s implosion and her father’s death, Olivia thanks her lucky stars for the support of her three lifelong friends. But this good girl is through sitting on the side-lines.When Rafe returns to the beautiful Oregon coast where they grew up, her former flame ignites a new desire. Now Olivia must take a walk on the wild side to show the new deputy that in matters of love… being bad can feel very good.Freshly back from Afghanistan, rugged ex-Marine and new deputy Rafe is done breaking laws and hearts. He’s always regretted leaving Olivia behind, but now she’s after adventure and he’d better proceed with caution.Because wanting her again might be easy, but fighting for a future together will be his biggest risk yet.
Girl’s gone bad…for the town’s new golden boy
Maybe opposites don’t always attract. If they did, architect Olivia Sullivan would have run away with bad boy Rafe Russo when they were teenagers. Instead, Olivia has spent ten years dreaming up designs for a life that hasn’t gone the way she planned. Still reeling from her career’s implosion and her father’s death, Olivia thanks her lucky stars for the support of her three lifelong friends. But this good girl is through sitting on the sidelines. When Rafe returns to the beautiful Oregon coast where they grew up, her former flame ignites a new desire. Now Olivia must take a walk on the wild side to show the new deputy that in matters of love…being bad can feel very good.
Freshly back from Afghanistan, rugged ex-Marine and new deputy Rafe is done breaking laws and hearts. He’s always regretted leaving Olivia behind, but now she’s after adventure and he’d better proceed with caution. Because wanting her again might be easy, but fighting for a future together will be his biggest risk yet.
Praise for Christina Skye’s
Summer Island series
“Skye perfectly captures the feel and appeal of small-town life...[a] sweetly satisfying romance.”
—Booklist on The Accidental Bride (starred review)
“The Accidental Bride has something for every reader—warmth, humor...and chocolate. I love this book.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber on The Accidental Bride
“Skye manages to keep her complicated plots clicking along like busy knitting needles.”
—Publishers Weekly on A Home by the Sea
“A delightful love story with just enough intrigue and complexity to make it exciting and different.”
—New York Journal of Books on A Home by the Sea
Butterfly Cove
Christina Skye
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
PROLOGUE (#u37d91694-6fd0-56d7-a6cb-34d7b237e71e)
CHAPTER ONE (#ufc03b6de-5654-53b7-8db8-92886e4fb94f)
CHAPTER TWO (#uc6570282-4507-56e5-8462-2aed4e26da3c)
CHAPTER THREE (#u500c73e1-3d99-5d4f-adaf-de66679bfdd1)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ua9152622-e126-5e89-983c-139d5bb69e1f)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ua9d53bb4-d787-571a-bd4f-49d971949d99)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
AUTHOR’S NOTE (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
THE DAY HAD started well enough, with a large iced cinnamon dolce latte with cinnamon sprinkles and a raspberry-walnut scone on the side.
Olivia Sullivan had zipped through morning traffic and was at her drafting desk an hour early. As she finished her scone, she savored the peace and quiet around her. She liked starting her day early. Most of all she liked the quiet time before the hive started to buzz and race with frantic activity.
Twelve minutes after Olivia had finished her newest project, an upscale shopping area and condominium project in a busy Seattle suburb, a man she didn’t recognize walked up to her desk and put a small envelope down in front of her. “Olivia Sullivan?”
“That’s right.”
“This is for you.” The man turned around and walked away before she could ask who he was or why he had left an envelope on her desk.
Olivia looked down and rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache begin. But those were nothing new. For months she had been working ten-hour days and she still had no idea whether she’d be kept on after her one-year assessment was done.
She picked up the envelope and turned it over. She saw a woman across the hall glance across at her uncertainly and then look away.
Olivia suddenly knew what was waiting inside that envelope. She frowned and tore open the cheap paper. She saw a check inside, her salary for the last pay period. The amount was prorated to end exactly at noon that day. Beneath the pay stub with her total accrued hours, Olivia saw a letter typed on company letterhead.
Dear Olivia Sullivan,
Notice of termination is hereby given. Enclosed check will serve as final wages due.
Thank you for your services.
Olivia stared at the impersonal, stamped signature of the company’s president. Thank you for your services?
After eight months of drudgery, this was all she got? Thank you for your services and a pay stub?
She folded and unfolded the sheet, feeling the blood drain from her face. Couldn’t someone have had the decency to sign her letter himself? Was an actual signature too much to ask? Or even a phone call from someone in Personnel?
With shaking fingers she gathered her reference books and papers and drafting pens. Quickly she slid her framed picture of Summer Island into the knitting bag she kept hidden in the bottom drawer. Professional women did not knit in public, at least not while at the office. Knitting needles made people uncomfortable, an employment officer had told her quietly. It had to do with the sharp points and the quick movements.
Olivia grabbed the bag and swung it over her shoulder like a flag of angry protest. Maybe some people ought to be made uncomfortable.
A security guard showed up two minutes later. When you gave someone the boot, the security guard was there to collect their keys and badges and escort them out of the building. Olivia knew the drill.
She had just never expected to be on the receiving end.
Silently she gathered her other belongings and marched outside with her head held high. She met no one’s eyes. She didn’t speak on the way down in the elevator or on her angry walk to her car, where she dumped her box and knitting and then sank into the driver’s seat.
The guard left. But Olivia sat white-faced and shaking, trying to figure out how her life could possibly get any worse, and what she was going to do to dig herself out of the looming disaster that her father had left behind after his death.
And now she had lost her job. Something burned at her eyelids. She gripped the steering wheel hard and told herself to stay strong.
But it wasn’t working. She didn’t feel strong. A wave of panic struck and Olivia closed her eyes, knowing what would come next when her anxiety grew into a sickening wave.
She had to get home.
She had to find the only place where she had ever felt safe and the friends who had been her anchor through uncertainty and pain. Her hands tightened. Summer Island was waiting for her in the mist, golden in the morning sun.
Olivia had driven the road south many times before, but this was different. This time she was going home.
For good.
Oregon Coast
Late afternoon
THIRTY MILES SOUTH of the Oregon border, the fog appeared. Olivia opened her window and drank in the smells of salt and sea, feeling the wind comb through her hair. The sun was gone and shadows touched the coast. Waves boiled up over black rocks where seals and otters fished in clusters.
A small sign pointed out the turn to the coast road. Her heart kicked up as she saw the misty outline of hills and trees ahead.
Summer Island’s only bridge was half-veiled in fog when she turned south and rounded the curve at the top of the island. Olivia looked up, entranced by the big house that glowed in the twilight. Stained glass panels lit the front of the tall Victorian building above the harbor. Freshly painted, the long pier shepherded fishing boats that Olivia knew from childhood.
Princess of Storms.
Sea King.
Bella Luna.
The boats rocked at anchor, secure in the harbor. Warmth touched Olivia at the familiar sight. Summer Island never seemed to change, and she liked that sense of certainty. Slowly she drove along the cobbled streets and turned at the magnificent old building that she and her friends had renovated with loving care.
Imposing in a new coat of paint, the Harbor House gleamed in the twilight, its new windows blazing above the freshly restored porch. Strains of Chopin drifted from the open French doors above the side lawn filled with late-summer roses.
Home.
This beautiful old house with all its vibrant colors and inspiring energy.
Not the big modern house where Olivia had grown up, struggling to make her way through childhood, always too tall and too shy for her critical father. She had never been smart enough to suit her father. He had always expected more and more from her and never showed much real pleasure in any of her accomplishments. He seemed happiest when he was alone, working in his office, a phone in one hand and a keyboard in the other, barking out negotiations for a real estate deal. When he wasn’t working, he liked to give big, elegant parties in the house on the cliffs, gathering smart, sophisticated guests who left Olivia feeling awkward and tongue-tied.
No, her safety lay here in the Harbor House. She had always dreamed about restoring the old rooms with her three oldest friends.
And they had done it. A new wrought-iron sign swung in the wind, a cat holding a ball of yarn. Olivia smiled and grabbed her big knitting bag and suitcase, following the steep steps up to the front porch. At the top she was greeted by shelf after shelf of bright yarns, glowing through the front windows.
Island Yarns.
Her title. Her concept. Her joy. With her job gone, she could finally focus on the new shop. But how long would her money last? And then what would she do, with the employment market for architects so depressed?
The big blue door swung open and her friend Jilly O’Hara looked out. Jilly’s big white dog barked in the doorway as she peered over the porch. “Livie? Is that you?”
Olivia walked up through the twilight past bobbing roses and fragrant lavender and boxes of glowing geraniums. “It’s me. Everything looks wonderful, Jilly. I love that new sign for the yarn shop.”
“Caro and I found it in yesterday’s mail. We’d ordered it weeks ago. Walker helped us hang it. We put out another shipment of yarn today, too.” Jilly frowned at her friend. “I didn’t expect you here until next week. Is everything okay?”
“Just perfect.” Olivia forced a smile to hide her worry.
