against hers, asking without asking for more. She opened her mouth to his, and curved into him, her body remembering, craving. He brought both his hands up to cup her face, and she nearly melted. Their kiss was like an old familiar song, warm and sweet, but then his touch shifted and the song became a new one. Layered with nuances and heat. She pressed into him, into his growing erection. It would be so easy, too easy, to take him into the quiet dark space behind the dunes and—
No. That would be a mistake—a mistake she’d already made before, and look where it had landed her. What had changed in seven years? Nothing. Not a damned thing.
Except she had a child now, a child she could lose if she let Kincaid back into her life. One night behind the dunes wasn’t worth that.
Darcy stumbled back, and drew in a deep breath. “What was that?”
“That was me proving to you that we’re both still interested. That what we had seven years ago never really died.” He cocked his head. “Am I wrong?”
“Yes, you’re wrong, Kincaid. Very wrong.” She picked up her boots and hurried back down the beach, half hoping he’d run after her and half praying he wouldn’t.
*~*~*
A bby lay in the old twin oak bed, drawing in a long, deep breath. She had one hand on her stomach, another on her heart, willing the panic to ease. The baby kicked against her palm, as if saying, hey, you’re keeping me awake . Abby rubbed against the baby’s foot, and tried again to slow her racing pulse.
Gordon wasn’t here. He wasn’t on the island. He didn’t know where she was, and if there was a God in heaven, he wouldn’t come looking for her. He would just accept what she had written in the note she’d left on the kitchen table and let her go.
Oh, how Abby wanted to believe that. Like the fairy tales the nanny had read to her every night, stories of brave knights on white horses and helpless damsels who found everlasting happiness. But real life was not a fairy tale and Gordon Cochran III was not a man who let anything go.
Especially her.
He would come, and there would be a reckoning. Abby knew that as well as she knew her own name. She could only hope it was after the baby was born.
Abby swung her feet over the side of the bed and slipped into a pair of cheap slippers she’d picked up at a Walmart on the mainland—a stop her father would have been horrified at. Going to the discount superstore had been weirdly liberating as she filled a cart with everything she needed for a new life, not caring one whit about labels or designers or what anyone would think. Abby padded out to the kitchen. Maybe a glass of water would help, or some fresh air, or just a change of scenery.
She poured a glass of water, then slipped out the back door and onto the porch, leaving the light off so she could soak up the night sky, in all its ebony beauty. In the distance, the moon sparkled on the ocean, reflecting a thousand diamonds in the inky water. A bell clanged from somewhere offshore, and the waves whispered their shush-shush song against the sand.
God, how she loved this place. She always had. Her mother had complained, from the minute her Manolos met the dock, that Fortune’s Island was a far cry from the Hamptons. She’d berated the lack of good help, the overabundance of sunny days, pretty much anything that would get her off the island and back to the society world where she bloomed best. Abby’s father seemed like he enjoyed the quiet of Fortune’s Island, the sense of escape from the busy day-to-day of his law firm. But he rarely spent more than a day or two here, leaving his wife and kids to make their own vacation. Their mother would feign a migraine and take to her bed until the stay was over, while Abby and Kincaid explored the island. Abby had found peace here, then. Maybe she would again.
Abby drew in another breath, a second, a third, closing her eyes and concentrating on the ocean’s gentle song. It would all be okay. She
No. That would be a mistake—a mistake she’d already made before, and look where it had landed her. What had changed in seven years? Nothing. Not a damned thing.
Except she had a child now, a child she could lose if she let Kincaid back into her life. One night behind the dunes wasn’t worth that.
Darcy stumbled back, and drew in a deep breath. “What was that?”
“That was me proving to you that we’re both still interested. That what we had seven years ago never really died.” He cocked his head. “Am I wrong?”
“Yes, you’re wrong, Kincaid. Very wrong.” She picked up her boots and hurried back down the beach, half hoping he’d run after her and half praying he wouldn’t.
*~*~*
A bby lay in the old twin oak bed, drawing in a long, deep breath. She had one hand on her stomach, another on her heart, willing the panic to ease. The baby kicked against her palm, as if saying, hey, you’re keeping me awake . Abby rubbed against the baby’s foot, and tried again to slow her racing pulse.
Gordon wasn’t here. He wasn’t on the island. He didn’t know where she was, and if there was a God in heaven, he wouldn’t come looking for her. He would just accept what she had written in the note she’d left on the kitchen table and let her go.
Oh, how Abby wanted to believe that. Like the fairy tales the nanny had read to her every night, stories of brave knights on white horses and helpless damsels who found everlasting happiness. But real life was not a fairy tale and Gordon Cochran III was not a man who let anything go.
Especially her.
He would come, and there would be a reckoning. Abby knew that as well as she knew her own name. She could only hope it was after the baby was born.
Abby swung her feet over the side of the bed and slipped into a pair of cheap slippers she’d picked up at a Walmart on the mainland—a stop her father would have been horrified at. Going to the discount superstore had been weirdly liberating as she filled a cart with everything she needed for a new life, not caring one whit about labels or designers or what anyone would think. Abby padded out to the kitchen. Maybe a glass of water would help, or some fresh air, or just a change of scenery.
She poured a glass of water, then slipped out the back door and onto the porch, leaving the light off so she could soak up the night sky, in all its ebony beauty. In the distance, the moon sparkled on the ocean, reflecting a thousand diamonds in the inky water. A bell clanged from somewhere offshore, and the waves whispered their shush-shush song against the sand.
God, how she loved this place. She always had. Her mother had complained, from the minute her Manolos met the dock, that Fortune’s Island was a far cry from the Hamptons. She’d berated the lack of good help, the overabundance of sunny days, pretty much anything that would get her off the island and back to the society world where she bloomed best. Abby’s father seemed like he enjoyed the quiet of Fortune’s Island, the sense of escape from the busy day-to-day of his law firm. But he rarely spent more than a day or two here, leaving his wife and kids to make their own vacation. Their mother would feign a migraine and take to her bed until the stay was over, while Abby and Kincaid explored the island. Abby had found peace here, then. Maybe she would again.
Abby drew in another breath, a second, a third, closing her eyes and concentrating on the ocean’s gentle song. It would all be okay. She
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