that?” Melissa nodded at the wine, knowing Shane was well aware of the no alcohol on the beach laws some of the locals complained about.
When she’d first met him, he’d told her just after he moved to the Lowcountry, he’d gotten busted on his first trip to the island, which sounded much worse than it actually was. He’d paid a hefty fine and learned to be more creative like the rest of the locals who drank out of everything from Solo cups to sippy cups.
They headed out the door and Melissa stopped when she saw the hot pink roses he’d tethered to the trellis. They were about three feet tall and would cover the trellis before the first frost in December.
“Oh, Shane, they’re beautiful. Thank you.” She fingered the band around one of the canes to see what type of roses they were. Don Juan . Shocker.
She grabbed two squatty beach chairs from the carport, slipped into her flip-flops and they headed up 30th Street, hand in hand, toward the beach. The connection was still there; Shane’s cocky smile said he felt it too, but honestly, it confused the hell out of Melissa. She wished Gramma or Auntie were still alive to tell her what it meant. Did this mean that Shane was settling for her? It didn’t matter; the connection between the two of them wasn’t anything like the fireworks she’d seen between him and Cassie.
The path had grown over a bit during the offseason; it was still wide enough to hold hands, but Melissa was grateful to let go and lead the way like nothing was happening between the two of them. Tangles of vines caught on her pants. She could feel Shane checking out her ass whenever she stopped to free herself. Oh well, turnabout was fair play.
Melissa loved this path, even though it seemed like the only one on the whole island the city didn’t maintain very well. She couldn’t see the ocean from it, but could hear waves. The path meandered a little, always ending with an incredible view of a wide pristine beach and the beautiful Atlantic. But today was different.
A small white tent was anchored into the sand. Three unlit candles in hurricane-type vases were arranged in the center of a café table with two chairs. Shane had even put down the kind of temporary floor people use for outdoor parties.
He was so gorgeous with a full on grin.
“Shane, this is beautiful. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He put the basket on the table and set the beach chairs side by side near the surf. She slipped out of her pants and tee and joined him.
“Thanks for talking to Ben about the pool. He got some preliminary numbers and sketches to the Gladstones, and they are very happy.
“Well, there’s a miracle,” he laughed.
“It wouldn’t have happened without you.”
S hane was smart enough not to bring up anything that had happened Saturday night, at least not now. Melissa seemed relaxed, happy, and was drop-dead gorgeous in her tiny, white bikini. Her short, perfect legs were stretched out in front of her, her toes digging into the sand. And she was talking business.
Not exactly what he wanted, but at least she was talking to him, instead of trying to pawn Cassie off on him. He’d rather cut his own balls off than get back together with her. Hell, Cassie was the kind of girl who’d be more than happy to do that for him.
He opened one of the bottles of wine from the cooler and filled two Solo cups before stashing it out of sight. He’d gotten to know a lot of cops on the Isle Of Palms playing softball at the island rec center. He didn’t think any of them would give him a hard time about the wine, or the setup on the beach. But the last thing he wanted was to get busted tonight. It would only mean a ticket, which he didn’t care about, but the cop would take the wine—probably drink it himself—and Shane had counted on the wine the chef had paired with their dinner loosening Melissa up.
Not that he was trying to get her drunk. He wasn’t; he just wanted her to stay relaxed and
When she’d first met him, he’d told her just after he moved to the Lowcountry, he’d gotten busted on his first trip to the island, which sounded much worse than it actually was. He’d paid a hefty fine and learned to be more creative like the rest of the locals who drank out of everything from Solo cups to sippy cups.
They headed out the door and Melissa stopped when she saw the hot pink roses he’d tethered to the trellis. They were about three feet tall and would cover the trellis before the first frost in December.
“Oh, Shane, they’re beautiful. Thank you.” She fingered the band around one of the canes to see what type of roses they were. Don Juan . Shocker.
She grabbed two squatty beach chairs from the carport, slipped into her flip-flops and they headed up 30th Street, hand in hand, toward the beach. The connection was still there; Shane’s cocky smile said he felt it too, but honestly, it confused the hell out of Melissa. She wished Gramma or Auntie were still alive to tell her what it meant. Did this mean that Shane was settling for her? It didn’t matter; the connection between the two of them wasn’t anything like the fireworks she’d seen between him and Cassie.
The path had grown over a bit during the offseason; it was still wide enough to hold hands, but Melissa was grateful to let go and lead the way like nothing was happening between the two of them. Tangles of vines caught on her pants. She could feel Shane checking out her ass whenever she stopped to free herself. Oh well, turnabout was fair play.
Melissa loved this path, even though it seemed like the only one on the whole island the city didn’t maintain very well. She couldn’t see the ocean from it, but could hear waves. The path meandered a little, always ending with an incredible view of a wide pristine beach and the beautiful Atlantic. But today was different.
A small white tent was anchored into the sand. Three unlit candles in hurricane-type vases were arranged in the center of a café table with two chairs. Shane had even put down the kind of temporary floor people use for outdoor parties.
He was so gorgeous with a full on grin.
“Shane, this is beautiful. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He put the basket on the table and set the beach chairs side by side near the surf. She slipped out of her pants and tee and joined him.
“Thanks for talking to Ben about the pool. He got some preliminary numbers and sketches to the Gladstones, and they are very happy.
“Well, there’s a miracle,” he laughed.
“It wouldn’t have happened without you.”
S hane was smart enough not to bring up anything that had happened Saturday night, at least not now. Melissa seemed relaxed, happy, and was drop-dead gorgeous in her tiny, white bikini. Her short, perfect legs were stretched out in front of her, her toes digging into the sand. And she was talking business.
Not exactly what he wanted, but at least she was talking to him, instead of trying to pawn Cassie off on him. He’d rather cut his own balls off than get back together with her. Hell, Cassie was the kind of girl who’d be more than happy to do that for him.
He opened one of the bottles of wine from the cooler and filled two Solo cups before stashing it out of sight. He’d gotten to know a lot of cops on the Isle Of Palms playing softball at the island rec center. He didn’t think any of them would give him a hard time about the wine, or the setup on the beach. But the last thing he wanted was to get busted tonight. It would only mean a ticket, which he didn’t care about, but the cop would take the wine—probably drink it himself—and Shane had counted on the wine the chef had paired with their dinner loosening Melissa up.
Not that he was trying to get her drunk. He wasn’t; he just wanted her to stay relaxed and
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