Beholden: A Small-Town Standalone Romance (Carmel Cove Book 1) Page 10

  “Don’t apologize,” he commanded sternly, his jaw ticking with frustration.

  I should though. He wasn’t responsible for my sadness, and I shouldn’t make him feel like he was; the less that tied us together, the easier it would be.

  My lips parted as air rushed into my lungs. The rough pad of his thumb strayed low enough to brush over the fullness of my lower lip, making desire the only emotion I could feel.

  I really wanted to kiss him.

  The thought would have knocked me back if his hands weren’t holding my face captive.

  I wanted to kiss him. Not as a thank you. Not because I needed it as comfort. I just wanted to be closer to him. I just wanted to share this little broken piece of me.

  And I hadn’t had that feeling about anyone in a long time.

  My tongue flicked out to wet my lip and I asked, knowing it was the second time, “Are you going to kiss me?”

  I hardly registered his growl before his mouth crushed mine—hot and possessive and exquisitely overwhelming.

  His kiss was a burning flame. Heating. Illuminating. Cleansing. It burned away even the strongest insecurities just as easily as it flared the need that pooled between my thighs, warm and wet and aching.

  I wanted to kiss him. I needed to kiss him. But I didn’t know how badly until I was.

  I couldn’t stop the moan that slipped from my mouth or the way my hands rose and curled into his t-shirt, still damp from the sink water and my tears. I tugged myself tighter against him, squeezing out whatever space was left between our bodies.

  I needed to get closer—closer to where I could feel without loss finding me.

  Flames licked through me as his tongue speared inside my mouth, stroking over mine.

  There were so many things wrong with my life at the moment. So many losses and setbacks that made every breath feel like I was trying to breathe oxygen out of water. And this kiss? It should’ve added to that pile of unfortunate circumstances.

  I wanted a man I was either going to leave or lose.

  Instead, I could finally breathe. And feel. And need. For a single safe second.

  His fingers slid back from my face and threaded through my hair, tugging on the thick tresses to tip my head back so he could deepen the kiss. I felt his tongue in every corner of my mouth, exploring and claiming each and every inch. I hadn’t kissed someone like this in a long time. And to compare any other kiss to this would be the worst kind of crime.

  His mouth was just as determined as the rest of him—determined to remove any trace of hurt that lingered, determined to give me a safe space to feel… determined to give me everything if I’d let him.

  One hand slipped from the back of my head to slide down my back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, as his tongue stroked along the length of mine. Heat pooled in my core, the ache stoked by the thick length of his erection swelling against my stomach.

  I moaned as need filled the hollowness inside me—the need for everything solid and indestructible Eli seemed to be made of.

  His groan was low and tortured when I rolled my hips.

  This wasn’t real. It wasn’t lasting. It was only a kiss, and kisses couldn’t cure heartache any more than the ocean air could cure illnesses. Still, I clung to every sensation that engulfed me.

  “Eli,” I whimpered against his mouth. His heart pounded against my hand, mimicking the thump of my own blood through my body.

  “Eli,” I murmured again against his lips as his hand squeezed my ass, pinning me against his hard cock. “Please…”

  I wasn’t sure what I was begging for. Kisses? Touching? Sex?

  All I knew was I wanted more of it—more of him. In every other instance, he was everything that stood between me and getting away from this place, but in this moment, he was the only thing that let me escape the pain… that let me feel peace.

  Harsh and heavy pants from both our lips filled the minimal space between us for a moment, before his eyes flew open, regret and guilt clouding his gaze as he released me abruptly and stepped back.

  “Fuck,” he swore under his breath, running a rough hand through his hair that let one lock fall over the prominent plane of his forehead.

  I shivered as a different kind of heat flushed my body.

  “I’m s—”

  “Don’t,” he commanded even more harshly this time, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have done that, especially because you were upset.”

  So, instead of more of anything, I was left with nothing. Again, my heart whispered.

  I could only nod. I wanted to tell him no. I didn’t want him to stop because being in his arms made all the storms calm. But that was a dangerous thought to have, let alone speak. So, I only nodded, letting the moment of awkward silence drag lazily between us, tethering us through the desire that still charged the air, desperate to break free.

  “The pipe should be okay now, but if you have any trouble, just call me. Doesn’t matter the time, I’ll be here,” he promised hoarsely, and my heart squeezed at the offer.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll see you on Monday.” His assertion brought me back to the moment.

  I nodded, brushing a strand of hair back from my face as he turned and left. My feet stayed rooted in the same spot and my fingers drifted up, pressing on my swollen lips, ravaged from that kiss, until I heard the click of the front door shutting.

  He was gone. And the hollowness began to return.

  What was wrong with me?

  I’d kissed Eli.

  I’d kissed the man who made me want to stay in a place I very much needed to leave.

  Sure, some might consider a fling with the handsome contractor a way—good or questionable—to deal with grief. But one kiss proved that wouldn’t work for me.

  One kiss proved any involvement with Eli was dangerous—not because it meant risking another loss, but because the fullness I’d felt was the beginnings of hope—a hope that it would be safe to let someone in… to love again.

  I couldn’t afford that kind of hope.

  Especially when it came within a hundred-mile radius of Carmel Cove.

  Eli

  I’d worked my entire life to redefine what ‘home’ meant to me. The place. The people. The relationships.

  I’d come to Carmel Cove homeless—in every sense of the word. And just when it all began to feel secure, when I was starting to think about that final piece of the puzzle—having someone to share it with—everything began to unravel.

  And now, I worried if I couldn’t get Laurel to stay… if I couldn’t put Roasters to rights, I’d lose every sense of belonging I’d come to find in this town. And instead of being the one everyone looked to, I’d be the one they turned away from.

  The one who hadn’t been able to save Larry.

  The one who hadn’t been able to save Roasters.

  The man who couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Laurel Ocean.

  “Shit.” I grunted, a huge plume of dust rolling out from underneath the espresso machine I’d attempted to move away from the back wall.

  I’d been at the coffee shop almost every day since the break-in. We hadn’t been able to do much, first because of the investigation, and then, with Larry’s death, until we had permission from the new owner. But whatever little I could do calmed my unsettled soul. At least in here, I could put something to rights. I could take away what was destroyed and fix what was broken.

  It was a harsh contrast to everything else going on in my life right now.

  No matter how hard I tried, it seemed like no matter what I did, it made it worse.

  And kissing her definitely made the situation worse.

  “Eli?” Eve appeared from the back. “You okay?”

  I huffed, my hands planted on my hips, glaring at the stubborn old espresso machine.

  “Yeah, just trying to move this so I can get to the wall behind it tomorrow.” I glanced at her. “I’ll get it. Don’t worry about it
.”

  I knew she would try to help.

  “You sure?” She adjusted her glasses.

  “Yeah,” I grunted.

  “Alright. Well, I have to head over to the Blooms’ house. I’m teaching a class there in about twenty minutes. Just call if you need anything, okay?”

  Eve’s older sister, Addison Williams, owned a non-profit rehabilitation house for women escaping domestic violence. Blooms provided shelter, food, and most importantly, support for the women, along with programs and opportunities to teach them various skills.

  Ash taught them how to cook. Mick and I taught them simple woodworking. Dex and Ace Covington taught them self-defense. And Eve… Eve taught them yoga.

  “Yeah.” I nodded even though I knew I’d be fine on my own—always had.

  But alone wasn’t something this town did well, as the door dinged with her exit, I heard much heavier footfalls replace her smaller, softer ones, along with a smooth Southern accent.

  “Need some help?” Mick’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he walked over to me.

  “I’m fine,” I insisted, even though my muscles screamed in protest.

  “Gettin’ a head start?”

  “Just thought I’d move this away from the wall, so we can start tearing it apart tomorrow,” I replied.

  He reached out. His large palm splaying on the wall behind the machine. “Could’ve done that in the morning.”

  Right. But then I’d be struggling to find something to exert myself and take my frustration out on.

  “Trying to clear my head,” I admitted, wiping my hands on my dirt and dust-covered work jeans.

  “Laurel?”

  My jaw tightened. Even just her name had my body recalling the way she melted into my arms, needing the very thing she fought so desperately against.

  “That obvious?”

  “Obvious that it’s her with the building and everything.” He folded his massive arms over his chest. “Less obvious that it’s because you want her.”

  My gaze snapped to his, confirming his claim.

  I dragged a hand through my hair. “Then how’d you know?” I grumbled.

  He chuckled but there was something more serious that lingered in his gaze. “I know what it’s like to want somethin’ you shouldn’t—to want somethin’ you can’t have.” He cleared his throat, and any indication that he was talking about himself disappeared. “Don’t we all?”

  I stared at him for a minute, wondering who he was thinking about in that moment.

  “Yeah, well, wanting something you shouldn’t have and kissing something you shouldn’t want are two very different things.”

  His eyebrows popped up. “You kissed Laurel?”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “Then why are you stuck on it?”

  My head cocked.

  “Mistakes you move on from,” he explained. “If you can’t, then maybe it wasn’t a mistake.”

  “It was,” I assured him. “She already thinks I’m trying to force her into staying. Kissing her only makes that look a thousand times worse. I shouldn’t have done it, and I should stay away from her.”

  I should stay away from her before the need inside me to be the one she finally let go with—the one she finally opened up to and let out everything she so bravely held inside—demanded too much and drove her away.

  He scoffed. “Laurel’s a smart girl,” he told me. “Even after four martinis.” He laughed. “She’s hurtin’, to be sure. We all are. But grief is like drivin’ in a fog. Hard to see too much except what’s right in front of you. Hard to move fast. And even though you’d think turnin’ on those high beams—all the should and shouldn’ts blarin’ in your brain of what’s expected, what’s appropriate—would make the situation easier to navigate, they don’t. It’s the low light you have to follow.” His lips thinned for a second as he nodded. “It’s the low glow from in here” —he pushed his thumb into the unmoving muscle of his left chest—“you have to follow to get through… wherever it takes you.”

  My heart lurched against its cage, eager to agree with him. Eager to agree I should be following it straight back to Laurel.

  “I don’t want to be the reason she leaves,” I told him.

  He hummed. “You alright bein’ the reason she stays?”

  The question was a punch to the gut.

  “I want to be the reason she’s sure she made the right decision, whatever that is.” I cleared my throat.

  “Will you buy it?”

  My eyes flicked to him and then back to the espresso machine. It would almost, if not completely, deplete my savings to buy Roasters.

  “If that’s what it comes to,” I replied tightly.

  This was all I had left of the man who’d given me a home, and finally, a definition for that word. And I would do whatever it took to preserve it.

  He nodded.

  “Alright, well, I guess we better get this thing moved then,” he drawled a few seconds later with a confident smirk.

  I stepped back as he moved in front of me. The man who weighed a solid two-hundred pounds wrapped his arms on the side of the commercial espresso machine like it was an espresso-making teddy bear, and, with just the slightest hitch in his breath, lifted it and, turning, placed it on the counter behind us.

  And he barely broke a sweat.

  “I could’ve done that,” I grumbled with a grin.

  “Of course.” He chuckled, patting my back just as the door dinged again.

  We both turned and all three of us—Mick, me, and the newcomer—froze.

  “Jules?” I gaped in astonishment at the slender figure of Laurel's cousin who stood just inside the doorway with her hand on the knob, as though she were still deciding whether to turn around and bolt.

  “Hi, Eli,” she greeted softly, her chin dipping with a gentle nod as she folded her hands demurely in front of her. Her gaze shifted to Mick and her lips parted ever so slightly with a hitch.

  “Jules, this is Mick Madison. Not sure if you’ve already met,” I introduced them.

  She nodded, and I couldn’t tell whether it was to indicate that they had, or whether it was in greeting.

  “Miss Vandelsen,” Mick said, her name thickened with reverence.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked and looked to my friend, seeing in his eyes a glimmer of that longing I’d seen before. But by the time I looked between them again, it was gone. “How can I help you?”

  Her trance broken, she took a few steps forward, her heels clicking softly on the laminate floor, and I rounded the counter to meet her in the center of the almost-empty room, noting how Mick kept his distance.

  “Yes,” she assured me with words that appeared to be out of obligation rather than reality. “I’m so sorry to intrude. I just had a few moments to myself, and I wanted to come down here. We…” Her eyes dropped for a second. “We couldn’t stay for the reception after the funeral, and I haven’t been here since the…incident.”

  Up close, the bubble of put-together perfection that characterized her, and the entire Vandelsen family, showed hints of fracture and strain.

  Wisps of long brown hair escaped the neat bun at the base of her neck. Her eyes, though still done up with makeup, had the faintest shadows of circles underneath them. Even her hands broke their calm hold as her thumb rubbed soothing paths across her skin.

  She’d always reminded me of royalty.

  Not because many in town referred to her as the Princess of Rock Beach. Beauty, fortune, and living in a palatial sea-side resort with parents who saw themselves as above the rest lent well to the association. I saw royalty because I saw someone who was trapped, and forced to appear happy about it. I saw someone who was always under scrutiny—from the outside and within. I saw someone who was a tool of diplomacy—a beautiful and kind one—used by her parents to grow their social empire. And I saw someone who was told she needed to be happy about it just because she was rich.

  Except when she came here… to see Larry.


  No one had to be anyone but who they were with Larry.

  “That’s alright,” I told her. “It’s still a little bit of a mess down here, unfortunately. Probably going to get worse over the next few weeks as we tear it all apart.” Her eyes sprung wide, so I clarified, “To fix everything.”

  Relief flashed across her well-trained features.

  Her gaze held mine as she took another step forward and asked hesitantly, “Do you… have you heard anything about the break-in?” She swallowed and looked around nervously.

  “Not yet. They’re still investigating.”

  “Of course.” Her eyes dropped. “Do you know what’s going to happen once you repair everything?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” I told her. “I guess that depends on what happens with the will and the lawyer.”

  “Oh, of course.” She nodded, tearing her gaze away.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  Her head snapped back to me. “Oh, no,” she exclaimed. “I just… I was just working on something… with my grandfather,” she replied, hesitantly. “But it’s okay. It’s not a big deal.”

  My gaze narrowed on her.

  She’d been a frequent visitor to Roasters over the last few months, but I thought it was nothing more than a granddaughter visiting her grandfather. Now that I examined my memories in light of this conversation, there did seem to be something more serious being discussed between them.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “I can talk to Laurel if you want—”

  “Oh, no.” She flashed a smile and I recognized it as something she shared with her cousin good: the way they both put on a brave face even when something wounded them. “That won’t be necessary. It’s not a big deal. Please, don’t tell her I came, she has enough going on,” Jules insisted, maintaining her light expression. “I just wanted to see everything…”

  This was the Jules Vandelsen the world saw—where nothing about what she needed was important simply because her family had too much money for her to need anything.

  “I hope he left it to her,” she went on before I could ask anything further, adding with a blush, “I mean, my parents are just so busy, it’s better that Laurel gets it.”