Janet might think sex was a good tactic, but Luna wasn’t going there, no matter how much her body wanted to. “I like your sweatshirt,” she said.
“Me, too. It doesn’t fit the way it did when I was seventeen, but it was hanging in my closet upstairs, so I put it on.” His gaze went to the pair of urns on the mantel and slid away again.
“Sounds like the right move to me.” She screwed the lid on the cocktail shaker and tucked it into an insulated carrier Geraldine had bought expressly for trips to Happy Hour Beach. Besides a thermos for ice, the carrier had a divided section for two stemmed glasses, a place for a small jar of olives, and another compartment for toothpicks.
“That carrier’s new,” Colin said. “When I was here, they used a canvas bag.”
Luna lifted the carrier by its strap. “Progress. Do you want to take folding chairs? When I’d have happy hour with Geraldine, we took two camp chairs.”
“There used to be big pieces of driftwood on that beach.”
“There still are, but Geraldine didn’t like to perch on them, especially after a couple of martinis.”
Colin smiled. “I can understand that. But I plan to have only one drink, so the driftwood should work for me.”
“For me, too.” She’d probably overdone it on the martinis, but she’d heard that Scotsmen liked their liquor. Maybe he’d change his mind and have more than one.
“Then let’s forget the chairs and just go.”
“Okay.” She started to pick up the wicker basket by its handle.
Colin moved toward her. “I can get that. In fact, let me carry the drinks and the food.”
“I’d rather you took the urns.”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Right.” Shoulders back, jaw set, he walked straight to the mantel and gripped an urn in each of his large hands. “Let’s go.”
Luna led the way back out into the entry hall and through the front door. The sun had drawn closer to the horizon, but darkness wouldn’t come for another two hours, at least.
A wind whipped Luna’s hair back from her face as she gazed out at the island-dotted expanse of blue-gray water. “Geraldine would have loved this sunny weather,” she said.
“Yes.” Colin sounded subdued.
Luna turned to him. “It’s not really my place to say, but I think she would have wanted us to make this a joyful occasion.”
“Yes, you’re right.” He took a deep breath. “So we’ll do that. Lead on.”
“That’s the spirit.” She gave him a quick smile of encouragement. Then she took a path to her left, which bordered a grassy area where Geraldine had often set up a croquet game. If Colin approved Luna’s plan, she wanted to offer guests a chance to play here. It would be a shame not to.
Once past the croquet lawn, she started down narrow stone steps that descended about ten feet to a small crescent beach that faced west. Colin followed, his footsteps sure, his breathing steady.
Because Luna had spent years minimizing close encounters with eligible males, being alone with a virile Were like Colin gave her the jitters. She reminded herself he was Geraldine’s cherished nephew, not someone to be avoided. In fact, if she ever wanted to have a sexual experience, Colin would be a safe candidate, given how much Geraldine had trusted him.
But he also had the power to decide whether she’d be staying on the island. She couldn’t risk doing anything that would adversely affect his decision to let her open an inn.
When they reached the sand, Colin let out a sigh. “Just the same as I remembered. That’s comforting, in a way. Geraldine is gone, but the beach remains the way it’s always been.”
“It does.” The water was calm, and the waves lapped at the shoreline in a lazy rhythm. Luna wanted this to be a celebratory occasion, but the beauty of the little cove seemed to emphasize that the former owner would never enjoy it again.
About two weeks ago, Luna had sat on the beach with Geraldine, and she remembered that last evening with fondness. They’d watched a spectacular sunset while drinking martinis and eating finger sandwiches.
Memories of Geraldine swirled through Luna’s mind as she set the picnic basket and the insulated carrier next to a huge piece of gray driftwood, its trunk as big around as she was. It would make a good seat for both her and Colin, provided they didn’t drink too much gin. At the moment, drinking too much gin to fill the void Geraldine had left was an appealing thought.
“Luna, look!”
The urgency in Colin’s voice shattered her melancholy. Glancing up, she gasped in delight as a pair of orcas arched out of the water about twenty yards offshore. Their black-and-white, tuxedolike markings glistened as they undulated in tandem through the calm water.
“I’d forgotten.” Still clutching a funerary urn in each hand, Colin watched the whales make their way past the island until they became indistinguishable from the movement of the gentle waves. He set the urns in the sand and turned to Luna. “How could I forget about the orcas? They were one of my favorite things about the summers I spent on this island.”
“Fifteen years is a long time.”
“Too long.” His expression was bleak. “I loved it here. I should have made it a priority to come back for a visit.”
“She knew you were busy.” Luna hated to see him in pain, but maybe this meant her plan had a chance of succeeding. “She was proud of your accomplishments.”
“She talked about me?”
“All the time. Considering she left everything to you, it’s safe to say you were the son she never had.”
Feet braced apart, hands bracketing his hips, Colin stared at the sand beneath his feet. “And a bloody inattentive one, at that.” He shifted his focus to the horizon. “At first I thought it was my duty to step aside and allow my younger brother to have his turn over here, but he wasn’t interested.”
“Geraldine mentioned your brother. I gather he’s a handful.”
“Aye. Duncan’s what you’d call a party animal. He thought spending the summer over here sounded as exciting as watching a sheep grow wool.”
“He must be very different from y’all.”
He glanced over at her. “You mean different from my whole family, or just me?”
“Just, uh, you.” She flushed. “Sorry. It’s just the way I talk. It’s confusing enough for someone who’s not Southern, let alone someone who’s not even from this country.”
His blue gaze gentled. “Please don’t worry about it. I enjoy the way you talk.”
“I enjoy the way you talk, too. Your voice reminds me of Geraldine’s.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Then maybe I need to pitch it somewhat lower.”
That surprised a laugh out of her. “I didn’t mean you sounded feminine. I just—”
“I know.” He flashed a grin. “Just teasing.”
Her breath caught. He really was gorgeous with the sun picking out the gold in his hair and bronzing his skin. She could get lost in those blue eyes and that warm smile. No wonder Geraldine had loved him. He’d be easy to love.
“I’m not sure what I did to put that look on your face,” he said, “but it’s very becoming.”
Oh, dear. Once again she was staring at him as if she had a schoolgirl crush. She cleared her throat. “I was thinking that we need to get started.”
He gave her a half smile, as if he didn’t believe a word of that. “Drinking or scattering?”
“Your choice.”
He nodded. “I suppose it is, so I choose drinking first, scattering second. I think I’ll handle this better with a little alcohol in my system.”
“Me, too.” She knelt beside the insulated carrier and unzipped the lid.
“Can I help?” His voice was very close.
She turned to find him crouched right beside her. His scent and body heat were unbelievably distracting. But asking him to move away would be rude, and he wouldn’t understand why. Most Were females would be thrilled to have him nearby, and they wouldn’t be skittish about it, either.
Forcing herself to concentrate, she pulled the martini shaker out of the carrier, opened it, and added ice from the thermos. Then she screwed on the lid and handed it to him. “You can do the shaking and the pouring.”
“How many does this thing hold?”
“Five, but we certainly don’t have to drink them all. Geraldine thought it was better to be oversupplied than undersupplied for a trip to Happy Hour Beach.”
“I remember that. She wouldn’t let me drink martinis with her and Henry, but I was welcome to join them with a six-pack of soda.” He stood and began rattling the ice in the stainless-steel container. “Every time I hear a bartender doing this I think, Shaken, not stirred. ”
“Was Geraldine a double-oh-seven fan back then, too?” Luna set the stemmed glasses upright in the carrier and added the olives.
“Rabid. It’s a wonder Henry wasn’t jealous, the way she carried on about Sean Connery. But Henry was a good sport about it. He was daft about her.”
“From things she said to me, I think she was daft about him, too.” Luna didn’t normally use the word daft, but she liked the idea of employing a word Colin used. It sounded more cultured than crazy. She picked up both glasses and carefully stood so she wouldn’t dump the olives.
“She must have been deeply in love,” Colin said. “The story was that she came over to Vancouver on vacation, met Henry, and never returned to Scotland. The Whittier pack in Vancouver wasn’t happy because Henry was supposed to mate with someone else, and the MacDowell pack wasn’t happy because she’d abandoned them for some Canadian Were.”
“No wonder they decided to buy an island and live by themselves.” She held out the glasses. “Fill ’em up. We need to toast Geraldine and Henry, who valued their own happiness over the opinions of others.”
“That they did.” Colin poured the clear liquid into each glass. “They marched to their own drummer, which isn’t common in our world.”
“No.” She felt a prick of unease. It might be Colin’s world, but she still wasn’t convinced it was hers. Sometimes she thought it could be, and other times she felt like a half-breed fraud who didn’t belong with either humans or Weres.
Keeping his glass level, he leaned down, settled the shaker in the carrier, and flipped the lid over it. Then he straightened and touched the rim of his glass to hers. “To Henry and Geraldine, who created the life they wanted.”
“To Henry and Geraldine.” She met his gaze and added a fervent wish that he’d allow her to create the life she wanted here on Le Floret. As she took a sip of her drink, she watched him from beneath her lashes.
His mouth fascinated her. She’d had one kiss in her life, a hard, demanding, and disgusting kiss forced on her by a guest at one of the hotels where she’d worked as a maid. If that was kissing, she wanted no part of it. But she couldn’t imagine Colin behaving with such aggression and lack of finesse.
He took a long swallow and glanced up. “Nicely done, Luna. James Bond would approve of this martini.”
“Thank you.”
“Shall we sit?” He gestured toward the giant piece of driftwood.
“Okay.” She picked out a level spot and settled down on the water-polished wood.
Colin surveyed the driftwood and chose a section about two feet away from her. Balancing on the driftwood, he nudged off his shoes. “Ah, that’s better. Geraldine didn’t think anyone should wear shoes on the beach.”
“That’s right.” Luna had thought about that, but she hadn’t wanted to appear overly casual. Now that Colin was going barefoot, she could, too.
Toeing off her shoes, she nudged them aside and wiggled her toes in the warm sand. The familiar sensation soothed her. “Geraldine believed in enjoying life to the fullest, whatever that meant to someone.”
“That she did.” Colin took another swallow of his martini and gazed out at the water. “And she encouraged others to do the same. I wonder… ”
“What?” She glanced over at him.
His attention remained fixed on the horizon, as if he were looking for answers. “Maybe I hesitated to come back here because I knew I wasn’t following her advice.”
“How is that?”
He sipped his martini. “If I stop to evaluate my choices since my seventeenth summer, they’ve all been based on what my family wanted, what my pack needed. Never on what I needed.”
She went very still, afraid to do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, and ruin this moment. She doubted he confided that sort of insight very often, if ever. Perhaps he was lulled into this reflective mood by the private beach, the martini, and the reminder that life could end at any time.
He glanced over at her. “Did she give you the same advice?”
“Yes.” Geraldine had been the first person in years who Luna had allowed close enough to give her advice.
He drank more of his martini. “And what do you want, Luna Reynaud?”
She could tell him, but it seemed too soon, and a business discussion wasn’t appropriate tonight. She drew circles in the sand with her toes. “What everyone wants, I suppose. Fulfillment, joy, a feeling of security.” She looked up. “How about you?”
“The same, perhaps, although a need for security can end up weighing a person down.” He studied her as he sipped his martini. “You do realize I’m planning to sell this place?”
“I assumed so.”
“If you have to leave Le Floret as a result, what will you do?”
She met his gaze. “I’ll be fine.” She didn’t want him to think she had no alternative to staying on here. That would look as if her idea had been inspired by desperation, rather than a solid business plan.