Confessions of a Girl-Next-Door

CHAPTER TWO

HOLLY wasn’t sure what to do since Nate’s invitation was begrudging at best.

That hurt. Not that she’d expected him to greet her with arms wide open. In fact, she hadn’t been expecting to see him at all. She remembered how determined he’d been to leave the island for big-city living. But his displeasure right now was palpable, even if, for just a moment when they’d wound up sitting in the lake, he’d reminded her of the handsome young man who’d made her teenage pulse race with a simple smile.

As tempting as it was to turn down his offer, she had to be pragmatic. As she recalled, the island had a finite number of accommodations available. She would be lucky to find anything else on such short notice, so she followed him and the pilot up the beach.

Tomorrow, she could return to the mainland if need be. Tonight, she needed a place to stay. Jet lag was catching up with her. And that short flight over from the mainland had left her with white knuckles and a queasy stomach. In hindsight, she shouldn’t have chanced it, especially this late in the day, with no firm reservation and a storm blowing in. She’d not only risked her life, but also the life of the pilot. A fact Nate had been only too happy to point out. Despite what he must think, it wasn’t like Holly to be so thoughtless. But as with every thing the past several days, desperation had her acting out of character.

Her hasty plan’s imperfections were glaringly obvious now. She should have been more thorough in her arrangements before packing her bags and jetting across the Atlantic. That much was clear now. What had been as transparent as glass less than forty-eight hours ago was that she had to get away.

She caught up to Nate and glanced sideways at his stern profile. He wasn’t exactly glad to see her. But it was her own emotions that gave her pause. She wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing him again.

Once upon a time, she’d thought … Mentally, she shook her head. It was foolish to recall those dreams. They’d been unrealistic then. Now, they were unfathomable. Once again, she felt the grip of destiny tighten around her like a vise. There was no escaping it. Not completely, anyway, even if she hoped to find respite for a few days or a week. Holly groaned.

She didn’t expect it to be heard over the wind, but Nate turned and asked, “Something wrong?”

“No.”

“No?” His brows rose.

His wry expression and disbelieving tone came as a bit of a surprise. Back home no one would have dared to question her—well, except for her mother, who browbeat Holly regularly over the most minute of things. Holly needed to be perfect. Or at least give the illusion of perfection at all times. Interestingly, coming from Nate, she rather enjoyed it. She’d much rather he treated her as an equal, even one with whom he was angry.

They reached the house, a cedar-sided bungalow that she remembered from her visits to the island as a girl. Back then, he’d lived in it with his parents, and she’d always been welcome inside for a bite to eat or to watch the telly on a rainy afternoon. His mother, she recalled, had been amazingly tolerant of such things as sandy feet and soggy swimsuits.

From the outside, the place looked much the same except for a newer and larger deck that wrapped around to the side entrance. Hank beat them up the steps and shucked off his shoes before opening the squeaky-hinged screen door and going in. That left Holly and Nate standing on either side of the welcome mat.

Nothing about Nate’s demeanor at the moment was very welcoming.

“This is too much of an imposition,” she began. It definitely was too much of something.

“It’s fine,” Nate insisted. “No big deal.” He toed off his soggy shoes and pushed them against the side of the house next to Hank’s battered sneakers.

“I’ll pay—”

“It’s only one night, Holly … Hollyn … Princess ….” He shoved his damp hair back from his forehead in agitation. “What am I supposed to call you?”

From his tone, she imagined he already had a pet name or two in mind. “Holly is fine.”

She wanted to be just Holly again. That was, after all, why she’d made this rash trip in the first place.

He looked doubtful, but nodded. “I insist you stay, all right? As my guest.”

His words might have been more reassuring had they not been issued through clenched teeth. But any retort she might have offered was lost when he reached for the back of his damp T-shirt and pulled it over his head.

Holly swallowed hard, but that didn’t keep her mouth from watering. As a teenage girl, she’d admired Nate’s form. He’d been wiry then, lean and several inches shorter than the six foot three she judged him to be now. He’d shot up, filled out. Quite obviously, he worked out. A sculpted abdomen such as his was no happy accident of genetics.

“Your turn.”

His words startled her. She felt her cheeks grow warm, though it wasn’t only embarrassment that caused the building heat.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your shoes. If you wouldn’t mind, take them off out here.”

Half of his mouth crooked into a wry smile as he draped his shirt over the banister. He was enjoying her discomfort, enjoying that she was as off balance now as he’d been while wading through the surf earlier.

Holly glanced down at her feet. The shoes he’d tried to spare damage with his chivalrous offer to carry her ashore were not only wet, but also covered in sand and other natural debris from their trek over the beach.

“Your mother never minded the sand.”

“She did, but she was too polite to say so. Regardless, since I clean the place now, I make the rules.”

“Right.” Envisioning him with a mop in one hand and a feather duster in the other helped take some of the sting out of his words.

She did as Nate asked and padded inside behind him.

Hank already had made himself at home on the couch in front of the television. His stocking feet were propped up on the coffee table, a long-necked brown bottle was in one hand and the remote control was in the other. A baseball game was on. Holly didn’t know much about the American pastime, but she’d always enjoyed listening to the announcers explaining what was going on. Their voices were so soothing, spiking here and there as warranted by a key play. The sound made her nostalgic. As did the house, even though the furnishings now were more masculine and sparse than the fussy decor that had obviously been Mrs. Matthews’s taste.

Gone were the knickknacks and kitschy collections that had filled two curios cabinets. Gone was the mauve-and-blue color scheme, the lace curtains and flowered camelback sofa. Now the main living area sported top-of-the-line electronics, a brown leather sectional and some surprisingly high-quality pieces of artwork, all of them seascapes.

Nate must have noticed the direction of her gaze. “Rupert Lengard,” he said, supplying the name of the artist. “I wish I could say they’re originals, but they’re limited edition prints.”

“They’re stunning.” She pointed to one. “That looks like that little island we used to take the canoe out to.”

They’d pretended to be castaways and had even tried to erect a tree house à la the Swiss Family Robinson. But getting building supplies over in the canoe had proved too much of a hassle. They’d made do with a lean-to crafted from sticks and cedar boughs.

“Horn Island,” Nate said. “Lengard spent a couple summers on Heart and the surrounding islands. All of the prints I bought are local scenes.”

She admired the subject matter as much as the artist’s obvious skill. “I’ll have to see about getting some of them for home.”

“His stuff is not exactly on par with Poussin or Renoir.”

Apparently, Nate thought only work of old-world masters would suit her sensibilities. Holly decided to set him straight. “My tastes run a little more modern than that. Like you, I buy art, whether prints or originals, because I like it, not because of the value an insurance appraiser might put on it.”

Nate nodded curtly. It sounded like he might have said, “Touché.”

But he was already turning away and heading over to the couch.

“Anything else I can get you, Hank?” Nate asked dryly.

The other man either missed the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “You got anything to munch on? Like nachos maybe?”

Holly hid her grin.

“You want nachos?”

Hank dragged his gaze from the television. His expression was hopeful. “Yeah.”

“They sell them down at the Fishing Hole Tavern. Bring back an order for me, too, while you’re at it,” Nate replied before using his shin to knock the other man’s feet off the table. To Holly, he said, “Follow me. I’ll show you to your room.”

He went back to grab her bags from their spot by the door and started for the stairs. At the top, he turned right and continued to the room at the end of the hall.

She stood uncertainly at the threshold after he entered. “But th-this is your room.”

And it was just as she recalled it, though she hadn’t spent much time in it as a girl. His parents wouldn’t have allowed that, especially once she and Nate were teenagers.

Even though they were both adults now, she felt awkward and oddly aware. She blamed it on the fact that he was shirtless and she was … tired. Really, really tired.

“Not anymore. I have the master these days. After my folks moved out I did a little renovation work and added an en suite bathroom, so the one in the hall is all yours.” His brows rose in humor. “Well, yours and Hank’s. You’ll have to share.”

He set down her bags and crossed to open the window a few inches. He repeated the process for the one on the opposite wall. The wind rushed inside, ruffling the edges of the curtains and bringing with it the mingled scents of cedar trees and wood smoke. She recalled that earthy scent from those summers long past. Nostalgia had her smiling. A lot of fireplaces would be in use tonight if the temperature outside continued to drop. Her gaze veered to Nate and her smile disappeared. Holly wasn’t feeling chilled. Quite the opposite. Even wearing wet clothes, all it took was an eyeful of the taut muscles that defined Nate’s shoulders, and she had to fight the urge to fan herself.

He turned around to find her studying him. God only knew what her expression revealed. He was one of the few people around whom she had ever been herself, which was ironic, she realized now, since he hadn’t known her actual identity.

She folded her hands at her waist, cleared her throat and said the first thing she could think of. “It’s windy outside.”

“The storm.”

“Yes. The storm.”

They eyed one another for a moment longer. “You can close the windows in a minute. Just give the place a chance to air out. It’s a little stuffy in here. This room doesn’t get much use.”

A little stuffy? She could hardly breathe. But that had nothing do with stagnant air. It had everything to do with the way he was looking at her. She saw speculation in his gaze and, she thought, guarded interest. It dawned on Holly then that she must look a fright. Her soggy clothes were molded to her body, her makeup was nonexistent, and her hair … She reached up to run a hand through it only to have her fingers tangle in the snarls.

She pulled her hand free and managed to say, “It’s fine.”

He didn’t appear convinced. In fact, he was shaking his head. “You know, the more I think of it, you belong in the master suite. You’d definitely be more comfortable in there.”

He reached for her bags. She put out a hand to stop him. “Don’t be silly. This is fine,” she said again.

“It’s not up to the standards you’re used to,” he said quietly.

“I’m not picky, Nathaniel.” She went with his full name, hoping to get a rise out of him.

His gaze connected with hers. “You’re a princess.”

Holly folded her arms over her chest and the ache she felt building there. “You say it like it’s some sort of disease.”

“I’ll apologize for that. But the fact remains, you’re used to better than … this.” He glanced around as if seeing the room for the first time. Clearly, he found it lacking. His gaze returned to her. “You’re used to better than anything I have to offer, for that matter.”

“Nate.”

Before she could protest further, he was at the door, his hand on the knob. This time, his gaze didn’t quite meet hers. “I’ll leave you to freshen up. We can discuss your accommodations later.”

The door closed. Holly stared at the scratched wood for a long time afterward. What had just happened? In the span of the past half hour, he’d gone from being smug and a little indignant to being uncomfortable and, unless she missed her guess, embarrassed. That wasn’t the Nathaniel Matthews she remembered. He’d been fearless, formidable and a touch arrogant at times.

He’d been determined to take on the world. He’d seen no limit to the possibilities life had to offer him. She’d admired his conviction that he could be anything, do anything, go anywhere and answer to no one but himself. For a while, Holly had even begun to think like he did. Then she’d returned to Morenci, after what turned out to be her last summer on the island, and her mother had set her straight.

“You’re no longer a child, Hollyn. You’ll turn sixteen soon. It’s time for you to fully embrace your royal responsibilities. You’re a princess. You need to start acting like one at all times.”

Her girlhood dreams had been dashed.

What, she wondered now, had made Nate change his plans? Or was it simply a case of growing up? After all, he’d been a boy when she’d known him.

Well, one thing was clear. The man who’d just closed the door was a stranger, even if so many things about him seemed familiar.

Nate changed into dry clothes and headed downstairs. In the kitchen, he pulled a fresh bottle of beer from the fridge, uncapped it and took a liberal swig.

God! What must she think of him? He probably came off as backward and irascible. He hadn’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat upon learning she was Hank’s passenger.

Welcome mat. He grunted now and took another gulp of beer. She was used to red carpets, state dinners and probably parades held in her honor. He’d even botched his attempt to carry her to shore. Still, she’d laughed. And in that moment he’d glimpsed the girl she’d been. The girl who at first had been his fishing buddy and who, later, when he was teenager, had kept him awake and confused on hot summer nights.

Now she was a woman. A beautiful woman. Staying under his roof. And, even though his parents were a couple thousand miles away enjoying their retirement and unable to act as chaperones, Holly was as off-limits as she’d been when his hormones had been raging as a teen. Hank sauntered into the kitchen then. They did have a chaperone after all. Nate couldn’t make up his mind whether to be grateful or not.

“Where’s Holly?” The other man’s beer was empty. He helped himself to a fresh one from the fridge, shooting the cap in the direction of the trash can in the corner.

“Upstairs, probably getting out of her wet clothes.” It was the wrong thing to say, Nate decided, when his imagination kicked into overdrive.

“I didn’t realize you two knew one another. She didn’t mention it on the flight over.”

“We don’t. Well, not really.” Nate shrugged. Since Hank was waiting for more of an explanation, he added, “We spent several summers together when we were kids. It’s been years since I last saw her.”

That wasn’t quite true since all he’d had to do in the interim was pick up a magazine or turn on the television and more times than not there was a feature on Morenci’s future monarch. But then his Holly and Hollyn Saldani had always seemed like separate people to him. Until today. Today he was having a hard time keeping them straight.

“She looks familiar,” Hank was saying.

Nate chose not to reveal Holly’s secret. It was only because the pilot had the loosest lips in three counties, he told himself, and she’d already made it clear she’d come here to get away from the public eye. Besides, the last thing Nate wanted was for his peaceful little island to be overrun with journalists and paparazzi and royal gawkers. That would be bad for business.

Liar, a voice whispered. He ignored it. On a shrug, he replied, “I know. She has one of those faces.”

Hank seemed satisfied with the answer, but he was still curious. “Where’s she from? I know she’s not American. She has an accent of some sort even though she speaks really good English.”

Again, rather than lie outright, Nate chose to be vague. “Abroad somewhere. But some of her family vacationed in these parts.”

He frowned after saying so. Had it really been her grandmother that she’d come to the island with? Or had the older woman been some sort of governess? He still had so many questions about the woman who had been his first love … and a total stranger.

The laid-back pilot appeared to accept the explanations Nate offered. Of course, Hank was easy to please. He had free, ice-cold beer, a place to sleep for the night and cable television, assuming the storm didn’t knock it out.

Nate thought that was the end of their discussion of Holly, until the guy commented, “She sure is a pretty thing.”

Nate swigged his beer and mumbled a response.

“And generous.” Hank grinned. “You wouldn’t believe what she paid me to fly her here.”

“You were risking your life,” Nate reminded him dryly.

The other man laughed loudly. “Maybe so, but neither of my ex-wives thought my life was worth that much.”

The other man’s attitude rubbed Nate the wrong way. “Well, it’s easy to be generous when you’ve done nothing to earn the money in your wallet.”

“She’s loaded?”

Nate shrugged. “Her family’s well-to-do. Old money.” Really old money and a pedigree that could be traced back through the generations.

“Is she single?”

His gut clenched. “Far as I know.” Though rumors were circulating in the media that an engagement was in her future. The first time Nate had heard them aired on a news program he’d not just been angry, he’d felt a little sick to his stomach. Neither reaction made sense. Nor did his reaction upon seeing her today.

“Imagine that. Pretty, single and rich.” The other man pushed back his mop of unkempt salt-and-pepper hair. “Think I stand a chance?”

“Sorry, pal.” Nate clinked the neck of his beer bottle against the one in Hank’s hand in seeming commiseration. “I think she’s out of your league.”

Hank didn’t appear overly troubled by the assessment. “What about yours?”

“Definitely.”

Nate studied the bottle’s label after he said it. He’d done all right for himself in life. In fact, he was quite pleased by how far he’d come.

After high school graduation, he’d gone on to college. Nothing Ivy League, but his grades had been good enough to get him into a Big Ten school. He’d made the dean’s list all four years at the University of Michigan. After earning a bachelor’s degree, he’d moved to Chicago and had taken a management position at one of the hotels on the Miracle Mile.

His parents had been proud of him, though their unspoken disappointment that he hadn’t wanted to take over the family resort had been clear. But they’d given him space and offered him choices. And after four years in the Windy City, he realized how much he missed the slow pace of life on the island. He missed the quiet mornings and spectacular sunrises on Lake Huron. When he’d packed up his belongings and left the island, he’d been so sure he wanted big-city living—the decadent nightlife, the pricey condo overlooking Navy Pier, the designerlabel clothes and gourmet restaurants.

Everything had been great for a while, even if he’d still felt more like a tourist than a resident. He’d enjoyed making a name for himself. He’d enjoyed hearing the praise from his boss, and the predictions from corporate that he would be another rung up the ladder soon, maybe even managing a hotel of his own.

Then his parents had announced their retirement and their plans to sell Haven Resort & Marina. They wanted to move south to warmer climes. Nate had been poleaxed. Oh, he’d expected them to retire at some point. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t talked about it over the years. And he’d long known they had their eye on a condo on Florida’s Gulf Coast. The winters on the island could be brutal and long, especially on achy, aging joints. But talking and doing were two different things.

Confronted by reality, he’d come to a couple of conclusions. One, he didn’t want to live in Chicago. It was a great city, full of energy and excitement, but it wasn’t for him. Not long-term, anyway. And two, he didn’t want anyone but him to own the resort that his grandparents had started from nothing during the 1950s.

So, he’d gone home, not with his tail tucked between his legs, but confident that he’d made the right decision. He’d never regretted coming back. In fact, he’d been damned pleased with the changes he’d made, and those he continued to implement to bring the property up-to-date so that it would appeal to the needs of a new generation of tourists. The marina and outbuildings were in good shape. And he was renovating the cottages as money permitted. He’d completed half of them already, doing much of the work himself in the off-season. Gone were the mismatched furnishings and bedding, the ancient appliances and worn vinyl flooring. What he’d replaced them with weren’t high-end, but they were durable, fresh, contemporary and comfortable. And the cottages now sported neutral color schemes and even some artwork from a local woman who specialized in nature views. They weren’t as good as the ones captured by Lengard, but they complemented the decor and had helped bring some commissions the young artist’s way.

Last year he’d added Wi-Fi and cable television, and he’d partnered with a local couple to offer guided hikes through the huge swath of federally owned land on the northern tip of the island that was home to all sorts of wildlife, including a couple of endangered bird species. In the spring, when the morel mushroom hunters came, he’d joined forces with one of the island’s restaurants for cooking demonstrations. In addition to families and fishermen, his resort now appealed to naturalists and others embracing a greener lifestyle.

Winters were still pretty quiet. Only the heartiest of tourists ventured north during that time of year. But already he was making plans to attract more snowshoers, cross-country skiers and snowmobilers, which was why he had purchased another dozen acres of land just beyond what he owned now with plans to add trails and maybe even a few more cabins down the road.

His parents were impressed with the changes he’d made, even though he’d suggested most of them while they still owned the place. But the status quo had been good enough for them. He’d understood and accepted that. But within days of the transfer in ownership, he’d rolled up his sleeves and begun the transformation.

Now, business was up. Not just for his resort, but for other establishments on the island, thanks to a joint marketing campaign that he’d spearheaded. The head of the local chamber of commerce hadn’t been pleased, since Nate basically had gone around Victor Montague’s back. But everyone else was happy with the results.

Yes, he was proud of what he’d accomplished. Proud of what he’d made not only of the resort, but also of his life. Which was why it galled him to find himself glancing around his kitchen, another of his renovation projects, and wondering what Holly thought of his quaint home and simple life.