She can’t resist him...

...but can she trust him—with her heart?

Brooklyn Graves’s blissfully peaceful if solitary existence is threatened when billionaire Cole Abbott wants to buy her corner of their shared private island. She’ll never sell! But she quickly comes to enjoy sharing intimate evenings—and even more intimate secrets—with Cole... And what Brooklyn soon realizes she wants from Cole is something money can’t buy—his love.

DONNA ALWARD lives on Canada’s east coast with her family, which includes a husband, a couple of kids, a senior dog and two crazy cats. Her heart-warming stories of love, hope and homecoming have been translated into several languages, hit bestseller lists and won awards, but her favourite thing is hearing from readers! When she’s not writing she enjoys reading—of course!—knitting, gardening, cooking…and she’s a Masterpiece Theater addict. You can visit her on the web at DonnaAlward.com, and join her mailing list at DonnaAlward.com/newsletter.

Also by Donna Alward

Summer Escape with the Tycoon

Marrying a Millionaire miniseries

Best Man for the Wedding Planner

Secret Millionaire for the Surrogate

South Shore Billionaires miniseries

Christmas Baby for the Billionaire

Beauty and the Brooding Billionaire

The Billionaire’s Island Bride

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Billionaire’s Island Bride

Donna Alward

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90353-4

THE BILLIONAIRE’S ISLAND BRIDE

© 2020 Donna Alward

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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To Dreamer, the best dog.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

BROOKLYN GRAVES HEARD the whomp-whomp-whomp of helicopter rotors and rolled her eyes, then let out a long breath as she turned her back on the cliff and followed its progress.

The wind off the ocean whipped her hair around her face and she shoved it back with a hand, tucking it behind her ears, where it stayed for all of about ten seconds before it was loose and blowing around again. She shaded her eyes and stared at the red-and-white chopper as it arced over her corner of the island and then headed toward the grand house and the helipad there.

She’d known this day was coming. Ernest Chetwynd had finally sold the island, and an American had bought it. If the ostentatious aerial arrival was anything to go by, Cole Abbott was going to be a real piece of work. Money to throw around on private islands, and an ego to match.

The sound faded, muffled by the rhythmic roar of the waves crashing on the rocks below. Ernest, who had been the one to build the landing pad, had occasionally had a helicopter chartered. He’d taken her up once, on her birthday, and given her a tour of the Nova Scotia south shore. It had been so different seeing it from the air, all the rugged rocks and islands and sandy beaches. And utterly harmless, since Ernest had been at least seventy-five at that time. He was lonely, and she and Ernest had been friends of a sort. There’d certainly been mutual respect, making her presence on the island quite secure.

His big mansion had once housed him and his wife, and then quite often their children and grandchildren. After Marietta’s death, everything had changed. Ernest went to see his kids instead. The house—all twelve thousand square feet of it—was too much for an aging bachelor, even though he’d hired Brooklyn to care for the grounds and he had a housekeeper come over from the mainland once a week.

As long as Ernest had owned the island, Brooklyn had been safe. She owned the southeast corner, a wonderful acreage passed down by her great-grandparents, and which provided her with solitude and peace and an amazing atmosphere to make a living. Her little boat ensured that she could get back and forth to the mainland whenever she wanted. And she did, often. For supplies and visits with friends. But always, Bellwether Island had been there for her to retreat to. Her safe haven.

Which was now spoiled by the new owner, who was ostentatiously arriving by chopper, now that crews had ferried his things from the mainland to the island and delivered them to the grand house on the bluff. She’d started calling him Mr. Fancy Man in her head.

In short, she was not happy about this new development, even though she’d known it was bound to happen. Ernest couldn’t hold on forever, and she’d hoped one of his kids would take it over. But none of them wanted it—not the isolation of being the only occupants of the island, nor the upkeep. Just some American billionaire who wanted to add it to his list of...well, whatever. Accomplishments? Possessions? It didn’t matter.

She let out another breath and started the walk back to the house. The sound of the waves faded, though the wind still tossed her hair around. She stopped at the vegetable garden behind the century-old house. The garden was nearly done now, in mid-September. It had been a good summer, a little dry, perhaps, but with enough rain to fill Brooklyn’s water tanks for when Mother Nature needed a little help. She’d spent every summer here as a kid, running over the island, swimming on the beach and helping her grandmother with gardening and canning while her grandfather fished. There’d been a hammock between two spruce trees, and she’d spent hours there curled up with a book. Almost every good memory she had of her childhood was tied to this island. It was why, when everything in her life fell horrifically apart, she’d come back. To the place where she’d last felt safe and happy. And here she’d stayed.

Now that peaceful existence was threatened. Because exactly one week ago, on the day that Cole Abbott took possession of Bellwether Island, she’d received an offer from his attorney, attempting to buy her out.

One she’d rejected immediately. The truth was, despite the gorgeous mansion and spectacular setting, living here wasn’t always easy. Popping to the store for a last-minute item couldn’t happen. Going out to dinner took planning, taking the weather and tides into account. And in the winter, it was downright isolating. She’d bet a hundred bucks that Abbott would be gone once he’d sat through his first January northeaster. And then she wouldn’t have to worry about him, except for maybe a few months of the year. The shine would certainly wear off his new toy.

She just had to do what she always did: persevere.

Cole hopped out of the helicopter and reached back for his duffel bag. With a wave to the pilot, he ran from the helipad toward the house. He was nearly to the back garden when the chopper lifted off again and started back toward mainland Nova Scotia.

He was finally here.

In a few days, work crews would ferry over and begin the renovations he had planned, and in early October, his first corporate retreat was booked, from one of his own companies. The executives were scheduled to stay four days, for rest, rejuvenation and an informal sharing of ideas while they unplugged.

During this event, there would be no Wi-Fi provided. His team would enjoy top-notch dining, an on-site gym, the hot tub, and the sound of the ocean. An antidote to the high-pressure lives they led and a way to keep them from burning out and to remind them of why they loved their careers.

He wished he’d had such a thing not so long ago.

The keys to his house were in his pocket, but he put his bag by the door and then ventured down to the beach. It wasn’t large—maybe two hundred feet of sandy shoreline that gave way to rocks, but it was enough. The September day was warm, and he took off his shoes and socks and rolled up the cuffs of his jeans, letting his toes squidge in the sand. Wind blew the short strands of his hair off his face, and he drew the salt air into his lungs. Ten extra steps led him to the water, where the cold Atlantic fizzed over his toes. The breakers washed over his ankles, splashing a little and dampening his jeans. But he didn’t care.

Having his Realtor best friend, Jeremy, find this place was the answer to a prayer.

Cole let out a breath and pulled in another. And another. A year ago he’d found himself on a dangerous path. One that mimicked his father’s, including a cardiac episode that had scared him to death. He didn’t want to end like his dad, dead at fifty-one—or thirty-five—from a heart attack because he’d been a workaholic.

Work hard, play hard. That was what Jeremy and Bran had always said about him. He never did anything halfway. Maybe not. He did tend to commit fully to something when he took it on. But in this case, it wasn’t about achieving. It was about living.

He dawdled in the water for nearly an hour, before heading back to the house and finally going inside.

It was a cavernous edifice for one person: twelve thousand square feet of understated luxury. There was a not-too-big garage, but it was enough to house a golf cart for getting around the island, and maintenance machinery, like the small tractor for mowing the grass and various garden implements. And a snow blower. He shivered, thinking about how bleak it would be here in the middle of a winter storm. And yet...there was something comforting about being snug inside while the outside was wild and untamed. He certainly couldn’t live here year round. He still had responsibilities. At thirty-five, retirement wasn’t an option. He still ran his father’s empire of manufacturing companies, and he needed that challenge. But he was less hands-on than he used to be, delegating far more responsibility. His hope was to spend maybe a third of the year here, overseeing the corporate retreat business, and two thirds back in Manhattan, home of the headquarters of Abbott Industries.

His things were already in the room he’d chosen for himself, a large suite facing southeast, with windows overlooking the beach and down the island, where the roof of the farmhouse was just visible among the trees. He put down his duffel and went to the window. Brooklyn Graves. That was the name of the woman who lived there, the one who refused to sell her parcel of land. It complicated things, in his mind. They shared access to the dock, which wasn’t really sufficient to his needs, and she owned the boathouse at the tip of the island. He’d hired a husband and wife to be caretakers here, and right now they had to be housed in the apartment above the garage. It would be far better if they could live in the farmhouse and have their own real home.

If only stubborn Ms. Graves would sell. What on earth was a single woman doing living on an island twelve months of the year, anyway?

He knew little about her, except that she ran some sort of cottage industry—had Jeremy mentioned knitting or something?—from her home and that her family had lived on the island for generations. He would have to put on the charm and visit, make her come around. She sounded like the type to offer him tea and scones. Knitting? She was probably someone’s reclusive aunt, too stubborn to move. It might take all his powers of persuasion.

He didn’t really want to, but he figured he should introduce himself as soon as possible. The longer he put it off, the more awkward it was bound to become. Chances were his reception would be chilly, anyway.

With a last look out the window, he turned away and went back downstairs, and out the front door this time. He’d just walk down to meet her and break the ice. He wouldn’t even mention selling. Not yet.

The front gardens were beautiful. The grass was neatly trimmed, and there were still flowers, yellow and red and rusty-colored ones, brightening the beds. Further along, past the manicured lawns, the landscape was wilder. One either side of the lane was waving grass and thick bunches of goldenrod and light purple wild asters. Most of the trees were evergreens, with very little hardwood, but here and there he saw birches and maples. The leaves on the birches were starting to yellow, but the maples were still green and vibrant. The walk took maybe only ten, fifteen minutes, tops, but it was a beautiful one.

The farmhouse came into view and he stopped for a moment, struck by the sight of it. It was old and rambling, but well kept, with freshly painted spindles on the veranda and potted flowers on the stained steps. There was nothing special about it really; the outside was white, with no fancy trim or shutters, but it was charming and cozy and like something he expected to see on an old-time greeting card. All that was missing was—

A bark sounded and a retriever bounded from around the corner of the house, straight toward him. Apparently a dog wasn’t missing from the picture, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the homey scene. Eyes bright and tongue lolling happily, the dog ran up to him and immediately rubbed against his legs, looking for pats.

Cole couldn’t help obliging. He loved dogs. Not that he’d ever had one growing up.

“Who’s a good boy?” He rubbed the dog’s head and then laughed when the dog dropped to the grass and rolled over, showing his belly. Cole willingly knelt down and gave him a belly rub, chuckling at the obvious enjoyment of the pooch as he rolled his back this way and that, legs in the air. Dogs were just so pure in everything they did. No agendas. Unlike himself...

“Marvin, come.”

The female voice jolted him from his thoughts and he stood, leaving Marvin on his back with his paws up. A clap from the owner of the voice had the dog jumping up and shaking all over, then trotting back to his human’s side.

Cole’s brain momentarily emptied. All the opening lines he’d imagined flew straight out of his head and away on the ocean breeze. He’d expected someone middle-aged or older. A...spinster. Not a thirtyish woman with hair the color of peanut butter, wearing skinny jeans, boots, and a sweater that nipped in at her waist and hugged her hips.

This was Brooklyn Graves?

“You’re Mr. Abbott.”

He realized he’d been standing there for long seconds and saying absolutely nothing. He nodded, then moved forward and held out his hand. “Yes, Cole Abbott. It’s good to finally meet.”

More than good. Wow.

She didn’t smile as she shook his hand. As he got closer he noticed that a few freckles dotted her nose, and her eyes were a clear, clear blue. Her hand was warm and strong, and he felt a few rough spots at the base of her fingers. Calluses? Interesting.

She dropped his hand and stepped back. “What can I do for you, Mr. Abbott?”

“Please, call me Cole.” He tried a warm smile, but it didn’t appear to be getting him anywhere. “We’re neighbors, after all.”

She gave a shrug with one shoulder. “Well, I know you’d like to change that, so I’ll be as clear as I can. I’m not interested in selling my house or acreage.”

Cole took a few moments to gather himself before responding. In the end, he tried a small smile. “I got your reply, Ms. Graves. I truly did just come down to say hello. The island will be pretty small if we aren’t on speaking terms.”

“Tell me you don’t want to buy me out and we can be the best of friends.” She put her hands on her hips, and Marvin the dog sat at her feet, the soul of loyalty and obedience.

He couldn’t lie to her. For one, he got the sneaky suspicion she’d see right through it. For another, lying always came back to bite him in the butt.

Instead he put away his “let’s be friends” face, choosing instead a more businesslike manner. “I’ll be honest. I would like to buy your property.” He figured it wouldn’t hurt to sweeten the pot. “What I’m prepared to offer can set you up somewhere very nicely.”

His initial offer had been for three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The house would likely need renovations and the dock definitely needed work. It had been...reasonable.

“Would you pay me a million dollars?”

Her gaze was sharp and pinned him in place, but he’d been in business a long time. He knew how to hide his reactions, and right now he wanted to chuckle a little bit. He’d paid seven million for the rest of the land and house and considered it a steal. Her property accounted for maybe, at best, a sixth of the island. A million wasn’t that outrageous, really. Not considering the buildings on the property and the dock access.

“Yes.” Heck, if all it took was a million bucks to get her to sign away the deed, he’d do it happily. Jeremy had been the one to recommend lowballing. Cole didn’t mind upping the ante. “Yes, I’m prepared to offer you a million.”

She started at him a long moment and then turned away. “I don’t think so,” she said and started walking toward the house. “Come, Marvin.”

The dog jumped up and trotted at her heels. Meanwhile, Cole stood flummoxed on her front path, staring at her as she went in through the screen door, took Marvin with her and let the door fall shut with a loud snap behind them.

Huh. So, round one and two to Ms. Graves. But Cole wasn’t done yet. He had a history of getting what he wanted, and this was nothing more than a challenge.

CHAPTER TWO

BROOKLYN SAT IN her favorite chair, yarn trailing perfectly from her yarn bowl to the needles, and adjusted the weight of the shawl she was knitting. It was a simple pattern but incredibly lovely, both stylish and warm, and this was one item she was knitting for herself and not to sell.

The click of the needles in the silence gave her comfort, which was good. She’d come inside yesterday after talking to Cole Abbott and had shaken for a good thirty minutes. Confrontation was not her thing. She knew how to be strong but it had cost her, stealing her energy, prompting a near panic attack.

Marvin had stayed close all evening, soothing her and being steady and reliable with his company. At one point her therapist had asked if she wanted to get a service dog, but Brooklyn had declined. She had Marvin. And she’d come a very long way since she’d started counseling. She’d come to the island to escape and heal, but she’d stayed because she’d built a life she truly loved. And if she was occasionally lonely...oh, well. She’d learned that there were worse things in life than loneliness. She had everything just the way she wanted it here. No surprises.

Her needles slowed. Still, she’d coexisted with Ernest and his extended family without any trouble, and she’d admit—only to herself—that just knowing someone else was on the island had been a comfort. She wasn’t sure she could say the same about Cole Abbott. His very presence threatened the life she’d built for herself.

Maybe she should head over to the mainland tomorrow and get out for a bit. Pick up a few groceries, perhaps go for a coffee with Delilah or Jen, the sisters who ran the yarn and craft store in Liverpool. Hadn’t she just told herself that she needed to be patient? Mr. Fancy Man wouldn’t be on the island forever. It would be another plaything he’d tire of and move on. But her life...it would remain unchanged. Just the way she wanted it.

The morning dawned foggy, but by ten it had burned off and the mellow September sun had warmed the air. Brooklyn carried a large handbag over her shoulder, which contained fabric shopping bags, her wallet, her phone, and a leash for Marvin, who always joined her on her trips to town. In her hands were five small shipping boxes containing orders ready to be shipped to customers of her online store. She turned the corner toward the dock and stopped short. There was a second boat anchored there, and Cole stood on the dock while another man moved around, taking pictures with his phone.

What the heck were they doing? It wasn’t as if Cole didn’t have a reason to be there. He did. Their access to the dock was shared.

The sight of him, though, was unexpected. And she couldn’t deny that she rather enjoyed seeing him in faded jeans and a dark blue windbreaker. He looked...normal. Not like some rich tycoon, which he most certainly must be.

He caught sight of her and smiled, then waved. “Ms. Graves. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she replied and wished she’d put Marvin on his leash, because at the friendly sound of Cole’s voice, the dog trotted off for more pats and head rubs.

Traitor.

“Marvin, come,” she called. But Marvin was too busy having his ears rubbed to pay much attention. Brooklyn sighed and went toward the two men, both to get Marvin and to satisfy her curiosity about what was going on.

“I’d say you’re spoiling him, but I’m not sure it’s possible to spoil a dog with pats,” she said, trying to be friendly. Things had been tense during their earlier conversation. Establishing a little peace didn’t mean she’d changed her mind.

“He’s hard to resist. What a friendly guy.” Cole’s tone left a hint of insinuation, perhaps that her dog was more amiable than she was. Which was true.

“Is there a problem or something?” She stared pointedly at the other man, who was now at the end of the dock, writing something on a clipboard.

“Oh, Mike. Hey, Mike, come meet Brooklyn Graves. We share docking privileges.”

Mike came over and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Brooklyn.”

Cole turned to her. “Mike’s going to make some repairs and mods to the dock. It doesn’t quite suit my needs.”

Her heart stuttered. Sure, the dock was old but it was sturdy and sound. She adjusted her packages and briefly shook Mike’s hand. “What sort of needs?”

Cole answered. “Your boat’s small, but I need to be able to accommodate bigger vessels. I’ve hired Mike to expand it and also make any repairs necessary.”

She wanted to be angry, and she would be later, but right now all she felt was shock and amazement at his audacity. “Um, you do remember that we share the dock, right?”

He bestowed another one of those charming smiles on her. “Well, of course. I’m sure Mike will have no trouble splitting the invoice between us.”

Another layer of shock rippled through her. Share the cost? How was she supposed to pay for that? A hole opened up in her middle, the place where worry and panic seemed to live. The hole was soon filled with indignation.

“You can’t do that without consulting me first.”

At her sharp tone, Marvin moved away from Cole and went to sit at her heel. Mike discreetly left the conversation and continued on with his assessment.

“Oh. Well, I could just foot the bill, if...”

Her mouth tightened as she finally let the anger in. “If I sell to you, right? That’s what this is all about? I won’t sell so you’re going to bankrupt me with foolish repairs?” She mentally calculated her equity between the house, business and her savings account, and lifted her chin. “Do I need to consult my lawyer on this, Mr. Abbott?”

She was reasonably sure that he couldn’t just do repairs without getting her to sign off on them. But he’d make sure she spent legal fees to guarantee it, wouldn’t he? Fire burned in her veins. Why did successful, rich people always have to get their own way and swing their power around like a mace?

“Now, Ms. Graves...”

She stepped back. “Don’t you dare Ms. Graves me, especially in that patronizing tone. At this rate, Mister Abbott...” she paused and let the emphasis on the word ring in the air. “...I would not sell to you for a million dollars. Or two million. My great-grandparents were the first people to live on this island. My great-grandfather was a fisherman, like his father before him. My grandparents lived here and brought up five children. I spent every summer as a kid here and I know each square foot of it better in my sleep than you ever will. Maybe our family doesn’t own the entire island anymore, but my corner of it is still mine. And I am not for sale.”

Her hands were shaking, so she clutched the boxes tighter as she stared at him.

“Noted,” he said quietly.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to get on my boat and pilot it to the mainland. Marvin, come.”

This time Marvin obeyed immediately, falling in at her heel without need of a leash or a second urging.

She made it to the boat with sure steps, got them both aboard and stowed her bag and parcels. It wasn’t until she’d untied from the dock and steered away that she relaxed her shoulders and tried to suck in big, calming gulps of air.

She was okay. This was not the same as...that other time. He did not have a weapon and she was not in danger. Her body response had been triggered but she worked her way through the reaction until she wasn’t shaking any longer. She looked over her shoulder and couldn’t see the dock anymore, or Cole and Mike. It was almost as if it had never happened.

No, Cole Abbott hadn’t threatened her person. Instead, he had threatened her security and the life she’d built for herself. Maybe it wasn’t as frightening as an assault on a visceral level, but the idea of change was terrifying to her.

How many times was someone supposed to start over? Maybe in the past she’d given up too easily. Well, not this time. This time she would fight tooth and nail to preserve what was important to her. And if that meant dipping into her very small savings account for a visit to the lawyer, then that was what she’d do.

Cole had messed up again. He’d planned on the conversation with Brooklyn going differently. The idea had been for him to do the dock repairs as a gesture of goodwill. But he’d teased, and she’d taken him seriously, bringing legal advice into it. He’d miscalculated.

Now he too was on the mainland, sitting in his best friend, Jeremy Fisher’s rather large kitchen, drinking coffee and feeling grouchy about it all. His other pal, Branson Black, was back in New York, dealing with getting his brownstone ready to sell. While Jeremy was settled with his new wife and baby, Branson’s love life was up in the air since the departure of artist Jessica Blundon, who had spent the summer on the south shore.

Cole’s love life was nonexistent, and he was okay with that. For now, anyway. He had too much going on to devote much time to a relationship. Even a casual one. And he wasn’t sure he was capable of any other kind. It wasn’t like he’d had a stellar example growing up.

“So she threatened to go to her lawyer?” Jeremy reentered the kitchen, his baby daughter on his arm. She’d just awakened from a nap, and Jeremy’s wife, Tori, was running errands. It was still an adjustment, seeing his friend so settled into domestic life.

“I know. I meant to tell her that I would cover the cost since I was the one needing the modifications, but she got the jump on me and I took the bait. She’s very prickly about the fact I made her an offer.” He took a sip of his coffee. “This morning she told me she wouldn’t sell for two million dollars.”

Jeremy laughed. “Well, it’s her home. And clearly she’s attached to it. What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s not like there isn’t enough room for the two of you. You’re not even going to be there all year round.”

Cole thought about it. “I’ll be honest. Some of it is ego. I mean, I don’t like being told no and I look at it as an extra challenge to get my way.”

Jeremy met his gaze, his eyes alight with humor. “How very self-aware of you. But gee, Cole, you were never competitive in school.”

“I see you haven’t lost your talent for sarcasm,” Cole answered. “And hey, I know that trait can be a strength or a weakness, depending on the situation. She’s not what I expected.”

“How so?”

“You said she ran some sort of business from her home, knitting or some such. I was expecting someone...hell, someone not young and pretty and...”

His voice trailed off. The truth was, as infuriating as their two conversations had been, he had found them invigorating.

Jeremy’s laughter drew him back to the moment. He held Rose in one arm as he prepped a bottle with his free hand. “So she’s pretty.”

Cole sighed. “To be honest? Stunning. Beautiful hair, big eyes, nice body. But it’s more than that. She’s a strong woman, Jer. She’s got to be, to live out there by herself. It’s not far offshore but it’s cut off from everything, especially in bad weather. She hopped on that boat today and steered away the way we’d get in a car and drive to the store.”

“Ah. A woman who is capable and doesn’t need rescuing. Interesting.”

“Shut up.” He took a long drink of coffee and grinned behind the rim. A bit of ribbing from his best friend made the world seem all right after all.

Rose was grumbling, so Jeremy tested the bottle and then began to feed her, standing right there in the kitchen. Cole was not good with babies. Not even a little. But even he had to admit that Rose was cute. There’d been a recent health scare as she’d contracted measles, but she seemed completely recovered now.

“So what’s your game plan now?” Jeremy asked, perching on a bar stool across the counter from Cole.

“I don’t know. She’d see right through flowers or some sort of gift. Maybe I should just apologize and do a better job of explaining.”

Jeremy looked at him for a long moment. “Cake. Take her cake. Or a bottle of wine or something. Just don’t go empty-handed. And yeah, maybe explain that you got off on the wrong foot.”

Cole considered for a minute. “Good suggestions. Or at least half of a good suggestion. I have an idea for the other.”

“You sure you’re not interested in her?” Jeremy asked, removing the bottle and wiping Rose’s chin before giving her the bottle again. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

Cole’s smile slipped away. The last time had been over a year ago, just before his world had come crashing down.

Not that anyone really knew anything about that. He’d been able to hide it really well. Faking his way through stuff was his specialty. Even Bran and Jeremy didn’t know the true extent of what had happened.

“It’s been a long time. But no, that would just get messy, wouldn’t it? Besides, as you say, I’m only planning to be here part of the year. I do still have Abbott to run.”

And that required him to be in New York. Not on an island in the Atlantic off the coast of Nova Scotia. The island was to be his retreat. And hopefully he could offer the same to his own executives.

The hum of the garage door opener interrupted the silence. “Tori’s home. Are you staying for dinner?”

Cole looked at his watch and then shook his head. “Naw, but thanks. I have those errands to run and then pick up the boat. I’m leaving the car at the marina garage.” He looked up as Tori came inside, a bag of produce in her hands. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“Hey, Cole. How are things on the island?”

Jeremy jumped in. “The farmhouse owner is a hottie.”

“Of course she is. Brooklyn has a really neat business, too. She runs an online store and ships all over. Knitted items but she also dyes her own yarn and sells it. And her big thing is patterns. She develops patterns and sells them. One was even picked up by some big magazine last year. She’s wicked smart. Her overhead is really low and she doesn’t have a mortgage since she inherited the house from her grandparents.”

Cole stared at her. “You knew?”

Tori laughed and started taking vegetables out of the bag. “Of course I knew. This is a small town and I’ve lived in the area my whole life.”

“You didn’t say anything in the summer, when we went over there.”

“Why should I? You were buying the rest of the land, not hers.” Her brows pulled together in confusion. “Why? What happened?”

Jeremy put the bottle down and put Rose up on his shoulder as he patted her back. “Cole offered to buy her out, and made her pretty angry from the sounds of it. She threatened to lawyer up.”

Tori nodded. “Good for her. That place means a lot to her.”

“It does?”

Tori seemed to hesitate, her hand resting on a large bundle of leeks. “It’s been in her family a long time,” she finally said. “And Brooklyn moved there permanently a few years ago.”

Cole thought about it. The only reason he could see for moving somewhere so isolated was if someone was running from something. He certainly was, or at least using it to shape his life differently. But what could someone like Brooklyn be running from?

“I’d better go. Thanks for the coffee, bro. I’ll be in touch soon.”

“Good luck. And stop in any time.”

“Let me know when Branson is back. I’m kinda worried about the guy.”

“Me, too.”

Cole stopped and gave Tori a kiss on the cheek, then made his way to the front door and put on his shoes.

Maybe he’d messed up the first two times he’d encountered Ms. Graves, but the third time could be the charm. And he knew just what he had to do to get past her thorny exterior.

CHAPTER THREE

THE DAY AWAY hadn’t settled Brooklyn’s thoughts, so she spent the next morning cooking. She did this every few weeks, making large quantities and then freezing in portion-size dishes. Cooking for one could be a lonely enterprise, but spending a day in the kitchen fed her soul as well as her body.

Today it was her grandmother’s baked beans, done in her slow cooker, and fish cakes. She’d do them up and freeze them, and then fry a few off for tonight’s dinner. Combined with the chow she’d just made this summer—a Maritime recipe of pickled green tomatoes—and she’d have the perfect dinner.

She was also making four small pans of lasagna, and a curried squash soup from the butternut squash in her garden.

As she put the squash in the pot, she figured she must be out of sorts indeed. This was enough food to feed her for weeks.

Her kitchen was a mess but the lasagnas were baking in the oven, the beans were bubbling, and it all smelled delicious. Two loaves of fresh bread were on the counter; mixing and kneading had helped her work out some of her frustration.

It was only eleven thirty when there was a knock and Marvin leaped up from his doggie bed, rushing to the door and barking the whole time.

It had to be Cole. There was literally no one else it could be.

She steeled herself, wiped her hands on her apron and went to the door. There was no sense pretending she wasn’t home. Besides, she’d popped in to her lawyer’s yesterday for a quick chat. She was going to look into the legalities and get back to Brooklyn in a few days. Even if Cole had the dock assessed, any work wouldn’t start for a while.

She opened the door and tried to look polite.

“Hi,” he said. “I come in peace.”

She lifted an eyebrow. She couldn’t escape the notion that there was always something behind his charm. “Oh?”

He held out his hands. One held a paper bag that she recognized from the baker in town. The other was from a pet store in Mahone Bay.

“Wine and cake for you, and something for Marvin, because he’s a very good boy.”

Okay, so charm aside, complimenting Marvin was the same as telling a mother her kid was great. It was the easiest way to get in her good graces. “I suppose you should come in, then.” She stood aside.

Cole entered while Marvin danced in circles around him. She wished her dog didn’t seem to like the guy so much. At first glance, Cole seemed to be dressed normally. Casually. Until she looked at the fine wool of his sweater and the rich leather of his shoes. There was no forgetting how stupid rich he had to be. After all, he’d bought most of the island and hadn’t batted an eye at the idea of giving her a million dollars for her small corner of it.

“My God, it smells heavenly in here.” He handed her the bag and then courteously removed his shoes and left them on the mat. “I heard you were a knitter. But apparently you’re a cook, too.”

She would not be charmed. She would not.

“It’s messy at the moment. I tend to cook in batches and freeze it.”

She put the bag on an empty space of counter and removed the wine and cake. A lovely crisp white, and a small but gorgeous lemon cream cake. She did love lemon.

“Thank you,” she said, putting the wine in the fridge. “It wasn’t necessary.”

“But it was.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Ms. Graves, we got off on the wrong foot, and that’s my fault. What I should have said yesterday was that I would foot the bill for any changes to the dock. I’m the one who wants them, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to ask you to pay half of that.” He took a small step forward. “I know you aren’t happy about me being here. But I promise, I’m not out to do you harm.”

She wasn’t sure what to say. He seemed very genuine and contrite.

“The previous owners and I got along very well,” she admitted. “Before that, my grandparents owned the whole island. But then my grandfather got sick and needed a lot of care. Care he couldn’t get here on the island, of course, and it put a financial strain on them. Ernest bought it, minus this parcel of land, and rented this house for two years before he built the grand house on the bluff. He set up the conditions for the shared dock and made sure we were taken care of. I understand why he sold. But it was a good relationship built on trust.” She met his gaze evenly. “You haven’t built up that trust.”

“Yet,” he said, and didn’t smile. He seemed to be taking everything she said very seriously. “Maybe if I tell you my plans for the property, it’ll put your mind at ease.”

The squash was nearly done, so she motioned toward the table and chairs. “I’ve got to finish this up, but please have a seat. Would you like a coffee?” There was still half a pot left.

“I’d like that a lot. Just black for me.”

She poured him a cup and put it before him, and then went to test the squash and add the remainder of the ingredients. She tried to ignore how he was watching her as she poured the mixture over into her food processor and whizzed it until it was velvety smooth, and then poured it back over into the pot.

“What is that?” he asked. “It smells amazing.”

“Curried squash soup. Do you cook, Mr. Abbott?”

He sighed. “Can we maybe forgo the formalities? Just call me Cole.”

“All right.” She didn’t extend the offer to use her first name, though she suspected he would, eventually, anyway. She didn’t want to be friends with him, but he had brought a peace offering and she appreciated his putting her mind at ease about the dock. Maybe, just maybe, she’d been a little hyper-defensive.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I cook a little. But I’m better at buying stuff that’s already prepped. I, uh, didn’t really have to cook for myself growing up.”

She snorted. “I kind of figured that about you. Let me guess. Private school? Trust fund baby?”

“Something like that.” He shrugged. “But just to clarify, I’ve had to work my way to where I am. I absolutely had advantages because of family money. Hopefully I didn’t waste any of them.”

She turned around to look at him. There was something in the set of his jaw and behind his eyes that spoke of a deeper story. She wondered what it was. She should not dismiss him as an idle rich jerk. Everyone had their own story, didn’t they?

“So buying this island...it isn’t a whim or a toy for you?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not. I bought it for a few reasons. I’ll tell you if you’re interested in hearing about them.”

He took a long drink of his coffee and Brooklyn looked at the clock. It was just shy of noon.

“I guess I’d better spoon up some of this soup then, shouldn’t I?”

She reached into the cupboard for two bowls and wondered if hearing him out was the right thing to do. Because right now it felt a bit dangerous.

Cole wasn’t sure why he was ready to confide in Brooklyn or why he felt this pressing need to have her understand or think well of him. They’d got off to a rocky start and she certainly wasn’t a friend or even someone he could really trust.

But he wanted to tell her, to disabuse the notion that he hadn’t just bought the island as a toy or new thing on an acquisitions list. Besides, he was looking forward to hosting his first retreat in a few weeks, just a small gathering of executives from his own companies. Nothing formal, just four days of unplugging, sea air, good food. A time to slow down.

Brooklyn put a bowl of the delicious-smelling soup in front of him, and then went to the kitchen island and grabbed a loaf of fresh bread, a cutting board and a knife. She sliced it right there at the table, handed him a slice and put a crock of butter beside him.

The bread was still slightly warm and smelled like heaven.

“So. You have plans for the property. Do tell.”

She got a second bowl and joined him at the table.

Cole went to work spreading butter on his bread. “A while ago I had a bit of a...well, I don’t want to say a breakdown. It was more burnout, I guess. I’d been working sixty hour weeks for as long as I could remember, and then my social life... Well, I don’t do anything half way. I’m not a partier or anything, but I’d do dinners and events and just... I never took any downtime.” He broke off a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. Amazing. A quick glance told him that Brooklyn was watching him intently, her eyes focused on his and her brow slightly furrowed as if she were trying to puzzle him out.

“Burning the candle at both ends,” she said.

“Exactly. Until the flame got snuffed out. I was exhausted. Then one morning I woke up and I had chest pains. It scared the hell out of me.”

She had picked up her spoon but now she put it down again. “Did you have a heart attack? But you’re only what, thirty-five? Forty?”

He grinned. “Thirty-five, if you must know, and no, thankfully it wasn’t a heart attack. It was a panic attack.”

“Thank goodness,” she said and picked up her spoon again.

He did the same and tasted the soup. It was velvety smooth and divine. He’d eaten in Michelin-starred restaurants and this simple soup could stand with the best of them. “This is amazing.”

“It’s the coconut milk. I stir a little in at the end, too, and it makes it pop.” She looked at him over her spoon. “So, you had a panic attack.”

“It wasn’t an isolated thing. My friend Branson said that it was my body’s way of telling me I needed to slow down and I needed to listen. I didn’t have any choice. I could hardly get out of bed in the morning. I was tired all the time. I didn’t believe him, you know? I thought I had some horrible disease. Turns out it was workaholism.”

“So you bought the house.”

“I’m getting there.” He spooned up more of the soup like it was a tonic, which maybe it was. Simple, wholesome nourishment. Perfection. “It took me a long time to recover. Thankfully, I had strong executives in place, but the whole thing could have been avoided if I’d done a better job at balancing my workload. I didn’t take time off until my own body forced me to. So I bought the house for a few reasons. One, it’s a getaway for me, and one that is close to my two best friends, who bought places on the south shore. The other reason is that I don’t want what happened to me to happen to other executives. I’m going to hold corporate retreats. First for my own people, and then for other companies.”

He didn’t mention how dark a place his burnout had been, though. How he’d felt so alone and questioned his existence. Wondering if anyone would miss him because other than Branson and Jeremy, he hadn’t nurtured any relationships in his life. Especially romantic ones. His parents had put on a brilliant public face but in private they were strangers. If that was marriage, he didn’t want any part of it.

Brooklyn frowned. “It’s a neat idea, for sure. I’m going to be honest, though. It makes me uncomfortable thinking about strangers roaming about the island all the time.” She stirred her soup as if deliberating something, then looked up again. “You’re creating an oasis for people, which is admirable. But in doing so, you’re threatening mine. It’s a hard pill to swallow.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way. But of course. Every time he held a retreat, there would be strangers on the beaches, walking the island, on the boat launch. He could understand how that made her uneasy. Maybe it would convince her to sell to him after all?

And yet, the thought of her not being here, in this house, in this kitchen, suddenly seemed wrong.

“I’m sorry about that. It’s definitely an unintended consequence. I guess it must seem as if I’m invading your home. That’s not my intention at all. I hope you believe that.”

She nodded but didn’t meet his eyes. Instead she sliced him more bread. He got the feeling that it was more to keep her hands busy than anything.

He reached over and put his hand over hers.

She stopped breathing.

Something changed in that moment, in that small but intimate physical touch. He felt it in his solar plexus, reaching in to grab him and hold him captive. It had been meant to reassure. But as her gaze darted to his, the energy between them became something bigger. Something unexpected.

She slipped her hand away from his. “Would you like more soup?”

It had rattled her, too. Cole cleared his throat and knew he’d better get out of there before he started sharing other things or, worse, inviting her to share. The idea was to convince her to sell. Not get himself tangled up in her.

“I should get back. I really just came with the peace offering.”

Brooklyn gathered up their bowls and took them to the sink. “Thank you. And I appreciate the clarification on the dock maintenance.”

Cole stood and brushed a few breadcrumbs off his pants. “I want us to deal fairly with each other. It’s not my intention to cause you financial hardship.”

She spun around and pinned him with a stare. “Don’t worry about my financial situation. I’m doing just fine.”

Dammit, he’d stepped in it again. Just when he’d let down his guard a little. “I’m sure you are. But no one wants an unexpected expenditure, do they?”

Marvin had reappeared and he leaned over to give the pup a pat and a bit of an ear rub. “You’ve got a great dog. I never had one growing up.”

“But you like them.” Her voice was softer. “That’s pretty obvious.”

“I do. Very much.” Marvin leaned into a scratch, which delighted Cole immensely. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you, Marvin? Mmm...that feels good.”

When he looked up, Brooklyn was smiling. Damn, she was so beautiful when she smiled. He was going to have to step carefully there.

“He likes you, too. You can stop by for a game of fetch when you need to,” she offered.

It was unexpected and he frowned. “Really? You’re inviting me to play with your dog?”

She shrugged. “Dogs are great healers, Cole. From what you said, you probably need him as much as he needs a good game of throw-the-tennis-ball.”

“Thanks,” he said quietly, standing again. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

But as he said his goodbyes and made his way down the path from her house, he wondered what kind of recovery she’d needed, and if Marvin had been there for her. He hoped so. The thought of Brooklyn, such a strong, beautiful, independent woman needing some sort of healing made his stomach tie up in knots. If she’d had to recover from something, he hoped she hadn’t had to do it alone.

CHAPTER FOUR

BROOKLYN KNEW THE day the executives arrived because the helicopter made an appearance, swinging low over the house before disappearing over the trees to the landing pad. She stepped away from the window and went back to printing shipping labels. She’d spent too much time thinking about Cole and that moment when he’d touched her hand. Something had happened between them, like a bolt of lightning. The startled look on his face had told her he had felt it, too. It made everything more complicated.

She should just brush it off and regain her common sense. But the past few nights, when she’d gone to bed, she’d lain awake thinking of how he’d brought Marvin a present and the way he patted the dog and rubbed his ears. Marvin was the most important thing in her life, really. As much as it would be more convenient for her to still hate Cole, his actions suggested an unexpected kindness and gentleness.

Kindness didn’t translate into trust, though. He was a long way from accomplishing that.

Better to focus on the present. She needed to go over to the mainland again today. She’d finished dyeing another batch of yarn and had packed up new orders to be shipped away. Fall was a busy time for her. As the weather cooled, people picked up their knitting needles again and started on a number of projects. Even though it was only early October, Christmas orders were already flooding in.

She should forget about Cole and think more about the holiday season and building up her stock.

The seas were calm and the day clear, and the trip seemed to take no time at all. The first stop for her was the post office, which took a fairly long time as she had a number of shipments. Then she drove down to Liverpool to visit Delilah. Even though Brooklyn had her own yarn business, there were many specialty yarns that she sourced elsewhere. Right now she was hoping Delilah had a new shipment of alpaca yarn. She loved working with it, and her customers liked it, as well, since it was lighter than wool and wasn’t scratchy.

Delilah was at the store but more than happy to go to lunch. They headed to a local inn and dined on hearty chowder and fresh bread.

Delilah, who was in her midforties, took a look at Brooklyn and angled her head, as if assessing. “There’s something different about you. A different kind of energy.” She thought for a moment and shrugged. “You’ve perked up.”

Heat slid up Brooklyn’s neck. “I love the fall. It’s my favorite time of year.”

“I don’t think so. What’s going on in your life?” She leaned forward. “Have you put up that online dating profile like I suggested?”

Brooklyn laughed and spooned up more chowder. “No, I didn’t. It’s nothing, really. I mean, I met the new owner of the house. Otherwise I’ve just been busy.” She raised an eyebrow. “After what I just spent at your store, you can tell I have orders piling up.”

“What’s he like? Is he old with a big paunch and stinking rich?”

She laughed, but the image of Cole standing at her door with cake and wine stuck in her head and her heart gave a little thump. “He’s stinking rich, from what I gather. He’s maybe thirty-five? And quite good-looking.”

“Ooh. Some island romance in your future?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, and wouldn’t that be awkward. You don’t...you-know-what where you eat, Del. Besides, he’ll be here a bit and then have to go back to New York. That’s where his businesses are. He’ll only be on the island now and again.”

To her surprise, the thought made her a little lonely. She was used to having someone else for company. The summer hadn’t been that bad, because the weather had been great and she’d had the gardens to keep and her own vegetable plot. In the wintertime, though, she often got storm-stayed. During those times, she’d often gone up to the big house with Ernest and Marietta and they’d played cards and eaten great food and it had been more than pleasant. Her house was cozy as anything, but the thought of facing the winter without any company at all... Maybe she should consider finding an apartment or something in town. But how could she afford two places? Right now she was mortgage-free and the business was more than enough to keep her comfortable. But if she had to add a thousand a month or so to her bills, it would make things tight.

She sniffed a little. A thousand a month was probably Cole Abbot’s wine budget. Or whiskey, or scotch, or whatever pricey alcohol he drank. She’d looked up the wine he’d brought. She was used to the ten-to-twenty-dollar bottles. The one he’d brought had been sixty. She was saving it for a special occasion.

“So, young, rich, not a troll,” Delilah said, ticking each attribute off on her fingers. “Remind me again why you’re not making a move to tap that?”

Brooklyn snorted. “Thanks, Del, for getting right to the point.”

“Any time.” Her face softened, and she patted Brooklyn’s hand. “Look, I just want you to be happy. And I know you don’t need a man for that. I just worry that you... Well, you’ve closed yourself off to possibilities because of what happened.”

Del was one of the few people who really knew about Brooklyn’s trauma. Being a victim of a violent crime had changed Brooklyn, made her more wary and less trusting. Sure, she’d done all sorts of therapy and she was doing well. But she’d also built the life she wanted and didn’t like the disruption.

She’d had enough counseling to understand that she liked guarantees. She wasn’t a risk-taker, and in her mind, love was the biggest risk of all.

“It’s not that, Del.” She took a sip of her tea and sighed. “I mean, I’m not physically afraid of a relationship.” The assault hadn’t been sexual. It had been a straight up robbery, and looking back, it seemed like something from a movie. It certainly felt like it had happened to someone else. The fear had been cold and debilitating. The hard press of the gun dug into her ribs and she could still feel the painful grip of his big hand on her arm. For a few terrified moments, she’d been his hostage. But when he got into the car, she’d managed to scramble out the passenger side and he’d sped off. She’d been safe, yet forever altered.

“No, sweetie,” Delilah said gently. “You’re afraid of living. Everything happens in good time, but sometimes people come along that shake us up a bit.” She smiled. “Maybe this guy is going to shake you up.”

He already had. “He likes Marvin, and Marvin likes him back, the traitor,” she confessed. “Then again, pats and treats go a long way with dogs.”

Delilah grinned. “Not just with dogs. I’m partial to pats and treats myself.”

“Delilah!” Brooklyn started to laugh and put down her teacup. Delilah had been married to the same guy for fifteen years and they were still adorable together. “This is why I love you.”

“And here I thought it was because you get a bulk discount at the store.”

“I’m nicer than that.”

“I know that. I hope you do. Anyway, if this guy isn’t going to be on the island that much, why not have a thing or see where it goes? God knows you deserve it.”

Brooklyn had gone “home” to recover, really. The trauma from those five minutes in her life had resulted in crippling fear and panic. Life was much better now, but she didn’t like change. Didn’t want it.

Even one as sexy and intriguing as Cole Abbott.

When she returned home later that afternoon, she put her supplies in the house and took Marvin out for a walk on the beach so he could get a good romp in before the weather changed. The forecast called for rain later in the evening, and Brooklyn could feel the change in air pressure and humidity as she threw a stick of driftwood for Marvin. He was four now, and his energy level was still that of a puppy, though he definitely had more discipline. He came running back and dropped the stick at her feet, panting happily, eyes flashing as he waited for her to throw it again. She did, then walked on, the sharp wind buffeting her ponytail, pulling strands out to blow around her face, and puffing her jacket out behind her. The calm seas of earlier were now gray with little white caps. Tonight would be the perfect night to finish her shawl and then move on to holiday projects.

Delilah had given her food for thought. Not that she wanted to have a torrid affair or anything. It was more the reminder that she’d hidden herself away here.

She’d even withdrawn from her family. Her parents lived in Halifax, where her dad worked for a courier company and her mom was a nurse. Her brother and sister no longer lived in Nova Scotia; her sister was a geologist working in Alberta, and her brother an environmental engineer for a US company based out of Maryland. Brooklyn took the stick from Marvin and threw it again, watching him spin up sand as he chased after it. Brooklyn had been in her third year of her science degree when the assault happened. Then everything had changed.

She got to the end of the sandy stretch and climbed the path to the grassy expanse above. Darkening skies told her she should get home soon; she wasn’t keen on getting caught in the rain, especially with Marvin and his wet dog smell. She called for him to come and was answered with a bark that sounded farther away than she anticipated. Frowning, she directed her gaze toward the sound of the bark and saw Marvin’s golden coat running through the tall grass, headed toward Cole.

Not fair, considering Delilah’s words still echoed in her head. Hopefully she could remain cool and detached and not blush.

Cole lifted a hand in greeting, and Marvin bounced and danced beside him.

“My dog is incredibly undisciplined,” she said as he approached. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Marvin’s great. I wish I’d had a dog as a kid. My folks said no because they are dirty and then pets aren’t allowed in dormitories.”

“Even for rich kids?”

He laughed. “Even for rich kids. Merrick was a great school. It’s where I met Jeremy and Branson. But no dogs, sadly.”

“Jeremy, as in your Realtor?”

He nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“And Branson is...”

“Branson Black.”

She tried not to let her mouth drop open and failed. “The novelist.”

“That’s the one.” Cole grinned. “We’ve been best friends since we were thirteen.”

Brooklyn had been brought up in the city. All her classmates were God knows where. She’d made friends here, though. Good ones, like Delilah. Besides, in a small town, everyone pretty much knew everyone else.

Which meant most knew something about why she’d moved home while in university and holed up on the island. It was a hard place to keep secrets.

“Aren’t your guests on the island?” she asked, waving the stick for Marvin. She tossed it and he ran off, while Cole chuckled.

“They don’t need babysitters. Right now they’re settling in. Getting downtime.” He grinned. “I confiscated their phones when they arrived. Cue looks of panic.”

“That’s torture.” But she grinned in response.

“You would think so. I let each person send an ‘I’ve arrived’ message and then that’s it for four days. Either people are napping, or working out, or trying to figure out a way to work without being connected. Switching out of that mindset is hard, and it takes time. We’ll get together tonight at dinner.”

“Cool.” They walked on, down the path toward the lane that ran the length of the island from her house to his. Marvin trotted around with the stick of driftwood in his mouth, proud of his new possession. A gust of wind buffeted them and there was a bit of mist in it. The rain wouldn’t be far off now.

“Looks like we’re in for some nasty weather.”

“Just some rain.” She put her hands in her jacket pocket. “By tomorrow night it’ll be clear again. But it was choppy on the water today. I hit some big waves on the way back.”

“You’re not scared doing that?”

She laughed. “I’ve been piloting around this island since I was old enough to see over the wheel. And when the weather is really bad, I stay home.” She let out a sigh. “Honestly? Sitting by my window with a glass of wine, watching the rain? It’s cozy and pretty relaxing.”

“Hmm. I kind of wish I could do that tonight. Instead I’m going to try to deal with five VPs who are going through tech withdrawal.”

She bit down on her lip. Had he just said he wanted to spend the evening with her, or had he been speaking theoretically? She tried to imagine Cole in her small living room and couldn’t make it fit. Then she thought of the great room at the house, with the windows facing the water, and could totally picture him sitting there, swirling a brandy or something, watching the rain. A very different world from hers.

Their steps had slowed as they reached the lane. To the right was his house, gray and imposing, absolutely stunning. She’d been inside lots of times when Ernest had owned it, and wondered what sort of changes Cole had made to the decor. Maybe someday she’d get to see inside again. But not today. Today he was...well, if not working, he was busy with his guests.

“I meant to ask you. Do you know if Ernest had someone taking care of the grounds? I have my caretakers, but they had a few questions about what’s in the shed and about a couple of the plants in the garden. If you knew who they could contact...”

She smiled. “Send them down to the house, or have them call me. I can give them the details.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Cole, I looked after the grounds for Ernest. I love gardening. He paid me a monthly wage and I mowed the grass, tended his flower beds and did his snow removal.”

Cole stopped and stared at her. “You did?”

She started laughing. “Did you think I had someone here to do it for me? Granted, my little flower beds and lawn are tiny in comparison, but if I want off the island in the winter I have to clear the lane so I can get to the dock. There’s a nice little tractor up there with a blower attachment. Works great.”

“Oh. Well.” He stared a moment more, apparently still recovering from his surprise. “This monthly wage thing...” An awkward silence followed.

“I can live without it. I knew when Ernest sold the house that gig would come to an end. To be honest, Ernest was too old to do it all, and he wouldn’t hear of me doing it without being paid. It worked for both of us.”

“I see. I just don’t want to deprive you of any income.”

She lifted her chin. It was the second time he’d made that sort of comment to her, insinuating she was down on her luck. She was actually doing pretty well for herself. She had a new holiday pattern going up on a popular site this month, and because she’d built a solid reputation for accurate and clear pattern instructions, every time she sold a new pattern, she saw increased downloads.

One of the things she really wanted to do was put together her own book of patterns and find a publisher.

“I’m doing fine, thanks. Of course you should have your own employees take this over.” And to be honest, it would feel strange, working for Cole.

“Raelynn would also like your recipe for that soup you made the other day. I raved about it.”

“Oh, well, that’s easy enough. As I said, send her down. I’m not headed anywhere for a few days.”

“Thanks, Brooklyn. I appreciate it.”

She looked over at him. “I suppose this means we’re being friendly now.” She deliberately used the verb instead of the friend noun. Acting friendly didn’t necessarily constitute friendship.

“I suppose it does.”

And he smiled.

He was pretty gorgeous at any time, but when he smiled it was something different altogether. His eyes got tiny crinkles in the corners and his whole body seemed to relax with it. Right now, in the gloominess of the coming rain, his eyes seemed grayish blue, but she’d noticed the other day in the sun that they were a clear, bright blue that seemed to look right inside her. Kind of like the ocean, changing color depending on the weather and the storms going on inside.

“You should get back to your guests. They’re probably trying to figure out how to get internet on your TV.”

He grinned again. “I turned off the Wi-Fi.”

“Sneaky.” She couldn’t help but smile back.

“I know we’ll be outside some, but I’ll make sure we don’t invade your privacy.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

They said their goodbyes, but as Cole walked away, Brooklyn sighed. She almost wished he’d invade her privacy. She couldn’t imagine making a move herself, and knew without a doubt he was not for her. And yet a part of her wished he might be, just a little. Even though he was exactly the wrong kind of man, and not at all what she needed.

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