Page 18 of Pirates in Calusa Cove

“I drink so much wine that I don’t buy the stuff my dad does.” She pointed to the chairs. “It’s less than thirtydollars a bottle. But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you drink the stuff.”

He shrugged. “It’s been a hot minute.” Like ten freaking years, but he wasn’t about to question his reasons for breaking that rule now.

“Come on in. You can help me carry a tray of snacks. I didn’t even get a marshmallow tonight.”

He stood behind her, inhaling the fresh scent of pears, and waited for her to finish tapping in her keycode to unlock the front door. Once inside, she went right for the alarm system and disarmed it. “I’m surprised you have an alarm system.” Inwardly, he groaned. That was a dumb thing to say when he was trying to apologize for being a jerk.

She glanced over her shoulder while kicking off those damn wedge shoes. “When I moved back here a few years ago, it was after an incident where I used to live. Freaked my father out. Honestly, it freaked me out, too. When I bought this place, my dad insisted on the alarm in case what happened there followed me. I didn’t argue because I worried about that, too.”

“What does that mean?” He curled his fingers around her biceps. His heart pounded in his chest, pumping adrenaline—and not necessarily the good kind—through his system. “What happened? Are you okay? Is someone bothering you? Is this something Dawson should know about?”

She shifted her gaze from his face to his hand and back to his face. “It—or should I say, he—didn’t follow me here. There has been no sign of my ex since I left St. Augustine. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t text. And he’snever shown up. I don’t think he ever will.” She leaned closer. “He’s kind of afraid of me.”

“Okay. But you were sufficiently scared to put in an alarm system. Why?”

“It’s not exactly what you think.” She plucked his fingers off her body, turned, and marched down the hallway while his protective instincts suffocated him from the inside out.

“How about you ease my overactive mind and tell me what happened?”

“The short version is he lied to me, he stole from me, and then he hit me.”

He growled. It was deep and hit his throat like a brick coming up. “That’s?—”

She turned, holding up her hand. “I called the police. I wouldn’t be bullied. It didn’t matter that, at the time, I was in love with the jerk. Lay a hand on me, and we’re done. However, he didn’t like my response. He didn’t like that I wouldn’t tell the cops it was a misunderstanding.”

“I’m sure he didn’t. Did you file an abuse report?”

“I did more than that.” She pulled down two glasses and shoved a bottle of wine at him with a corkscrew before ducking her head into the fridge. “While he was spending a few hours in jail because he left a nasty bruise on my cheek and took a chunk of my hair in his hands?—”

“That sounds like he more than hit you.”

“I fought back,” she said, “and then I packed up all his stuff—because it was my house—and had his mother come get it. I listed the house the next morning and soldit in two days. I filed a restraining order and came running home to Daddy.”

“You say the last part as if it’s a bad thing.”

She sighed as she arranged a few blocks of cheese on the tray and opened a sleeve of crackers. She lifted the snacks and nodded toward the front of the house. “In the end, it wasn’t. But my dad can be protective of his little princess. He hopped in his car and drove to St. Augustine so he could give that man a piece of his mind. Turns out, when I kicked him where it counts, I might’ve done a little damage, and he was in the hospital. My dad left it alone, but he made me promise that if he ever contacted me, I’d first call the cops and then call him.”

“Well, now you can add me to the list of people to call.” He tucked the recorked bottle under his arm and carried the two poured glasses out the front door. He set them on a small table and joined her on the plush sofa overlooking the beautiful waters of Calusa Cove.

“Now, why would I do that when you and I can’t have a conversation without one of us calling the other a name?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that one you hurled at me earlier was a little triggering.”

“You know and understand that word?” She took the glass he offered and sighed. “I’m sorry. But ever since that night Jared died, you bring out the worst in me. I can’t seem to help myself.”

“I will admit, I can be rough, but that word has more meaning to me than you could know.” He lifted thewine to his lips, stuck his nose inside, and sniffed. Not bad. He took a long, slow sip. “Damn, that’s good.”

“You appreciate wine?”

“I used to.” He set his glass aside and tugged at his shirt collar, showing off his tattoo.

She leaned in and traced the infinity sign with her delicate, hot finger. It scorched his skin. “Who’s Petra?”

“She’s the reason I’m the way I am and why being called a misogynistic prick bothers me so much.”

“Ex-girlfriend?”

“Dead fiancée.” He leaned over, raised his glass, and downed his wine like it was a cheap shot of whiskey, but it didn’t burn.

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