Read Online Confessions of a Girl-Next-Door by Jackie Braun - Free Book Online Page B

suspected, Holly was asleep. She was on her side, facing him. She looked lovely, if troubled. Even in sleep her brow appeared furrowed. She’d come to the island to get away. Even as he wanted to believe it wasn’t his business or his concern, he couldn’t help wondering, from what exactly? She’d mentioned how scripted her life was. But she was a princess, high enough up the royal food chain that surely she could call some of the shots. So what exactly was she running from?
    Or whom?
    That guy she was linked to? Nate’s hands fisted at the thought.
    She sighed then, turned. Honey-colored hair spilled over the pillow. His pillow.
    Lucky pillow
.
    A sound rose in his throat—part moan,part curse. Nate closed the door with a smart click and hurried downstairs. Mere minutes later, armed with a Thermos full of black coffee and a clipboard, he hopped in his pickup truck.
    He spent the first hour riding from one end of the resort to the other, jotting down notes and prioritizing the cleanup as he went. This was how he approached problems: head-on and with a plan. Doing so was not only practical, but in this instance it also helped keep his mind off of Holly.
    As he drove, a calm settled over him, despite the obvious fallout from the storm. This was his kingdom. Last night, he’d experienced some doubts. They’d cleared off with the storm. He’d made the right choices in his life. This was where he wanted to be. The resort was a grand enough dream for him. He was happy here. The island was home.
    He’d already called in the Burns twins to help. The boys were seventeen, with strong backs and a deep desire to earn enough cash to buy their first car. Their dream vehicle was a vintage restored Mustang the island’s only doctor had put up for sale. So they were only too happy to hear Nate had extra hours for them to work.
    As he drove, Nate stopped to chat with any guests who were out and about. Several of them were, especially those who had come to the island to fish.
    “That was quite the storm last night,” Ernie Smithe commented. “Reminded me of the one back in eighty-seven.”
    The older man haled from a suburb just outside of Detroit and had been coming north for two weeks in June for as long as Nate could remember. He was seated at the picnic table just outside his cabin, a steaming cup of coffee at his elbow as he went through his tackle box.
    “Yes, it was.” Nate nodded at the selection of lures. “What are you fishing for this morning?”
    “Anything that will take the bait.” The older man laughed then. “I haven’t had too much luck trolling off the little islands just outside the bay.”
    “Perch are biting off the marina’s dock. Your best bet is minnows.” Nate sold them for a couple dollars per dozen in the shop. “Tell the kid working the counter that I said to give you a complimentary bucketful.”
    The way Nate saw it, it was a small price to pay for the fact the storm had taken outthe resort’s cable television. He made a note to himself to tell anyone who worked the desk that minnows were on the house for the rest of the day.
    Ernie thanked him. Nate started on his way. As he passed his cottage, he thought he saw movement through the kitchen window. He pulled the truck to a stop and headed up the steps, bracing himself a moment before pulling open the door. He wasn’t sure what to say.
Good morning
would be appropriate. But for some reason asking if she’d slept well seemed a little too personal.
    Then again, that kiss had been nothing if not personal.
    He scrubbed a hand over his face at the memory, felt the stubble. He hardly looked his best. He didn’t want to care. But he did. God help him. He did.
    It turned out there was no need for divine intervention. The person standing in his kitchen was Hank. The other man was hunched over the counter helping himself to a bowl of cold cereal.
    “Mornin’,” he mumbled around a mouthful of fortified flakes.
    “Hey.” Nate glanced past him.