If I Can't Let Go. Beth Kery

sixteen years, Liam had struggled to create a cohesive image of his father. He’d loved his dad like crazy. All four Kavanaugh children had. He’d been charismatic, fun…someone he’d always respected. It’d been a trial for Liam to come to terms with the drastically different pictures of his father that he’d received after the crash: the laughing, powerful patriarch…the selfish, heartless drunk…

      Who the hell was Derry Kavanaugh?

      Part of him had always been curious about what had happened that night. He shared that same internal pressure as Natalie Reyes. Problem was, he’d been disillusioned by his father once—when he was fifteen years old. Taking that check from Natalie would set him on a path where he might discover even uglier truths about his dad.

      He hesitated on a knife’s edge. Why did he waver now when he’d dived headfirst into drastically more risky and dangerous situations in the past?

      The image of Natalie sitting behind her desk, cloaked in shadow, penetrated his awareness. For some stupid, incomprehensible reason, he wanted to walk behind that desk and undo the knot at the back of her head. He wanted to fill his hands with that glorious spill of hair he’d seen on the beach and here in her office the other night.

      It irritated him, this dichotomy of feelings she inspired in him. He wanted to shake her sometimes. He also wanted to protect her. Most of all, he wanted to tear through her facade so he could lay bare that woman he’d glimpsed on the beach.

      He must be losing his mind.

      He reached out and swiped the check.

      “I’ll make a report to you when…if I get anything of substance. Which I doubt very seriously,” he said pointedly before he walked out of the office.

      A few days later Natalie was putting some groceries in her trunk when her cell phone rang. Her heart leaped with a mixture of anxiety and excitement when she noticed the identity of the caller.

      Ridiculous. She really needed to get past this girlhood crush she’d had on Liam Kavanaugh. She wasn’t that girl anymore. Children had a license to dream, and Natalie knew how dangerous dreaming could be for a grown woman.

      “Hello?” she said as she got into her car. She’d planned to drop by her brother, Eric’s, place and maybe make him some dinner with the groceries she’d just purchased.

      “It’s Liam. I was wondering if you want me to give you periodic reports on what I’ve found.”

      “Oh…I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. Have you found something important?”

      “No. Well…maybe.” He made a sound of impatience. “Problem is, I don’t know what you’d think is worthwhile or not. What are you doing right now?”

      “I’m in the Shop and Save parking lot. I just finished some errands.”

      “Why don’t you swing by my place? I stained the hard-wood floors earlier, but we could talk out on the terrace.” When she didn’t immediately respond, he added, “I won’t take more than twenty minutes of your time.”

      She felt contrite. She was the one who had proposed a business arrangement between them. Why would she hesitate to meet with him? A voice inside her head taunted her, accusing her of being gun-shy because of that embrace the other day, but Natalie willfully ignored it.

      “Of course. What’s your address?”

      He gave it to her. Natalie had lived in Harbor Town her whole life, so she knew precisely which house he referred to.

      “You bought the Myerson cottage?” she clarified.

      “Yeah. I know what you’re thinking.”

      “You do?” she asked in numb amazement.

      “That I’m a sucker for buying a money pit like this? My mother keeps telling me I’m nuts,” he said, wry amusement in his tone.

      “No…no that’s not what I was thinking at all.”

      She told him she’d be there shortly and hung up the phone. Less than ten minutes later she pulled past an old mailbox—even that was rich in character and craftsmanship—and drove down the long, weedy gravel drive. It was late August, the time when nature was at her ripest. The Victorian-era cottage blended almost seamlessly into the overgrown landscape, thanks to the thick surrounding foliage and blooming vines that covered the stone exterior. Flowers were everywhere—bluebells, wisteria, daisies and roses.

      It had stunned her to hear he’d bought the cottage, but understanding slowly started to mute her incredulity.

      This place was as wild and untamed as Liam himself.

      She heard the sound of the waves breaking in the distance as she got out of the car. Of course. She hadn’t been far from here that night when they encountered each other on the lake-front. The Myerson cottage was just south of White Sands, the public beach where Liam had come upon her in a private moment. Perhaps like her, he hadn’t been able to sleep that night.

      She started toward the door but paused when Liam came around the corner of the house, poking his arms into a short-sleeved button-down shirt. She froze at the sight of him. He was far enough away that she was granted several seconds to study him through the lenses of her dark glasses. He wasn’t bulky muscular, but he was ripped. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his torso, just lean muscle and smooth golden-brown skin. He wore a pair of casual cargo shorts that fastened low on his narrow hips. The omnipresent braid of leather encircled his wrist. The white shirt he threw on looked delicious next to his tan. His legs were long and well-shaped and dusted with light brown hair. From the light sheen of sweat on his abdomen and chest she guessed he’d just come from doing some physical labor.

      “Hi,” he greeted as he approached, buttoning his shirt with fleet fingers.

      “Hello,” she replied, mentally damning her breathlessness. She slammed the car door and walked toward him, glad that he closed the shirt over his bare chest. He was almost indecently gorgeous. She noticed a small smile pull at his mouth when he came to a halt.

      “What?” she asked warily.

      “I’m not used to seeing you in your civilian clothes.”

      She glanced down at her attire—jean shorts, canvas tennis shoes and a blue-and-white-striped tank top.

      “Strike that,” he said. She lifted her head. Her breasts tingled beneath his flickering gaze. “You weren’t in civilian clothes that night I saw you on the beach. You weren’t wearing much of anything, were you?”

      Heat rushed into her cheeks. It confused her to the core, this tendency he had to say things and make it sound so warm…so intimate. It shouldn’t surprise her, of course. Liam Kavanaugh was a born flirt. He probably just didn’t know how to shut it off, even with an unlikely candidate.

      “I wasn’t expecting anyone to see me on that night,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. It wouldn’t do to let him believe their chance meeting on the beach had meant anything to her.

      “Obviously.”

      She inhaled slowly. It certainly didn’t take him long to make her feel like she was floundering.

      “Accountants deserve downtime as much as police officers,” she said stiffly.

      “More so,” he agreed with a shrug. “If I had to wear a suit every day to work I’d go nuts. I’d dive into my jeans the second I walked out of the office.”

      He looked surprised when she laughed, but she couldn’t seem to help it. “Or your board shorts, no doubt.”

      His smile was like sex distilled. Her laughter faded at the sight of it.

      “I think you might be getting the hang of me, Natalie.”

      “Heaven forbid.”

      He chuckled appreciatively as he waved for her to follow him on the ancient stone path