The Summer of Us (Mission Cove 1)

“No more, Sunny. I can’t sleep without you anymore.” Then he held out his arms, and I ran straight into them. They closed around me tightly, offering me safety, love, and comfort. He carried me to the bedroom, and we collapsed on the bed, both too exhausted to do anything but pull up the duvet and sleep. He didn’t even stir when I slipped out to go to the bakery. It was as if his body knew I’d be close, so I let him rest.

He came and went as needed from Toronto but returned every night—even if it was well past midnight. He used the table in my place as a desk. He had a hundred and one projects on the go, it seemed. He was constantly on his phone, jumping into his car to head to a meeting, carrying mysterious plans rolled into cardboard containers. I had no idea what all he did, but it didn’t matter. He was here with me and that was all I cared about.

And tonight was our date.

I fluffed my hair and touched up my lip balm. There was no point in applying lipstick. Linc kissed it off all the time, so I gave up. I had no idea why I was so nervous, but I was. It was Linc, for heaven’s sake. We basically lived together now, sharing this cramped apartment. I was waiting for him to decide we needed more space—it made sense, but I was allowing him to make the decision. I knew that was one of our major hurdles to overcome. I was certain of our future—just not where our future resided.

A firm knock on my door made me grin. He was serious about the entire date thing. I hoped he didn’t plan on playing hard to get at the end of the night. I would have to make sure I weakened his defenses.

Before I opened the door, I tugged the bows a little looser on my shoulders, letting the dress drift lower on my breasts. Linc had a thing for them. He always had.

I opened the door, my breath catching in my throat. Linc stood, tall and proud, dressed in a navy suit, fitted to his wide shoulders and trim waist perfectly. His hair had been brushed until it gleamed, and his chin held the day’s stubble—just the way I liked it. His blue eyes sparkled as he looked at me, his gaze lingering, as I knew it would, on my breasts. He held a bunch of wild flowers in his hand that he held out.

“Sunny,” he murmured. “You take my words away. I can’t even think properly.”

“You clean up pretty well yourself.” I took the flowers with a smile. “Thank you.”

“I picked them for you.”

He followed me into the kitchen as I put them in a vase. I glanced over my shoulder. “Am I dressed okay? You never said where we were going.”

He rested his hand on the small of my back, bending over my shoulder so his lips were close to my ear. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.” He kissed my neck, making me shiver. Before I could turn and get a real kiss, he stepped away. “You may need a shawl or something for later.”

I picked up my purse and shawl. “Got it.”

He plucked my purse from my hand. “You won’t need that.”

I sighed. “It has my lip gloss in it.”

With a smirk, he opened the purse, dug out the gloss and the mints I had inside and slipped them into his pocket. “Anything else?”

“No. I’m ready.”

He caught me off guard as he suddenly yanked me tight and kissed me. Hard. Wet. Deep. His tongue possessed my mouth, claiming me, and stealing my breath. Then with a wide grin, he stepped back, casually wiping my gloss off his lips with a handkerchief from his pocket. “Now you are. I like your lips ready for me, Sunny. I prefer the taste of them to this fruity stuff.”

He opened the door. “Shall we?”

I walked past him, shaking my head. He chuckled and followed me.

Outside, I was surprised when we didn’t head to the car. Instead, he tucked my arm through his. “I want to show you something.”

“Okay.”

We crossed the street, and he used a key to open one of the doors. I followed him up the stairs, looking around in surprise when we entered a spacious, furnished room. A large desk sat in front of the window. In the middle of the room was a sizable conference table, monitors and notepads already on it. Across the room, another, smaller desk was set up—this one more feminine. A thick area rug was under my feet. A few pictures hung on the walls—one I recognized. It was a copy of the painting in the library. I turned, confused.

“They let me borrow it. I had it copied, reframed, and returned to them. I wanted a copy for myself. I wanted part of my mother here.”