8. CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

E verything happened so fast she could scarcely believe that she'd agreed to do it.

She was driving up the hill, with Clint McEvoy in her passenger seat, and she was preparing to move into Bennett's house with him and his daughters, for the next five days.

She should have said ‘no.'

In fact, she did say ‘no.'

But Bennett refused to accept her ‘no.'

And the fact that he was still soaked to the bone and his gray T-shirt clung to his torso, defining every ridge and valley made it impossible for her to argue with him any further. Her tongue tied itself into a knot and her mouth got dry. So all she could do was nod, stare and fantasize about what he looked like underneath that T-shirt.

Besides, she didn't want to leave the island.

She didn't want to leave the property.

And even though she wasn't sure what was going on between her and Bennett, she knew that she liked it and she wasn't ready for it to end.

Did she feel guilty about the joy that he and the island brought her? Every second of every day. But she was too weak to let the guilt stop her from thinking about their next encounter. From picturing his smile and the cute V-shaped worry lines between his brows when he narrowed them in confusion.

"I'm beginning to think cabin five might be cursed," Clint murmured as they rumbled up the gravel road toward the brothers' houses.

"Cursed?"

She had to stop at a big gate and Clint jumped out to punch in a code.

The gate swung open, and he climbed back into her vehicle.

"Yeah, a few weeks ago that cabin had issues with the gas stove, and the people who were staying there when that happened leaked my girlfriend's whereabouts to the media. She was in hiding because someone tried to kill her. Then those guests found out she was here, took a picture of her, and it went viral that she was here and alive in a matter of minutes."

Justine's bottom jaw dropped.

"Second house," Clint said, pointing to the cute, yellow two story with white trim and a blue pickup truck parked out front.

"So should I even go back to the cabin?"

"Only if you believe in that stuff. I mean, I don't usually, but it might just be a lemon of a cabin. No ghost, just a lemon. Or there's a ghost. It's really about your belief in the supernatural."

"That doesn't instill confidence in me to return to it when it's fixed."

He shrugged. "You might find you prefer the RV." He opened the truck door. "Or Bennett's house." He said that last part quieter as he jumped out. But she heard it. Boy, did she hear it.

Bennett didn't greet her at the front door, but Clint let them into the house without knocking.

"We don't lock our doors on the island. Everything is so safe. Took some getting used to, but we love how secure we are here now. How safe all the children are. They come and go as they please. Little free-range chickens who hardly ever wear shoes." His smile was full of fatherly pride and contentment. "We're here," he called out upstairs.

"Not ready yet," Bennett replied, sounding mildly flustered.

"Let's unload your stuff while we wait for housekeeping," Clint said, heading back out to Justine's SUV.

She followed him and popped the hatch. They worked quickly, unpacking her temporary life into Bennett's cozy, modern but cabin-y, living room.

"Every house has the same layout," Clint said, plunking down the last of her totes. "I'm next door on the end. Wyatt is on the other side of Bennett. Then Dom, and Jagger is at the end. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms, up. Living room, kitchen, dining room, study, and two-piece bathroom, down. Functional, but modest."

"Seems like the perfect size for a family to me."

"I've gotta get back to work. You'll be okay here?"

She nodded, aware that when Clint left, it would just be her and Bennett in his functional, modest, cozy house. All alone.

"Brooke is next door if you need anything. She knows you're moving in so she might pop over for a visit. I'm not sure what her plans were today. She had a few interviews—you know, radio and television and stuff—and then she was reading over a new script. But I think that was it."

Script?

Interviews?

Who was Clint's girlfriend, exactly?

But it felt rude to ask, so she merely nodded and thanked him for his help.

"No problem. I hope you settle in easily. Come down and visit us at the pub."

"I will. Thank you." She saw Clint to the door and just as she closed it and turned around, Bennett came bounding down the stairs, all handsome and slightly out of breath. He certainly took her breath away when he smiled at her like he was at that moment.

"All ready for you," he said, taking the last step and reaching for her suitcase. "If you'll follow me."

With a belly loaded with butterflies, she grabbed a tote and followed him up the stairs. It was impossible not to stare at his butt. It was a great butt in those jeans—and probably out of them as well—and it was right at eye level. How could she not?

Heat rushed into her cheeks and she glanced away as best she could, only to fall victim to her stupid libido and zero in once again on the back pockets and how perfectly rounded they were.

He probably didn't even have to work to get a butt like that. It was probably just good genes, and good jeans. Meanwhile, women had to bust their ass—literally—at the gym with squats, lunges, deadlifts, donkey kicks, and glute bridges to get peach halves like Bennett had.

She was glaring at his butt by the time they reached the upstairs.

It wasn't fair.

"Something wrong?" Bennett asked. "You've got a really pissed off look on your face."

Crap.

She dropped her scowl and looked up at him. He was on the top stair and she was three below that, so she really had to look up to reach his eyes. Otherwise, now she'd be face-to-face with his crotch, which was also fairly impressive, even in jeans. As a doctor, she could just tell. She could.

"Uh … uh, no. Just thinking about something entirely unrelated to anything."

"Entirely unrelated to anything, huh? Well, I'm curious to know what that is. If it's unrelated to anything." His smirk was sixteen different kinds of sexy and it made her pulse pound through her carotid. Could he see it throbbing like a frog's vocal sac in her neck? Was it that obvious? It felt like it was obvious. Like they could hear it down at the pub over the bass of the music.

He stepped back so she could reach the top of the stairs too. "Just thinking about how I was looking forward to relaxing on the beach today, only to get there and find it covered with naked bodies."

He snorted. "You went to Little Bay? I could have told you that. You go there at your own risk."

"Well, I didn't know I was going to go there until I got there. And when I got there, I was very distracted and unable to relax."

"Aren't you a doctor? Shouldn't the naked human body be boring to you by now?"

She followed him down the hall toward the last door on the right. "I'm a human first. And as a doctor, usually when I see a person, they're in a dressing gown, or draped for surgery. So I only see the part of them I have to cut open. I see more of people's insides than their outsides. And a lot of those outsides today were—"

"Very wrinkly and hairy?"

"The human body is beautiful in all its forms."

He opened the bedroom door with a snicker. "Sure, it is. Then why didn't you stay?"

She glared at him as he rolled her suitcase into a big bedroom with a peaked, vaulted ceiling, a king-sized bed, and a huge window with a gorgeous view of the sound.

"I decided I didn't want to lie on the beach. So, I went and did a wine tasting instead."

"I emptied the dresser. So feel free to put your clothes in there. Same with the nightstands. There are towels in the bathroom along with shampoo and body wash you're welcome to use. The sheets are fresh and clean."

"Thank you. Your … your bedroom is lovely."

His full, distracting lips pursed, like he was doing his very best to hide a smug smile. Then he nodded. "Who'd you meet at the winery?"

His abrupt pivot back to the first topic jarred her. "Uh, Naomi? She seemed nice. I got a private tasting with her." Then the guilt of her abrupt departure slammed back into her brain and a sad, sinking feeling formed in her belly.

"Whoa, what just happened? You were happy a second ago, smiling and joking about wrinkly, naked old people. Then your face dropped into the biggest frown I've ever seen—except for when I tell Aya she can't have any more ice cream."

Justine shook her head. "It's nothing. I'm going to go grab another tote."

She left his room and made haste down to the living room. She knew he was behind her even though his footsteps didn't thunder down the stairs and he never said a word. She didn't acknowledge him when she picked up another tote and passed him in the living room on her way to the stairs. He followed her and they reconvened back in his bedroom.

"Did something happen at the winery?" he asked, setting the tote from his arms down on the floor against the wall. "Did Gabrielle say something? Did Raina?"

"I don't know who either of those people are. And no. I only met Naomi, and she was lovely. Nothing happened. I just—" She glanced out the window at the glittering ocean, caught perfectly in the afternoon rays of sunshine. "I left quite suddenly and I feel bad about that now. Naomi was so kind to me."

"Why'd you leave so abruptly?"

She shook her head and averted her gaze, studying the room and its muted colors. Camel-beige on the walls, a brown and blue duvet cover and pillow shams, and two funky reclaimed wood nightstands to match the king-sized bed frame. The mattress was quite high, higher than average she would say, and a stunning blown-up gray-scale photograph of a blue heron hunting in glass-calm water on a foggy day hung on the wall behind the bed.

He stepped closer to her, then his finger was beneath her chin and he was gently, but forcefully, making her turn to look at him again.

He was too close now.

His heat, his scent. Just his presence left her light-headed.

"Justine, why'd you leave? What happened?"

She shook free of his touch and took a step back, or at least tried to, but her calves hit the end of the bed. She was trapped.

He took her attempt to move away from him for what it was and took a step back himself, his expression full of confusion and hurt.

"I don't deserve joy," she said, meeting his blue gaze for just a split second.

"What? Why would you say or think that?"

"Because I killed someone. Now he, nor his family, will ever experience joy again. So why should I? I feel guilty any time I enjoy myself or am happy, because the man I killed is dead. I made a mistake, and he paid the price."

"And so you're punishing yourself by not allowing yourself to experience joy ever again?"

It sounded so stupid when said out loud. And when Bennett said it, she wanted to curl up in a ball or escape to an ashram in Tibet.

So to save the little bit of face she had left, she said nothing. She just let his words hang in the air. Silence was her answer. Silence was her confirmation.

His eyes turned sad. "Oh, Justine, that's … that's not fair. Not to you, or the … patient? It was a patient, right? You didn't, like, off a guy on the street for his watch or something? I haven't brought a murderous mugger into my house with my children, have I?"

It was impossible not to laugh at that. "No. It was a patient."

"You can't beat yourself up. It happens. It's terrible, but it happens."

Her throat grew tight and the back of her eyes burned. She shook her head. "Not to me."

"So, you realized you enjoyed yourself at the wine tasting, felt guilty, and left?"

Filled to the absolute brim with embarrassment, she nodded.

"Okay. Well, I hope that the reason you're here on the island is to not only find that clarity but also to forgive yourself. Because accidents happen. Even to genius surgeons. Crappy things happen, good people die, and it fucking sucks. Also, I'm guessing you've saved a lot more people on your OR table than have died."

A hot tear slid down the crease of her nose.

She didn't nod, but rather, just glanced away, unable to look him in the eye because she knew she'd see pity. He didn't get it. He wanted to, and he was trying to, but he just didn't get it.

"If you ever want to talk …"

She swallowed, still staring at the floor. Another tear slid down her nose and onto the hardwood. "Thank you."

"I'll leave you to unpack. Seems like you need some time to yourself. I'll be down at the office if you need anything. My home is your home. So put your food in the fridge, there should be space. And make yourself at home. The kids will be home just after three. So I'll make sure I come back for that so they don't bombard you with questions."

"Thank you," she choked out.

She sucked in a sharp breath when he stepped close again and she lifted her head, more on instinct than anything else. "You deserve joy, Justine. Don't destroy your life because of one mistake. Grief and guilt are powerful, and they are important, but so is happiness. So is forgiveness. Forgive yourself."

He blinked. She blinked.

His smile was small, and it came and went like a zephyr. Then he walked out of the bedroom, leaving her alone with her pain and her tears … and for the first time in a very long time, with hope.