Under the Boardwalk: A Dazzling Collection of All New Summertime Love Stories by Geralyn Dawson
Authors: Geralyn Dawson
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second pair of pants from his trunk instead of a shirt. The woman had him even more confused than he'd realized.
Questions whirled like a waterspout in his brain. Why had she come? What did she want? Where had she been living the last ten years? Not Galveston, he knew. The Mayfield family had sold their home and moved away the very day she secured her damned annulment.
Having followed her to Galveston, Drew had hidden on the pier and watched the ferry take her away, then he'd washed his hands of the entire affair. He'd been full of anger and hurt pride, not to mention the broken ribs and assorted bruises Roger Mayfield's hired thugs had bestowed upon him. Still, young fool that he was, for months afterward he had expected her to come to her senses and return to him.
He had loved Hannah, truly, deeply loved her. He had honestly believed she loved him in return. That proved how stupid young men can be. It had taken her ten long years to come back.
Anger surged through him as Drew found a shirt and yanked it on.
Well, you are too damned late, darlin'
. Any tenderness he'd felt for her had died long ago.
Hadn't it?
He grimaced and tugged his shirt collar away from his neck. Damned thing wasn't even buttoned and it still felt like a noose. Hannah Mayfield. Hell.
"Why?" he muttered aloud. Why was she here? How had she found him? Only two people at the Castaway Bait Company knew where he intended to spend his holiday. Neither of them would have shared his business with a stranger.
And Hannah Mayfield was a stranger, he told himself as he slowly buttoned his shirt. Nothing more than that. He hadn't thought of the woman in years. Well, in months, anyway. He'd put that part of his past behind him. He was a successful businessman now. A wealthy man. Hannah Mayfield was nothing more than a bad memory.
A bad memory who had sailed up to his beach today. She was all grown up, a woman, not a girl, and more beautiful than sunrise over the gulf.
A bad memory who isn't wearing a wedding ring
—
not mine or anybody else's
.
Drew made a grunting noise. No wedding ring. Why had he even noticed? "It doesn't matter to me," he told himself. He certainly didn't want her now.
His gaze drifted toward the corner of the cabin where a decade ago the bed had sat, before he'd moved it to the other side of the room. Back then he had wanted her desperately, and Hannah had returned his desire. As if it were yesterday, he recalled the passion in her eyes, the heat in her touch, the little mewling sound of need she'd made when he'd laid her upon their bed. And he had no sooner gotten her naked when the door burst open and her father stole Drew's bride away, then sicced his goons on the distraught groom. It had taken his body weeks to mend. His heart, a month of Sundays.
He'd had a hard time accepting that she'd actually left him. He couldn't believe she hadn't stood up to her father. She should have resisted. She had married Drew.
But in the end, that hadn't meant a damn thing.
Now Hannah Mayfield was back. Why? Why had she sought him out after all this time?
Drew gazed out the cabin's window and spied the woman in question marching purposefully his way. "Well," he said softly, "I guess it's time I asked her."
Having taken the path from the beach, Hannah stood gazing at Drew's home, trying to work up the nerve to knock. In the end, she didn't need to because Drew stormed from the cabin, slamming the door behind him. She frowned, not liking the look in her former husband's eyes as he approached. The words
hard, deliberate
, and
ruthless
came to mind at the sight of him. Add an earring and a cutlass and go back in time two hundred years and the man could have passed for a pirate—a furious pirate. Temper radiated off him in waves.
Hannah shifted her gaze to the blue sky above the bay where snow-white gulls swooped and dove for their supper. She easily imagined what those poor fish felt like in the instant before the predator plucked them from the
Questions whirled like a waterspout in his brain. Why had she come? What did she want? Where had she been living the last ten years? Not Galveston, he knew. The Mayfield family had sold their home and moved away the very day she secured her damned annulment.
Having followed her to Galveston, Drew had hidden on the pier and watched the ferry take her away, then he'd washed his hands of the entire affair. He'd been full of anger and hurt pride, not to mention the broken ribs and assorted bruises Roger Mayfield's hired thugs had bestowed upon him. Still, young fool that he was, for months afterward he had expected her to come to her senses and return to him.
He had loved Hannah, truly, deeply loved her. He had honestly believed she loved him in return. That proved how stupid young men can be. It had taken her ten long years to come back.
Anger surged through him as Drew found a shirt and yanked it on.
Well, you are too damned late, darlin'
. Any tenderness he'd felt for her had died long ago.
Hadn't it?
He grimaced and tugged his shirt collar away from his neck. Damned thing wasn't even buttoned and it still felt like a noose. Hannah Mayfield. Hell.
"Why?" he muttered aloud. Why was she here? How had she found him? Only two people at the Castaway Bait Company knew where he intended to spend his holiday. Neither of them would have shared his business with a stranger.
And Hannah Mayfield was a stranger, he told himself as he slowly buttoned his shirt. Nothing more than that. He hadn't thought of the woman in years. Well, in months, anyway. He'd put that part of his past behind him. He was a successful businessman now. A wealthy man. Hannah Mayfield was nothing more than a bad memory.
A bad memory who had sailed up to his beach today. She was all grown up, a woman, not a girl, and more beautiful than sunrise over the gulf.
A bad memory who isn't wearing a wedding ring
—
not mine or anybody else's
.
Drew made a grunting noise. No wedding ring. Why had he even noticed? "It doesn't matter to me," he told himself. He certainly didn't want her now.
His gaze drifted toward the corner of the cabin where a decade ago the bed had sat, before he'd moved it to the other side of the room. Back then he had wanted her desperately, and Hannah had returned his desire. As if it were yesterday, he recalled the passion in her eyes, the heat in her touch, the little mewling sound of need she'd made when he'd laid her upon their bed. And he had no sooner gotten her naked when the door burst open and her father stole Drew's bride away, then sicced his goons on the distraught groom. It had taken his body weeks to mend. His heart, a month of Sundays.
He'd had a hard time accepting that she'd actually left him. He couldn't believe she hadn't stood up to her father. She should have resisted. She had married Drew.
But in the end, that hadn't meant a damn thing.
Now Hannah Mayfield was back. Why? Why had she sought him out after all this time?
Drew gazed out the cabin's window and spied the woman in question marching purposefully his way. "Well," he said softly, "I guess it's time I asked her."
Having taken the path from the beach, Hannah stood gazing at Drew's home, trying to work up the nerve to knock. In the end, she didn't need to because Drew stormed from the cabin, slamming the door behind him. She frowned, not liking the look in her former husband's eyes as he approached. The words
hard, deliberate
, and
ruthless
came to mind at the sight of him. Add an earring and a cutlass and go back in time two hundred years and the man could have passed for a pirate—a furious pirate. Temper radiated off him in waves.
Hannah shifted her gaze to the blue sky above the bay where snow-white gulls swooped and dove for their supper. She easily imagined what those poor fish felt like in the instant before the predator plucked them from the
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