Wrapped Up In You (A Mystic Island Christmas)

  Wrapped Up In You (Mystic Island #1)

  ISBN 10: 1940968194

  ISBN 13: 978-1-940968-19-3

  Copyright © 2015 by Stephanie Rowe.

  Cover design © 2015 by Kelli Ann Morgan, www.inspirecreativeservices.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, disseminated, or transmitted in any form or by any means or for any use, including recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author and/or the artist. The only exception is short excerpts or the cover image in reviews.

  Please be a leading force in respecting the right of authors and artists to protect their work. This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel or on the cover are either products of the author’s or artist’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author or the artist.

  For further information, please contact Stephanie@stephanierowe.com

  Wrapped Up in You

  ***

  A Mystic Island Novel

  Stephanie Rowe

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Title Page

  Praise for Stephanie Rowe

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Sneak Peek: A Real Cowboy Rides a Motorcycle

  Sneak Peek: No Knight Needed

  Sneak Peek: Shadows of Darkness

  Sneak Peek: Dark Wolf Rising

  Select List of Other Books

  Stephanie Rowe Bio

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  COLE CHARBONNEAU FLIPPED up the collar of his overcoat and hunched his shoulders, shielding himself against the driving winds as he studied the woman he'd inadvertently followed onto the main deck of the ferry.

  Well, not entirely inadvertently. He'd already been planning to ditch the other passengers in the heated lounge and go solo on deck, but when he'd seen her dark brown hair and long legs disappear up the front stairs, heading out into a bitter Maine wind that she wasn't remotely dressed for...he'd decided to follow her instead of going out the rear door.

  She had city-girl written all over her, completely unprepared for the storm raging outside. Her thin leather shoes would never suffice as footwear once she got off the boat onto Mystic Island, and her light blue jacket was more appropriate for a summer evening than late December in northern Maine on a ferry.

  When he was a teen, Cole and his buddies used to make a point of providing local "tour guide" services to the girls who vacationed on the island with their families. An out-of-towner like her would have been ripe game to acquire a hormonal escort who was tanned and footloose.

  But he wasn't a kid anymore, and the last thing he wanted right now was a woman. Not to mention, he'd worked hard to sever all his ties to the island, so the fact she was riding a ferry headed right toward his old home was enough to make him turn away.

  But she was heading out into bad weather she wasn't prepared for, and he wasn't enough of an ass to let her do it alone.

  It might have been over a decade since he'd been a regular on this ferry, but it would never be long enough to forget what a winter storm could do to the unprepared. And the ocean? He swore, his mind going to memories he'd managed to forget for a long time.

  He dragged his thoughts from a past that could never be changed, and focused on the woman in front of him as he stepped outside. She was leaning on the railing, staring out across the water, her thick curls whipping around her face in the wind. Her cheeks and nose were already red from the cold, but there was an obstinate set to her jaw, one that spoke of a determination to endure the weather and stay where she was, rather than retreat to the enclosed hold down below.

  He appreciated the fact she wasn't overly thin, like most of the women he met in New York. He liked the way she filled out her jeans. She had curves, and she didn't bother to hide them. To his surprise, he found himself grinning as he watched her wrap her arms around her torso, fighting a losing battle to retain body heat. She was stubborn. Sexy, stubborn, and apparently somewhat antisocial, given the fact that she'd rejected the heated passenger lounge below deck, complete with Christmas lights, holiday music, and locally brewed eggnog.

  He smiled, and strolled across the deck, angling himself easily as the boat canted to the side, tossed by the surging storm tides. The woman lunged for the railing, her fingers sliding off the metal rivets as she tried to hold on. He had no doubt her hands were too cold to grip tightly, and he edged over to her, close enough to grab her if she lost her balance.

  Carefully watching to make sure she wasn't in danger of pitching headfirst over the railing into the sea, Cole leaned on the rail beside her. "Nice day," he said conversationally, staring across the surly ocean.

  She snapped a sharp look at him, clearly startled to see him. "Oh, um, hi."

  "Hi." He turned so he was facing her, resting his elbow on the railing as he studied her. "So, tell me why a woman dressed for summer has rejected the heat and come up here, where your fate is fluctuating between freezing to death or being pitched over the side into the water?"

  Her eyes widened, showcasing eyes that might be the richest shade of brown Cole could recall ever seeing. He was riveted by them, deep brown pools of emotion and vulnerability. Her gaze was so intense that he felt like he was falling into it…it felt like the only place he wanted to be. Her lashes were thick and long, framing her eyes like feather-soft whispers. She wore no makeup at all. It was simply her, natural, vulnerable, and sexy as hell. A sudden rush of desire crashed through him, hitting him so hard and so fast that he lost his breath for a split second.

  Swearing, he looked away, trying to control the lust thundering through him. What the hell? He never reacted like this to a woman. Ever. Especially now, when he'd sworn off women for the foreseeable future, especially one headed toward his old home.

  "Are you always this direct?" she asked, grabbing the railing as the boat tilted again, drawing his attention back to her.

  "Yep. Saves time." He cocked his head, studying her, trying to figure out why he was reacting the way he was. There was something about her that drew him in, something that ignited a need to protect her, and a desire to encircle her wrist with his fingers, coax her over to him, and kiss her until neither one of them could think. He felt like she belonged with him, to him, and him to her…but why? He narrowed his eyes, scanning her face, his gaze settling on her expressive, dark eyes again. It was her eyes that had ensnared him…almost as if there was already a connection between them…as if they already knew each other. He frowned, noting her thick hair, the slant of her nose, the way her lips curved. She looked vaguely familiar. "Do I know you?" She looked about his age, maybe a little younger.

  Fear flashed across her face, but it was gone almost before he'd seen it. She lifted her chin in that stubborn set he already recognized. "I am sure I would recall if we'd met," she said, with a slight edge of iciness, just enough to let him know to back off…and just enough to make him realize that she was hiding something.

  So, he had met her before? When? He searched his memories, but the answer slipped out of his grasp, elusive and fleeting.

  The ferry pitched sideways, angling up the side of a su
bstantial wave. Cole braced himself, not even bothering to hold onto anything for support, but she lunged for the railing and gripped fiercely. It had been well over a decade since he'd ridden this ferry, but the skills he'd acquired for the first eighteen years of his life hadn't waned with disuse.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the cold, feigning nonchalance even as he angled himself into the right position to grab her if she was in danger of going over. "We do know each other, don't we?" he asked. "How?"

  Ignoring his subtle heroic tendencies and his inquiry, she turned her back on him, facing the ocean again. "I'm sure we haven't met," she said succinctly. The message was clear that she wanted to be left alone.

  He could respect her wishes and go back inside, where he didn't want to be.

  Or he could ignore them and interfere where he wasn't wanted.

  He was more in the mood to deal with a hostile, anti-social female than he was to deal with well-wishers who would want to welcome him back to the land he'd walked away from, so, yeah, he was going to stay in her personal space, and that was how it was. Plus, he wanted to know why the hell he was responding to her like he was, a question he suspected she had the answer to.

  The boat plummeted sharply down the wave, and she lost her grip, sliding across the deck toward the bow of the ship. He leapt across the deck and caught her arm just before she slammed into the steel siding. She grabbed his wrist with her free hand, bracing her feet as he pulled her to her feet.

  The boat pitched again, and he locked his arm around her waist, hauling her against him as he grabbed the railing, fighting to keep both of them balanced. Her body was warm and soft against his, and for a split second, everything inside him went utterly still, completely focused on the feel of her body against his. She stared up at him, not trying to get away, her dark eyes searching his as if she were trying to ferret out the same answers eluding him.

  He touched her jaw, sliding his fingers along her skin. "Who are you?" he asked softly. "Who are you to me?"

  She shook her head once. "No one," she whispered. "Please, just let it be no one."

  The boat dipped, and even he had to take a step to keep their balance. Swearing under his breath, he knew that he couldn't deny the storm anymore. "Inside," he shouted above the wind. "It's getting too dangerous out here." Not dangerous for the ferry, but a little dicey to be standing outside on the deck that was getting increasingly slippery.

  "I'm good out here," she retorted, leaning into him for support. She ducked her head, using his chest to shield her face from the wind…and from his inspection. "It's just another hour, right?"

  "You'll be dead in an hour," he observed. "Your shoes are worth shit out here." The boat leveled briefly, and he guided her back toward the center of the deck, away from the edges.

  "My shoes are fine, and no one dies on these things," she scoffed as she twisted out of his grasp. She sat down on the deck and leaned back against the life preserver container, using it for support. It was a five-foot high container bolted to the deck. She pulled her knees against her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "It's an adventure."

  "You think it's an adventure?" He crouched in front of her, unable to suppress his need to protect her. It was intense, powerful, and unyielding. It was personal. Somehow, someway, she was personal to him, and that raised the stakes to a level he couldn't ignore. "Someone I loved died on this ocean in a storm like this one when I was seventeen. It happens. Don't ignore the risks, because they're real." His voice was taut, edged with the strain of memories he'd worked hard to forget, a past that had ruthlessly surged back the moment he'd arrived at the docks, memories which had been mounting every minute since he'd driven his car on board.

  She looked up sharply at his words, and for a split second, he forgot about the storm, the boat, and a girl he'd failed so long ago. Instead, he was swept up into eyes so full of emotion that he felt his own heart constrict. Her lashes were clumped from the dampness, her skin the color of the damp beach sand after a storm, her hair a turbulent mass of dark curls framing her face. She looked wild and disheveled, as if the storm itself had borne her onto the deck of the ferry. She was riveting, not just her appearance, but the depth of concern and empathy in her eyes seemed to reach inside him and twist at something that he'd kept shut away for so long.

  "I'm sorry," she said softly, putting her hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry."

  The feel of her touch was a shock to his system. Grabbing her to keep her from falling off the ferry had been intense, but to have her initiate contact sent all his senses into overdrive. Heat pierced through him, and he went still, unwilling to do anything that would dislodge her touch, or make her look away. He was riveted by the expression on her face, by the way she looked at him as if she saw through all his crap and saw the ache in his chest that haunted him every minute of every day. "Thank you," he said, his voice lower and rougher than he'd intended.

  Again, something passed between them, but this time, it was more dangerous, more intense, and more intimate. She swallowed, not breaking physical contact or taking her gaze off his.

  The boat pitched again, and he braced his hand on the wall above her head to keep his balance, a position that brought him further into her space, looming over her. It put him between her and the storm, and he liked being there, her protector. In the alcove beside the container, it was quieter, and he didn't have to shout. "It was a long time ago," he acknowledged.

  She cocked her head, studying him. "Not long enough," she observed.

  "No," he said softly. "Never long enough to forget."

  They stared at each other, and for a third time, something shifted between them, an understanding, a moment of connection in the midst of a storm that held no mercy for those in its path. He knew in that moment that he was lost to her, to the woman whose name he didn't even know, who was nothing more than a moment in the midst of a rising storm. "I'm Cole Charbonneau," he said.

  She hesitated, and he saw a flicker of doubt on her face. "Kate Smith," she said quickly, too quickly.

  That wasn't her real name.

  She'd lied to him.

  Denial roared through him, a repudiation of her withdrawal. He wanted to slide his hand behind her head and draw her to him, eradicating the distance she'd just erected between them. "I don't believe you," he said softly, leaning closer. "Your name isn't Kate Smith, is it?"

  Her eyes widened, and he saw a flash of fear in her eyes. Fear of being identified? Shit. Her insistence on hiding on deck instead of in the lounge with the other passengers suddenly made sense. Who was she hiding from? He wanted to ask. He needed to know. He burned to fix it. He instinctively looked over his shoulder, scanning the deck for the threat she was hiding from. He saw no one, but that didn't ease the sudden rush of energy pouring through him, the need to protect her, to use his body as a shield to keep her safe.

  Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "It's Kate Smith," she said again, giving him an unabashed stare as she lied again, her jaw jutting out in defiance. "Don't try to invent things that don't exist."

  Her warning hung between them, a cold knife that sliced through the heat that had been building. His jaw flexed in frustration, and he felt himself shutting down, pulling back.

  What the hell was he doing, obsessing over her? This island and its people weren't his world anymore. The ferry was taking him to the place he'd left behind so long ago, and this was the very last time he'd ever set foot on that soil. Whoever Kate Smith was, if she was a part of Mystic Island, he wasn't getting involved.

  "Fine. You're Kate Smith." He sat down beside her and draped his arms over his knees. He ground his jaw and leaned his head back against the side of the container, moodily glaring at the turbulent sky.

  She stared at him. "You're staying here?"

  "Yes, I am. Not because I'm trying to invent anything between us, but because I have no interest in being inside. I hate eggnog, and everything related to Christmas, so up here is
better."

  For a long moment, she said nothing. She just stared at him. He tensed, ready for her to push back, to try to get him to retreat. But after a moment, she leaned back against the container again, settling in beside him, not touching, but close to him.

  As they sat there, some of his tension began to ease. He watched Kate out of the corner of his eye, noticing the sadness in her eyes, and the lines at the corners of her mouth. He realized she was like a wild animal, pushing back when he'd cornered her. He understood that, because he'd been there too. He wondered again what she was hiding from. How bad was it?

  He sighed as the last vestiges of his irritation with her faded, drifting away in the blustery wind, replaced by a feeling of camaraderie, two people who would rather freeze their asses off than socialize below deck. "Snow's coming. It's going to be a rough one."

  She was starting to shiver, and he contemplated what to do about it.

  She looked across the water. "I like snow."

  "You'd better. This one's going to knock the town on its ass tonight." He wedged his feet against a second storage bin, locking himself in place. "Want my coat?"

  She glanced at him. "Yes," she said, with a candor that he appreciated. "But then you'll freeze…unless you're going back inside and won't need it," she added with a hopeful edge to her voice.

  He grinned at her attempt to discourage him. "Sorry. I'm staying. Out here is better." Better because he didn't have to talk to people who knew him. Better because, after fending off superficial women in his real life, Kate Smith and her elusiveness interested him. And better, because he wanted to be outside with her in case the storm became more than she could handle. His failure to act had left one person dead during a storm like this, and there was no chance he was going to make the same mistake again. He was a hell of a lot stronger and bigger than Kate was, and he could handle the pitches better. And if it got too bad, he was going to make her go inside, no matter what she wanted.