Summer at Seaside Cove by Jacquie D'Alessandro Read Free Book Online Page A

selling, but all that banging and now her attitude had definitely gotten him up on the wrong side of the bed. “I was asleep.”
    Her gaze skimmed over him and he could almost hear her cataloging as she went: bad case of bed head, bleary eyes, three-day stubble, no shirt, wrinkled jeans, missing shoes. He did notice that she lingered for several seconds on his unbuttoned Levi’s. When her gaze again met his, pink stained her cheeks. “Wow, you really were on a bender.”
    What the hell? “Really? Well, you don’t look so hot, either, whoever you are.” Actually, that wasn’t precisely true. In fact, she looked pretty damn good. Sure her honey-colored hair sported a finger-in-the-light-socket look, and her white tank top and tan pants that hit her midcalf looked as if she’d slept in them—something he could hardly throw stones at—but her eyes were gorgeous. They reminded him of caramel sprinkled with dark chocolate. Probably they’d be even prettier if they weren’t filled with an expression that made it clear she’d like to thump him upside his head.
    Even her thundercloud frown couldn’t hide the fact that she was pretty damn cute, any more than those wrinkly clothes masked the fact that she had more curves on her than a blackdiamond ski run. And those dimples flanking her full lips didn’t hurt, either. But in his present mood, he didn’t really give a damn how cute or curvy she might be.
    At least not much.
    He crossed his arms over his bare chest and glared at her. “ I’ve been on a bender? Hey, black pot—kettle calling. You reek of vodka.” Okay, maybe reek was too strong a word—but he definitely smelled a trace of vodka—and he damn well knew what it smelled like. But he also caught a whiff of something kinda good, something sweet he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
    â€œThat’s because I slept in a chair.”
    â€œPersonally I find it pretty difficult to get good rest on a bar stool, but whatever floats your boat.”
    â€œNot a bar stool—a chair .” Her tone indicated she thought he was three years old, which did nothing to soothe his annoyance. “A folding chair. Next door. At Paradise Lost. And let me tell you, it is really, really lost.”
    â€œAh—so you’re the renter.”
    â€œYes. And you’re the owner. I thought this place was supposed to ooze Southern hospitality.”
    â€œI’m not from the South.”
    â€œI’m picking up on that.”
    â€œGood. You want hospitality? Here it is: Welcome to Seaside Cove. Now go away and come back at a more reasonable hour. Like noon.”
    He made to close the door, but she slapped her palm against the wooden panel and wedged her curvy self in the opening. “I’m afraid not. We need to discuss this right now. After we’ve done so, believe me, I’ll be more than happy to go away and leave you alone.” She looked past him. “Is your dog friendly?”
    He glanced over his shoulder at Godiva, who was inching her way on her belly toward them, tail still swishing, tongue still lolling, her soft brown eyes filled with curiosity about this new person she was clearly dying to sniff. If Nick had been feeling friendly, he would have assured her that the only thing she had to fear from Godiva was getting licked to death.
    Since he was feeling particularly un friendly, he said, “She’s unpredictable.” Right—you never knew if you’d get a Godiva kiss on your arm or your leg or your neck. “Especially when she hasn’t had her breakfast. So you’d better make this quick.”
    The door-pounding, bell-ringing renter didn’t look completely convinced that Godiva might pose a threat, no doubt because Godiva’s hopeful eyes and wagging tail and happy little whines practically screamed, I love you! Who are you? I love you! If I don’t lick you and smell