Stormy Hearts Read online

  As Ian took the seat across from her, the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then the power went out.

  Chapter 3

  “I was afraid that was going to happen.” They were now sitting in semidarkness, watching the wall of water falling outside. It was raining so hard she couldn’t see the buildings across the street.

  However, she could still see the semi-naked man sitting two feet away. It was definitely Ian Youngblood. She was one hundred percent certain of that now. Fortunately, there was still no sign that he remembered their almost night together, remembered the way his hands had touched her, arousing passions Kyle never had. Now those hands were wrapped around the iced coffee, the product of the only passion she had thrown herself into since London.

  Her gaze followed his hands as he lifted the glass to his lips. Oh, she remembered those lips, too.

  “This is excellent coffee,” those lips said.

  She snapped herself out of the fantasy she was about to dive into. “Thank you.” She redirected her gaze to the storm outside. Hah. Tropical Storm Ian. What a coincidence.

  “What’s that little smile for?”

  She shook her head and proceeded to ignore the question. “You’re not local. What brings you to town?”

  “A friend’s wedding.”

  “Simone and Douglas?” Theirs was the only wedding she knew of.

  “You know them?”

  “I know everyone in town. Everyone who drinks coffee at least.”

  “She did recommend this place to me.”

  “That’s good to hear. Their wedding was three days ago though.”

  “I’m house sitting while they’re on their honeymoon.”

  “Ah.”

  Just then, the building shook alarmingly as the noise outside grew louder. She eyed the baseboards nervously, watching for any sign of water leaking through.

  “We should probably not be sitting close to the window.”

  As he stood up, she fought the urge to look at the white towel wrapped around his waist. Her white towel. She might frame it after tonight. There was no way she could just fold it and put it back in the linen closet with all the other ordinary towels.

  They moved to the back of the shop, to one of the leather sofas where they sat an awkward twelve inches apart. He tried to balance the plate of cake on his bare knee, then got up and dragged a table over—nearly losing the towel in the process.

  Not that she was paying attention to that.

  “You know, if we’re going to be stuck here for awhile, we might as well get to know each other.” He slipped a forkful of pound cake into his mouth.

  Who knew pound cake was so sexy?

  He set down the fork and extended his hand. “I’m Ian. No relation to Tropical Storm Ian.”

  “I’m Mai. With an I.” The sensation of his warm hand wrapped around hers sent a shiver down her spine.

  “Mai with an I. That’s a lovely name. Are you from St. Caroline?”

  “Are we playing twenty questions?” That could get dangerous. Have you ever been out of the country? Sung karaoke? Had a one-night stand?

  He shrugged and ate another bite of pound cake. “We have some time to kill, you have to admit.”

  He had a point.

  “I’m from Annandale, Virginia, originally. But I’ve lived here for a few years. How about you?”

  “Pittsburgh. What made you move here?”

  “A friend got married at the Inn, I fell in love with the town, and this space was available to lease. How do you know Simone?”

  “We’re both musicians. I don’t remember how we met, to be honest.”

  We’re both musicians. Understatement of the year. Simone Adkins was a Grammy Award-winning singer. And Ian was … well, Ian Youngblood. She’d assume that Ian had slept with Simone if it weren’t for the fact that Simone and Douglas were head-over-heels-sappy-in-love.

  The way Mai had been with Kyle. The way she wanted someone to be with her.

  “Are you dating anyone, Mai with an I?”

  She nearly choked on her iced coffee. Was he reading her mind?

  “No. Not at the moment. I didn’t factor in the size of the dating pool when I decided to move here.”

  “Seems like a cute town, though.”

  “It is.” She drained the rest of the iced coffee and carried the glass to the sink behind the counter. She needed to get away from the cloud of pheromones that was Ian Youngblood before she climbed onto his lap, pushed him back against the sofa, and …

  Can you tell it’s been a while since I had a date?

  Alas, the cloud of pheromones was well-mannered and carried his glass and empty plate to the sink as well.

  Would it be rude to go check on his clothes in the dryer?

  “Thanks,” she said instead. His arm bumped her shoulder as he stepped up to the sink. She quickly spun away and pretended to tidy up stacks of paper coffee cups, line up the giant decorative jars of coffee beans, straighten the display of artisan caramels. All of which was utterly ridiculous since there was barely enough light left to see.

  “So,” she said. “How many questions do we have left?”

  “A few.” He closed the distance between them. “So, Mai with an I, what happened in London that you ended up singing by yourself in a karaoke bar on the day after Christmas?”

  She froze. Her breath caught. Her heart skittered.

  He remembered.

  She wracked her brain for a witty deflection. The best she could come up with was, “I believe it was called a karaoke lounge.”

  Lame.

  “And in any case, there’s no way you remember that.”

  He hummed the opening bars to the song she had sung two years ago.

  All evidence to the contrary.

  “Obviously, I do.” He enjoyed the way her cheeks colored a deeper shade of pink. So she did know who he was.

  “Out of all the women you meet, why would you remember me?”

  “Do you know how many women get half naked with me and then change their minds?”

  “Not many, I’d guess.”

  “Zero, to be exact.”

  “I’m sure it was character building.”

  “A lot of things have been character building lately. You walking out on me isn’t one of them. I went back to the karaoke bar the next night.”

  “Karaoke lounge. Why did you do that?”

  “I wanted to hear you sing again.”

  “Even after I walked out on you?”

  “So you admit it was you.”

  She shrugged.

  “You never answered my question.”

  “I like to sing?”

  “I’m a little surprised to find you running a coffee shop and not headlining tours.”

  She snorted. In a charmingly adorable sort of way. “Good voices are a dime a dozen.”

  “Good ones. Not great ones. Not marvelous ones.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, you do have a marvelous voice. Please don’t tell me you only sing in the shower.”

  “I never sing in the shower. But I do sing for events around town. I’m the go-to person whenever the national anthem is needed.”

  “I bet you sing the hell out of that.”

  “I do, as a matter of fact.”

  He was happy to see her face light up with a wide, proud grin. Happier than he ought to be.

  “I also do some local theater in Annapolis when there’s a musical involved. And not too much dancing.”

  “I have a hard time believing you’re a terrible dancer.”

  “I have three left feet.”

  He wondered how much battery life was left on his phone. He could put on some music and test her left feet theory. The desire to have her in his arms was now an aching need. Just like it had been in London. He had never understood what “bereft” meant until that night. Her departure had left him well and truly bereft. Now here they were, stuck together in a storm, and he intended to make the most of the situati
on.

  “So what happened in London?” he asked again. “You seem way too wholesome to go to a rock star’s hotel room.”

  She sighed. “Good grief. You’re not letting that go, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fine. I was in London with my boyfriend—from whom I was expecting a marriage proposal. Instead, he dumped me.”

  He frowned. “Just like that? In the middle of the trip?”

  Another sigh. “Yes, just like that. I found myself on my own for the rest of the week. That’s how I ended up in a karaoke lounge, throwing a pity party for myself.”

  “Weird choice of song for a pity party.” She had sung a rather famous song by a rather famous British band, and thus a song he doubted the karaoke lounge had permission to use. Nonetheless, he would put her rendition up against anyone’s.

  The light in the shop had dwindled to almost nothing. He could barely make out her slender form leaning against the countertop.

  “What would you have suggested?”

  He might have been imagining it, but he could swear her voice just dropped into a lower register. There was something so erotic about listening to her voice in the dark.

  “There’s no shortage of well-written breakup songs.” He broke into a medley of as many as he could think of off the top of his head. When he stopped, he sensed—more than heard—her soft chuckle.

  “Did you really go back the next night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you—I wanted to hear you sing again. And I thought I might be able to talk you into going back to my hotel room.”

  “You’re a glutton for punishment.”

  “In my line of work, it helps to be.”

  They fell silent for a few minutes, listening as the rain battered the roof and front window. Then, to his surprise, she began to sing the rather famous song by the rather famous British band. He closed his eyes to the dark shapes of the coffee shop and let the sound of her voice fall around him. In his mind, he could still picture her in the bar that night. Her slim black pants. Her fuzzy red sweater. The ivory silk scarf tied loosely around her neck. The sensible flat oxfords on her feet.

  He wanted to just listen to her voice for hours. Long, long hours. For a moment, he hated the good people of St. Caroline for having the privilege of hearing Mai with an I sing the national anthem. He let her get halfway through the song before joining in. After, they sang another song by the famous British band. And then another. And another.

  Then there was a loud crash outside, and the song came to a screeching halt. He watched as she ran to the front window, feinting right and left around the tables—just as he had watched her bounce around his hotel suite, picking up her clothes, her purse, her coat, before running out the door.

  Chapter 4

  “I can’t see a damn thing.” She cupped her hands and peered into the swirl of wind and water. “I think your car is fine, though.”

  “It’s a rental.”

  She felt the warmth of his body directly behind hers. The warmth of his mostly nude body. How long had it been since she’d felt the warmth of a man’s body against hers?

  A while.

  They could finish what they had started in London. She got the distinct impression that he was amenable to it. In the morning, he would leave, and that would be that. He might come in a few more times for coffee, since Simone had recommended Two Beans, but then Simone and Douglas would come home from their honeymoon and he’d be gone. He would leave St. Caroline, never to be seen in these parts again. Would it really be that bad to finish what they’d started?

  His hands settled on her shoulders, firm, confident. Those hands had played a thousand songs on guitars, on keyboards. Those hands had played her body, too, until she’d stopped him. It would have been an amazing night. She had no doubt of that. But it wasn’t what she had wanted at the time. She didn’t want to be just one of the many women he had bedded. Just as she had never wanted to be one of the endless numbers of aspiring singers in the world. There was this assumption that if you were in possession of a talent, you were supposed to monetize that talent.

  But fame and fortune had never appealed to her. She had her issues with her parents—didn’t everyone?—but ultimately she wanted the life they had. She wanted a business and a source of income that she had control over. She wanted a family of her own and a nice house to raise that family in.

  It was something people didn’t seem to understand—that she could sing like an angel, but want to run a coffee shop instead.

  She wanted one more thing, as well—a man who would love her. A man who would love her and was willing to live in St. Caroline where her beloved coffee shop was located.

  “So did you ever get back together with your boyfriend?”

  And … that was his opening gambit.

  “No. I didn’t. Not after that.”

  “Are you the sort of person who doesn’t dole out second chances?”

  She shrugged her shoulders beneath his hands. “Depends on the original offense.”

  The breath of his chuckle raised the tiny hairs on her neck.

  “I thought about you after that night. Thought about you a lot,” he said.

  “Why would you do that?” On the other side of the window—inches away—was utter chaos. She couldn’t tell which way the wind was blowing. It blew in every direction, it seemed—taking the rain along with it. On this side of the window, though, there was a strange sense of calm. She was stuck inside for who knew how long with a man she barely knew. But she felt safe with him, the same way she had felt safe with him in London.

  She wasn’t the sort of woman to accompany a stranger to his hotel room, whether the stranger was famous or not. He was right about that. But she’d done it with him. And it hadn’t been fear or a sense of danger that made her put a stop to the proceedings, get dressed, and call a cab to take her back to her own hotel. In fact, she hadn’t felt any fear at all with him. She’d felt safe, as though the two of them had known each other for years.

  His thumbs were rubbing gentle circles at the base of her neck and just that tiny gesture had her toes curling against the bare wood floor.

  “I liked you, Mai with an I. I wanted to spend the night with you. Wanted to have breakfast with you in the morning. Wanted to hear you sing again.”

  “Well, you’ve heard me again now. And pound cake and iced coffee counts as breakfast in some quarters.”

  He leaned his head down next to hers and stared out into the storm. “Looks like I’ll be spending the night here, too.”

  “Your life is officially complete.”

  “Your snarky sense of humor is coming back to me now.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No apology needed. I liked your snark. It made me think that perhaps you didn’t know who I was.”

  “I knew. I just didn’t want to fan-girl all over you.”

  “Somehow I doubt you’re really a Pulse fan.”

  A tiny laugh escaped her lips. “Not really.”

  “Now I like you even more.”

  There was a snarky reply right on the tip of her tongue, but it was interrupted by the crash of a small tree branch against the window. Reflexively, she jumped back … into his hard chest.

  Hard naked chest.

  She held her breath and watched the window, waiting for a crack to appear. When none did after a minute, she exhaled.

  “We shouldn’t be standing right next to the window.” He tugged on her shoulder to move her away.

  For the second time that evening, she followed him to one of the leather sofas at the rear of the shop. She let him take a seat while she felt her way in the darkness to the merchandise shelf along the back wall.

  “Where’d you go?”

  The sofa’s leather creaked beneath his weight.

  “I’m getting a candle. It’s coffee-scented, though.”

  He laughed. “You’ll get no complaints from me there. I’ve yet to be on a t
our that wasn’t fueled by alcohol and coffee.”

  “Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll?” She felt her way to the drawer behind the counter where she kept a lighter. A minute later, the candle flared to life on the wooden table Ian had dragged over to the sofa earlier.

  “There. This is either romantic or apocalyptic.”

  He pulled her onto his lap. His thigh muscles were hard beneath her legs. His bare chest was so close she could smell his skin. And the way those perfectly shaped lips were parted … well, it was making her body remember London, remember how his lips felt on hers. She was still mesmerized by those lips when they spoke again.

  “Well, if this storm is the end of the world, I’d like to go out with a little romance.”

  Two years later and she was having the same effect on him. Every inch of his skin craved to be pressed against hers. He wanted to touch her and listen to her sing and have a conversation with her and make love to her all at the same time.

  Anyone who knew the Ian Youngblood would have said he’d gone round the bend. In reality, he had always wanted this kind of woman, a woman who would make him feel as though he knew everything and nothing. He’d just never met one.

  Until the karaoke woman in London.

  Until Mai with an I.

  Mai.

  Who ran a coffee shop in a tiny town on the Chesapeake Bay. He could spend all summer here. His manager would flip, but Ian didn’t care. Alex was in rehab again. Their tour was “on pause” again—code for temporarily cancelled. Their appearance at a big west coast music festival was in doubt. Frankly, Ian was tired of living his life subject to the waxing and waning of his bandmate’s drinking problem.

  Also—he was just plain tired.

  The woman sitting on his lap, however, made him feel alive—from the moment he’d first heard her sing, from the moment she’d first laughed at his lamest joke, from the moment his lips had first brushed hers. Then she’d had second thoughts and walked out of his life. That he had miraculously found her again? I must have done something right in a past life.