Stranded At Cupid's Hideaway - Connie Lane Mills & Boon American Romance

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bottle of champagne, and when he got to the front desk, he presented them to Maisie with a flourish.

      “Oh!” Maisie twittered like a schoolgirl. She introduced Noah quickly, right before she took Doc’s arm and headed toward the back of the house and her private rooms.

      She called to Noah over her shoulder, “Laurel will take care of you!”

      “Oh, no, you’re not getting away that easily.” Laurel went after her grandmother. She untangled her from Doc’s grip and pulled her into a corner. “What’s going on here?” she asked.

      “I don’t know what you mean, dear.” Maisie had the nerve to look straight into Laurel’s eyes and smile. She giggled, and the color rose brighter than ever in her cheeks. “If you’re talking about me and Doc, you know the answer. A woman has needs.” She gave Laurel a broad wink and when all Laurel did was stare at her in wonder, her grandmother tapped her on the arm and leaned close. “All women do, sweetie. Maybe it’s time you remembered that.”

      “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about him.” Laurel shot a look over to her shoulder at Noah.

      “Yes, I know,” Maisie said. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, too. Good night, dear.”

      Too stunned to move, Laurel watched Maisie and Doc disappear into the long hall past the kitchen. A second later, the door to Maisie’s private rooms closed and the muffled strains of La Bohème started up from Maisie’s CD player and seeped through Cupid’s Hideaway.

      Needs?

      Laurel was perfectly willing to accept that she had needs. Nobody had to point that out. She’d even indulged them a time or two in the years since she’d returned to the island and opened her practice. It was never anything serious. How could it be? Except for the small population that stayed on the island year round, most of the men she met were tourists. And there was one thing about tourists. They never stayed around.

      Kind of like Noah.

      The thought vibrated through her, deep, undeniable and bitter. But before she had a chance to remind herself this was not the time and place to think about it, the air warmed around her. She didn’t need to turn around to know Noah had come nearer.

      A second later, she felt the brush of his hand against her shoulder.

      “You still wear the same perfume,” he said.

      Chapter Two

      Seeing Laurel again was a lot like getting sucker punched.

      That would explain why Noah’s gut was tight. Why his head was buzzing. Why it felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. She wasn’t supposed to be there, and to say he’d been caught by surprise was the understatement of this, or any other, century.

      When Maisie called him earlier that morning, she said Laurel was cruising. And when Noah thought of cruising, he thought of big ships, rum drinks and steel drum music. When he thought of cruising, he thought of far, far away.

      Which Laurel definitely was not.

      Noah had spent a whole lot of time in the last four years telling himself that he didn’t miss Laurel. Not even a little. There were times when he even believed it.

      Funny how fast all the positive reinforcement could go out the window. Funnier still that the warmth of Laurel’s skin against his could throw him back in a time warp and make all the old emotions feel new. The sensation was like a drug that lulled him into la-la land at the same time it zipped through his bloodstream and set it on fire. Allowing himself a long, slow smile, he took a step closer. He let his eyes drift shut, and drank in the scent and the warmth of Laurel and the amazing connection he’d thought he’d never be lucky enough to feel again.

      It was all a big mistake, of course. Letting her know he remembered her jasmine and roses perfume. Getting close enough to feel the electricity that buzzed in the air between them. Touching her. In light of the games that former lovers played, he had to be making the strategic blunder of all times.

      He supposed he could chalk it up to shock. Or an overactive imagination. Or just plain, old stupidity

      But, God, it felt good to be so near her again.

      “And it still smells wonderful.” Noah didn’t realize he’d spoken until he heard the sound of his own words whisper on the air between them. “Your perfume.”

      “Of course I’m still wearing the same perfume.” It wasn’t so much the snap of Laurel’s words that brought Noah out of his daze as it was the fact that she stepped away from him. By the time he opened his eyes, he found himself holding nothing but thin air.

      Laurel was already an arm’s length away. Her feet were apart. Her arms were tight against her sides. Her hazel eyes flashed lightning. “I’m still doing a lot of things I used to do,” she said. “But then, I’m not the one who changed.”

      “So much for the formalities, huh?” Noah pulled his hand to his side. He supposed he should be grateful that Laurel reminded him of what he should have remembered in the first place. But then, she always was good at setting ground rules. Almost as good as she was at igniting his fantasies, his emotions and his libido.

      Good thing she broke the spell before he could act like even more of a bonehead. Good thing she reminded him that history or no history, she was—thank goodness—strictly off-limits. He didn’t come three miles from the Ohio mainland into the middle of Lake Erie to have his ego crushed, and he didn’t need to give her any more of an opportunity to do it. Already he was sure she was marking her mental scoreboard: One to nothing, Laurel Burton.

      Noah promised himself he’d even the score. Sometime soon. But if he was going to do that, he’d need to catch her off guard. Waiting for his opportunity and using the time to get himself and his thoughts on solid ground, he rolled back on his heels and took a look around the Cupid’s Hideaway lobby.

      “So she finally did it, huh?” Noah asked, his voice as neutral as his look. “Maisie always talked about opening up a place of her own. It’s—”

      “Amazing is sort of the all-purpose word I like to use to describe it.” Laurel’s explanation was as quick and efficient as her movements. Chin down, steps quick and sure, she headed to the other side of the big front desk. To get something? Or to put as much distance as possible between herself and Noah? He knew the first scenario was probably true. He chose to believe the second. It played better with his plan.

      She scooped a strand of her shoulder-length hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Her hair was the same color as the old mahogany desk, rich with red undertones and colors that, in the soft light, reminded him of the leather covers on his collection of antique anatomy books. She was wearing it longer than she had in medical school, and Noah watched it swing against her back as she walked. He supposed here on the island, with its slow pace and its minimal demands on her education and her skills, she had more time to mess with her hair. At least more time than she’d had in the old days, when the only time she had was for her work and the only thing she messed with was Noah’s life, his career and his heart.

      Not a good thing to think about. At least not with Laurel only a couple feet away. Except for the one time it really mattered, she always had the uncanny habit of reading his mind.

      Telling himself it was something he couldn’t afford to forget, Noah glanced around, from the frothy paintings on the ceiling to the chintz-covered furniture and the pink lightbulbs in the fixtures on the wall in back of the desk.

      “It is an amazing place, and Maisie is an amazing woman to keep it all going.” Laurel said exactly what he was thinking. No surprise there. It was a knack they’d always shared. “The people who come to visit appreciate it for what it is,” she said. She ruffled through a pile of the day’s mail and sorted each letter into one of five cubbyholes. “Quirky. Different. Fun in its own weird sort of way. They’re nice people.” She stopped and reached for another pile

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