This Kiss (Sweetbriar Cove Book 8) Read online

  This Kiss

  Sweetbriar Cove: Book Eight

  Melody Grace

  Melody Grace Books

  Copyright © 2018 by Melody Grace

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design copyright British Empire Designs.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Introduction

  Also by Melody Grace

  This Kiss

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Always Be Mine

  Chapter 1

  About the Author

  Also by Melody Grace

  Thank you for reading!

  Jenny is a character close to my heart, who has put her own life on hold to raise her niece. But when a tall, dark, handsome stranger barges his way into her life, she’ll find that playing it safe might just mean missing out on the love of her life…

  I loved writing their opposites-attract romance, and - of course, checking in with old friends in Sweetbriar Cove.

  I hope you enjoy this holiday read!

  xo Melody

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  Also By Melody Grace:

  The Sweetbriar Cove Series:

  1. Meant to Be

  2. All for You

  3. The Only One

  4. I’m Yours

  5. Holiday Kisses (A Christmas Story)

  6. No Ordinary Love

  7. Wildest Dreams

  8. This Kiss

  9. Always Be Mine

  10. Two Hearts

  11. The Story of Us

  The Beachwood Bay Series:

  1. Untouched

  2. Unbroken

  3. Untamed Hearts

  4. Unafraid

  5. Unwrapped

  6. Unconditional

  7. Unrequited

  8. Uninhibited

  9. Unstoppable

  10. Unexpectedly Yours

  11. Unwritten

  12. Unmasked

  13. Unforgettable

  The Oak Harbor Series:

  1. Heartbeats

  2. Heartbreaker

  3. Reckless Hearts

  The Dirty Dancing Series

  The Promise

  Welcome to Sweetbriar Cove: the small town where happily-ever-after is guaranteed.

  Book Eight: This Kiss

  Jenny Archer knows that fairytales aren't real… so when a handsome Scotsman shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night, she figures there has to be a catch. Like the fact that he’s tall, dark, and emotionally unavailable - and claims to be the new owner of her home.

  The last thing Fraser Macintosh needs is drama. He’s traded the flashy art scene for a quiet life working on his paintings in Sweetbriar Cove, but he didn’t figure on his new house coming complete with a beautiful, stubborn caretaker, and her smart-mouthed niece.

  They may be unlikely roommates, but soon, sparks are flying between Fraser and Jenny - and heating up the dark autumn nights on Cape Cod. But can Jenny open her heart to this rakish stranger? And will Fraser trade his bachelor life for this unexpected new family?

  Find out in the latest feel-good romance from New York Times bestselling author, Melody Grace!

  The Sweetbriar Cove Series:

  1. Meant to Be

  2. All for You

  3. The Only One

  4. I’m Yours

  5. Holiday Kisses (A Christmas Story)

  6. No Ordinary Love

  7. Wildest Dreams

  8. This Kiss

  9. Always Be Mine (March 2019)

  10. Two Hearts (July 2019)

  11. The Story of Us (November 2019)

  1

  Jenny waved off the last of the lunch customers and flipped the sign on the restaurant door to “closed.” “See you soon,” she called as they hurried to their car. Fat droplets of rain began to fall from the sky, and a brisk November wind whipped leaves around the parking lot. Fall on the Cape was already well in season, which meant bright, blue-skied days that could turn blustery on a dime.

  She loved this time of year. Sure, summer had its appeal, with lazy beach days and pink-hued sunsets, but when the breeze turned brisk in late September and the leaves began to change, Jenny could taste autumn coming in the air. Thick knit sweaters and hot apple cider; pumpkin pie and long walks in the woods. Now, she looked out at the rain clouds and smiled. This was an evening made for curling up in front of a crackling fire, with a mug of tea and a good book.

  But first, she had to finish closing up. Jenny shut the door quickly and headed back into the warmth of the dining room to deal with the mess the diners had left behind. Clearing, tidying, upturning the chairs on their tables . . . it was a familiar routine. She was working alone that afternoon, but Jenny didn’t mind. She’d take all the extra shifts Declan had going, especially with the holidays coming up. Hannah had her heart set on a telescope for Christmas, and she was already talking about a science camp her friends would be attending over the summer . . .

  If there was one thing Jenny had learned since becoming guardian to her twelve-year-old niece, it was that parenting didn’t come cheap.

  She grabbed the broom and began sweeping down the dining room, enjoying the mindless activity. Waitressing hadn’t exactly been her dream career, but the flexible schedule suited life with Hannah, and she liked having a window into so many lives. She loved watching the diners and speculating about their worlds: who secretly hated their dinner companion, and who was harboring an unrequited crush. Today, they’d hosted two older couples, clearly lifelong friends, but Jenny could have sworn she saw a few lingering glances between one of the women . . . and the man who wasn’t her husband.

  The bell above the door suddenly sounded, and Jenny looked up to find a man on the threshold, shaking off the rain. He was tall and broad-shouldered in a gray wool duffel coat, his dark curls rumpled and wet. He took another step inside, and when the light caught his face, she could see he had a strong, chiseled profile, with piercing blue eyes.

  “Sorry, we’re closed,” she called.

  The man looked annoyed. “The sign says you’re open until three,” he said with a burred Scottish accent. “It’s 2:55.”

  Jenny raised an eyebrow at his tone. “Technically, yes. But the kitchen’s shut, everybody’s gone home. You’re welcome to stand there for the next five minutes,” she added tartly, “but don’t expect to get fed.”

  She turned back to her sweeping, but the man didn’t leave. “I’ll take a whiskey, then,” he said, more a demand than a request, and strode over to the bar.

  Jenny sighed. Perfect.

  She reluctantly followed him and gestured to the display. “Jack Daniels, Glenfiddich . . .”

  “The Glenfiddich, of course,” he said. “Thirty-year.”

  No please or thank you, Jenny note
d as she poured him a glass and set it on the bar between them.

  “Sláinte,” he said, and he swallowed it in one. He slammed the glass down and gestured for a refill.

  She poured. “2:57,” she said.

  The man arched an eyebrow.

  “The time.” Jenny smiled. “You have three minutes left. Since you’re a stickler for the rules.”

  He glared. “It’s pouring rain out there.”

  “I can’t help with that.”

  His scowl deepened. Now that she was up close, Jenny could see that his jawline was strong, almost harsh, with a dark shadow of stubble and what looked like a permeant frown creasing his forehead. Just her luck to be stuck with Mr. Cheerful, his mood as cloudy as the weather outside.

  “I thought you Americans were supposed to be the hospitable kind,” he said, sipping his drink this time.

  “That’s Southerners,” Jenny explained sweetly. “Us New England types are famous for being brusque and unfriendly.”

  He let out a wry chuckle. “That sounds about right.”

  Jenny found a cloth and turned her attention to wiping down the bar.

  “White heather,” he said suddenly. She looked up. The man reached out and caught

  her wrist, turning it to reveal the simple charm bracelet she always wore.

  Jenny froze, thrown by his touch. “It was my sister’s,” she answered without thinking. Most people heard the past tense in that phrase and apologized, or—even worse—asked more. But maybe he didn’t notice, because he just released her.

  “The Scots say it brings good luck.”

  Jenny gave a hollow laugh. “Maybe next time.”

  Her sister had been notoriously unlucky; at least that’s what she blamed for every new mishap and disaster. But Jenny knew Becca was the only one behind her string of bad choices, from dropping out of college and partying too much, to drinking that fifth of vodka and getting behind the wheel one icy December night.

  The memory made her pause, and she looked over at Mr. Cheerful. “Are you driving?” she asked.

  He snorted. “Don’t you worry about me.”

  “I’m not,” Jenny lied. “I just don’t want to have to deal with the police reports after you wind up in a ditch somewhere.”

  “I can handle my liquor.” The man got to his feet and put a twenty on the bar. “I can handle anything you need.”

  Jenny blinked. For a moment, she was hit with a bolt of physical awareness. The size of him, stern, like he’d been hewn from a block of marble. No, flint, she decided. Something weathered and stormy.

  Then she flushed. What was she thinking? This guy pretty much screamed, “tall, dark, and emotionally unavailable.”

  Just her type.

  She followed him to the door to close up behind him, but the man paused on the threshold and turned so suddenly, Jenny almost walked straight into his chest.

  His broad, strong chest.

  “Easy there, lass.”

  Lass?

  Jenny blinked. “I didn’t think people really said that,” she blurted. “At least, not outside of romance novels.”

  The man’s mouth curved upwards in a smile for the first time, and in that instant, his face was transformed. Not stern or critical, but almost teasing.

  “Och aye,” he said, laying his accent on so thick that it sent shivers down her spine. “And we all cross the moors in our tartans to get to the laird’s ceilidh, too.”

  “Really?” Jenny asked, transfixed. He was still standing close, too close, but she didn’t step away. There was something in those stormy eyes that was mesmerizing; secrets hidden deep.

  He gave a snort of laughter. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been living in New York the past ten years.” He shook his head, still chortling. “Women. Ha! That Outlander’s got a lot to answer for.”

  Jenny flushed.

  Forget about those hidden depths.

  “3:01,” she said, stepping forwards, so he had to step back—outside. “Time’s up!” She slammed the door shut in his face.

  The scowl on his face was better than any tip.

  Jenny finished up at the restaurant, then drove back up the coast towards home. It was spitting down with rain now, and the ocean was roiling in gray-green peaks against the shore. She turned up the hill just outside Provincetown and snaked carefully up the muddy driveway to the crumbling mansion that sat, grandly overlooking the bay.

  Well, it had been grand, once upon a time. These days, Hillcrest was in a state of faded disrepair, with a leaky roof, peeling wallpaper, and a water heater that could be called “temperamental” at the best of times. Still, Jenny loved the old house. It was sprawling, romantic, and—most important of all—absolutely free. She and Hannah had been living there for two years now, in exchange for her caretaker duties. The owner, an ancient Mr. Higgenbottom, was out in Arizona, and hadn’t even stepped foot over the threshold once since Jenny had been in residence. Which made her love him all the more. Sooner or later, she knew, the house would be sold to developers and revamped into a luxurious summer home for some wealthy family, or torn down altogether, but until that day came, it was a home all of their own.

  Tonight, Hannah was at a sleepover with friends, but Jenny still called to check in. She shed her coat and scarf in the hallway and made a beeline for the kitchen, aka the warmest room in the house.

  “Summoned any ancient evil yet?” she asked, teasing.

  Hannah giggled on the other end of the line. “Not yet, but we’re going to go explore the basement later. There’s a creepy spell book in a box that says do not open.”

  “Sounds like a solid plan,” Jenny said, putting the old-fashioned teakettle on the stove. “Just remember, you only need to outrun one of your friends to get away. Sarah hurt her ankle in soccer last week, right?”

  “Jenny!” Hannah protested, laughing. “And no, Lucy’s the slowest.”

  “Tough luck, Lucy.”

  Hannah paused, her laughter fading. “Sarah’s mom says I can stay the weekend, if you’re too busy at work.”

  Jenny tensed. “Thank her for her kind offer,” she said, making sure to keep her tone light. “But tell her we’ve got it covered.”

  “I know,” Hannah sighed. “But just once, I’d like to tell her to mind her own forking business.”

  Jenny tried not to laugh. “Language.”

  “What, forking?” Hannah sounded innocent. “What’s wrong with kitchen utensils?”

  “You’re too smart for your own good,” Jenny scolded her playfully. “It’s all those books, isn’t it? Nothing good ever comes from reading. From now on, no more books. You’re only allowed TV and video games 24/7.”

  Hannah laughed again, and Jenny felt relieved. “OK, have fun, enjoy your demon-summoning,” she said. “Love you.”

  “Love you more.” Hannah rang off and Jenny let out a sigh. Damn Sarah’s mom. She had a way of doing this: making “kind” offers that somehow still felt like an insult. Jenny tried to get along with her for the kids’ sake, but still, it really was none of her forking business.

  But in a small town like this, the gossip lingered. And her sister had thrived on it. Even before she got pregnant with Hannah, Becca had loved being the center of attention. Staying out, making noise, hooking up with people she definitely shouldn’t have . . . Jenny never understood how she could turn a blind eye to the whispers, but then, they’d always been different. Becca had always bragged about getting off the Cape and traveling the world, while Jenny always knew in her heart that she wanted to make a home there.

  Which is exactly what she was doing, even if it was ahead of schedule. She’d been studying nursing in DC when she’d gotten that terrible call, but Jenny hadn’t hesitated, not for a second. She’d packed up her car and driven all night, and when Hannah had run sobbing into her arms, she’d felt her life shift course, snapping onto a new track in the space of a single heartbeat. Her niece needed someone to finally put her first, and that somebody would be Jenny.
br />   It was as simple as that.

  But that didn’t mean she didn’t relish her nights off. Jenny poured the tea and unpacked some leftover bread pudding from the restaurant, and she settled in front of the log fire in the cozy back living room. The wind was howling outside the windows and whistling through the hallways upstairs, but she snuggled under her blankets and lost herself in one of her favorite Brontë novels, pacing the moors with Heathcliff and Cathy until late in the night.

  Dark, brooding, and temperamental? It reminded her of her Scottish guest that afternoon, with his stormy eyes and spiky disposition. Not that Wuthering Heights was a model of healthy relationships. In fact, Jenny was pretty sure she’d strangle Heathcliff if she was actually stuck in a room with him. Either that or take her chances on the moors. But still, the passion of the story always swept her up and appealed to the romantic side she usually kept under lock and key.

  It had been too long since she’d felt that wild, and full of desire . . .

  There was a sudden rumble of thunder, and a moment later, lightning lit up the sky.

  Jenny shivered. It was late, and the embers had long since died down, so she headed up the grand staircase to bed. Her bedroom was over on the east wing of the house, with views of the water and a massive four-poster bed. Jenny was just changing into her flannel pajamas when suddenly, another flash of lightning cracked through the sky.