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  He kissed her deep and slow, and then he gently parted her legs with his knee. “We both have a lot to learn.”

  “I know. But right now we can love each other. We’ve always been perfect at that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids.

  Jessica knew she looked like hell and refused to glance into a mirror in the hallway as she passed from the kitchen into the dining area while carrying a basket of banana bread. Her hair was clipped into a messy knot, and she wore a sweatshirt over a pair of jeans. No makeup. Normally she tried to dress up for the guests, but today she just couldn’t muster the enthusiasm.

  Leo also looked ragged. For the first time she’d noticed the little creases in between his eyebrows. They seemed to have deepened overnight, and when he first woke his eyes had taken on a deeply haunted, vacant stare, as if he was walking to his execution. Well, he’d perked up some while serving guests, and for that she was grateful.

  He was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, and she sighed when she watched him walk out of the dining room to grab a copy of The Palmira Post on the porch. What was going to happen once they got to New Orleans? Would he be put in jail immediately? Maybe a judge would be lenient because Leo was a war veteran and he’d acted without full consciousness. Jessica had to hold onto that fantasy of mercy, because otherwise the thought of not seeing Leo for years was too devastating. But she would wait for him.

  “Got your paper, Mr. Spencer,” Leo said, walking in and stripping off its little plastic bag. He set the paper in front of the guest, who thanked him.

  Jessica marveled. Leo had already learned the guests’ names and had been chatting with them all morning as if nothing bothered him. He’d even joked and laughed with a couple of people.

  She turned away because she was about to cry. Leo didn’t deserve any of this mental torture. His caring and thoughtful personality was at odds with someone who would set fire to a building. Even if he did have night terrors, even if the Ambien had made him sleepwalk and sleep-drive, this just didn’t make sense. He was too good, way too good, to do anything that destructive.

  They had to get past this arson, as that was the first step. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that her love could cure him. No, Leo had some deep-rooted PTSD issues. He needed therapy, and quick. And probably different medication. But she wanted to be there for him, to help him in any way she could. And she’d wait for him because she loved him. They were meant to be together.

  Shifting her body back toward the table so she could clear some dishes, Jessica maneuvered around Mr. Spencer’s open newspaper. When she went to grab an empty coffee mug, she gasped as she read a headline over the man’s shoulder.

  Arrest Made in New Orleans Recruitment Center Arson

  “Leo!” she said, louder than she intended. Everyone in the room looked at her. Frowning, he moved to her side.

  “What, babe?”

  Not wanting to alarm the guests, she tugged at Leo’s arm. Pulled him into the hallway.

  “There’s a story in the paper about the arson,” she whispered.

  “What?” His eyes darted toward the dining room, and his shoulders tensed.

  “Yeah. I just saw it when I was clearing the table. It said an arrest has been made. Go get that paper!”

  Leo craned his neck toward the door to the dining room. “I can’t just rip it out of the guy’s hands.”

  Jessica rubbed her lips together. “No. You’re right. We’re going to have to wait.”

  They returned inside and continued clearing the table, buzzing nervously around the room. Only when the guest put the newspaper down did Leo pounce, scooping it up and stalking out of the room.

  Jessica followed, and they ended up in the kitchen.

  “It’s inside—No, the next page,” she said impatiently as he thumbed through.

  They found the article, which wasn’t long, on page 4A.

  “‘Police matched the DNA found on a T-shirt to a local homeless man who confessed to lighting the fire in the alley near the back door of the recruiting center because he was cold,’” Jessica read aloud. “‘The suspect is a 68-year-old Vietnam veteran who is known to police.’”

  Leo slumped against the counter and closed his eyes.

  Jessica threw her arms around him and held on tight; it was all she could do. Her eyes swam with tears, and then she couldn’t stop them from flowing.

  “We’ve got a lot of work to do,” she murmured after a few minutes, sniffling.

  “Yep. We do. First clean up the dining room. Then I have to sort out a few things at the bakery and help you plan some events here and—”

  Jessica leaned back, tilting her head toward him. “No,” she interrupted, wiping her cheek. “I’m not talking about work things.”

  Sadness clouded his face. “What are you talking about?”

  “You. We have a lot of work to do with you. We need to find you a good therapist, or a group, or something that can help you with your PTSD. I’m going to make that my priority.”

  “You really still want to be with me now that you know all about my issues? My problems sleeping, my night terrors, everything? It’s good that the arson is cleared up, but I’m still damaged.”

  Jessica nodded. “Those things aren’t you. They’re symptoms of what happened to you. I have some understanding of that. Ask me to tell you about me and Jacob sometime—but only if you want. Now might not be the time.”

  “Did he hurt you physically?”

  She felt his body tense and shook her head.

  He exhaled. “Good.”

  “I love you, Leo.” Fanning her hand on his chest over his heart, she stared into his eyes.

  “You know, I’ll be better now that I’m with you and—”

  She shook her head. “You’ll need help. We need to see. This isn’t about being cured by the love of a good woman and some magical sexy times.”

  He grinned. “Magical sexy times? I thought they cured everything. And I think it’s a regimen that’s dangerous to give up. I hope to have many more, in fact. As soon as possible.”

  Jessica laughed, delighted, and she leaned up to brush her lips over his, but when he slipped his hands under her shirt and caressed her bare back she said, “Our sexy times are magical. But they’re not going to help you heal. I want you healthy and whole for the long haul.”

  “I guess that means you really want a future with me.”

  She rested her hand on the back of his head and moved her mouth to his ear. The smell of his faint, lime-and-spice cologne and the feel of his hands spanning her back stirred her whole body with desire.

  “That’s exactly what it means, Leo.”

  EPILOGUE

  One year later

  “Leo, tell the group what’s helped you in the last year, in terms of your PTSD.”

  He took a breath then smiled. “Oh, God. So much. So, so much. I’ve gotten the bakery up and running, and I’m helping my girlfriend with her hotel. I’ve also taken up windsurfing, and being out there on the water helps. But really, these two are the reason why I’m alive.” He squeezed Jessica’s hand and turned to her. “She’s been there for me through everything. This is Jessica, my girlfriend, and I love her. She’s my rock. She listens and she wakes me up if I’m having nightmares, and she’s patient and…”

  He trailed off. Sometimes it was too much to talk about. Sometimes his heart was so full that he didn’t know how to express it all. But he was trying, and he was doing better each day.

  He swallowed the hard lump that had formed in his throat. He’d planned this night for weeks, taking Jessica to this meeting for military spouses to thank her for everything she’d done. He had some other plans, too. But now he could barely get the words out.

  “And her,” he added. He swiveled his head to peer down at the black Labrador retriever sprawled next to his chair. “This is Mia. I got her through Florida Guide Dogs. She helps with my anxiety. She nudges me when I’m
having a flashback and she’s so calming. It’s pretty incredible what she does for me. I’m still having some horrible dreams, but a lot less now. And I’m taking some new medications which have helped, too.”

  He paused again. “I also am in therapy, and we’ve determined that I actually suffer more from something called TSD than PTSD. Trauma-Associated Sleep Disorder. It’s different from PTSD in that my symptoms manifest more when I’m sleeping than during the day. But things are getting better. Just having a diagnosis helps.”

  He squeezed Jessica’s hand again, and she leaned into him when he was finished talking. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered.

  They stayed at the support group meeting for two hours in all and then they climbed in his truck and drove over the long bridge from Fort Myers back to Palmira.

  “Let’s stop to watch the sunset,” he said, glancing at her as he drove.

  “Awesome idea. We can go to the dog beach so Mia can stretch her legs.”

  He didn’t know who loved the dog beach more, Mia or Jessica, he just knew that being with them both gave him a peace he hadn’t felt in years, and whatever they wanted to do, he would follow. Sure, he and Jessica had found moments of difficulty in the past year, what with most of them centered around the best treatment for him. But they’d worked through everything with a discussion and had emerged stronger at the end of each day. She’d even improved her relationship with Nicole, who’d been impressed with what they’d been able to accomplish at the hotel in just a year. Things were going so well that they’d hired a new part-time employee. He liked to think the pastries from Sugar Rush were helping out just a little.

  They pulled into a parking lot, which was oddly empty for that time of year. The winter sun was low, and everything seemed still, fragile. Perfect.

  “Got the place to ourselves,” Leo said.

  He leashed Mia and held her in one hand and held Jessica’s hand with the other. It was the perfect evening, and it was about to get better. The grin on his face spread wider. Jessica wouldn’t know what hit her.

  Once they got on the sand, they watched Mia poke around the water with her nose. Then, being the calm service dog she was trained to be, she sat on the sand within eyesight of Leo and surveyed the empty beach. Leo was still standing, and his heart felt light as he watched Jessica kneel down, inspecting something in the fine, sugary sand.

  “Did you find a starfish?” Leo asked softly.

  “No, it’s a shell.” She squinted up at him.

  “Hey. Come here.” He pulled her to standing then planted a soft kiss on her lips. After, he sank to his knees on the sand. He took out a small black velvet box from the pocket of his shorts, and his hands quaked. Her mouth dropped open.

  “Jess? I wanted to thank you. For not running away from me. For giving me another chance. For pushing me toward healing. For forgiving and being honest.” He cleared his throat. Damn, this was harder than he’d thought. What was that lump near the back of his tongue? Why were his eyes burning?

  “I know we’re still young, but…” He opened the box, and she gasped when she saw the diamond. “I’ve wanted to ask you this since I was eighteen, since I first met you, because that’s how long I’ve loved you. I wanted it then, and I want it now. More than ever. Will you marry me?”

  She laughed and cupped her hands around his face. “Yes. Leo, yes!”

  He slid the ring on her finger and then stood to enfold the crying Jessica in his arms. All he’d ever wanted was right here, on this beach made of sand so white and fine that it looked like powdered sugar. Some palm trees and the blue water. Silence. His dog and a fiery sunset that made the whole world look gold and pristine.

  And his girl. Jessica.

  This was life and love and his purpose.

  Love was his purpose. And it was something he’d never run away from again.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Heather Hanson, who was there when the idea for this book sprouted on a beach one winter. Also thanks to editor Christopher Keeslar and Michelle Klayman of Boroughs Publishing Group.

  ALSO BY TAMARA LUSH

  The Story Series

  Hot Shade (Burning Secrets #1)

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tamara Lush was born in California and raised in Vermont. She graduated from Emerson College with a degree in broadcast journalism. For the last several years, she’s worked as a reporter and is currently a correspondent in Florida with The Associated Press. She lives with her Italian husband and two dogs on the Gulf Coast.

  Published in September of 2015, her debut novel HOT SHADE received four stars from RT Book Reviews. Her most recent novel, a five episode serial called TELL ME A STORY, has “an engaging voice, sexy heroes and heroines and a wry sense of humor,” according to New York Times bestselling author Beth Kery.

  Tamara is a fan of vintage pulp fiction book covers, Sinatra-era jazz, 1980s fashion, tropical chill, kombucha, gin, tonic, beaches, iPhones, Art Deco, telenovelas, coloring books, street art, coconut anything, strong coffee and newspapers.