Excerpt of Coming Home to Seashell Harbor by Miranda Liasson

Cam stood under the leaking ceiling, soaked to the skin. “You should get out of those wet clothes.”

Hadley stared at him.

Oh, geez. “I mean, when you get home. Because you don’t want to get sick.” He emphasized his intention, then turned to go dump the bucket before he said something else equally stupid.

Suddenly, another enormous chunk of the cheap, soaked ceiling cracked open. Instinctively, Cam dropped the buckets and grabbed Hadley by the arm, pushing her—and himself—out of the way. But he overshot, driving a little too hard to get them clear and lost his footing on the slippery tile.

He managed to cushion her fall as they went down, so Hadley landed on top of him. His arms were suddenly full of warm, soft woman, and the pure pleasure of being next to her—touching her, their limbs intertwined—took away all his sense. He started to untangle himself, but then he made the terrible mistake of looking up.

One glance at Hadley, soaked to the bone, a little dazed and stunned, made something turn over in his chest.

Maybe it was the primal memory of being like this with her a long, long time ago. Or the shock of being thrown together suddenly, against their will.

He meant to let go, but in her pretty, expressive eyes he saw…something. A flash of feeling. A spark of heat. A challenge. He couldn’t move his hands or look away. And he knew, sure as the electricity coursing hot and quick between them, that she felt it too.

He wanted her, as loud and demanding as his pulse throbbing at his temples, as certain as the fire coursing through his veins.

“Hadley, I—” He stopped, unable to put into words all that he was feeling. Finally, he tore his gaze away, looking up at the terrible mess of a ceiling.

“Please don’t tell me there’s another leak,” she whispered.

“No, I…I mean, I don’t know. It’s a wreck.” He was a wreck. A wreck of desire for her. Yet he was paralyzed in place, holding on to her soft arms, one heartbeat away from dragging her lips to his.

Another waterfall suddenly burst down from a new hole, close enough to splatter them thoroughly.

And then she laughed. A slow giggle at first—and then the unladylike one he remembered so well.

It was just as ridiculous and incongruous and—okay, snorty—as before. And then he laughed too.

“Had, that laugh,” he said softly, shaking his head. His voice sounded too quiet, too tense. Unnatural. “It’s…exactly the same.”

“Hey, I owned my laugh a long time ago,” she said, starting to roll off of him.

“No, I—” He held on to her arms, preventing her from leaving. “I wasn’t being critical,” he hurried to say. Her eyes, bright and assessing, were wary. But was her heart beating as his was, fast and steady in his chest, like his entire body was on alert? “I missed it,” he blurted out.

“Oh.” She looked puzzled. Surprised.

A slow, aching heat rose up inside him, and suddenly he knew the truth. He’d missed more than her laugh. He’d missed…her.

His gaze dropped to her lips, full and lush and open in surprise. And then he bent his head and kissed her.