The Day He Kissed Her Read online

  Copyright © 2014 by Juliana Stone

  Cover and internal design © 2014 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by John Kicksee/The July Group

  Cover photography by Jon Zychowski

  Cover models: Jillian Warmbir and Austin Zenere

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  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—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  To all those I call my family, and you know who you are, I love you…

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Chapter 1

  Mackenzie Draper woke up with a throbbing head, a dry mouth, and an ache in his neck that hurt like hell.

  Vague memories of the Coach House, his buddies Cain and Jake, some loud, crazy band, and a bottle of tequila floated in his mind.

  Or maybe it was two bottles of tequila.

  Not that it mattered. Mac was sporting the worst hangover ever, and even though it had nothing to do with Crystal Lake—and everything to do with his weakness for tequila—his first thought was that he shouldn’t have come home.

  Things never went well when he came back to Crystal Lake, and after all this time—and with his bastard father in jail—it was still hard.

  With a groan, Mac rolled out of bed and wondered why the hell he did it.

  It was late morning, Friday of the Memorial Day long weekend, and Mac had arrived home the night before, hence the catching up with his buddies and the endless shots of tequila.

  Damn. He knew better. Tequila always knocked him on his ass.

  His nose wrinkled. He smelled like a brewery and was still in his clothes from the night before—he was pretty damn sure he looked like crap. Mac stumbled down the hall, wincing and cursing when he stubbed his toe on an uneven floorboard.

  He ran fingers over the two-day-old stubble on his chin, rolled his shoulders, and groaned. The muscles were tight, but then again, everything was tight and sore.

  With a scowl, he glanced back toward his room. Damn mattress. He was used to sleeping on the king-sized dream at his place in New York City, not the IKEA crap from his teen years.

  “Shit,” he murmured, wincing again as his neck creaked. There was a time when the floor between the Edwards twins’ beds had been good enough for him. Hell, he’d spent many a night sleeping there when things got out of hand at home.

  God, is this what it felt like to be old?

  The family homestead was a modest bungalow with three bedrooms, a kitchen, a small dining room, and a TV room finishing off the main floor. The place hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in years, and the wallpaper in the hall was curling in the corners. The roof needed done and if the windows weren’t replaced soon, the frames would rot.

  It was a mess, and he doubted the additional three bedrooms in the basement or the small recreational room was faring any better.

  When he was a kid, he spent most of his time down there—anything to avoid his father, or rather, his father’s fists. Back then, the house had seemed so damn small—so damn suffocating—it was hard to believe that anything could grow or thrive inside the four walls that made up the Draper residence.

  No wonder he escaped as much as he could. Hanging with the Edwards twins and Cain Black had been his salvation.

  He glanced around the house, feeling as tired as it looked.

  With only his mother puttering about, the place seemed empty and quiet. Too quiet. Mac needed noise, the hustle and bustle of the city, the sounds of people, music, and cabs.

  He needed noise to shut out the quiet moments, because when it was quiet, it was way too easy to think and remember. And Mac didn’t want to remember.

  He wasn’t alone in that sentiment. His five siblings were gone. They’d all left as soon as they could, and other than his younger sister, Becca, he was the only one who came home to visit. The long distance thing seemed to work for everyone else.

  Mac paused and leaned against the door frame that led to the kitchen, watching his mother roll out dough. She wore simple clothes—a white cotton blouse, with faded blue and red roses, tucked into plain white shorts that fell exactly one inch above the knee. The colors had faded, but they were clean and pressed, with no creases.

  Her long hair, as blond as Mac’s and showing no sign of gray, was knotted loosely at her nape. She was petite—trim—and from this angle, she looked exactly like the mother he remembered from his youth. It wasn’t until she glanced up and he caught sight of the sadness in her eyes, the wrinkles of worry etched into her brow, that he saw her age.

  Age and heartache that had been put there by his father.

  Just thinking of Ben Draper made Mac’s gut clench, and it took some effort for him to ease out of the anger that ate at him. He breathed in and out, nice and easylike, and managed a half-assed smile for his mother.

  She smiled back, but it quickly faded when her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. She continued to roll her dough.

  “Late night, Mackenzie?” There was disapproval in her voice and, dammit, even after all this time—he was thirty-five for Christ’s sake—he felt like that kid who’d just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  Her husband was a mean drunk, and he got that she didn’t like Mac overindulging, but still…it was kind of ironic that she would call him out for having a bit too much tequila when she never said a word to Ben.

  Mind you, if she did, she’d see the back of Ben’s hand, but there must have been a point in their relationship when she could have stopped him.

  Heat swirled in his gut as a bunch of memories ran through him and none of them were good. Jesus, he needed to shut this shit down right now. There was no point in rehashing the past. He shoved it all aside and crossed to the fridge, grabbing a carton of juice.

  “Is that for the Edwardses’?” he asked.

  He poured himself a large glass and turned around to lean
against the kitchen counter, his gaze on his mother as she methodically kneaded the dough.

  “Yes. I’m making a raspberry pie for you to take when you go.”

  He waited a few seconds. He’d spent every Friday before Memorial Day at the Edwardses’ for their annual friends and family barbecue. He always asked his mother to join him.

  “So, you’re not coming with me.” It was a statement, because he already knew the answer.

  She continued kneading the dough, her movements slow and precise. “No, honey. I’ve got more baking to do for the church bazaar, and I promised Mrs. Linden that I’d help her clean her house.” She glanced up, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She’s getting on and needs an extra set of hands. I’ve been helping her out ever since Maggie left town.”

  Mackenzie knew better than to press the issue. His mother wouldn’t come.

  Once, long before he was born, Lila McCann had run in the same social circles as the Edwardses. In fact, she’d dated Steven Edwards briefly…then Ben Draper had come into the picture and Lila’s life took a turn.

  A wrong turn. A wrong fucking U-turn away from anything good that she’d ever had.

  Her parents had stood by her—even when she’d become pregnant with Mac’s older brother, Benjamin Jr.—and had footed the bill for an extravagant wedding. His grandparents had died in a car accident about a month before Benjamin was born, and Mac had never met them.

  His great-grandmother, however, was a bright light in an otherwise bleak childhood. It was only because of Grams that any of the kids went to college, and it was only because of Grams that the roof over their head stayed in their hands and not the bank’s. His great-grandmother was nearing her ninetieth year and still right as rain.

  He didn’t want to consider what would have happened to the Draper kids if not for her.

  Ben Draper used his looks and charm to get by, but he’d never quite managed to hold down a regular job. The booze always got in the way.

  Like it had on a hot summer night when Mackenzie was about nine. That night, Mac had cowered in his room, afraid to go out and face his father but afraid that Ben was going to kill his mother. He’d called Jake Edwards, and less than twenty minutes later, the police and Steven had shown up.

  That was Ben Draper’s first trip to county lockup, and it signaled the end of his mother’s relationship with her old crowd, including the Edwardses.

  And now here he was, staring at a woman who could have had it all and yet she stood in the kitchen, dressed in secondhand clothes, kneading dough for a party that she would not attend.

  “I ran into Raine Edwards the other day,” she said quietly. “At the grocery store. She looks good. Happy.”

  “Yeah?” Mac drained his glass and rinsed it out. Raine was with one of his oldest buddies, Jake Edwards, and he was a lucky son of a bitch to have her. Even though Mac would never have what his friends did, that didn’t make him any less happy that they’d finally found each other.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she turns up pregnant real soon.”

  Here we go.

  “Nice, for Steven and Marnie to finally have a grandchild,” his mother continued.

  Mac nodded. “I’m sure it would make them real happy.”

  He waited for the questions that were headed his way. The usual ones.

  Have you met someone?

  When are you going to settle down and have a family?

  I’d sure like to hold another grandchild before I get too old.

  He hated disappointing his mother, but family—a wife, kids, and the white-picket fence—just wasn’t in the cards for him. He and kids didn’t mix, and besides, there was no need to pass along the family genetics.

  He thought of his father and Ben’s father before him. Nope. No need at all.

  He was smart enough to know that it wouldn’t take much for him to cross the line into Ben Draper territory.

  Hell, it was only a matter of time. He knew that on occasion he drank too much, and he sure as shit wanted no responsibility other than his job, but he was willing to straddle the line. He had more control than Ben, and for now, it was enough.

  But his mother surprised him. She bypassed talk of grandkids and a wife and hit him with something he wasn’t expecting.

  “Raine told me that Jake wants you to help him out with the new development across the lake.”

  Shit. He’d rather take her ribbing over his lack of commitment and family than talk about this. Did he want to get into it right now?

  “It’s been mentioned,” he said slowly. No way was he spending the summer in Crystal Lake.

  “I think it would be wonderful for the town if you and Jake worked together on this. A lot of folks aren’t exactly keen on more construction, but Jake’s promised it will benefit everyone.” Lila turned over the dough. “How would that work with your job?”

  Mac was at a point in his career where he could pretty much make anything work, but that didn’t mean he wanted this particular situation to evolve into something solid. “I’ve got time in the bank, but…”

  “But?”

  “I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

  For a moment there was silence.

  He watched her continue to knead the dough with her fingers and knuckles as he moved closer to her.

  “It sure would be nice to have you home for the summer.”

  “Mom,” he said gently. “Crystal Lake and I don’t exactly mix.” Weak excuse, but it was all he had.

  “Your father won’t be around.”

  There it was. The big old elephant in the room.

  Mac didn’t know any details about his father’s incarceration other than the fact that he’d been caught stealing from his job—something he’d done before—and his ass had landed in jail.

  Her bottom lip trembled for just a moment, but Mac saw it and his jaw clamped tight as that damn wave of emotion rolled over him again.

  Her hands paused on top of the dough. “I miss you, Mackenzie. I know it’s not your job to look after your mom, but I just…” She released a long, shuddering breath. “I hate being alone. Grams is getting on, and pretty soon there will be no one.”

  He slipped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her, the bottom of his chin resting on the top of her head. “I know,” he said simply. “Though I’m pretty sure that Grams will outlive us all.”

  Except him.

  His mother’s bottom lip curved. “She’s certainly is a strong old lady. I wish I’d gotten some of that backbone.”

  Mackenzie didn’t know what to say to that—mostly because it was something he’d thought of a lot when he was younger.

  “So…you’ll think about it?” she whispered, her hands already working the dough again, his arms still on her shoulders.

  Mac gazed out the window, his eyes resting on the fence that bordered their lot. A few sections were missing and though it had been light green at one time, the color had long since faded and the bits that remained were chipped and peeling.

  It needed mending. Hell, the entire house needed a damn face-lift.

  He felt the warmth from his mother, the frailty in her bones and spirit.

  “Mac?” she asked softly, and though she tried to hide it, he heard the hope in her voice.

  “I’ll think about it,” he answered, not knowing what he was going to do. He hated this place, not the town so much, but this place. This house. This situation. The toxic relationship between him and his father.

  He hated the memories and the need he still felt for his mother to somehow make things right. She’d never stand up to his old man. Never.

  A heartbeat passed.

  “Okay,” Lila Draper murmured. “Okay.”

  Chapter 2

  One-night stands are notorious for biting a girl in the ass.

&nb
sp; It’s one of the first things a smart girl learns when she’s younger. One of the first things that said smart girl vows never to do again.

  But sometimes fate or stupidity intervenes and those life lessons are forgotten in the heat of the moment—life lessons that are there for a reason. And a smart girl is faced with the uncomfortable situation that arises when your one-night stand—the one-night stand you were hoping never to see again—suddenly pops up on your radar.

  As of five minutes ago, Lily St. Clare’s one-night stand was back in town, and as of five minutes ago, Lily St. Clare’s ass was in danger of being bitten.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, ducking behind a large fern tilted at an odd angle from the wind as it swung from the pergola overhead. She was on the back deck at Steven and Marnie Edwards’s place, the one that overlooked Crystal Lake, and there were a few other ferns swinging in the wind if she needed them.

  I knew this would happen.

  Just not today. Not without warning. And definitely not with such an intimate crowd to witness the entire god-awful thing. Awkward situations were always worse in close quarters. And Lily hated awkward almost as much as she hated a scene—unless it was one that she orchestrated.

  And Lord knows she’d orchestrated a few whoppers in her day, but this was different.

  A quick glance over her shoulder told Lily that no one had witnessed her idiotic attempt to hide herself, but with Mac Draper making his way across the beach, that would soon change.

  Her stomach rolled at the thought and the usually cool-as-a-cucumber blond let out a jagged breath. What the hell was she going to do?

  It was Memorial Day weekend and everyone was home. All the Bad Boys. Cain Black had already hopped over the railing and was making his way down toward the beach where Mac stood chatting up Cain’s wife, Maggie. Heavy with their first child, the redhead looked beautiful in a simple cream sundress, her long hair floating in the breeze.

  Lily watched from behind her fern, a lump in her throat, as Cain’s hand slid around Maggie’s waist and settled on her stomach. Maggie leaned into her husband, their bodies melted together, and it was hard to see where one person ended and the other began. They looked content and happy and in love—three things Lily was pretty damn sure she’d never be.