Their Secret Summer Family (The Bravos 0f Valentine Bay Book 7) Read online

  It’s just fun and games...

  Until someone falls in love.

  Officer Dante Santangelo doesn’t “do” relationships, but the busy single dad happily agrees to a secret summer fling with younger, free-spirited Gracie Bravo. It’s the perfect arrangement. Until Gracie falls for Dante, his adorable twins and their ever-present fur baby. Gracie wants a life with Dante. Either she can say goodbye at the end of the summer...or risk everything to make this family happen.

  New York Times Bestselling Author Christine Rimmer

  “Sit back down,” he commanded as he dropped into his chair. “Finish your damn beer.”

  She made a face at him. “Why? Because you’re so much fun to be with?”

  He gazed up at her through those fine dark eyes. She wanted to bend across the iron table between them and kiss that sexy mouth again, to have those big, muscular arms of his wrapping tight around her.

  “Please.” He said the word a little roughly. But kind of earnestly, too. Like he really, truly wanted her to stay.

  When, exactly, did she become such a complete pushover for this man? The night of the tequila? Maybe.

  More likely, it had started long before that, when he was always coming into the Sea Breeze and sitting at the bar, keeping her company while she worked. He would nurse a beer or two, maybe have sliders or fish tacos and fries. When things weren’t too busy, they would talk. He was a good listener. Too serious, maybe. But the thing about Dante was he really did care—how a friend was doing, if everything was all right.

  She sat down and picked up her half-finished beer. “Bad day?”

  * * *

  THE BRAVOS OF VALENTINE BAY: They’re finding love—and having babies!—in the Pacific Northwest

  Dear Reader,

  I love those stories where opposites not only attract, but end up discovering they’re just right for each other. They fill each other’s empty spaces, make each other...more.

  Bartender and soon-to-be history teacher Grace Bravo is twenty-three, happily single, open-minded, freethinking and a bit of a wild child. Due to a shortage of funds caused by unwise investments in the creative and scientific endeavors of previous boyfriends, Grace is also still living in the home of the big brother who raised her. She wants nothing as much as to get out on her own.

  Dante Santangelo, a detective sergeant with the local police force, is thirty-two and divorced, a dedicated dad to his eight-year-old twin daughters. He’s a good man, a man you can count on, down-to-earth, traditional in his outlook on life and absolutely positive he’ll never get married again.

  Grace and Dante are friends. They enjoy each other’s company in a casual way. There’s nothing romantic going on between them—until one warm summer night that changes everything...

  Dante has a lot to learn about love, and Gracie is just the one to school him but good. I hope you find their story as much fun to read as it was for me to write and that Their Secret Summer Family leaves you secure in the knowledge that love is the answer, even for a guy who isn’t all that sure of the question.

  Happy reading, everyone,

  Christine

  Their Secret Summer Family

  Christine Rimmer

  Christine Rimmer came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teaching to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at christinerimmer.com.

  Books by Christine Rimmer

  Harlequin Special Edition

  The Bravos of Valentine Bay

  The Nanny’s Double Trouble

  Almost a Bravo

  Same Time, Next Christmas

  Switched at Birth

  A Husband She Couldn’t Forget

  The Right Reason to Marry

  The Bravos of Justice Creek

  James Bravo’s Shotgun Bride

  Ms. Bravo and the Boss

  A Bravo for Christmas

  The Lawman’s Convenient Bride

  Garrett Bravo’s Runaway Bride

  Married Till Christmas

  Montana Mavericks: Six Brides for Six Brothers

  Her Favorite Maverick

  Montana Mavericks: The Lonelyhearts Ranch

  A Maverick to (Re)Marry

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  For Gaye McGill, in honor of her golden retriever–German shepherd mix, Flip, who was the inspiration for the hero’s dog, Owen, in this story. Gaye would like readers to know that Flip was the best of the best and Gaye misses her greatly.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Her Second Forever by Joanna Sims

  Chapter One

  Grace Bravo was going too fast and she knew it.

  But she really needed to cheer herself up. And it was a beautiful, sunny first day of June on the Oregon coast, the perfect kind of day to drive with the windows down, playing “Shut Up and Drive” really loud. The fir-scented air blew in and swirled around her, stirring her hair as she bopped right along with Rihanna. She was beating out rhythm on the steering wheel and swinging around curves with abandon.

  Too bad she wasn’t really feeling it—not the beauty of her home state, not the sunshiny day, not the warm summer air whipping her hair around her face, not even the hard-driving beat of the music turned all the way up.

  And then the light bar started flashing behind her. A siren blared.

  “No!” she cried. “This cannot be happening...”

  But it was. Grace turned off the radio and took her foot off the gas. Easing her eight-year-old RAV4 to the side of the road, she put it in Park and switched off the engine. The white Valentine Bay police cruiser, lights still flashing, pulled in behind her, the nerve-shredding siren cutting off in midshriek.

  A ticket was definitely in her future.

  She shouldn’t be the least surprised. It was all just more crap piled on top of an already craptastic day.

  Thinking dark thoughts, she raked her wind-tangled hair back off her forehead and watched in her side mirror as the officer—tall, dark haired, broad shouldered, tanned and very fit, in Valentine Bay PD blues and black wrapback sunglasses—emerged from the cruiser.

  It took her a second or two to realize who he was.

  Dante Santangelo?

  No way.

  Grace had known Dante forever. His only sister was married to one of her brothers. Once or twice a week, he dropped by the Sea Breeze where she worked. They got along great, Grace and Dante. She’d always considered him a friend.

  Until now, anyway.

  “Are you kidding me?” she muttered sourly when he leaned in her window.

  “Gracie, you were speeding,” he chided—like he was really sorry, but being sorry wouldn’t stop him from doing his job. He took off those black sunglasses and gave her a melty look as his plush mouth curved in a warm smile. “License and registration?�
�

  “This is so wrong,” she grumbled.

  He just kept on leaning in the window, those velvety, coffee-brown eyes patient, like he could wait forever for her to stop being grumpy and pass him her papers.

  “Fine.” She leaned across the console, popped open the glove box, got out her registration, handed it over, then fished her wallet from her bag and gave him her license, too.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be right back...”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  He turned for his cruiser. With a groan of frustration, she flopped her head against the seat and closed her eyes.

  He was back in no time with a clipboard. “Here you go.” He handed her documents through the window.

  She took them. “Thanks,” she sneered, and couldn’t resist reminding him, “I give you the good beer. I don’t even let you tip me.” Actually, he always tipped her, anyway. But she always meant it when she told him not to.

  Did he chuckle as he wrote on his clipboard? Sure sounded like it to her. One big shoulder lifted in an easy shrug. “And I’m giving you the good ticket.”

  “That makes no sense. There is no good ticket.” And yeah, it was a stretch, but she might as well try her feminine wiles on him. Tossing her messy hair a little, gazing up at him with sad, wide eyes, she pleaded pitifully, “Do you have to?” He just kept writing out the ticket. “It’s been a bad day,” she whined. With feeling. “And now this.”

  He passed the clipboard in the window and handed her his pen. “Initial here and here. And then sign here.”

  “A hundred and sixty bucks? You can’t be serious.”

  He said nothing, just continued to look at her with that thoroughly annoying expression of gentle patience on his handsome face.

  She huffed out an exasperated sigh, took her sweet time reading the whole damn thing and did what he told her to do, giving back the clipboard and pen when she was done.

  He passed her the ticket and launched into a little spiel about the deadline to respond and how to contest the citation. When he finally shut up about it, he leaned in the window again. “Okay, that’s out of the way. Now. Are you all right?” His expression had morphed from patience to real concern.

  She glared at him, just to drill it home that she would be a lot better if he hadn’t pulled her over. “Not really.”

  “You need someone to talk to?”

  Share her problems with Dante? The idea never would have occurred to her. Yeah, she considered him a friend. But not a cry-on-your-shoulder sort of friend. She’d known him her whole life, practically. And she’d always considered him hot and all, with those smoldery good looks and that broad, hard body.

  But he was nine years older, thirty-two to her twenty-three. He’d been married and divorced and he had twin daughters. The guy was a settled, responsible sort of man who would no doubt consider her flaky and immature if she griped about her fight with her bossy eldest brother and whined over her paltry bank balance, which was keeping her from getting her own place.

  And about her miniscule bank balance? That was all on her. She’d inherited a little money back when she turned eighteen. If she hadn’t enjoyed spending it so much, she would have plenty of money to move.

  She should thank Dante for offering to listen to her problems, insist that she was fine, say she would see him the next time he stopped by the bar—and then wave goodbye.

  But the thing was, his offer kind of gave her the warm fuzzies. Dante was a tough guy. He didn’t let many people close. That he seemed to really want to be there for her made her feel better about herself, somehow.

  “You’ll be sorry,” she warned and waited for him to back out.

  But he didn’t back out. “I get off at five. I’ll see you at the Sea Breeze.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t cry on your shoulder at my place of work. That would be totally unprofessional—and besides, I’m off tonight.” She was pretty sure that would do it. He would tell her to drive carefully and turn for the cruiser.

  Didn’t happen. “How about my place, then?”

  Dante’s house. She hadn’t been there in years—not since she was sixteen and babysat his twins that one time when his then-wife, Marjorie, couldn’t get her regular sitter. “You don’t have to do this, you know?”

  “Hey, come on. What’s a friend for?” He upped his offer. “I’ll open a bottle of wine.”

  She waved the ticket at him. “After this, you owe me a nice bottle of tequila. I’ll bring the tacos.”

  He didn’t even blink. “Six o’clock?”

  For the first time since he’d pulled her over, she gave him a smile. “I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  Dante had a really nice house—a shingled, rambling, ranch-style place on an acre of wooded land overlooking the ocean. He’d bought it about a decade ago, in the midst of the last housing crisis, when a house like Dante’s went for half what it was worth now.

  Grace admired the pretty setting as she carried bags of take-out tacos up to his front door. On three sides, the house was surrounded by trees. In back, it overlooked the ocean.

  Dante, in worn jeans and a gray crewneck T-shirt that showcased his muscular arms, pulled the door open before she rang the bell. “Right on time. And you brought the tacos, too—here.” He took the bags from her. A friendly-looking dog bumped around him, tail wagging. Dante gently warned, “Owen, play nice.” The dog had short floppy ears, a sweet face and a red-brown coat with a blaze of white at the throat. His paws were white, too.

  She greeted him. “Hello, Owen.” With an eager whine, the dog sat and gazed up at her hopefully. “Part golden retriever, right?” she asked Dante.

  He nodded. “Golden and German shepherd.”

  “He’s very handsome.” She knelt to scratch his thick ruff, glancing up as she let Owen lick her face. “You get the good tequila?”

  “Come on inside.” He stepped back and ushered her in. “You can see for yourself.” He led her to the kitchen area, which was open to the living space, with concrete tile counters and glass backsplashes.

  “The counters are beautiful,” she said.

  “Thanks. I like to change stuff up now and then.”

  Back when she was sixteen and the pinch-hit babysitter, the counters were white tile—and right now, the bottle of tequila was waiting on the island. She picked it up. “Anejo.” The word meant “smooth” or “restful.” Tequila Anejo had to be aged in oak barrels that did not exceed six hundred liters for at least a year. “Thank you.”

  He gave her a nod and gestured at the limes in the wire basket nearby. “You want to shoot it?”

  “Have you met me? I’m a purist.”

  “Perils of being a bartender, huh?”

  “That’s right. You develop definite opinions when it comes to enjoying good liquor.” Actually, bartending was an interim job for her while she’d waited for a teaching job to open up locally.

  She had a degree in history with a minor in education from Reed College and she’d recently snagged her dream job. This fall, she would be teaching history at Valentine Bay High. In the meantime, she was still working at the bar, sometimes days and sometimes nights. She liked the flexible schedule.

  Dante took a couple of stemless wineglasses from a cupboard. “Will these do?”

  “Perfect.”

  They decided to sit out on the deck and enjoy the view. She helped him carry everything outside, including a pitcher of ice water, which made her laugh. It was so Dante, to make sure they stayed hydrated while they were getting blasted.

  It was gorgeous outside and wouldn’t be dark for hours. The deck faced a stretch of wooded yard. Farther out, twisted, windblown evergreens framed the edge of the cliff and the top of a narrow trail leading down to a nice stretch of beach below. Of
f in the distance, the ocean gleamed, pearly blue to the horizon.

  Grace sat in a cushioned deck chair at a cast iron table beneath the shade of a big white umbrella. At Dante’s insistence, she drank a tall glass of water and ate two tacos before settling back to sip tequila. Owen had stretched out at her feet.

  “Okay, I gotta admit.” She tapped Dante’s glass with hers. “This is the life—how are the girls?”

  * * *

  Dante took a slow sip. It went down smooth and hot.

  It was nice, really, sitting out here with Gracie. He’d always liked her. She was fun and easy to be with.

  And she’d grown up to be gorgeous, with all that silvery blond hair, those soft lips the rich pink color of the inside of a conch shell and those sapphire-blue eyes. Her skin was so pale. She looked like she might bruise from a touch—not that he’d ever make a move on her or anything. They had a way-too-complex history.

  Her third-born brother, Connor, had been Dante’s best friend all their growing-up years. But then Connor had broken the bro code. He’d fallen in love with Dante’s sister, Aly, and married her. Dante had barely forgiven Connor for that, when Connor divorced Aly for reasons that really weren’t reasons at all. Dante had sworn never to speak to the jackass again.

  Then last year, Aly and Connor had gotten back together. They’d married each other for the second time last October and Aly had given birth to their daughter, Emelia, just last month. Dante and Connor were friends again now.

  And really, Dante had always thought of Gracie Bravo as a kid.

  Well, until lately, anyway. Today, she wore faded denim shorts and a cropped top. Following her out here from the kitchen, he couldn’t help staring at her ass and her strong, pretty legs, at all that gorgeous, delicate skin...

  “Dante. Helloooo.” Laughing, she reached across the table and lightly batted his arm. “Nicole and Natalie? How are they doing?”

  “Good. Real good.” He ordered his dirty mind off Gracie’s ass and back to the much safer subject of his twin daughters. They were eight now. They mostly lived with his ex-wife, Marjorie, in Portland, where they went to school. He had them every other weekend and for seven weeks in the summer.