close eye on the house and any repairs it needed.
Wren, her older sister, had only recently moved to Heron Harbor to live full-time with her fiancé, Smith Connors. Smith was the famous chef and owner of Harbor’s Edge, the finest restaurant for at least a hundred miles. Before reuniting and falling in love with her childhood best friend, Wren had been so devoted to her law practice that she’d rarely had time to visit Heron Harbor. And Lark, their baby sister, kept her distance from the island for reasons Raven could never get her to explain. So while all three Donovan sisters had inherited the house after their father’s death, Raven couldn’t help but think of it as hers.
After all, it had been her haven during the darkest hours of her life.
Now, faced with another blow, she needed it once again.
Raven shut the front door, stowed her coat, purse, and tote in the closet, then went to the kitchen to dump the groceries.
She unpacked the bags and stepped back to gaze at the haul with a mixture of sadness, guilt, yearning, and disgust. On the counter sat a mountain of sugary sweets: red vine licorice; chocolate bars; marshmallows; peanut butter cups; lemon drops; gummy bears; thin mints; sour taffy; caramel chews; a box of off-brand, frosting-filled yellow cakes; and most bizarre of all, a bag of sweet beef jerky.
Proof positive that her firing had her spinning out of control.
The sheer volume of crap splayed out across the counter would be impressive if it weren’t so horrifying. She had no memory of selecting most of it, just a faint image of walking down the quickie mart aisle, grabbing whatever looked like it might soothe the pain in her soul.
But not one of those sweets would cross her lips. She was in control. Abstention was her penance.
Turning from temptation, Raven decided on a tall glass of water instead. She moved to the cabinet and yanked it open. A bottle of Don Julio 1942 tequila sat beside the large tumblers.
Raven’s head cocked to the side. Hola, señor.
She and her sisters never stocked the beach house with alcohol for their renters. The cleaning service was supposed to clear out anything that was left behind after every guest. Yet here this lonely bottle stood amid mocking, empty glasses.
A bad idea whittled into Raven’s mind. She could crack the seal and have a little. After the day she’d had, she deserved a drink.
Raven snatched the tequila and a rocks glass from the cabinet. Without margarita mix, lemons, or limes, she’d have to do this old school. She broke the seal and poured two fingers worth. The slightly sour yet herbal liquid burned down her esophagus. Bracing herself against the counter, she waited for the shock to wear off, then tucked the bottle beneath her arm, grabbed the glass, and headed for the living room.
Standing before the large picture window that overlooked the Atlantic, Raven peered into the dimness at the ocean. The sun set so early in November, it was hard to see much besides the frothy whitecaps. She poured another drink, then flipped on the outside light, and stepped out onto the deck.
The brisk wind whipped at her hair as she watched the waves thrash against the shore. They were taller and choppier than usual and contained a ferocity she rarely saw. The sea was angry. Just like her.
She raised her glass to the Atlantic, then took a slow sip, allowing the liquid to warm her against the cold night.
Raven wasn’t sure how long she’d stayed outside, but by the time she came back into the house, she was on her third glass of tequila, or maybe it was her fourth, and she didn’t feel the least bit chilly. The liquor was working its magic, numbing not only her hurt and anger but also her senses. Thanks to Don Julio 1942, she was well on her way to tipsy.
And blisteringly hot. The beach house seemed positively sweltering. She tugged off her black suit jacket and tossed it on an armchair, then clumsily fumbled with the pussy bow and top buttons of her blouse. It wasn’t enough. Raven still felt like she was suffocating.
Frustrated, she yanked the ends of her black silk top from her pencil skirt, then unfastened the rest of the buttons, and flung it toward the chair. It missed, fluttering gracefully to the floor. With even less poise, she reached behind her back and unzipped her skirt. It slid down her legs and