Adrift sunrise island br.., p.1
Adrift (Sunrise Island Brothers Book 3), page 1
Copyright © 2024 by E. Davies
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, without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
About This Book
Foreword
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Thanks for reading!
About the Author
Also by E. Davies
About This Book
“IT’LL TAKE A MIRACLE TO SAVE MY FAMILY’S LEGACY… AND HE JUST WALKED IN.”
GAGE:
I moved to Sunrise Island to rescue an abandoned orchard, but my biggest challenge is Kieran Walsh. One look at my leaky cabin and the feisty bartender tells me I live with him now.
Who am I to argue? Kieran’s my perfect opposite: flamboyant, chaotic, drop-dead gorgeous. And he’s always frickin’ smiling.
I’m falling hard. But will he be here to catch me?
“I FINALLY FOUND A REASON TO STAY… AND I’M GOING TO BREAK HIS HEART.”
KIERAN:
When I escaped home, I vowed never to put down roots again. With a little luck and a lot of charm, I can get almost anything I want… like Gage Russell.
My new neighbour has wild plans, a rugged body, and soulful green eyes. He makes pretty, scarred things bloom again. How can I resist?
But with my time on Sunrise Island running out, Gage is dangerously close to stealing my heart… the one thing I can never, ever leave behind.
Foreword
In this book, Gage has inherited his family orchard after his grandmother passed away a year ago. Although he doesn’t ultimately dwell on it, there are some brief moments of grief when he first returns to this place of childhood memories.
Prologue
KIERAN
This guy is still pounding into me as I bend over the back of his sofa, my arms folded on the seat cushion.
“Yeah, nngh, fuck, huh, hnnh…”
At least he sounds like he’s having a good time.
I give him an encouraging moan in return, and then I crack one eye open for a peek at my watch. The numbers are jolting with every thrust, making it hard to read.
It’s really late. Shit.
Now I almost wish I hadn’t looked. I’ll have to take care of myself later. No way am I going to get off while I’m stressing about missing the last ferry home.
What a pain in the ass. Literally.
But tiny little Sunrise Island doesn’t have that many hot single guys, and I work at its only bar. It’s easiest to come over here to scratch my itches.
Tonight, I picked an even more oblivious one than usual. It took ages for him to realize I wanted to leave the bar with him, and then he insisted on a detour for late-night fries.
Call me crazy, but my idea of foreplay isn’t a glass of water and a lecture about vinyl and CD sound mastering. So I whipped out a condom, dropped to my knees, and wound him up until he was begging to rail me because he just couldn’t take any more…
But here I am, still taking it from him.
A hand closes around my cock, making me catch my breath. Then the guy obviously notices that I’m only sporting a semi, and he slows down his pace. “You all right?”
Don’t you fucking dare.
“Don’t stop! Oh my fucking god,” I spit out, my temper flaring. I shove myself back into him, forcing his dick so deep inside that my breath catches. “Fucking nut in me right now!”
He totally mistakes my fury for lustful passion, judging by the way he grabs my hip with one hand and locks his other arm around my chest. “Oh yeah?” he grunts in my ear. “Fuck! Yeah, baby! Tell me how much you want it.”
“I want you to cum in me so bad,” I moan. And I do wholeheartedly mean it. “Please, please, please, B—uh…”
Shit. Is it Brandon? Or Brent? No… Brian, right?
“Uh, uh, uh!” I moan at the top of my lungs instead.
Smooth, Kieran. Real smooth.
“Yes, yes, yes…!” he groans, and then his rhythm falls apart. He clutches onto me and pants, riding the high as he squashes me against the back of the couch.
It’s not un-hot… it’s just a relief more than anything.
“Your turn, sexy,” probably-Brian growls, pulling out of me. “Got another condom?”
I stagger and turn around against the couch, glancing at my watch again as he drops to his knees.
All I can think is, Mate.
I’ve got like four minutes to get my clothes on and get out the door… and what he’s proposing is more than a three-minute job. It’ll take me at least that long to get over the sight of the condom still on his steadily-wilting boner.
“Sorry, no,” I shake my head, swiping my jeans off the couch cushions. “I gotta go.”
The guy pouts. “Really?” He stands up and sidles closer, running his hands all over my chest and stomach. I can’t deny how sensitive I am, but I stubbornly keep going.
So does he. While I’m pulling my T-shirt on, he tries to tug my jeans down again.
“Really. Quit it,” I snap at him, smacking his hand away. I button and zip up, hopping from one foot to the other to pull socks on. My T-shirt is inside-out, but who cares?
“Stay a little longer. I can call you a taxi,” he wheedles, and I snort a laugh.
I already told him earlier tonight that I live on a fucking island.
Dumb and hot is my type, but only if they keep their mouths shut… and take less than a decade to finish plowing my ass.
“You really can’t.”
“I just want my dessert,” he tries to coax me as I pat down my pockets. “My… my hot little glazed Irish. Get it?”
My brows slowly furrow as I stare at him.
“Oh, that’s not the right one.” He stares at the ceiling in thought, and then he lights up. “A Danish! What’s the other one?”
“End me now,” I groan, ducking around him to shove my feet back into my shoes.
“Irish shortbread! Get it? Because you’re—”
I turn around on my heel to give him a withering stare, my eyebrows creeping up. “Short and Irish?”
He’s just grinning back at me. “Yeah!”
Oh, fuck away off.
“Bye,” I tell him, yanking open the front door. I rush down the steps, closing it in his face. As much as I want to be pissed about the whole thing, I’m laughing my ass off before I even reach the sidewalk.
It’s a lot harder to jog to the harbour when I’m giggling too much to breathe.
“Irish shortbread?” I gasp when I finally get to the harbour wall, bracing myself against it to wipe the tears out of my eyes. “Jesus wept.”
Men, right?
I wish I could swear them off. But I’ve tried, and it doesn’t work—they’re too irresistible. Even the big, dumb ones. Especially the big, dumb ones. I can’t help being so good at taking the big and ignoring the dumb.
All I can do is swear at them afterward. Speaking of which, the ferry’s just entering the harbour mouth. If I miss it, I’ll invent brand-fucking-new words for probably-Brian.
Time to do the other thing I’m the best at… and get running.
I snort with laughter, clutching the stitch in my side as I take off for my own bed.
Chapter
One
GAGE
I’m standing in our orchard again.
Considering it’s been thirteen years—exactly half my lifetime—being here doesn’t feel as weird as I thought. And walking here from the ferry dock only took ten minutes. Either Sunrise Island is smaller or my legs are a lot longer.
“Down you go,” I grunt, swinging my backpack to the ground and leaning it up against the little white fence. Or what I think is the fence, under all the grass and blackberry brambles.
Then I pull out my precious yellow paper envelope and open it up, thumbing through the photos inside.
Decades flick past in a heartbeat. A few precious photos in grainy sepia, more in black and white, and then Dad’s Polaroids and a couple of Mom’s artsy point-and-shoot snaps.
And, of course, my most treasured possession: a map of the orchard, hand-drawn on aging paper. Even the Ziploc bag it’s tucked into is old enough to be in a museum.
There it is, the Polaroid taken from the very spot I’m standing. It’s me age five. I’m trying to hide from the camera by climbing up an apple tree. Honestly, it’s pretty on-brand for me. I’ve never been keen on attention.
I step off the gravel road into the long grass, turning this way and that until the trees line up.
“That one.
Like everything, it’s smaller compared to my six-foot-three grown frame. A lifetime fighting its brethren for sunlight and slowly losing the battle against the weeds has left it stooped and gnarly.
I tuck the Polaroid back into the envelope, slide it into my back pocket, and slap my palm against the tree trunk. It’s still solid. We should be able to save it easily enough.
“Don’t worry, old boy. Grandma sent me to take care of you.”
All of a sudden, my throat’s real tight. I clear it a few times, blinking until the world is less watery.
“By the end of the summer, you won’t even know yourself,” I promise the orchard at large, grabbing my backpack again to drop it off next to the boarded-up little cabin.
Home, sweet home, right?
My great-grandparents first built the cabin when they moved here. It’s spent decades as a storage shed, but it’s about to become my new home.
Even if my family thinks I’m crazy for it.
My phone chimes with my mom’s ringtone, and I grab it to glance at the wall of text in my messages.
MOM:
How is everything? Are you sure you’re OK living in the old cabin? It’s warm enough at night? You’re always welcome here! Make sure you get groceries soon, Dad says the store sometimes closes early. And take lots of photos of everything. PS: Lasagna this weekend, your favourite! xoxo
I chuckle to myself and shake my head, tapping out a reply while I stroll back toward the road.
GAGE:
Thanks, Mom. It’s beautiful here. Can’t wait to tell you everything over lasagna on Sunday. Photos coming soon!
Mom’s right. I’ll need easy canned food to eat on my camp stove until I get the utilities turned back on. But I’m not telling her that, or she’ll insist that I come home for dinner every night.
Some small part of me still expects to stumble up the hill to the new house, tracking mud into Grandma’s kitchen, hungry and tired from a day of fighting shadows in the orchard.
I can’t stop remembering that last glorious summer. It was a hot August, and the air felt like molasses. Time stood still, yet I felt something nearby gathering speed.
Then, September came and everything changed. I went back to school, Grandma decided to move off the island to be closer to my parents, and we sold the new house.
My chest goes tight again.
It’s strange to be back here without Grandma. But it feels like she’s smiling down at me right now. She always knew I was going to make her proud. That’s why she left me this place.
That, and nobody else in my family is dumb enough to want it. But I think this tangled old orchard is destined for greater things.
My mom’s the only one who agrees with me. She’s always had a soft spot for this quirky place. But it’s in the mom rules—she has to believe in my crazy ideas.
I tap my phone a few times to snap photos of the orchard. Then I dig out the Polaroid of me as a kid and hold it up to the camera, standing next to that same tree to take a selfie for Mom.
At least I don’t look like I’m being strangled.
There. Sent. Mom can stop worrying that I’ll somehow get lost or eaten by bears.
Gravel crunches on the road behind me, and I turn to see a golf cart. There’s almost no cars on the island, so most people have one. Or at the very least, a wheelbarrow to haul stuff around.
That reminds me…
I dig out my notepad to scrawl “wheelbarrow” on the growing to-do list, and then I glance up at the driver. He’s about my dad’s age, but I don’t recognize him.
He slows down as he passes by. “Morning!” he calls, craning his neck around to see if the orchard behind me looks any different.
“Morning!” I answer, grinning as I lean on the fence and watch him go.
My new neighbour is patting down the tote bags on the seat beside him like he’s searching for his phone. And he keeps sneaking glances over his shoulder at me, swerving wildly more than once before he disappears from view again.
The whisper network is on it. I give it a day before everyone on the island knows who I am and why I’m here. So, before I put away my notepad, I add “working freezer” to the list.
I can practically feel the welcome lasagnas hurtling my way. And pie. So much pie. Sunrise Island loves pie.
It’s almost lunchtime. My stomach grumbles, making my next decision easy. I’ll head up to the island’s only restaurant for lunch—and a slice of today’s special pie.
And I’ll pray that—somehow—everything will fall into place.
Chapter
Two
KIERAN
“Honey, nobody needs a man who can’t hurry things up in a pinch. Life’s busy, and a good bottom is even busier.” My friend Ronan tosses his pencil onto his sketchbook and briskly claps his hands together. “Chop chop. Leave your calling card, thank your bottom, and get the fuck out of Dodge.”
“Right?” I grin, running a cloth back and forth across the bar top. “I did not wanna miss that ferry. Imagine staying the night with him. I wouldn’t sit down for a week.”
Ronan snorts with laughter. “Although… you could catch up on sleep while he’s getting to the point.”
“I was already yawning.” I giggle. “I probably had… what do they call it? A micro-sleep?”
Ronan groans sympathetically as he packs away his stuff. “All I can say is he wasn’t the one.”
And Ronan should know.
He’s only had that shiny new engagement ring on his finger for a week, and he still glows with excitement every time he sees it. His fiancé—my coworker, Alph—is a good man and I’m glad for both of them.
But it makes me think, too.
“I’m never gonna get one of those on my finger.”
Ronan gasps. His jaw drops as he looks up at me. “What did you say?”
Oh. I said it out loud, didn’t I?
Fuck.
Everyone thinks I’m happy to just play the field… and for the most part, I am. It’s only now and then that I think stupid stuff like that. My cheeks are burning. “Uh… I never said that.”
“Too late,” Ronan tells me, wagging a stern finger before he shoves his pencil case into his backpack. “I heard it. If you wanna find the one, we’ll help!Everyone on Sunrise can keep their eyes peeled...”
The community might be incredible here, but I don’t want to be their project.
“God forbid,” I groan, and he laughs. “Anyway, I don’t need a perfect man. I’d settle for a good kisser.”
“He wasn’t even a good kisser?” Ronan shoulders his backpack and staggers against the counter. “You’ve been through it, sweetie! How bad?”
“Let’s just say, if I wanted fish lips, I’d just go into the kitchen here and—”
Honk!
The ferry moored directly outside the restaurant blows its horn, giving people the two-minute warning to get their asses onto the boat.
Ronan bursts out laughing. “Kieran! Well, I’m not ordering the fish and chips this weekend. Okay, gotta go!”
“Scram. Leave me to get a room with my fish,” I grin, waving as he rushes out to the dock.
The door swings shut behind him, and my smile slips away as I sigh.
It was nice to have the company this morning, but now I’m by myself. It’s not quite late enough for lunch, and certainly too early to be five o’clock somewhere.
This is the worst part of the morning shift: the boredom. At best, I get the occasional islander saying hi as they pick up the daily newspaper from the ferry waiting room. They tell me it gets busier in the summer with lost tourists asking for directions.
But I probably won’t be around for that long.
Not in like, a dark sense. I mean I’ve only got a few months until my working holiday visa expires. I wasn’t planning on staying here for this long anyway.
What if I hate the next place I choose? Isn’t it better to stay somewhere that people know me and like me, even if it’s not perfect?
No. No, it’s not. That’s why I’m out here in the first place. I’ve spent enough time making excuses for the places and people around me. I’m not going to accept anything less than what’s right for me anymore.
