Sandy Kisses by the Sea: By the Sea

By Traci Hall

Lucia Constantine does not believe in love, marriage, or happily ever after. She has overcome an abusive childhood and is now a successful tattoo artist with a few latent commitment issues. She is in no way prepared for Ronan O’Neill and his big, loving, happy family. Ronan eases his way into her heart and she trusts him—yes, she is even in love. Why does he have to ruin it with an engagement ring? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kendelle Press
• Release date: Nov 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386257790

Book preview

SANDY KISSES

by the Sea

TRACI HALL

Copyright © 2017 Traci Hall

All rights reserved.

Cover Design ©Christopher Hawke - CommunityAuthors.com

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

A Note From the Author

About the Author

By the Sea

AMBROSIA by the Sea

KARMA by the Sea

PUPPY LOVE by the Sea

MASQUERADE by the Sea

HOLIDAY by the Sea

FESTIVAL by the Sea

DANCING by the Sea

FOREVER by the Sea

BLUE CHRISTMAS by the Sea

RETURNING HOME by the Sea

BLOSSOMS by the Sea

BILLIONAIRE by the Sea

SANTA BABY by the Sea

Chapter One

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Lucia Constantine sat at the smooth mahogany bar, her elbow resting on the polished wood just as many a customer had before her. O’Neill’s had been around since the end of prohibition—an event not taken very seriously so close to Miami and Key West. Salt life meant relaxed and easy, and often that went hand in hand with a cold beer or a frozen whiskey sour.

The back of the bar was open to the elements and a rush of sea air stirred the napkins stacked on the counter and held in place by a conch shell. From her barstool she had an open view of turquoise water, palm trees, and hammocks big enough for two—this was the most relaxing place she’d ever lived—and she’d been all over the United States.

Lucia didn’t drink, but her boyfriend’s family had owned this same bar for the last seventy years, and Ronan joked that the O’Neills had saltwater and whiskey rushing through their veins. They were kinder than anybody she’d ever met, and could shoot whiskey as if it were water. All of them, right down to sixteen-year-old Graham–whether it was legal, or not.

She cringed when she thought of the stuff she’d done at sixteen and kept her mouth shut. Her stepdad, Henry, used to say that opinions were like assholes, and everybody had one. Sixteen seemed a lifetime ago. The scent of candlewax preceded Ronan’s voice.

Happy birthday to you–happy birthday to you...

She tapped her short, unpainted fingernails along the varnished wood and forced a smile as she heard thirty voices rise in celebration. Ronan walked toward her, his dark hair a little long, but not too–he blew it back off his forehead and grinned, his exuberance sparkling like a twisting kaleidoscope. Lucia couldn’t help grinning right back. She loved him, and if it made him happy to have a birthday party for her, then she’d suck it up and eat cake.

Ronan stopped before her, his turquoise eyes surrounded with dark lashes that matched his unruly curls. Happy birthday, dear Lucia, happy birthday, he paused and did a Marilyn Monroe impression, whispering huskily, to. You. He held the cake in front of her. Blow.

Her heart thumped with painful fervor, uncertain at how to react. She’d never, in all of her twenty-eight years, been so obviously cherished. He wouldn’t comprehend that there’d been times when she’d forgotten her birthday altogether. Her traitorous eyes filled. I,

Just blow, honey, he said, holding the cake steady. It was shaped like a white rose in full bloom, trimmed in red chocolate-flavored frosting; designed like her logo at the tattoo shop.

She blew the candle out in a tiny puff of smoke, and the bar full of Ronan’s relatives clapped and cheered.

Lucia envied him his childhood, growing up among people who applauded your every breath. She’d greedily absorbed the multitude of O’Neill family memorabilia hanging on the walls. Baseball games, dance recitals, church communions. Cousins and siblings and grandparents-the family she’d dreamed of having when she and her mother slept in the back of a car in the junk yard.

She’d been around six when they’d hit the streets. Dreams of a safe, loving family had kept her believing, until she’d realized her mother would never be well. Would never be sober, or un-addicted. Her mom chose, always, to get high. Lucia hadn’t dreamed again until she’d learned to tattoo. A portable trade, where all she needed was her kit, stocked with needles and ink.

Here, Ronan said, handing her a wrapped package.

No gifts. Lucia’s cheeks flamed. You promised, Ronan. The last thing she wanted was a bunch of presents-she never liked owing anybody.

Just a small one. He nodded at his father, who stood at the bar. A tray of champagne flutes were handed around, though Lucia barely noticed, ensnared in the love in Ronan’s eyes. For her.

He leaned forward and she took strength from his kiss. One of the most amazing things about Ronan was his wealth of compassion. She rarely had to explain her feelings; he seemed to understand that they sometimes