Half Moon Harbor Read Online Free PDF

good thing.” Yeah. That’ll happen. Right after he pushes me up against the nearest wall, tears my clothes from my body, and has his very sexy Irishman way with me.
    She sighed again, not even caring that it sounded wistful and more than a little needy. She had other things that needed attention first. A whole long laundry list of them, which only began with figuring out how she was going to turn her centuries-old boathouse into a modern-day, functional inn. There was still Ford to consider and deal with. She didn’t even know where to begin there. He’d chosen to live a life of seclusion for very good reasons, and she doubted he was going to be all that excited, or even remotely interested, in reuniting with any part of his past. Even if that part was his only living relative. His own sister. But she was going to do whatever it took to at least get him to consider her plea. He might not need or want her in his life, but she needed him in hers. At the very least, he was going to understand how serious she was about reuniting what was left of their family.
    So, her poor, neglected libido was going to have to wait, as were her equally neglected and still uncomfortably stiff nipples. She watched Brodie disappear around the corner. I know he’d be damn good at making that ache go away. Oh so very, very damn good.
    Feeling more foolish by the second, she slid the deed papers back into her bag, slid the straps up on her shoulders again, and clomped unevenly down the pier, broken heel dangling from her fingers by the strap. She considered taking the other one off, but figured she was already risking splinters in the bottom of one foot, so she walked as gingerly as possible, wincing when she felt the expensive silk hose shred as it snagged on the uneven wood planking.
    She made it down the pier and around to the side of the boathouse that was built on land, noting with grudging approval the big picture windows he’d had installed facing out toward the harbor and bay beyond. She made a few mental notes, rethinking the northeast facing wall of her own building, then was equally surprised to see the big original panel door still in use as entrance and exit. She liked that, too, she decided. It was charming and unique and admittedly functional.
    She glanced up, and her gaze caught and held on the family crest signage that had been painted directly on the restored and freshly painted wood planking of the boathouse. The sign was done in a rich, emerald green with fancy gold and black trim. M ONAGHAN S HIPBUILDERS ~ E STABLISHED 1627, it announced in elegant black script with gold accents. She glanced over her shoulder at the main boathouse, which sat centered in the pocket of the harbor, and realized the sign was a smaller version of what had once been painted so proudly and elegantly on the side of that building.
    She looked back to his boathouse and noted that it had been completely restored, from shake roof to wood plank siding, and he’d mentioned the interior had been remodeled as well. She hadn’t gone through any of the rest of the property—until this morning anyway, and then she hadn’t made it farther than the docks that connected the boathouses together—so she wasn’t sure what else he might have accomplished, but he’d most definitely been busy.
    Her attention shifted to the heavy ship mast mounted on the dock nearby. A spar, she thought it was called, complete with lanyard ropes, and all the fittings, but sans sail and abbreviated in overall height. The wood gleamed, as did the brass accoutrements, and the ropes were new and neatly and perfectly knotted, or so it appeared to her, anyway. Her sailing knowledge was limited to what she’d picked up being around others who sailed from the same piers where she’d kept her scull and oars. But it wasn’t the ropes or the knots that held her attention. It was the plaque mounted where the beams formed a tee. On it was a