Yours to Keep
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A free-spirited artist who believes in love. A guarded billionaire who's sworn off family. An attraction that threatens everything they thought they knew about themselves.
Amber Connelly creates art, bakes terrible cakes, and believes the best of everyone—especially the mysterious property developer who's caught her attention. David Tremayne is everything her bohemian family would warn her against: serious, secretive, and completely wrong for a woman who wears her heart on her tie-dyed sleeve.
David built his empire by staying focused and keeping his distance. After raising his siblings through their father's alcoholism, he's done with family responsibilities and emotional complications. Beautiful women? Fine. Lasting connections? Absolutely not. So why can't he stop thinking about the quirky artist who sees something in him he's spent years hiding?
When their worlds collide, Amber's open heart challenges every wall David has built, while his intensity awakens desires she never knew she had. But David is keeping secrets that could shatter Amber's trust—and Amber possesses something David needs more than he's willing to admit. As their connection deepens, both must decide whether love is worth the risk of everything they've protected themselves from.
A story about letting down walls, embracing vulnerability, and discovering that sometimes opposites don't just attract—they heal each other.
~Lantern Bay — a coastal haven where broken hearts heal and families find home~
—Lantern Bay—
- Yours to Give
- Yours to Treasure
- Yours to Cherish
- Yours to Keep
- Yours Forever
- Yours to Love
—Mackenzies—
- A Place Called Home
- Secrets at Parata Bay
- Escape to Shelter Springs
- What You See in the Stars
- Second Chance at Whisper Creek
- Summer at the Lakehouse Café
Excerpt
Amber Connelly looked up as the café bell jingled. She didn’t do it every time—that would have been plain crazy as the café was a busy place—no, only at five minutes past one every day, except for weekends.
She watched the tall, broad-shouldered man in the business suit—the only suited person in the café—walk past her without looking at her and take a seat by the window. He picked up a menu and studied it. Why, she didn’t know. He must have known its contents by now. And besides, he always chose the same thing.
She was about to collect her pen and paper as the door opened again and Gabe and Maddy entered, laughing and holding hands. She grinned to see her brother and sister-in-law so happy. The suited man raised an eyebrow at the noise, as if irritated by the distraction, before returning to peruse the menu. As Gabe walked by, he caught the eye of the man and Amber could sense a bristling—Gabe being protective, as usual.
Amber waved them to their usual table and walked up to the man. He was aware of her presence—she knew that even though he didn’t look up. She smiled to herself. He really intrigued her, even though he wasn’t anything like the type of guy she was usually interested in.
She smiled. “Good morning. How are you today?”
He looked up, and as usual, her heart nearly stopped. Surely it was indecent for a man to be endowed with such beautiful green eyes. “It’s afternoon,” he said.
“Oh! So it is,” she said, unable to focus on anything but those eyes.
“It’s past twelve, which is the middle of the day, so it’s afternoon. You were incorrect,” he added for good measure, as if she doubted his words. She didn’t. She only ever doubted herself. Everyone else—especially this man who she imagined would be incapable of error—she always accepted as being correct.
She grinned, and his eyes narrowed.
She chuckled at his response and he frowned.
She laughed out loud—he must be the straightest, most pedantic man she’d ever met—and he looked away, back at the menu, his frown deepening. She felt the brightness fade from the day as he turned his eyes away. She wanted them looking at her again.
“You’re right! Of course it’s afternoon. I should know, we’re serving lunch.” She ducked her head so he couldn’t hide from her gaze. “So what’s it to be?”
She was rewarded with another look from those green eyes, their composure once more intact. He handed her the menu. “Caesar salad with chicken. Keep the dressing to one side. Are the wholemeal rolls fresh?”
“Fresh?” Amber repeated the last word, hoping it would help her concentrate on what he was saying.
“Yes. The rolls. Are they fresh? I only want them if they’ve been freshly made today.”
Jeez, he was one out of the box. “Everything’s fresh. The bread was made this morning with my own fair hands.”
Those green eyes slid down to her hands and she suddenly felt self-conscious about the ring she was wearing. She wasn’t supposed to wear rings but must have forgotten to slip off the greenstone and silver ring she’d inherited from her mother.
“When I said ‘fair’ hands,” she began to blather, trying to slide the ring around and hide her hands under the notebook on which she was taking his order, “I meant, you know, reliable hands. Because they’re not that fair. Not really.”
“In what way are they ‘not fair’? They look perfectly fair to me. Well formed, and…” He hesitated, uncharacteristically. “Quite attractive.”
“Oh!” The single word slid out on a sigh. She wasn’t smiling any longer. Instead the curious low-key fizzing in her stomach she experienced whenever she saw him, stepped up a notch. “Thank you.” She held up her hand. “Yes, I suppose they’re not bad, are they?”
“No. So if you agree, what did you mean by they’re not fair?”
“Oh, that.” She shrugged and wrinkled her nose self-deprecatingly. “I just mean that I’m not that good a cook. Enthusiastic but by all accounts—well, by my family’s accounts—not actually that good.”
“And yet you’ve made the bread rolls. You’re not doing a good job at selling them to me.”
“I’m good at rolls. Anything with yeast is okay because I can give it a bit of a bash. Heavy handed, you see?” she said, slamming her hand on the table. Everyone looked around but the man himself didn’t move an inch. Instead he touched her ring, accidentally brushing the back of her hand as he did so.
“Heavy hands, maybe.” He looked back with eyes that had dropped the facade and made her melt deep inside. “But they’re beautiful ones.”
She took an involuntary step back, wondering if she’d heard right. This was the rude guy, yes? Not someone who flattered. She didn’t reply and turned abruptly.
“Excuse me!” he called after her. She stopped in her tracks, and turned slowly, wondering what on earth he was going to say. Was he about to tell her he was wrong, her hands weren’t in the slightest bit beautiful, or maybe that he didn’t want his lunch after all? Maybe she’d dreamed the whole thing.
“Yes?” she asked breathlessly.
“And a coffee, please. Short black.”
“Right,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Right. Coffee it is.” Coffee it was every day. If there was one thing that the green-eyed man who made her legs go weak was, it was predictable. But, as she walked over to her brother’s table, she considered the word. Predictable was a bit negative. Maybe regular, or ‘knows what he wants’ would be more accurate. Yes, that was infinitely better. Because he’d just turned out to be anything but predictable.
***
