Authors: Marie Force
“Didn’t think of it, to be honest.” He stepped back from the boat to study his work. Seeming satisfied, he put the can of varnish on the bench and hammered the cover on. “You going camping or something?”
She realized he meant the backpack that still sat on her shoulders. “Oh, well, I seem to be homeless at the moment. I was wondering if you might be willing to take in a stray.”
“Lucky for you, we only accept the finest of pedigrees at this shelter.”
Sydney smiled at the compliment.
“Big fight with the folks?”
“Not so big.”
“Then how’d you end up homeless?”
Cornered, Sydney winced. “At least I stood up to them this time. That’s progress.”
“What’d they have to say?”
“Something about wanting me to go forward, not backward.”
Leaning against the bench with his arms folded across his chest, he looked powerful and sexy and so perfectly perfect. A man in his prime, from the top of his silky dark head to the bottom of his size thirteen feet. “Do you feel like you’ve taken a step backward being with me again?”
“No! If anything, I feel like I’m moving forward again. Finally.”
“I don’t want to come between you and your parents, Syd.”
“We’ll work it out. Eventually. Don’t worry about it.”
He tilted his head, beckoning. “Come here.”
She dropped the backpack to the floor and walked around the boat to stand in front of him.
Even though he kept his arms crossed, she could tell by the hungry look in his eyes that he was making an effort to keep his hands to himself. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Strangely enough, I’m quite well, thank you.”
His lips quirked with amusement. “And Buddy? How is he?”
“They want to keep him one more night and then maybe let him come home tomorrow. The substitute vet said Janey did an amazing job. He was really impressed.”
“I’m glad he’s doing so well.”
“He was happy to see me but still kind of loopy. They said I could visit him again later, but they wanted him to rest, and having me there got him all excited.”
“I know how he feels.”
“Luke,” she said, her face heating under his intense scrutiny. “Does this mean you’re going to take me in?”
Sighing dramatically, he said, “I suppose if I have to.” He turned to reach for a can of turpentine and dumped some in a bucket to soak his brushes.
Sydney stepped back from the overwhelming odor of the turpentine but stayed close enough to watch him clean up his bench. “Could I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
She hesitated, but curiosity won out over her better judgment. “How come you didn’t go to college after your mother died?”
His body went rigid as he stacked paint cans on the bench. He was quiet long enough that she wondered if he was going to answer her. “Who’s asking? You or your parents?”
Resting her hand on his back, she discovered tense muscles. “I am.”
“My mother was sick for a long time. She didn’t have health insurance, so her illness wiped us out. We had to take a second mortgage on this place.”
As she let her hand drop to her side, Sydney was already sorry she’d asked. “Oh. I see.”
He turned to her. “No, you don’t.”
She was startled by the bitterness she heard in his tone and saw on his face.
“All you see is a house full of old furniture where nothing has changed since the last time you were here when in fact, a lot has changed.”
“That’s not all I see, Luke.” With her hand on his face, she compelled him to look at her. “That’s not all I see.”
“I didn’t go to college because by the time she died, my scholarship was long gone, and I had a choice of holding on to this place or paying for school. Since I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, I chose to keep the house.” He finally looked her right in the eye. “I’ve never regretted that.”
“This is a great place. I totally get why you’d want to keep it.”
“I know your parents think I’ve been standing still all this time, working the same job I did as a kid, but that’s not the case. I paid off that second mortgage—and the first one—years ago. I own this place free and clear.”
“That doesn’t matter to me.”
“It matters to them.”
“They just want what’s best for me. I told them they have to trust me to figure that out for myself.”
He released a frustrated growl and rolled his hands into fists that he propped on his hips. “I really want to touch you right now, but I’m filthy.”
“I don’t care.”
Smelling of varnish and paint thinner, his hands framed her face and tilted it up to meet his intense gaze. He kissed her forehead, her nose and then her lips. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure your happiness, to make you smile, to hear the laugh that seems to come all the way from your toes.”
“Luke. . .”
“I don’t know if I’m what’s best for you. Only you know that. But I guarantee you no one else will ever want you the way I do.”
Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips found hers in a hungry, desperate kiss that had her clinging to him. All at once, he slowed it down, softening his lips and teasing with his tongue.
Sydney dipped her fingers under his T-shirt, finding the warm skin on his back. A tremble rippled through him, and she loved knowing she’d had that effect on him.
He tore his lips free and turned his attention to her neck, sucking gently on her skin and running his tongue back and forth. “I want you, Syd.” His raspy whisper sent goose bumps down her spine, and she strained against him, needing to get closer. All at once, he withdrew from her, grabbed her hand and made for the garage door, stopping on the way by to scoop up her backpack.
Sydney half ran, half walked to keep up with him as he closed the distance between the garage and house. She’d never seen him quite like this before, and her heart beat fast with excitement and anticipation.
“Luke, I—”
The moment they were in the house, his mouth came down hard on hers, stealing the words right off her lips. He moved fast to get rid of clothing until they were both naked and trembling. While his hands moved over her reverently, he kissed her as if he’d never get enough.
Sydney gave herself over to him, willing to go anywhere he wanted to take her.
With his hands on her bottom, he lifted her and drew her nipple into his hot mouth as he walked them into the bedroom. He lowered her to the bed and came down on top of her, feasting on one breast and then the other.
Sydney raised her hips, seeking him.
Suddenly, he stopped, rested his head on her chest and took several deep breaths.
She ran her fingers through his hair. “What is it?”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I’m being too rough with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I put a mark on you,” he said, tracing a finger over a red spot on her breast.
“I don’t care.”
He followed his finger with his lips. “I do.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m fragile, Luke. Please don’t.”
“You’re not fragile.” Brushing the hair back from her face, he kissed her. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not. I fall apart over the slightest thing.”
“Coming home to find your dog gravely ill is not a slight thing, and you didn’t fall apart. You held it together all night long.”
“And then I fell apart.”
“Which is perfectly normal.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so,” he said, drawing her into another heated kiss.
“Make love to me, Luke, and don’t hold back.”
“So you want it hard and fast?” he asked with a sexy grin.
“I’ll take whatever you want to give.”
He kissed his way from her lips to her neck to the slight abrasion on her breast. “Is that so?”
“Uh-huh.”
As he sucked her nipple deep into his mouth, he slid two fingers into her and pressed the heel of his hand against her clit, teasing and pressing and backing off until she was out of her mind.
The combined sensations built and grew and finally burst, sending Sydney spiraling into orgasm, sharp and hot and intense. By the time she returned to earth, he hovered above her, his cock poised at her entrance.
“Welcome back,” he said, looking down at her with amusement dancing in his eyes.
Sydney reached for him and tugged his mouth down to hers. “Now, Luke. Please.”
“How can I say no when you ask me so nicely?” He flexed his hips and sank into her in one deep thrust.
Sydney gasped and clutched his backside to hold him still as she struggled to accommodate him.
“Babe,” he said through gritted teeth.
When she released him, he withdrew and then pounded into her.
Sweat beaded on his brow and his breath came in short pants, but he never let up in the fierce possession.
“Come for me, Syd,” he urged. Reaching between them, he coaxed another explosive climax from her before he threw his head back and let himself go.
For a long time afterward, he rested on top of her, breathing hard.
Syd wiped the dampness from his brow and kissed his forehead. “Thanks for taking me in.”
He grunted out a laugh. “It’s a terrible hardship, but somehow I’ll get by.”
Grant knew there was nothing to be gained by drinking himself into a stupor, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Whatever it took to find some relief from the relentless pain that had started when he saw
his
Abby with another man who seemed to think he had some sort of
claim
on her.
With the wave of his hand, Grant ordered another beer.
Chelsea, the bartender at the Beachcomber, set the bottle down in front of him. “You’re really slugging them back tonight, Grant.”
He graced her with his most charming smile. “I’m thirsty.”
“How’re you getting home?”
Shrugging, he took another big drink of beer. “I’ll call a cab.”
She scooped up the keys he’d left on the bar—keys to the motorcycle he’d borrowed from Mac. “I’ll hang on to these. Just in case you forget.” Leaving him with a saucy grin, she moved on to other customers.
Grant ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating the complete mess he’d made of his life. The more he drank, the worse he felt and the more he realized he had no one to blame but himself. He’d taken it all for granted—his career, his relationship with Abby, his future. Everything.
He had no idea how long he sat there staring at his beer bottle before someone slid onto the stool next to him.
Chelsea put a bottle of light beer down in front of the newcomer.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Jarred by the familiar voice, Grant turned to find his father sitting next to him. “What’re you doing here?”
“Heard you were attempting to tie one on over here and figured I’d rather come get you here than bail your ass out of jail.”
“You’ve never had to bail my ass out of jail. That was Mac and Joe.”
Big Mac snorted and took a swig of beer. “That’s right. You were always my good boy—the smart one.”
“For all the good it’s done me.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, my life has gone to shit.”
“How so?”
“Really, Dad, do I have to spell it out for you?”
“I guess you do. Catch me up. Last I knew, you were flying high with an Oscar in one hand and the girl you loved holding the other. What happened?”
“Wish I knew.”
“If you don’t know, who does?”
“I fucked up, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m a total and complete fuck-up.” Grant grabbed his bottle, finished off the beer and signaled for Chelsea to bring him another one.
She looked to his father, who shook his head.
“Goddamn it, Dad! You can’t do that. I’m not a child!”
“Then quit acting like one.”
Grant couldn’t remember his father ever using that particular tone with him. With Mac, Adam and Evan, yes, but never with him. All at once, he was stone-cold sober, and the pain resurfaced with a relentless disregard for his desire to forget all about what he’d seen earlier—
his
woman with her new man. His eyes burned, and Grant knew he had to get out of there, or he was going to lose it in front of the most important person in his life.
He tossed some bills on the bar and walked out. The cool air blowing in off the ocean helped to further sober him up. Clearly, he hadn’t had anywhere near enough to drink if he was still focused on Abby’s indifference toward him earlier. After all they’d been to each other for most of their lives, how could she look at him the same way she would a stranger off the street?
A hand on his arm stopped him from staggering down the stairs from the Beachcomber’s back porch.