The Love Shack (14 page)

Her body went still, as his cock pressed into her belly. Then her eyes rounded and her muscles tensed. “Do you have condoms? If you don’t—”

“I have condoms.”

She relaxed. “Okay, then,” she said, looking at him expectantly.

When he didn’t move, she frowned. “Do you want me to get them?”

“The condoms?”

“Of course, the condoms.” She wiggled against him, forcing him to clamp his hands on her butt before they wouldn’t need a rubber after all.

“We’ve got something to do before that,” he told her.

“What something?” She squirmed again, and he laid a light slap on one tempting buttock. “Ouch,” she protested. “What was that for?”

“For forgetting the promise I made to you.”

A line developed between her eyebrows. “What—”

And then he saw she remembered, her eyelids flaring, her whole body heating in his arms. “I can’t,” she whispered. “You won’t.”

“You can. I will.” She’d come again before he entered her. Two times, just as he’d told her.

He watched her mouth open, and expected more argument, but then she just dipped her head and treated him to a lavish, wet kiss. He groaned, twisting again to take her under him. But she was like an eel, squeezing out from beneath his larger frame to gain advantage.

The bed turned into a sweet battleground then. She was determined to make him break, he decided as she held down his shoulders and extracted more kisses. Probably thought she could get him to cry “Uncle” or at least “condom.” But he was determined and she was already turned on again, her breath panting as he flipped her to the mattress and turned his attention to her breasts.

They were so pretty, soft and full, with hard nipples that he pressed against the roof of his mouth just to hear her moan. His palm slid down her belly and over her hip and he knew he was winning when her knee canted to the side, instinctively asking for his touch. Still teasing her breasts, he brought his hand to her swollen, flowered flesh, reveling in the slick heat there. He slid his thumb to her clitoris just as he sucked harder on her tight nipple and she was gone again just like that, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as her hips pulsed.

In the aftermath, her arms and legs were splayed across the mattress in exhausted abandon. Running his gaze over her, he chuckled. “You look like a victim of disaster.”

One eye opened. “Disaster? Is that what you call yourself?”

He grinned at her. “I call myself Stunning Sex Man, because I believe I just delivered two spectacular orgasms.”

Both of her eyes were staring at him now. “Stunning Sex Man?”

“New superhero. Bounds into bedrooms and dispenses incredible, passionate experiences to beautiful women.”

She frowned. He wondered if she might object to the “women” aspect of his job description. Instead, she tapped her chest with a finger. “
I
want a superhero name. What could I be?”

“I don’t know... Didn’t you meet with a repairman today? You could be Plumber’s Helper Girl.”

That galvanized her. She sat up, then went on attack, bringing him down to the mattress in a wrestling move that brought her knee a little too close to his jewels. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, grabbing her wrists while laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. “Be careful. You almost emasculated Stunning Sex Man.”

“That’s what you get. Plumber’s Helper Girl. Bleh. I want a sexy name, too.”

“Have to prove yourself, babe,” he said, still laughing.

“I’ll prove myself,” she said, then reared over him again to lock her mouth to his.

She kissed the laughter out of him. He tried remembering this was fun, that they were engaging in play time, that he was Stunning Sex Man, but then she lifted her head and he looked into her face. It took his breath, framed as it was by the long, mermaid-wavy length of her hair. That strange feeling he’d had when he first saw her by Tess’s pool overcame him again.

The air was hard to move through. It slowed his actions, made everything but his heartbeat sluggish. He cupped her face in wonder and she stared at him, as if alert to this new turn of things.

This serious turn of things.

His blood chugged through his system, his cock screamed at him for immediate release, but it was all slow motion, the way her lashes fluttered, the way her body turned, then spread for him, the way he reached for the condom, rolled it over himself. Candlelight gleamed on her lips, wet from his kiss. He stared at them as he fitted his body to hers.

She made a sound as he breached her. A moan, a plea, it came to him as if through water. His body was shaking with only an inch of himself inside the heated tightness of her. He pushed, rolling his hips to ease his way.

Whispered words echoed through the room, his. “Relax. Yeah. Just like that. Oh, sweet. Tight. So damn tight.”

Then he was in, all the way, and he closed his eyes at the firm hold of her, wrapped around him like a sleek fist. Friction came next, the slide and squeeze, and though he saw only blackness from behind his eyelids, this particular darkness was okay because Skye was with him. Not the imaginary Skye, not Letters Skye, but the flesh-and-blood siren of the cove who clutched his shoulders and made soft, pleading sounds in his ear.

He wouldn’t last long, but he gritted his teeth because ending too soon would be the true disaster. His body pumped, he felt the bite of her nails at his shoulder and when he dropped his head to place a sucking kiss at her neck, her telltale quiver freed him from restraint. He picked up the pace, his pulse racing, too, and as she lifted into each of his thrusts, he slid his hand between them, opening her around the thickness of his cock, spreading her folds so he could find the sweet spot.

Touching there, a wet, sure stroke, that set her free.

And he spun into his own climax, pulled along by the tether that was binding them.

CHAPTER TWELVE

D
AWN
COLORED
THE
SKY
an opalescent pinkish-gray, the color of the pearls in the long, flapper-style string that belonged to her great-great-grandmother, the famous silent-era actress Edith Essex. Unlike the jeweled collar, the infamous piece that was the source of scandal and rumor, the pearls’ location was known. Her sister had worn them on her wedding day in early June, her face glowing as she promised herself to the man who had restored her faith in love after she’d suffered from a tragic loss. As she prepared to leave on her honeymoon, she’d given them to Skye, saying they’d be hers to wear next.

At the time, when she’d been hiding from a man’s glance, not to mention shrinking at the mere thought of a man’s touch, she’d suspected they wouldn’t see another nuptials until the next generation. But now? She glanced back at Beach House No. 9, where she’d left Gage sleeping, sprawled on the bed like a large piece of beautiful, breathing flotsam washed up onshore.

She’d awakened at first light and, walking along the beach to her house, it appeared she was the only early riser in the cove. Tess had told her once that it was the ironic truth of summer...kids and vacationers were just starting to get accustomed to sleeping late when it was time to return to the early wake-up calls of school or work. It reminded Skye that September was fast approaching, and then most of the cottages would go empty for the off-season.

Gage, too, would be gone, but what he’d helped her rediscover wouldn’t. Last night had proven she was a woman again, capable of urges and desires that were strong enough to overcome her memories and fears. As the morning breeze teased at her loose hair and sent shivers down her bare arms and legs, she thought she actually might now be liberated from the sloppy clothes and tight braids that she’d used as a shield between herself and her fears over the past several months.

But that newfound freedom wouldn’t stop the seasons. The cove would go quiet and still, just as it was this morning.

She shivered, then purposefully turned her mind from that thought to replay a moment of the night before. Stunning Sex Man! Her lips curved. The arrogance of him! But God, it was so attractive, just as all the incarnations he’d displayed last night had been. The seductive devil, the playful lover, the serious man who’d come inside her body in such slow degrees that she’d felt a hot tear slip down her temple, so needy was she to be completely joined with him.

She’d ached to have him inside her, and when he’d finally filled her, their hearts beating against each other, some bright knowledge had flashed inside her. Something like...like...fate.

Or doom.

Because yes, following right after, like the thunder after a lightning strike, a deep dark knell of warning had reverberated through her.

She might have run from it, from him, in the aftermath of her third orgasm—
three!
—but he’d curled so closely around her after his climax that she’d been unable to slide from the bed. Then she’d dozed off herself, only waking to find he’d let her go.

The way she was letting him go.

She was well aware, now that the night was over and the distractions of burning glances and smoldering kisses had cooled, that she’d failed in her plan to have him open up to her. Instead, of course, he’d opened
her
up.

It wouldn’t happen again. There was no need for an unwise, somebody-might-take-it-too-seriously repeat. She’d even abandon her hope of getting him to spill his secrets. It required a closeness she couldn’t afford any longer.

Blowing out a long breath, Skye approached her front door. She was mere feet away when Polly emerged from her little cottage. Her eyes went wide at the sight of Skye.

“The walk of shame!”

Heat rose up her neck. “Pol—”

“I’ve never been so proud of you.” The other woman grinned. “You finally got into bed with the man you’ve been mooning over all these months.”

“Mooning? No—”

“Face it, Skye, you used to go shivery in anticipation when the mail was delivered. So...what was the turning point? Did Tess serve aphrodisiacs?”

That reminded Skye that Polly had missed the party. “What happened to you? Why did you turn down Teague?”

“Because men are dopes. Well, Teague’s a dope. Maybe your guy is different.”

“Gage is not my guy.”

Polly tilted her head. “Really? So, he sucks in bed?”

“No.”
At her friend’s knowing glance, she felt herself blushing again. “He’s actually Stunning Sex Man.”

Polly snorted. “What?”

Skye swallowed her smile. “A superhero. A yet-undiscovered one. I may take up writing comic books just to chronicle his greatness for the world’s appreciation.”

Her friend grabbed her elbow. “Okay, this calls for a private talk-and-walk. I was going to head for the tide pools, but this gets you any destination you want.”

“I’m a little chilled,” Skye said, resisting.

Polly dragged her up the beach, her grip merciless. “Your memories will keep us both warm.”

So they continued northward, Skye throwing out a few hints here and there, without getting too personal. Polly sighed and moaned when appropriate, and her friend’s good humor and clear envy put Skye in a better mood.

“I need Stunning Sex Man sex,” Polly said, upon reaching the tide pools.

“You’ll have to find your own superhero,” Skye said quickly, then sent her friend a quick glance. “Though he’s still not my guy.”

“I can’t think why not. Remember that summer fling I recommended?”

“Because that offer isn’t on the table. He was just being a...a friend to me last night.”

“We should all have such good friends,” Polly muttered.

“Like you and Teague?”

The blonde sent her a glance under lowered brows. “We’re not talking about Teague. I’ve kicked him out of my life.”

Skye glanced southward, once again arrested by the quietness of the cove. Yes, autumn was on its way. “Then it will just be you and me,” she said. With Polly next door, perhaps she could face it.

Still, it seemed doubtful. While she might have taken back her femininity, she could feel those bogeymen just waiting to pounce. Her heart thumped unpleasantly at the idea of it.

“Just you and me,” Polly repeated. “That could work. What’s our equivalent of bros over hos?”

Still pensive, Skye shrugged.

Polly snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. Friends over men.” She extended her fist. “Forever.”

Skye gave it a gentle bump with her own. “Friends over men forever,” she said, smiling a little. All right. Maybe that prospect could keep her at the cove.

* * *

P
OLLY
SAT
ON
HER
SOFA
,
using a lap desk set over her thighs as she made out name tags for her kindergarteners. The front door was open to let in the warm late-afternoon air. Playful little-kid shrieks rising over the shush of the surf reminded her of school recess. A game of tag, perhaps, or little girls chasing after the object of their affection. And, as if she’d conjured him, the object of hers was suddenly casting a shadow on her living room floor. Teague White stood in the doorway, looking a little uncertain.

And a whole lot delicious.

She lost herself for a minute, just gazing at him. He was so man-handsome—all broad shoulders and lean hips—in a pair of beat-up jeans and a T-shirt advertising a 10K race. They’d run it together, he keeping his pace to hers, despite his longer legs. At the race’s end, they’d wandered through the park scooping up freebie yogurts and energy drinks. She’d seen a couple of women sliding speculative glances his way and had once caught him looking back in return. Instead of encouraging him to make conversation, she’d put her hand on his arm, wincing.

The woman had moved on—assuming he was Polly’s, as she’d planned. “Tendonitis acting up,” she’d guilelessly explained to him, and let him find her a seat and an ice pack. Without a smidgeon of guilt.

Naughty Polly.

Now he braced one hand on the doorjamb. “You haven’t returned my calls. You’ve ignored my texts.”

If
ignoring
could be called snatching up her phone every time one came in, then agonizing over the decision to reply or not. She put aside the piece of tagboard on which she’d written “Madison” and moved on to “Noah.” “I’ve been busy. Class lists came out.”

His footsteps clapped against the hardwood as he came into the room. She took a quick peek at his face, but if he remembered seeing her standing in that same spot, virtually nude, there was no sign of it. She’d wondered about his plan for handling the situation. He was a straightforward type of guy—and she thought his style would be to attack it head-on. As she wrote “Olivia,” she prepared herself to hear him demand, “What the hell was that about?”

She had no idea how to respond if he did. Driven by impulse, she’d thrown off the dress with the vague hope that he’d be overcome by a lust so powerful that it would plow through the barriers between them: their years-long platonic friendship and his avowed devotion to another woman. When instead he’d retreated, wearing an expression of abject horror, Polly had known it was past time to give up on him.

He cleared his throat, and her fingers tightened on her pen, her mind spinning through all the possible ways she might answer his inevitable question.

“Your...” He hesitated. “Your printing’s so perfect.”

Astonished, she jerked her chin up. She stared at his face, the lean cheeks, strong jaw and unreadable expression. He was going to ignore the memory of the naked girl in the living room? Unsure whether to be relieved or just further insulted, she shook her head. “Nothing about me is perfect.”

He looked perplexed. “So...how’s your class shaping up?”

“More boys than girls,” she said. “Including a Bradley, a Beau, a Brody and a Bobby.”

A quick grin flashed over Teague’s face. “Another chance to prove your totally unscientific, entirely anecdotal name theory.”

She nodded, solemn. “Yes. I’m sure once again I’ll gather ample evidence that B-named boys skew bad on the behavior spectrum.”

“Of course, I also know they’re often your favorite.”

“All girls have a thing for bad boys.”

His smile was wry. “Maybe that’s where I’ve gone wrong.”

Polly sighed. “Teague—”

“I came by,” he said, talking over her, “to tell you about this shower thing coming up for Griffin and Jane.”

She was already aware of it. Instead of being women-only, it was a couples party. “I can’t make it.”

Teague frowned. “Polly, you promised—”

“I’m sorry. I’m busy then.”

His brows came together over his dark chocolate eyes. He ran his gaze over her face and she could feel a liar’s blush crawling up her neck. It hypersensitized her skin, and for a moment she imagined it was his mouth causing the heat and the prickling sensation. Her longing for his touch mortified her and she set the lap desk aside and stood, needing to disrupt the turn of her emotions.

She glanced at her watch. “Look—”

“I didn’t tell you the date and time of the shower,” Teague said slowly.

Taking a breath, she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “It doesn’t matter the date or the time. I won’t be able to make it.”

“Polly—”

“I’m no longer available.” It killed her to say it, but she had to move on. He never saw below the surface of her, nor did he seem the least bit curious about what they might have together if they took the relationship in a different direction. “And now I have to go.”

“Why?” Teague demanded.

She answered the question she suspected wasn’t the one he asked. “I have a date,” she said, tapping the face of her watch. “I’m meeting someone at Captain Crow’s, and if I don’t get going right now I’ll be late.”

His brows shot up. “You have a date?”

“Don’t look so shocked. Some men actually find me attractive.”

“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s just...I...I...”

Without waiting for him to stammer out a save, she stomped toward the door and grabbed her purse off the hook on the wall. Then she fished out her keys and ushered him out. Finally she locked the door behind them both.

Sparing him no second glance, she headed up the beach.

“Later, Gator,” he called out from behind her.

Her feet almost halted, the private nickname chipping off another corner of her heart. Ignoring the pain of it, she continued along the sand.

At Captain Crow’s, her date sat waiting at the long counter facing the beach. There was a Dodgers ball cap on the stool beside him, the agreed-upon sign. Pasting on her best smile, she held out her hand. “Ben?” It wasn’t lost on her that his name started with a
B.

Jumping to his feet, he gave her palm a sure grip. He didn’t seem bad in any sense of the word. Thirtyish, with sandy hair and hazel eyes, he looked a lot like her teacher friend Maureen, who was his sister and the one who’d organized the setup. He slid the cap off the seat and pulled it out for her. “What would you like to drink?”

Her white wine took only moments to arrive and she clinked the glass against his bottle of Negro Modelo. “To...?” she asked.

“New friendships,” Ben said.

She didn’t let her smile fall, although it wasn’t a sentiment she supported. Friendships, she had. The last thing she wanted to expend energy on was another male pal.

But she discovered she did like Ben. His sister was friendly, easygoing and a pleasure to talk to—and he was just the same.

As he began telling her about his work in IT, her attention wandered. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested; it was just that there was a strange feeling feathering over the back of her neck. Taking a quick glance over her shoulder, she targeted the source of her disquiet.

Teague! He was sitting on the other side of the deck, nursing a beer. And staring at her. Her temper kindled. Where did he get off bird-dogging her?

To demonstrate her disdain, she swiveled on her stool, presenting more of her back to him. Then she gave Ben her full focus. He told a funny story about a coworker who claimed a massive computer conspiracy whenever he forgot his latest password. When he couldn’t log in, he thought it a sure sign that the government—or one of his sons’ friends; they both had the same nefarious purposes in his mind—had hacked into his accounts.