Bayside Fantasies (Bayside Summers Book 6)

by Melissa Foster

  He pressed a kiss to her fingertips and said, “I do love mint chip.”

  “Me too,” she whispered.

  He slid his hand to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, and said, “Hello, friend,” against her lips, then took her in a long, sensual kiss. She put her arms around his neck, practically pulling his big body in through the open window as she tried to consume him. The ice cream container tumbled off her lap. They both laughed as he drew back, but the second their eyes connected, heat flared again, and then he recaptured her lips, kissing her so long she came away dizzy.

  “Anything else you’d like to withhold from me?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh. Everything.”

  He nodded in the direction of her house and said, “What do you say we take this party inside?”

  “My car is dead. I need to get it towed, but I have no cell service. Can I borrow your phone?”

  He reached down and retrieved the container of ice cream, handing it to her as he eyed the scattered groceries. “How long have you been out here?”

  She shrugged. “A while.”

  “How about if you drive my truck up to the house, and I’ll take care of your car.”

  “It’s dead.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  A little thrill darted through her. She reminded herself he was just there to hook up, not to be her knight in shining armor. She didn’t need a knight in shining armor anyway. She was perfectly capable of handling things herself. “I’ll just call a tow.”

  “I’ve got that, too. My truck’s warm and dry. I’ll grab your groceries and meet you inside in a few minutes.”

  “You don’t have to—” She stopped talking as he reached in, pulled her hood up over her head, and ran the back of his fingers down her cheek.

  The softest smile appeared on his face, though it did nothing to diminish the lust in his eyes. If anything, it ratcheted it up a notch. “Fucking adorable.”

  Oh God…Chloe’s reminder tiptoed through her head. Don’t you think he might have more buddies out there? Maybe it’s his MO.

  This was the moment of truth. She could call off their arrangement, or she could pull up—or rather, down—her big-girl panties, take this FWB situation by the horns, and enjoy every hot second of it.

  “What’s it going to be, sunshine? Party in the ditch or someplace where we have a little more room to spread out?”

  Her insides flamed. She put on her best in-control smirk and said, “We’ve got one more night together. Why waste it in a ditch?”

  AFTER JETT ARRANGED for a tow truck, he gathered the groceries, kicking himself for not listening to his gut and checking on Tegan earlier. When he’d arrived, her hands and cheeks were freezing and what was left of the ice cream had gone soft as butter. What if she’d collided with a tree instead of a ditch? Anything could have happened, and she was calm, cool, and collected, eating ice cream like nothing had gone wrong. He sat back in the driver’s seat of her car, wondering why she was driving that old clunker when she lived in a house that was probably worth a cool two million. He spotted her phone on the passenger seat and her purse on the floor. She really wasn’t like any of the women he knew. Most women wouldn’t be caught dead without their phones and purses. He tucked the phone into his jacket pocket and the purse into one of the bags. Then he placed the key beneath the mat for the tow truck driver, although they’d be lucky if the tow truck got there before tomorrow, as they were dealing with the mess from the storm.

  He tugged his hood over his head and climbed from the car. The wind whipped his hood off as he reached into the back seat for the groceries, which were another source of curiosity. Was she feeding an army of bad eaters? He’d collected several boxes of sugary cereal, but no milk. In addition to the ice cream, she’d bought bags of candy and a dozen containers of yogurt with candies in the tops, packages of sliced cheeses, a box of microwavable buttered popcorn, several bags of sliced pepperoni, a loaf of sliced white party bread, which looked like the tiny slices of bread his mother used for finger sandwiches, a jar of mayonnaise and one of extra-crunchy peanut butter, a couple boxes of Teddy Grahams, crackers, chips, salsa, two six-packs of powdered doughnuts, and some olives—green and black. She’d also bought a copy of Cosmo with the headline ARE YOU SEXY ENOUGH IN THE BEDROOM? TAKE OUR QUIZ!

  She didn’t need a damn quiz. His loss of focus was a testament to her bedroom abilities.

  His chest was wet. He zipped his coat up the rest of the way, and scanned the property as he trudged down the long road, shoulders hunched against the wind and rain. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but the place felt familiar. As he climbed the porch steps, Tegan peeked out of one of the sidelight windows. His chest warmed at the sight of her beautiful face. She disappeared, and a second later the front door swung open.

  “You must be freezing. I’m so sorry.” She began patting his face with a towel.

  “I’m fine.” He set the grocery bags on the floor and crouched to take off his boots.

  “Thank you for handling that.” She stooped beside him, swiping at his hair with the towel. “Did the tow truck come?”

  “They’re tied up with the storm, but I left the key in the car for them. It might take a few days to get it fixed. If it’s even fixable. We should see about a rental for you so you aren’t stuck.”

  “I don’t need a rental, but I hope Berta isn’t dead for good,” she said, a little panicked.

  He set his boots by the door and said, “Berta?”

  “She looks like a Berta, don’t you think?”

  He chuckled. “I guess. Hopefully you’ll know in a day or two if she can be fixed.”

  “Fingers crossed. Gosh, you’re soaked, and I don’t have any dry clothes that will fit you.”

  “I’ve got clothes in my truck.” He shrugged off his coat, and she tried to dry his shirt with the towel. He dropped his coat on his boots and put his hand over hers, pressing it to his chest. Her eyes flicked up to his, full of desire. He drew her into his arms and said, “That’s better.”

  A blush crept up her cheeks. “Now we’re both wet.”

  “Even better.” He reached over his shoulder with one hand and tugged off his shirt.

  Her eyes widened with appreciation as she ran her hot little hands over his chest, sending lust coursing through his veins. Christ, just that simple touch made him hard as stone. He pulled her close again, letting her feel what she did to him.

  He felt her heart racing as she said, “Do you want to—”

  He crushed his mouth to hers, and she went up on her toes, grinding against him. Her sexual confidence made him ache to be inside her. He tore his mouth away long enough to whip off her sweater and bra. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  She reached for the button on his jeans, and he stripped them both naked as they devoured each other’s mouths. She practically leapt into his arms, her legs circling his waist as he lowered her onto his hard length and captured her mouth and the entrancing moan coming out of it. She was tight and hot, her fingers digging into his scalp as they fisted in his hair, sending darts of pleasure down his spine. He leaned back, using the door for leverage, and clutched her ass, helping her move faster, harder along his shaft. She made a series of mewling sounds, her legs tightening around him, and he knew she was close. He was right there with her. What the hell had she done to him? He usually had impeccable control, but she made him so damn hot there was no slowing the rush of pleasure and need mounting inside him. He pushed one hand into her hair and tugged her head back, giving him access to her gorgeous neck. He sealed his mouth over her flesh, sucking and grazing with his teeth, as he’d learned she loved last night, and she went a little wild. Her hips bucked, her sex pulsed, and “Jett” sailed greedily from her lips, catapulting him into the throes of ecstasy. He clung to her, the room spinning away as he came so hard it felt like it was ripped from his soul. He ground out her name between gritted teeth, still working her along his cock, sending her reeling once again. Sh
e was incredible, beautiful, and so sexy, arching her back, and thrusting her breasts forward as she rode him.

  When she collapsed boneless and trembling in his arms, he rested his head against her shoulder, trying to catch his breath and clear his hazy vision. The feel of her in his arms, trusting and spent, burrowed under his skin. “So. Fucking. Good,” he panted out.

  She nuzzled into the curve of his neck, sighing contentedly.

  Neither of them said a word for a long moment.

  She shifted in his arms, and her breasts pressed against his chest, her thighs tightening around his middle. He should be cooling off, but it was impossible to ignore her softness, her feminine scent, and how perfectly they fit together. He was still inside her, already half hard. She pressed a kiss to his neck, her tongue gliding slowly along his skin, and his cock rose to attention. Fuuck.

  Her fingertips brushed the back of his neck, and she whispered, “Again?”

  He was happy to comply, quickly getting lost in her sensual sounds, her greedy pleas, and all her sexy benefits.

  Chapter Nine

  AS TEGAN DRIED her hair after their second shower together in less than twelve hours, Jett went downstairs to take care of the forgotten groceries and to hang up the towel he’d used to run bare-assed to his truck when he’d retrieved his suitcase. He’d been too hot and bothered to notice the intricately carved railings on the grand staircase last night. He took a moment to admire impressive oil paintings hanging in the expansive foyer and hall. The dark hardwood floors, high ceilings, and elegant crown moldings reeked of class. None of this meshed with his impression of Tegan, though admittedly, he didn’t really know her very well.

  He snagged the groceries and towel from the floor and went in search of the kitchen, passing lavishly decorated rooms. The elegant rooms didn’t jive with the woman upstairs, although the piles of papers and boxes scattered about did.

  Each room was more luxurious than the next, until he came to the bright, salmon-floored kitchen with a massive stone fireplace. The farmhouse-style table and island that stretched nearly the entire width of the kitchen were both covered in sticky notes and littered with papers. Now, this room reminded him of Tegan. He chuckled to himself as he set the groceries on the counter and laid the towel over the edge of the sink. He imagined a large family gathered around the table and wondered if Tegan had many siblings.

  He scanned the papers on the table. The notes were no less confusing then they’d been at the café. The café. He wondered how Rowan and Joni were making out in the storm. He scrubbed a hand down his face. His thoughts were becoming as scattered as Tegan’s notes.

  Moving around the table, he tried to piece together what she was working on. His eyes caught on a piece of poster board with a large circle drawn on it. There were lines bisecting the circle at clocklike intervals, with notes written all over it in different colors of ink. What went on in this woman’s brain? His eyes swept over the smattering of papers covering the edge of the poster board, stopping on one with his name written on it several times.

  “I see you found the kitchen.”

  He lifted his gaze as Tegan breezed into the room looking gorgeous in a baseball shirt with pink sleeves, white shorts, and fuzzy pink socks. Fucking adorable. “Aka your office?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Big house.”

  “Yeah. Too big for me. It’s the one thing I’d change if I could.”

  “Do you get lonely here?” He lifted the paper with his name on it and arched a brow as she came around the counter.

  She snagged it from his fingers. “I’m a doodler. Don’t get a big head over it. I just didn’t want to forget your name because, you know, you’re not that important.” She slapped it onto the table upside down and began turning over more papers.

  He put a hand over his heart, feigning a hurt expression. “And here I was planning our kiss behind the bleachers.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself, Armani. I doodle about everything and everyone.” She began unpacking the groceries. “I can’t help it. I’ve always done it. My college papers were covered with names and ideas about random things.”

  “Uh-huh.” He pretended to examine more papers and said, “I don’t see anyone else’s name written down.”

  Her back was to him, but he heard her sigh as she tore open a box of crackers. Her hands began moving fast and furious, doing something he couldn’t see.

  “Then you’re not looking hard enough, and you shouldn’t be nosing around anyway. I’m starving. Are you hungry?” Before he could answer, she said, “We’re FWBs. Friends with benefits don’t have the right to snoop.”

  He chuckled and came up behind her, putting his arms around her waist. She stiffened against him, her hands stilling. He knew he needed to nip the idea of doodles—which implied hopes of a relationship—in the bud, and he would in time, but right now he had to get her out of her own head so she could relax. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and said, “Take a breath, babe. I’m not snooping, and I’m glad you didn’t want to forget my name. FWBs—is that what you called us?—should definitely know each other’s names.”

  She exhaled one of those long, contented sighs and turned in his arms. “Try this.” She held up a cracker sandwich.

  He opened his mouth, and she shoved the whole thing in. He tasted pepperoni, cheese, and olives. Some of his favorites.

  “I was working on my business plan for my uncle’s theater and I realized it needs a new name,” she said, turning back to the counter, where she was assembling about a dozen cracker sandwiches. “I was brainstorming, and we’d just spent hours in bed together, so…”

  He finished eating and said, “I get it. You couldn’t stop thinking about me. You wouldn’t be the first.”

  She gave him a deadpan look.

  “I’m pretty unforgettable. But for the record, I don’t think Jett is a good name for a theater.”

  She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. “You’re a brat.”

  “That’s not what you were screaming when you came in the shower. I’m pretty sure I heard you call me a god.”

  “I said, ‘oh God,’ not ‘you’re a God.’” She handed him another sandwich and said, “Although you’re pretty good in the orgasm department. Now, put that in your mouth before I kick you out of my kitchen and into the storm.”

  He took the sandwich. “So it sounds like you inherited a theater, you drive a car that should have gone to the dump years ago, and you eat like a man watching football. What else should I know about you?”

  “Not much. It’s true I eat like a horse.” She took a bite of a cracker sandwich and carried the plate to the table, shoving papers to the side to make room. “If you’re worried about what you’ll do if you come back to the Cape and I’ve gained ten pounds, you shouldn’t.” She hurried back to the counter and began putting the groceries away without pausing long enough for him to respond. “FWBs can end things at any time, with a text even. Just zip one off that says, This isn’t working for me anymore. It’s one of the greatest benefits of our situation.” She opened the refrigerator and shoved the yogurts in so hard they rolled across the shelf. “I don’t have to worry about you scrutinizing my muffin top or asking why I’m not working out more, and you don’t have to worry about me nagging you about whether you’re seeing other women.”

  The bite in her voice told him just how hard that was going to be for her, but he wasn’t about to assuage that discomfort with empty promises. When she shut the refrigerator, he grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling her closer, and pressed his lips to hers.

  “I like women who eat. Skinny, voluptuous, short, tall, black, white. None of that matters as much as what’s in here.” He touched the side of her head. “I like beautiful women of any size, but what I find most attractive are smart, interesting women who don’t blow smoke to get into my pockets or my pants.”

  Her eyes narrowed, as if she didn’t like what he’d said, but he was a straight sho
oter, and he wasn’t about to pull a smoke-and-mirrors job on her.

  He tugged her against him, gazing into her eyes as he said, “Trust me, Tegan. Your mouth is one of my favorite things about you, and not just because you know how to use it on my body like no other woman ever has. I like it because that wicked mouth of yours tells me what’s in your head, and I find that—I find you—incredibly interesting.”

  Her gaze softened.

  “I told you that I don’t date. Our little FWB arrangement has already outlasted every woman before you.” He brushed his hand over her waist and said, “Ten pounds won’t send me running for the hills, but dreamy thoughts of white picket fences just might.”

  Her mouth drew into a tight line; then the edge of her lips lifted into a confident smirk and she said, “I’m a busy woman. I don’t have time for dreamy thoughts any more than I have time for insecure men who bitch when they can’t get ahold of me.”

  Damn, she was incredible. “Then we’ll get along just fine. Now, tell me about all this.” He waved to the papers. “And why is a woman with a house like this eating cracker sandwiches and driving a car that’s clearly on its last leg?”

  “You don’t like my fancy food?” she teased.

  “I actually love it, but I’m not sure it qualifies as fancy.”

  “I know,” she said lightly. “Where do I start without crossing the FWB line?”

  He scowled. “Tegan, let’s not play games. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. We’re both new at this FWB thing. I’m just trying to keep our expectations in line.”

  “You didn’t hurt my feelings, and honestly, when I caught myself doodling your name, I gave myself a harder time than you ever could.” She picked up a cracker sandwich and said, “We’re on the same page, don’t worry.”

  A sense of relief warred with a sense of something else inside him—disappointment, maybe? He wasn’t sure what to do with that, so he ignored it.

  “As for all this, and my car, it goes back to my great-uncle Harvey. Have you ever had someone in your life that you saw only a few weeks each year but you thought about all the time?”