Seaside Lovers: Grayson Lacroux (Love in Bloom: Seaside Summers)

by Melissa Foster

  Parker dropped her gaze. “I don’t really know those feelings.”

  His chest tightened. “Were you very young when you lost your parents?”

  “I never knew my father, and my mom was killed when I was a year old.” She drew in a shaky breath. “We were driving across the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge when that big earthquake hit. I don’t remember it, of course, although I wish I could remember something about her. Anything, really.”

  “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” He gathered her in his arms, the soothing sounds of the bay playing in the distance, conflicting with the rampant beating of her heart. “Was Bert a relative? Did he raise you?”

  She shook her head and sat back, finally meeting his gaze. “They weren’t able to track down any relatives, so I grew up in the foster care system. When I was sixteen I started working part-time as a bus girl in a diner, and that’s where I met Bert. He came in every Sunday. When I graduated from high school, I went full-time. We had become pretty friendly by then, and I knew he was a photographer, and when he asked if he could take a few pictures of me, I agreed.”

  “You know how dangerous that was, right?”

  She smiled, nodded. “Yeah. But Bert was in his seventies, and he was gay, so I was pretty sure he wasn’t interested in getting me naked. We met at a park one afternoon, and he took some pictures. After that we talked more often, and a few weeks later he asked if I’d ever considered modeling, which was a world away from anything I’d ever thought about. I was thankful to have a job that paid enough to rent a room. Anyway, a few weeks after that he told me he’d shown the pictures he’d taken to his friend who was a modeling agent and asked if I’d meet him. I agreed, and a month later I was earning three times what I’d been making at the diner, but I hated modeling. I wasn’t used to that kind of attention. It made me uncomfortable, being the sole object of the camera and having people touch me, position my body. I don’t know…It was just not my thing.”

  Grayson tried to imagine her at eighteen, putting all her trust in Bert and jumping into an industry that carried rumors of trading sex for jobs. “You’re really lucky Bert was an honest guy. I hope he took your discomfort to heart.”

  “I’m lucky he was honest and caring. He was a good man, and he treated me like a daughter. When I told him I didn’t like modeling, he arranged for me to meet Phillipa Grace, another agent, and when I decided to give acting a shot, he paid for private acting lessons. He went with me to auditions, helped me run lines, and watched out for me. Phillipa is still my agent, and she’s always been very good to me.”

  Grayson was beginning to understand her need to do for Bert what he never could. He’d been there for her in the most important ways a person could be. “Do you like acting?”

  “The work? Yes. I grew up living with one foot out the door at all times, even though the families I stayed with treated me well. Stability was the unattainable dream. The brass ring. I was with my first family for three years, and for whatever reason, I went back into the system. A year later they found me another home, but that lasted less than a year, and the one after that wasn’t much longer. You get the picture.”

  “I can’t imagine what that was like.” He pulled her closer again, needing the contact.

  “When it’s your life and it’s all you know, you figure out coping mechanisms without even realizing you’re doing it. Like not getting too attached. But that’s what’s so great about acting. I get to slip into a life and pretend to be a cherished daughter, sister, or mother. It’s like living out a fantasy. But I don’t like all the stuff that comes with acting. There’s no privacy back home, and despite the tequila I drank the other night, I’m not a party girl and I don’t really fit into that world.”

  “Which is why Polly’s the fantasy for you.” He saw her so much clearer now. “And for most people, you’re living their fantasy.”

  She nodded, and her eyes went serious. “Please don’t think I’m not grateful for everything I have and every opportunity I’ve been given, because I am. I know how fortunate I am. My career allowed me to create the children’s foundation and to give other kids whose lives feel unstable a chance to have something to hang on to, to look forward to amid the chaos of moving, of trying to fit in and make new friends.”

  Her voice rose with excitement and purpose. “I know it’s not much in the grand scheme of things,” she said. “But when you grow up in foster care, your next move is determined for you. You’re moved away from kids you’ve gotten close to, who you care about. It’s not a choice; it’s a given. Through CCF we’re giving those kids a chance to come back together with the kids they’ve spent time with, they’ve lived with, they’ve bonded with. Coming back to the same place with the same kids each year allows those early bonds to become stronger. It’s a way to maintain the relationship with the scared girl who slept in the bed next to you for a year, or a month, or whatever. It’s keeping those friendships alive instead of trying to forget them because some other kid will be in that bed tomorrow. And, of course, it takes all sorts of approvals, red tape, and money, and—”

  “Parker.” He was momentarily speechless, in awe of her strength and courage with all she’d gone through. And shocked that she was still able to trust so easily after such a rocky start to her life. She was not only unveiling her past, but she was revealing her generous heart, her hopes, and her dreams, trying to give others what she never had. He’d undervalued the foundation’s mission, and he realized, not for the first time that day, how much he took for granted in his own life. She was giving him renewed appreciation for his loving family, and she increased his desire to help her find the stability she craved, and all the things she wished for others, for herself.

  “Sorry. I’m rambling again,” she said shyly.

  “No, sweetheart.” He held her gaze, scrounging for the right words. “You’re passionate and inspiring and so incredibly strong you make me look weak. Jesus, Parker, how do you survive in Hollywood? How has some guy not fallen head over heels in love with you and swept you off your feet yet?”

  He didn’t wait for her answer, couldn’t wait. He had too many things he wanted to say. “I wish...I wish for so much it’s hard to put into words. I wish you hadn’t lost your mom and that you’d known your father. I wish Bert were still here for you, and for me, so I could thank him. I was pretty mad at him for leaving you the letters that led you to Abe, but he really was your everything. How can I be anything but thankful for a man like that?”

  “He was the kindest man I’d ever met, until you. You’re right up there with him.”

  He slid his hand beneath her hair, to the nape of her neck. “Knowing what Bert meant to you, that’s the highest compliment I could ever hope for. I didn’t understand CCF’s mission before, but it all makes sense now. I get it, and I am so proud to be part of it.”

  “You don’t have to say that just for me.”

  “Not for you. Because of you. You’ve opened my eyes. I want to be involved, Parker. With the foundation, and with you.”

  Heat pulsed in the space between them.

  “Grayson…?” She reached for him as he leaned forward. Her eyes held the same wonder about what was happening between them as he felt.

  “I feel it, too, sweetheart. I don’t have the answers.” This was new territory, combining want and need with a heart that never wanted to let her go. “But I don’t want to fight what we feel.”

  Her breath whispered over his skin as he pressed a soft kiss to the swell of her upper lip, then the lower. Her eyes fluttered closed on a sigh of surrender, and he sucked her plump lower lip into his mouth. She tasted so sweet he went back for more, kissing her tenderly, again and again. Slow, slow, slow, he told himself, fighting the urge to take it deeper, to make her his in every way and wanting to savor every anticipatory breath, every touch, every breathy plea as it fell from her mouth.

  Slow, slow, slow.

  Tracing her lips with his tongue, riding the sweet curves to the corner, h
e kissed her there.

  “Grayson,” she whispered in a shaky breath.

  The desire in her voice slithered under his skin and blazed straight to his core. He gathered her hair over one shoulder and dragged his tongue along her sensitive skin, pausing to press a series of kisses to the curve of her neck. She was breathing hard, her nails digging into his chest, as he placed openmouthed kisses along the base of her neck. He continued the tantalizing assault, savoring the rampant beat of her pulse against his tongue. She tasted of summer and sex and sweet goodness he never knew existed. In one swift move, he swept her body beneath him, cradling her head as he came down over her, reveling in the passion in her eyes, the feel of her soft curves beneath him for the very first time. She rocked against his arousal. Torture didn’t begin to describe the torment of holding back, but it was exquisite torture. Slow, slow, slow.

  “We’re going to be so good together,” he promised. “When we’re ready.”

  A whimper escaped her, and he pressed his mouth to hers, holding back from deepening the kiss, because if he did, slow would turn fierce. He wanted fierce, but first...

  “Tonight I’m going to kiss you until you can’t feel your lips.” His lips brushed over hers. “Until your body is weak with wanting and your mind is so full of us that you taste us tomorrow.” He kissed her cheek, her neck, her jaw, and the air left Parker’s lungs in another dreamy sigh. “Until kissing me is the only thing you can think about.” He sealed his lips over her neck and sucked, earning a wanton moan. She arched against him, fisting her hands in his hair, testing his control.

  “And then I’m going to kiss you some more.” He slanted his mouth over hers and made good on that promise.

  Chapter Eight

  THE NEXT MORNING Parker awoke without the weight of grief making it hard to breathe. This she was sure of, because the tightness in her chest had begun much farther south. It had begun between her thighs, where she was damp and aching after dreaming of Grayson’s mouth on her, and had traveled north until her whole body was strung tight with need. In her dream, his talented tongue had her at the edge of ecstasy, holding her there in tortured bliss—and that’s when she’d woken up, hot and bothered and needing release. She slid her hand beneath the sheets, remembering her erotic dream, badly wanting to feel his mouth on her. She was slick with need just thinking of the way he’d kissed her last night. Hours of exquisite, languid kisses, on her neck, her face, her shoulders, her ears. He’d licked and sucked and kissed every inch of her skin from her shoulders up, never once going lower, and by the time he left she was boneless and numb and on the verge of an orgasm. And through it all he’d said the sweetest things, making her feel special and cared for. Even more so—she’d felt treasured and cherished, like she’d pretended to feel in some of her roles. She closed her eyes, remembering how it felt to have his weight bearing down on her, his hot, wet mouth sucking her skin, his words floating around her. She wanted to feel his strength and passion with nothing between them. She’d felt the girth of his erection last night, and now, as she remembered just how good his hard cock felt rocking against her center, she pushed her other hand beneath the sheets. One hand stroked the secret spot inside her, and the other teased the bundle of nerves she knew would send her over the edge. Oh, it had been a very long time since she’d pleasured herself, and even longer since she’d been with a man. It only took a minute before she felt the tease of an orgasm just out of reach. Gritting her teeth and arching against her hand, she was almost th—

  Woof!

  Her eyes flew open. Christmas was sitting on the floor with his snout on the bed, watching her. Really? She closed her eyes, trying to get back into the game, but now all she could hear was Christmas breathing instead of the sound of Grayson kissing her. She opened one eye.

  “Go lie down,” she coaxed.

  He whimpered. She closed her eyes, hoping he’d go lie down. He whimpered again, and she reluctantly opened her eyes. Ugh! She righted her panties and threw off her covers, no match for his sad puppy eyes.

  “I haven’t had an orgasm in months, and you pick this second to ask to go out?” She went downstairs and let him outside, and by the time she returned to the bedroom, the moment had passed. She needed a very cold shower. Ice cold.

  Arctic.

  She might need to take two.

  She showered and dressed and put on her Parker Collins face, thinking more clearly than she had in weeks—and sexier than she had in…ever. She hadn’t realized how consumed she’d become in wallowing and holing up. Bert wouldn’t have wanted that. She didn’t want it, and she was ready to finally take a step forward. With the plans Grayson had drawn for the railing, she went out to the yard where Christmas was chasing birds from one end of the bluff to the other. Glad you’re happy. Orgasm killer.

  The sun shone brightly, warming the early-morning air. Parker spread the plans out on the patio table and marveled at Grayson’s talent. The railings he’d designed were bold and unique, like him. He went with an oceanic theme of sea grass and fish and twisted metals that gave the effect of waves carrying the fish up the stairs. She never would have thought to have living creatures on a railing. He had such sharp vision, and he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind or challenge her thoughts. Or kiss me until I’m numb and boneless and make me feel so very cherished it scares me.

  She lifted her eyes from the designs, unable to focus on anything more than how he’d made her feel last night. She walked to the edge of the yard and watched a young family playing on the beach below. These feelings couldn’t be real, not after just a few days. Could they? She knew those months of emailing counted, too, but it was still fast, wasn’t it? Or was she in such a state of grief from losing Bert that she was misplacing her emotions? She’d never been one to have fleeting emotions, but she knew how fleeting emotions could be for others, and she didn’t want to read more into Grayson than she should. She worked in an industry where nothing was valued beyond what it could do to further a person’s career. Where things and people were equally replaceable. She’d seen it in her professional dealings and in her personal life. The guys who asked her out fell into three categories. Those looking for eye candy. But pretty isn’t special. Pretty is genetic. Men who wanted a quick lay. Wrong girl for that. And then there were the guys who wanted to use her as a stepping-stone for their careers. Having their pictures taken with her made them the daily dish, and hot gossip brought exposure. She could usually spot those guys a mile away. The few guys she’d actually dated had been what she called the Great Pretenders. They’d slipped through her radar, eventually showing their true colors.

  And then there was Grayson.

  Grayson obviously thought she was pretty. She saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice, but he didn’t seem to give a hoot about her celebrity status, and that made him even more appealing. Sex had never been on her priority list, but Grayson’s kisses were as hot as sex. And he practically oozed sexual prowess. Yup, she was definitely thinking about sex. A lot. He was right; other thoughts were going to have to battle for her brainpower today. But it was more than their kisses that made her feel so deeply connected to him. It was everything he did and said. It was ten months of falling for his thoughts, building a foundation, without the distraction of jealousy, or materialism, or press.

  Her eyes drifted over the inky water, a feeling of bliss settling around her. She watched the children playing along the shore, their parents smiling and holding hands. Her thoughts returned to Grayson and how happy he’d been last night with his family and friends, reminding her again of how much he’d given up to take the assignment with the foundation.

  Christmas woofed and darted toward the driveway, where Grayson was pulling in. She had to stop herself from sprinting over, too. The Grunter’s Ironworks logo on the side of his truck brought back his remark about being a lowly steelworker and tripped up her heart. He was obviously kidding, but the truth was, a lot of people in the entertainment business dismissed those who weren’t in th
e industry. It had always infuriated her, but she knew there was no changing people like that. That was the heartrending reality of the industry.

  Grayson stepped from the truck and knelt to love up her boy, smiling as Christmas lavished him with slobbery kisses. She’d hated leaving Christmas behind when she was on location. But film sets didn’t always make for pet-friendly environments. Especially big attention-loving dogs like hers. Watching Grayson shower him with attention without a care about his dog breath, slobbery kisses, or getting fur on his clothes made her heart swell. She didn’t care what anyone else might think about his profession. She liked Grayson’s world, and boy, did she ever like him.

  I’m here now. This is my real life, and I’m going to live it.

  Christmas trotted happily beside him with an enormous bone hanging from his mouth, making her feel even fuller.

  “You brought my boy a present?” She wound her arms around Grayson’s neck and kissed him.

  “Mm. I brought you something, too.” He leaned in for another smoldering kiss, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake.

  “You sure did,” she said dreamily.

  Christmas pushed his head between them, obviously not done with Grayson yet. Grayson laughed, framed the dog’s face with his big hands, and kissed his snout. “I need a minute with your mom, buddy. Go eat that treat.” He held up a scroll of design paper. “More ideas.”

  “But I love the fish. They go perfectly with the property.”

  He unrolled the new designs over the old. “I thought they went perfectly, too. Although”—he cocked a brow—“it’s not like you not to ask for a dozen changes.”

  “I haven’t looked at them that closely yet.”

  His arms circled her waist. “Why do you always insist on making so many changes?”

  “I don’t know,” she fibbed. “I guess I tweak them until they feel right.” Or until I got to read so many of your emails I felt sated.