Anything For Love

by Melissa Foster

  When their lips parted, he rose onto his knees and dug a condom out of his wallet. She watched him as he sheathed himself, eyes locked on her, cock in hand. The image burned into her mind.

  He came down over her, aligning their bodies. His big hands cradled her head, and he gazed deeply into her eyes. “I…This…” He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, his virility shone through. “I got the bad thoughts out. My to-do list is not on my mind. I want to skip right to my dreams, and I haven’t dreamed in so long, I’m not sure these count, but I want more mornings like we shared, more nights like this. The talking as much as the closeness. I want more of you, Charlotte. You make me want to dream again.”

  “I want that, too. I never imagined real life could be better than the worlds I create, but I was so wrong.”

  Their mouths joined as their bodies came together, slow and careful. She felt her body stretching to accommodate him, aware of every inch as he entered her, until he was buried to the hilt. And she knew that just as he’d hoped, she’d feel his body embracing her, his thickness inside her, for days to come. Not because of his size or shape, but because he’d not only entered her body. He’d taken root in her heart.

  Chapter Twelve

  CHARLOTTE AWOKE TANGLED up in Beau. His hips cradled her bottom, his thighs pressed against the backs of hers, and his strong arms embraced her like he would protect her from the entire world if he had to. After last night she believed he’d try. They’d fallen asleep beneath the stars, their bodies intertwined, and they’d woken up a little while later and made love again before heading inside in the wee hours of the morning. It felt natural when he’d climbed into her bed beside her, not awkward as she’d thought it might. She didn’t freak out or turn into a bumbling idiot. And when he pulled her close, lovingly holding her within the confines of his body, she’d felt as if she’d come home. Now she had the urge to turn around. She wanted to see his handsome face in a peaceful, resting state, as she’d witnessed last night, when they’d both been too sated and spent to move.

  He nuzzled against her neck, his warm breath sending sexy memories skating through her. She wondered what he was thinking as his hands found hers and he held on tight. What was she supposed to say after a night like that? Thanks for a good time? You were amazing? He was beyond amazing. Not only because he’d loved her so thoroughly she felt like she was his, but because they’d connected in ways she’d only dreamed of. But you were amazing was about the cheesiest line ever. It would probably be too much if she said what she really felt. Did he feel the same intense connection she did? Like they’d free-fallen into something much bigger than like? This was so much easier in fiction. He’d probably run for the hills if she told him the truth. Wouldn’t anyone after one night of great sex?

  A pang of sadness hit her. Was that all it was to him?

  He pressed his lips to her shoulder. “Thinking about word counts and blow-up dolls?”

  “How can you think I’d have anything other than you on my mind after all we’ve shared?” She turned in his arms, reeled in deeper by the look in his eyes. It was as fierce and protective as it was sweet and tender. “I was thinking about how I can make the morning after sexy and seductive in my books but I can’t think of a single quote-worthy thing to say to you beyond thank you.”

  He laughed, and she loved the way that happiness reached his eyes.

  “It’s not funny,” she complained. “I want this moment to be unforgettable for you. I want you to remember our night when you’re building a house on a hill or renovating a bedroom.” She buried her face in his chest, realizing what she’d said. “See? I suck at this in real life.”

  He tipped her chin up, like he wanted her full attention, his smile still in place, and he said, “If anyone gets to say thank you it’s me, because I’ve got a sassy, sexy-as-all-get-out sweetheart lying naked beside me after the most incredible, unforgettable night.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Stop worrying about being quote-worthy. I much prefer the honest woman I’ve been spending time with. That’s the person I’ll think of as I build houses on hills or renovate bedrooms. You’re the one I’ll think of every time I walk through a field or the woods or see sparkling lights in the distance.”

  Every word made her fall a little harder for him.

  He pressed his lips to hers. There was a welcoming in his kisses, a belonging that hadn’t been there before, and she knew things were changing for him, too.

  “I’ve been alone for a really long time. Even when I’m around people, I’m pretty much lost in my own thoughts. It’s different when you’re with me. I know you said you were behind on your manuscript, and I don’t want to interfere with that. But it’d be nice if you were near me sometimes when I’m working, unless that screws up your mojo.”

  Oh boy. She could fall hard for this man, and that was dangerous given that he was only here for a short time. Maybe I should have thought about that before our first kiss. Like she would have been able to resist him? That definitely hadn’t been an option. All the pieces of themselves that were bringing them together were too strong to ignore.

  “Does it bother you that I spend so much time writing? When I was in college I interned at the local newspaper, and I was always researching or writing. The guys I went out with had a really hard time with that.”

  “I’m not a college kid. I don’t need every second of your attention, and I’d have to be blind and deaf not to realize how writing fulfills you. I don’t want to change that or screw you up while I’m here. It’s enough for me to have you nearby. But I do have one favor to ask.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and pulled her closer. “If you catch up on your manuscript by next Saturday afternoon and can manage a break, I’d like to monopolize a few hours of your time. I have a surprise for you, but it will mean leaving your computer. Not because I’m jealous of your writing time, but because I’d really like to do this for you.”

  “A surprise?” How had he come up with a surprise for her since last night? Or had he planned it before then? She wanted to say she didn’t care how much time it would take away from anything else in her life. But her situation wasn’t that simple. She had a deadline to meet.

  “At least I hope it’ll be a surprise,” he said.

  “I hate that I have to think about anything other than how much I want to be with you, but I promised to send my editor the first third of my manuscript a week from Tuesday, and we have a meeting in Port Hudson the following Monday, so I can’t put it off. But if I knuckle down for the next few days, as long as I don’t get writer’s block, I know I can do it.” She was excited to see her girlfriends while she was in New York, but she hated losing those two days with Beau.

  “You know what? I will do it,” she said confidently. “I’ll make it happen. Thank you!”

  She plastered her lips to his, both of them smiling as he swept her beneath him, grinning like he’d won the lottery.

  “I really like you, Sterling.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you,” she teased. “Maybe you should convince me.”

  He crushed his mouth to hers and then spent the next hour masterfully taking her up to the clouds and back again.

  Afterward, as they lay catching their breath, their bodies glistening from their lovemaking, she said, “I’d like to put in a request for a repeat performance tonight, please, with an earlier wake-up call so I can be sure to make our date without missing out on another dose of my burly Beau.”

  He chuckled. “Then we need to get moving, check on the Chickendales, and fuel you up so you can whip out a few sexy chapters now that you have some inspiration.”

  She loved that he said Chickendales, but she loved her new inspiration even more.

  He gave her a chaste kiss and stepped from the bed in all his naked glory. “Shower time.”

  She watched his fine ass as he crossed the room and disappeared into the bathroom. Basking in bliss and listening to the shower running, she bur
ied her face in the pillow and squealed, kicking her legs from sheer happiness, and then she flopped onto her back, grinning like a fool.

  “That was adorable.”

  She gasped, and he cracked up. “You were watching me?”

  He strode toward her with his hand outstretched. “I wondered why you weren’t joining me in the shower and came back to get you. I didn’t mean to interrupt your little celebration.”

  “I was just…”

  He cocked an amused brow. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say to cover up the truth.

  “Do you blame me?” she said. “It’s not every day that I wake up to sweet ’n’ sinful lovin’.”

  “Me either.” He pulled her to her feet, his hot body growing hard against her. “But I think it’s time we changed that.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  CHARLOTTE STOOD IN front of her whiteboard the following Friday, trying to work out the next few scenes for her book, which she couldn’t do without knowing where her characters were headed. She had always been a pantser, which was part of what had made her decide to have Becca handle her fan interactions. She was constantly taking notes on what they wanted and trying to fit in all their suggestions, but for a pantser, it was too confining. Plotting an entire story even without fan input made her feel hemmed in, and like a rebellious child, she would write in the opposite direction of anything she’d plotted. Three points in the story was all she usually needed to find her way, but there was nothing usual about the story she was writing. It had thrown her off from the start, first with writer’s block and lately because the characters had veered toward contemporary love rather than erotic sex. She wanted her characters to take long walks and talk about life, or snuggle sometimes instead of getting down and dirty, but in erotic romance, the naughtiness fueled the emotions, not the other way around. She knew that had a lot to do with her burgeoning feelings for Beau.

  Since their night under the stars, eight incredible days and seven passionate nights ago, she and Beau had found their rhythm as a couple. She never knew real life could be so incredible, and she definitely hadn’t expected Beau to want to spend as much time together as they did. Their days began tangled up in each other’s arms, followed by a steamy shower, a visit to the Chickendales, and a walk around the property. They explored a different trail every morning, brainstorming scenes for her books, talking about their lives, and more often than not, making out with the morning sun beating down on them. Charlotte looked forward to writing even more than ever. She’d followed his suggestion and had taken her laptop wherever he was working. The other day she wrote while sitting on a blanket in the sun while he’d sawed, sanded, and did a hundred other things in the workshop, stopping every so often to drop a kiss on her lips or cheek. It had done wonders for both of them, and he was opening up more every day. She loved being near him, watching him work. Sometimes she caught him staring at her, which reminded her of the way her father used to look at her mother, and the similarities sent her hopes soaring. But all their loveliness was playing out in her writing and causing issues. While life with Beau was more than she ever hoped for, her characters needed angst. They needed something that would tear them apart emotionally or test their love before their happily ever after. The problem was, she had no angsty notions inside her right now, other than the fact that Beau would soon be leaving. And that made her sad, not angsty like her story needed.

  Her muse made her too happy. Even the thought of Beau made her all fluttery. She schooled her expression. Stop being happy! I need angst!

  She was stuck.

  And stuck was never good.

  She tried to come up with a reason for her characters to have angst. At some point she and Beau would need to talk about where they went from here. She knew that the beautiful, a-little-less-tortured man would take a big part of her heart when he left. For now that conversation could wait because they still had time before he was due to leave, but she didn’t have long before her manuscript deadline. If she didn’t nail this scene and get a handle on where to take her characters next, she’d have to skip her date with Beau on Saturday—and that was not happening.

  She had to break her characters out of contemporary love and kick their asses into erotic sex, no matter how much she was enjoying her own life. If she could give them angst, she could turn the fire into a scorching-hot erotic scene.

  She needed dark-and-dirty inspiration.

  She needed a threesome.

  And silk ties.

  And maybe hot wax. Or whips.

  She went into her bedroom and changed into her leather and lace. Then she went to the room across the hall from her office and dug through her toy box. Armed with everything she needed, she headed upstairs to find Beau.

  THE WHIR OF the saw vibrated in the old barn as Beau cut the last piece of wood for the medallion he’d designed for Charlotte’s bedroom and set it aside with the others. He’d come up with what he hoped was the perfect design to bring together her love of all things happy and hopeful with a unique touch all his own. His mind traveled back to the morning when they’d made breakfast together. Or rather, Beau had made breakfast while Charlotte had tried to distract him with kisses and had asked a million questions about him and his childhood. He liked that she wanted to know everything about him, and even though it was uncomfortable at times and he tried to change the subject, he was glad she wasn’t afraid to bring up Tory. He doubted many women would be as understanding as she was.

  As he put the saw away and brushed the dust from his jeans, he realized he didn’t crave time alone the way he used to. On the days she needed privacy to write, like today, he’d work on the medallion or other projects. Then he’d stop by her office with lunch when he needed his Charlotte fix. She rarely ate what he made, favoring protein bars, but yesterday she’d devoured a sandwich. He was pretty sure that was because he’d put a Twix bar between the lunch meat and the bread, thinking she’d pluck it out and get a kick out of the joke. He liked eating in the office with her while she worked. She talked about Roman and Shayna as if they were in the room with them, telling him what they wanted, what they did, how they argued. She made them feel so real, he was starting to believe they were. He’d gotten so swept up in her story lately, twice he’d woken up in the middle of the night with ideas, and they’d ended up in her office as she typed and they fleshed them out. It was exhilarating for both of them.

  But exhilarating didn’t come close to describing the all-consuming emotions of coming together each night and waking up with Charlotte in his arms every morning.

  He grabbed the wood he needed to replace the rotted pieces on the deck on the south side and headed up toward the inn.

  “Beau?” Charlotte’s voice sounded in the distance, and his body roared to life.

  Would he ever get used to the way she affected him? He quickened his pace, and the wood he was carrying slipped. He stopped to get a better hold and heard her call his name again. He jogged up the path holding the wood with both hands, and when she called for him again, he sprinted.

  He followed her voice around the side of the inn and stopped cold at the sight of Charlotte standing with her back to him, wearing thigh-high black stockings with bright blue lace at the top, a matching garter that barely covered her ass, and a pair of black heels. He recognized the thin strip of a black thong. Two black straps crossed over the center of her back and snaked over her shoulders. The legs of two blow-up dolls stuck out from beneath one arm, and she carried a whip and a feather tickler in her other hand.

  The wood crashed to the ground, and his cock turned to steel.

  She spun around, eyes wide, dolls bobbing, and holy fucking hell, what was she wearing? Black straps, no more than an inch wide, snaked over her shoulders and crossed over her breasts, covering each nipple with a bright blue bow, then wound around her back, appearing again over her hips, intersecting above her promised land. Those straps connected to her garter with tiny silver handcuffs, and a glittery blue and white b
ow tie sat just below her navel.

  She strutted across the lawn toward him. “There you are! I have been looking all over for you.”

  Even though Beau knew they were alone, his protective urges had him whipping his head around, scanning the property for unwanted eyes.

  “What are you looking for? I need you, Beau.” She cocked her head to the side, looking far too innocent for that wicked outfit. “My story is too sweet. I need to sex it up.”

  “Out here?”

  She set her hand on her hip, waving the whip, feather tickler, and two long pieces of silk he hadn’t noticed before. “Wherever you want. We need a threesome, or maybe a foursome. I haven’t decided.”

  Holy hell. “Baby, I’m totally on board with sexing you up, but I do not need dolls.”

  “Well, unless you know of a guy you can get up here in a matter of minutes, it’s you, me, and the dolls. I have to do this now if I’m going to get my chapters done in time for our date Saturday.”

  He stepped closer, his hands clenching. “If you think I’m going to allow any other man’s hands on you, you’re dead wrong.”

  “You are possessive, aren’t you?” she said sassily, waving the damn whip around like a wand. “We could call Cutter and Chip if you want.”

  He threw her over his shoulder in one swift move and stalked inside.

  “Beau! I’m going to drop the dolls!”

  “Good,” he ground out. “I’m open to a lot of things, but sharing my woman isn’t one of them.”

  She giggled as he tugged open the door and carried her into her bedroom. “So now I’m your woman?”

  He flopped her onto her back in the center of the mattress, sending the dolls and other paraphernalia flying to the floor, and came down over her. She was grinning as he pinned her hands beside her head.