Bayside Passions (Bayside Summers Book 2)

by Melissa Foster

  Desiree crossed her arms, hurt rising in her eyes.

  “She’s right, Vi,” Emery said, and not just because Desiree was right. She’d always had Desiree’s back, and she always would. “Shouldn’t you wear leather or something?”

  Violet cut the engine and dismounted the bike. “Relax, mama bears. My friends dropped it off this morning. I was just making sure she started up okay.” She ran an assessing eye over Emery’s face and said, “If you have an aversion to seeing cock in the morning, are you sure it’s a good idea to stay with Dean? I’ve seen him in his swim trunks, and he’s definitely packing some major heat.”

  Tell me something I don’t know. The man filled out his running shorts like a porn star. “We’re friends. It’s not like he’s going to walk around naked,” Emery said. “Besides, I’m not a prude. I just didn’t expect to see your guy’s junk, and Dean offered for me to stay there. It wasn’t anything personal against you.”

  “He’s not my guy,” Violet said. “But the way Dean blew in here and barked at him, he acted like you two were an item. How did I miss that?”

  “You didn’t. We’re not. We just became really close friends over the past few months and he’s protective of me,” Emery explained.

  “If you call wanting to take you six ways to Sunday protective,” Violet mumbled.

  “He does not,” Emery said. “Besides, he knows I don’t date my guy friends anymore, and he also knows that I have a date tonight.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? The date?” Desiree asked. “The way Dean looks at you, it does seem like he’s into you.”

  Emery rolled her eyes, annoyed with this whole conversation. “Can you please stop saying that?”

  “You share his food!” Desiree pointed out.

  “So what? I share your food, too, and half the guys I grew up with. It’s no different. That’s who I am. I share food. I tease guys about being too cocky or too hot, or whatever. You know me, Des. I have always had far more guy friends than girlfriends. This is no different from me and all my guy friends back home, except he knows more about me, because…” I didn’t have you to talk to. She wasn’t about to make Desiree feel guilty for her happiness, and the truth was, she had a feeling that even if Desiree had moved back home, she and Dean would have continued to become just as close as they had.

  “That is true,” Desiree agreed. “But does Dean know that?”

  “Of course he does,” Emery insisted. There was no denying the blazing heat that had burned between them when they’d first met, but their friendship overrode the instant lust they’d experienced, and she’d grown to love a hell of a lot more about him than his looks. “Dean and I are friends. We’ve been talking nearly every night since I was here at Christmas. What did you think I was doing for all these months while you and Rick were building a life together?”

  “I can see that,” Desiree agreed. “You are most comfortable with guys.”

  “Like I said, six ways to Sunday,” Violet said.

  “Believe it or not, Vi, I’m friends with tons of guys that I do not sleep with. Regardless of your whole bang-your-friend policy, I’ve sworn off sleeping with friends. Dean and I might have started out with sexy innuendos and flirting, but it’s not like that anymore. Dean’s like you, Des. Careful and stable. He brings me back down to earth when I go off on a tangent, and he makes me laugh. And if you have any lingering questions, I told him about all of my dates over the winter, and everything that you and I would usually talk about until all hours of the morning. For God sakes, I tell him I love him half the time when we end our phone calls, the same way I do to you, Des. He’s a friend. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s read guys. Y’all must be seeing what you want to see, not what’s really there.”

  “My money is still on him wanting to bang you,” Violet said with a shrug. “But what do I know?”

  “Maybe you’re right, Em,” Desiree relented.

  Emery sighed with relief. “Now can we get back to what really matters?”

  “Whoa.” Violet held her hands up. “Sex matters.”

  “Okay, yeah, it does. Not that I’m having any,” Emery said with a sigh. “But more importantly, Vi, I’m really sorry for bailing after you were nice enough to let me stay with you. No hard feelings about me staying with Dean until I move into the inn?”

  “I don’t do hard feelings,” Violet said. Emery embraced her, and Violet added, “Do we really have to do this all the time?”

  “Yes,” Emery and Desiree said in unison.

  Chapter Four

  AFTER SPENDING THE day tending to the hospital serenity gardens, Dean went to the resort and landscaped around the new patio he was creating on the far side of the property. He dragged his forearm over his brow as he finally headed down to the office later that afternoon. Emery had texted earlier and said that she’d picked up the key from Serena, and no matter how hard he’d worked since, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. His mind had gone straight to the places he told it not to, imagining her in the guest bed, in the shower, and eventually his mind made the jump, putting her gorgeous body and effervescent smile in his bed.

  Had he made a mistake by offering her a place to stay? She was like his grandmother’s cherry pie cooling on the windowsill—something he’d never been able to resist.

  “Hey,” Rick said as he climbed the steps to the office and pulled open the door. “How’s the landscaping coming along?”

  “Great. I should have it done in a few weeks. The plantings are mostly done, but I’m still figuring out the final designs for the hardscaping.”

  “I don’t know what bug got up your butt about needing another patio, but I’m sure it’s going to be awesome.”

  The same bug that has been burrowing under my skin since the holidays. Over the winter, Emery had told Dean about a meditation garden in Oak Falls where she liked to do yoga at sunrise. She’d spoken of it like it was a part of her. When she’d made the decision not to come to the Cape for just the summer, but to move there for good, she’d said she’d miss that garden as much as she’d miss her family. Dean had gone online and found pictures of the area she’d spoken of, and by spring, with Emery as his inspiration, his new project had taken shape.

  He followed Rick inside and found Brody Brewer, their new surf instructor, talking with Serena. Brody was a good, honest guy with boundless energy and a casualness that people gravitated toward.

  Brody turned to greet them, flashing a killer smile that probably opened more bedroom doors than he could handle and ensured a full docket of women wanting to learn to surf on a daily basis. “Dudes, you should have seen the waves on the ocean this morning. I was just telling Serena that one of these days I’ve got to get her out on a board.”

  Dean and Rick exchanged an amused glance. Like them, there wasn’t a water sport Serena couldn’t do. That was one of the great things about living where the land was bordered by the ocean on one side and the bay on the other. The possibilities were endless.

  “Serena didn’t tell you? She’s been surfing since she was a kid,” Rick said.

  “Seriously?” Brody’s eyes widened.

  “Rick and Dean’s dad taught us all how to surf,” Serena said.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Brody asked.

  “Because it was fun to see you so excited.”

  Brody laughed. “I tend to get that way about surfing. Oh, and I met the new yoga instructor, Emery?” He whistled. “She is a sassy one.” He rolled his shoulders back, and a satisfied grin spread across his face. “I’m taking her out tomorrow.”

  Dean’s hand fisted by his side. “Out?”

  “On the water, after my morning class,” Brody said casually. “She said she’s never surfed.” He shrugged. “I figured, what better way to get to know my new co-worker.” His gaze flicked to the clock on the wall, then back to them. “I gotta jet. I met some girls on the beach today and they invited me to a bonfire over on Cahoon Hollow. Want to come along?
”

  “No, thanks,” Rick said. “I’m taking Des out to dinner.”

  “Dean?” Brody asked.

  Dean shook his head, chewing nails over the idea of Brody hanging out with Emery in her barely there bikini.

  The second Brody left, laughter fell from Serena’s lips. She came around the desk and unfurled Dean’s fingers. “Don’t even try to pretend you don’t have a thing for Emery! First you give her a key and now you want to kill Brody?”

  “Never said I wanted to kill him.” Maim, maybe, but not kill.

  Serena grabbed her keys from the desk drawer. “You know she has a date tonight, right?”

  “Mm-hm.” He’d been trying to forget about it all damn day.

  “You sure you’re not setting yourself up for trouble inviting Emery to stay with you?” Rick asked.

  “I’m not sure of a damn thing, but I’m sure as hell not about to let her stay in a house with naked guys roaming around.”

  “Guy,” Serena corrected. “Singular. And from what she told me, he wasn’t a bad sight to wake up to. He just surprised her.”

  Dean trapped a growl in his throat. “TMI, Serena.”

  She laughed softly.

  He was glad she found this humorous, because it was eating him up inside.

  Rick lowered his voice and said, “You could fire her before she starts working here.”

  “There’s no reason to fire her. We’re just friends.” Firing Emery was sounding better by the second, but he knew how she felt about dating friends. If this keeps up, I’m liable to say or do something I can’t take back, and there will be no friendship to worry about. He pointed at Serena and said, “And don’t go spouting off to the girls about this thing you think is going on. Jesus, that’s all I need, for you and the girls to make Emery feel weird around me.”

  Unable to remember why he’d come into the office in the first place, he stormed out the door and headed across the grounds toward his place. Every step amped up his frustration as thoughts of Brody putting his hands on Emery in that tiny bikini of hers peppered his mind. By the time he reached his cottage, he was sure steam was coming out his ears.

  The kitchen doors were wide open, and Emery’s bright orange Jetta was parked out front. He went inside and tossed his keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter—where he usually kept his golf cart keys. The darn things had been missing for two days, and he’d searched high and low for them. He usually used the cart to carry supplies around the property, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. Besides, with Emery around, he’d likely have an overload of built-up frustration to walk off.

  The cottage was too quiet for his sweet, infuriating chaos to be there. He stalked to her open bedroom door. Christ, I’m already thinking about it as her room.

  The room looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Suitcases lay open on the bed. Emery’s clothes were strewn over the sides, across the bed, and a few stray pieces lay on the floor, like someone had raided her luggage. Tango and Cash were curled up in the center of the mess. Tango opened one eye, but he must have found him boring, because he went right back to sleep.

  Dean stepped into the room, inhaling Emery’s unique scent, which wound through him, softening his frustration and tightening his gut at once. He reached out and touched a slinky black dress hanging over the closet door. Soft. Silky. And you’re not wearing it for me. He took a step and nearly tripped over several pairs of heels lying in a heap beneath the window. The dresser was already littered with her things—hairbrush, comb, perfume bottles—and boy did he like seeing her things in his house.

  The devil on his shoulder sneered. She’s out on a date, you idiot.

  Fuck. The idea of another guy picking her up at his house sent fire through his veins. That probably made him a dick, but he didn’t care. Would she have left for her date without closing up the house? It’s Emery. Of course she would. He should be more annoyed by her leaving the house wide open, but there was no room for that with the image of Emery and another guy front and center in his mind.

  He tore off his T-shirt and headed for the bathroom to take a cold shower, hoping it would ease his mounting frustration. As he neared the bathroom, he heard water splashing, and an undeniable feminine scent filled his senses. He stopped cold, envisioning Emery lying naked in the tub, and he became aware of steam seeping through the slightly ajar door. One step backward might bring her into view.

  “Dean? Is that you?”

  Her voice jerked him from his reverie. “Uh-huh.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. I got in the tub and forgot my razor. Would you mind grabbing it from the pink bag on my bed?”

  “Seriously?” He closed his eyes, unable to shake the vision of her lying in his tub naked. He was a nice guy, but there was no way he could go in that bathroom without giving away his true feelings, and risking their friendship.

  “Please? I have to meet Dave at six, and my legs feel like sandpaper.”

  “Then don’t let him touch your legs,” he growled before he could stop himself. He clenched his teeth together and said, “You know it’s five thirty-five, right?”

  “What? No!”

  The panic in her voice startled him. He heard splashing and then the sound of the tub draining. The bathroom door swung open and Emery bolted out holding a towel to her chest—the back was wide open, giving him a clear view of her heart-shaped ass as she ran toward her bedroom, yelling, “I’m going to be late!”

  He should look away, but a guy could only be so good.

  She flew into her bedroom, talking as she pushed the door almost closed behind her. “I was reading in the tub and must have lost track of time. Sorry for getting the floor wet.”

  His gaze dropped to the floor long enough to see a trail of water, then moved right back to that tempting sliver of space between the doorframe and the door. He’d gone from semi-nice guy to lust-filled roommate in the space of a breath, secretly hoping she happened to fill that sliver with her naked body.

  A few seconds later her door opened, and she walked out wearing a skimpy black spaghetti-strap dress, holding the front against her chest with one hand as she ran her fingers through her wet hair with the other. She turned around and said, “Can you zip me, please?” Her sky-high wedged heels brought her closer to the perfect kissing height.

  Her zipper was open all the way to the base of her spine, revealing her braless back and the seductive T of a thong. All his blood rushed south, leaving him a little dizzy—and very turned on. It was all he could do to stare at the tanned expanse of toned skin before him.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong?”

  “You’re not zipping.” She gathered her hair over her shoulder, and he noticed she was wearing a wrist full of bracelets—including the one he’d given her and the one that contained Splenda.

  Ready for anything.

  Fuck. Anything conjured too many infuriating images.

  She stood up straighter, holding her hair away from the zipper. “Better?”

  Hell no. It would be better if the dress was on the floor and your legs were wrapped around my waist.

  “Dean…?”

  He zipped up her dress. “You sure you want to wear that? I mean, with your unshaven legs, you might want to go with jeans.” Or a sweat suit. How about a snowsuit? Yeah, that’d be even better.

  She looked down at her outfit and lifted her long leg. “You think he’ll notice?”

  She blinked up at him with so much trust in her eyes he couldn’t lie. “No, doll. You look like a million bucks.”

  “Thank you!” She hugged him.

  His arms circled her, holding her lush curves tight against him as she kissed his cheek. His entire body ignited like a frigging teenager.

  “I need to dry my hair.” She walked into the bathroom. “You’ll be happy to know I’m meeting him there.”

  “Where?” Damn it. He sounded angry. He softened his tone and said, “I mean, just in case y
ou have trouble. I should know where you’re going.”

  “Beachcomber.” She flipped her head over and dried her hair.

  Fucking perfect. Dancing, good food, and lots of alcohol. “Call me if you have any trouble.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She flipped her hair to the other side, and continued drying it.

  Dean couldn’t take his eyes off the nape of her neck. He wanted to press his lips to the exposed skin, to tangle his fingers in her hair and bury his tongue in her mouth until she was moaning for more.

  She turned off the hair dryer, shook her head, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders, startling him back to reality.

  Flashing a radiant smile, she said, “What do you think?”

  His thoughts were still struggling to clean themselves up. He wanted to tell her she was going out with the wrong guy. To say the hell with friendships and working relationships, take her into his arms and kiss her like she deserved to be kissed—slow and sensual, until her entire body trembled with need, and then hard and possessive so she felt everything he had to give—but all that came out was “Gorgeous.”

  “Well, then. It sounds like it won’t matter that I’m going to be a little late.” She fluttered her lashes flirtatiously. “I’ll scope out hot chicks for you while I’m out.”

  Shit. “I can get my own women, thank you very much.”

  “Then why aren’t you going out tonight?”

  “Who says I’m not going out?”

  She set her hands on her hips and her expression turned serious—or annoyed—he couldn’t be sure.

  “Dean Masters, are you holding out on me? I tell you about all my dates.”

  He chuckled. Annoyed it was.

  “So…? Who is she?” She crossed her arms and thrust out her hip.

  “Who?”

  “Your date. Geez!”

  “Who says I have a date? Drake’s coming over for a cookout.”

  “But you just said—”

  “Don’t assume.”

  “Whatever. You can tell me if you have a date, you know.”