Bayside Passions (Bayside Summers Book 2)

by Melissa Foster

  “How’s it going, Dean?” Blaine asked, passing a friendly smile to Emery and keeping his eyes respectfully on hers.

  “Blaine,” Dean said. “This is Emery Andrews. I want to get her opinion on a few things. Mind if we use one of the worktables?”

  “Hi.” Emery smiled, and he swore the room lit up like the sun had come out.

  He wanted to bottle up that smile and keep it all to himself, but he wasn’t that much of a possessive bastard. Or at least he had never been before. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  “Nice to meet you,” Blaine said. “Is this guy getting all your dirty work done?”

  Dean glared at Blaine.

  “Not yet,” Emery said. Then her eyes narrowed, and she said, “But he definitely has strong hands and the right tools for the job,” with enough sass to wipe the grin off Blaine’s face. She wrapped her hot little hand around Dean’s biceps and said, “Chiseled from head to toe, and every hard inch in between.”

  Blaine chuckled and slid a defeated look to Dean. “Use whatever you need, buddy, and grab me if I can help.”

  As Blaine walked away, Emery leaned in, like she was preparing to share a secret.

  Dean slid his hand around her waist, pulling her closer. “Damn, girl. What do you say we forget work and go get stuck between a rock and a hard place?”

  She laughed, glancing at Blaine. “We should set him up with Violet. He’s got a wild look in his eyes.”

  She thought he was kidding? His fingers tightened around her, bringing her attention back to him. The air sizzled, and her amused expression quickly faded, replaced briefly with surprise and then undeniable hunger.

  “Dean,” she said softly. “Put away your hammer, big guy.” She pressed her hands to his chest, forcing space between them. “We have work to do.”

  He pulled her against him again, holding her gaze. “What do you see in my eyes, doll?”

  As she searched his face, her eyes darkened. “A hurricane,” she said softly. “As dangerous as it is mesmerizing.”

  She pushed away again and closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds. When they opened, his hurricane was met with a storm—heat and wariness battling for dominance.

  He stepped closer again, their chests touching. Lust thrummed like a heartbeat between them as he brushed his beard over her cheek and spoke in a low voice, “You want the hurricane, but you need the safety of knowing it won’t demolish your shelter. Let me show you we can have both.” He drew back just far enough to gaze into her eyes, recognizing the uneasy look of reluctant acceptance beneath a host of conflicted emotions.

  “Breathe, doll.” He felt himself smiling, and with a hand on her back, he guided her toward a worktable by the windows.

  “I am breathing,” she snapped, walking slowly beside him. “God, Dean. Give a girl a minute to recuperate after blowing her away.”

  “That was a whisper,” he said confidently. “When I blow you away, you’ll need hours to recuperate.”

  Her cheeks flushed, but that spark he loved rose in her eyes, and she said, “That almost makes me want to throw caution to the wind and accept the challenge.”

  “Almost?”

  She stopped beside the worktable and stared at him. The longer she looked, the softer her expression became.

  “Yeah. Almost.” She turned abruptly away and motioned toward the showroom displays. He noticed her hand was trembling ever so slightly. “This is like a texture wonderland. How do you decide what to use? It’s all so pretty.”

  Nice redirect.

  He wanted to push her over the hump between friendship and something more, but her abrupt subject change told him to hold back. Struggling to douse the inferno inside him, he set the landscape plans on the table and said, “Most of the time the right materials speak to me as I design the project, and I know immediately which will be a perfect match.” Like I did with you. “But this is a really special project, and it’s got me a bit perplexed. I’d like your opinion.”

  “You really do want my opinion? I thought you were just saying that to Blaine.”

  “Yes, Emery. I truly want your opinion.” And so much more.

  AS DEAN ROLLED out the landscaping plans, Emery tried to calm her racing heart. She’d seen the way Blaine had looked at her, and normally, a good-looking guy like that would capture her attention. But she hadn’t felt a single belly tingle or had any lingering sexual thoughts. She’d felt nothing. Nothing! Her body had been too consumed with the rush of sensations caused by Dean’s nearness. And every word he said, every heated glance, every breath since had proven she’d been dead wrong earlier, when she’d thought she could lock her emotional floodgates closed. Even now, as he leaned over the table, holding down the edges of the plans to keep them from curling up—not looking at her, not speaking to her—her stomach fluttered and her pulse skyrocketed.

  How could she possibly process all of the emotions crawling up from the depths of her soul, where she must have been unknowingly hoarding them away?

  “Here, let me show you,” Dean said, drawing her from her thoughts.

  She told herself she was just getting carried away because of his earlier confession and his brazen comments. She could totally regain control. No problem. Just switch back into friend mode.

  She tried to look over his shoulder, but he was too big. She went up on her toes, but he was still too bulky for her to get a clear view of the plans. She ducked under his arm and stood within the confines of his body. See? She could handle this.

  His chest grazed her back, and she fought the urge to lean into him. He reached around her with his right hand, still holding the edge of the plans with his left, and pointed to the drawing, bringing his chest tighter against her back. Her temperature spiked, obliterating her ability to concentrate on what he was saying. Every time he moved, his body pressed closer, making her hyperaware of every blessed inch of him, from his abs moving with every inhalation, to his hips, and the enticing, unmistakable bulge brushing against her bottom. She clenched her teeth, trying desperately to catch his words so she could hold on tight and climb free from the lust dragging her under, but his breath smelled minty, and her mind spiraled down a dark path. What would his mouth taste like? How would he kiss? Rough and demanding? Or would his kisses be tender and giving?

  “Doll?”

  She started, her body burning and flustered. She’d never been so affected by a man. Ever. The truth of their situation hit hard. She inhaled a calming breath, but there was no calming her racing heart. Weren’t there steps for dealing with denial like there were for grief and addiction? She felt like she’d been cut off cold turkey from her safe haven. The gates leading to Denial Palace had slammed closed and locked up tight—leaving her to face her attraction to Dean head-on.

  Turning to face him, she was immediately drawn into his piercing blue eyes. Fear and lust coalesced, as she mentally batted away the darts of friendship and career that bombarded her. He was so confident about them. Could he be right? Did she want him to be? Oh Lord, yes! Yes, I want you to be.

  She inhaled deeply, hoping she wasn’t about to ruin their friendship and everything she’d pinned her future on, and said, “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Nine

  DEAN WASN’T SURE how to take Emery’s sudden all-in attitude. He wasn’t sure if she was talking about deciding on materials for the landscape plans or moving forward with the two of them. Because of that, he played it cool, which was next to impossible. Over the course of the next hour, Emery went from barely breathing, emanating body heat like the Sahara and clearly struggling to focus on Dean’s explanations of Ashlar patterns, cobblestones, and flagstone, to being drawn in to the beauty of the plans. She’d become so swept up in ideas for the garden and patio, she was mesmerizing.

  Her eyes sparkled with possibilities as she described her ideas for the project. “Can’t you see it?” She waved her finger over the designs as she spoke. “A free-form flagstone patio here, instead of making those edges sharp. Sharp
isn’t warm. Sharp says, ‘Don’t come over here,’ while rounded edges say, ‘I’m easy, come over and relax.’ Oh! Can you use recycled flagstones? The ones that are all different sizes and colors?”

  He loved the way she thought. “Definitely. I use recycled materials whenever I can.”

  “A man after my own heart.” She paused, her gaze finding his. Then quickly, nervously, she pointed to the plans again. “And what’s over here?”

  “A view of the water.”

  “That makes it even more beautiful. And this?” She put her finger on the center of the patio where he’d marked the tree he was going to build the patio around.

  “A gorgeous oak tree.”

  “I love that,” she said dreamily. “Such a wonderful patio should be surrounded by flowers. What are those tall orange flowers I love so much?”

  She scrunched her nose, looking so fucking adorable he couldn’t resist slipping his arm around her waist and tugging her closer. “Tiger lilies. They’re all over the Cape.”

  “Yes! I adore them. What were those yellow flowers you just showed me a picture of?” Her hand dove into his back pocket and retrieved his phone. She navigated to the browser.

  Maybe he should be bothered by her breaching his privacy like that, but how could he be bothered by Emery being Emery?

  “Yellow flag blossoms,” they said in unison.

  “Yes! And Queen Anne’s lace, and”—she studied his phone, flipping through the pictures he’d shown her—“purple lace cap. This will be so pretty. The perfect meditation spot. Can you see it? All billowy with color and life with the sounds of the bay beckoning your inner calm?”

  He felt himself falling for her a little more with each excited word she uttered. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he’d already planted most of the gardens. Luckily, they were quite similar to what she’d described. “I can see it perfectly.”

  She slid his phone into his back pocket, leaving her fingers tucked there as she gazed up at him a little nervously. “Me too,” fell breathlessly from her lips.

  The showroom and the people in it fell away as his arms circled her. One hand came to rest at the top of her spine, the other on her lower back, pressing her closer. Her heart beat rapidly against his, and her breathing shallowed. Her fingers dug into him through the thick denim of his pocket. Finally, she was right there with him.

  “Emery—”

  “Did you get it all worked out?” Blaine’s voice broke through their connection but didn’t sever it completely.

  Emery’s gaze never left Dean’s. He expected her to pull away at any second, but her fingers pressed harder. Damn, how he wished they were someplace private.

  “We did,” he finally said to Blaine, unwilling to look away from Emery.

  In the next moment, her gaze dropped to his mouth, hovering long enough for him to weave a quick and dirty fantasy about what he’d like to do with said mouth. Dean cleared his throat to try to erase the image he’d conjured of Emery propped up on the edge of the worktable, moaning his name as he devoured the sweetness between her legs, but the image had burned into his mind. Fuuck. She was looking at him like she could read his mind—and liked it. Getting turned on in front of Blaine was not on his agenda.

  Emery bit her lower lip, her eyes dancing with devilish mischief. She stepped sideways, her fingers slipping from his pocket, leaving him to bear the brunt of his fantasy in front of his buddy. He scrubbed a hand down his face and quickly glanced down, relieved to find his shirt was long enough to hide his arousal.

  “Yeah,” Dean uttered, trying not to sound as sexually frustrated as he was. He gathered and rolled the plans, holding them in one hand as he took Emery’s arm in the other. “We’re good. I’ll email you the order.”

  She giggled as he hurried her toward the door.

  Outside, he said, “You think that’s funny?”

  He turned her in his arms, backing her up against the side of the truck, and boxed her in with his body.

  “Seeing your badass out of control?” she asked with another sweet, infuriating laugh. “Heck, yes, it’s funny.”

  He grabbed her wrists and pinned them beside her head. The plans sailed to the pavement. He sank down and arched forward, pressing his erection between her legs, and her eyes took on that hazy, sensual look he was earning so often today. Her skin flushed, and her lips parted. For all her sass, and self-pronounced strength and resilience, she looked anything but in control.

  He dipped his head, touching his lips to her neck, and dragged his tongue along her heated flesh until he reached her earlobe, which he took between his teeth, biting just hard enough for her to inhale sharply. She struggled against his grip, but her head tilted away, exposing more of her neck for him to devour. But he had something else in mind. A little lesson.

  Using his fingers, he stretched her hand flat against the truck, and as he rocked his hips against her center, he lowered his mouth to the tender skin of her palm, lavishing it with a long, hot, openmouthed kiss. She sighed wantonly, her back bowing off the truck, and she rubbed her body against him like a cat in heat. He grazed his teeth along her wrist and followed the sleek lines of her smooth skin all the way up her arm to her shoulder.

  Needy, sinful sounds escaped her, and when he brushed his lips over her cheek, his name sailed from her lungs like a plea—“Dean—” Her fingers stretched to touch him. “Please,” she begged.

  “Oh yeah, doll,” he practically growled into her ear, before sliding his tongue along the shell, earning another lustful sound. He lifted her hands higher, grasping them both within one of his, and ran his fingers lightly down her side, making her shiver. “That’s it, sweetness.”

  He flattened his hand over her hip and slipped it around her, filling his palm with her ass and bringing her even tighter against his shaft. “Don’t even try to tell me you don’t want me. You don’t want this.” He accentuated his words with a pulse of his hips. “Friends or not, I’m the man you crave.”

  She was breathing fast, her eyes narrowing. He lowered his hand to the curve of her ass and pushed his finger along the crease, stopping just short of the very heart of her. She held her breath, her eyes pleading for more.

  “I’d bet my life, if I were to touch you, I’d find you wet for me.”

  Her cheeks flamed.

  “Tell me I’m wrong, doll.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “You can see my arousal. I can sense yours.” He rubbed his fingertip beneath her shorts, along the tender skin beside her panties.

  Her mouth clamped shut.

  Still holding her wrists in one hand, he cupped her jaw with the other and brushed his thumb over her lips. Her tongue slid across her lower lip, and it took all of his control not to seal his mouth over hers. He laced his fingers with hers, moving both hands beside her head, and nibbled on her neck again, until she was panting, eyes closed, skin flushed, and nipples pert. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen, and she’d had him wanting her since the very day they’d met, but as badly as he wanted her, he reminded himself this was a lesson in control.

  He touched his forehead to hers, soaking in the rising and falling of her chest with every needful breath. He released her hands and bent to retrieve the plans. As his face neared the juncture of her thighs, he looked up at her, and the air rushed from her lungs. Plans in hand, he pressed the unlock button on his key fob and headed for the driver’s side, leaving her trembling, panting, and, he knew, beyond needy, as he ground out, “Not so funny now, is it, doll?”

  BY MIDAFTERNOON, EMERY had accepted that the idea of not getting hot and bothered every time Dean looked at her was hopeless, much less when he put his hand on her lower back as they ordered lunch at Mac’s Seafood by the Wellfleet Pier. Her body had become a ticking time bomb. She had no idea how she made it through lunch. She needed relief, but there was no relief in sight. Every glance, every joke, every brush of Dean’s hot skin against hers stoked the needy woman inside her.

  After lunch, as they
drove around town leaving flyers for her yoga classes at local businesses, her traitorous body remembered the weight of him pressed against her, the feel of his breath on her cheek, his tongue on her neck, hand, wrist, and the hungry look in his eyes as he shredded her walls, one touch, one word, one look at a time. Who knew Dean was such a master seducer?

  Holy cow. She had definitely met her match.

  By late afternoon, when they stopped at Dean’s place so he could put on his swim trunks and pick up two of his surfboards, she finally felt a modicum of control.

  “We’ll get a wet suit for you at my buddy Jonny’s shop,” he said as he came out of the house carrying his wet suit and headed for a shed in the backyard.

  “A wet suit? No thanks. Too confining.”

  “Em, you’ll freeze without one.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve swam in an ocean before.”

  “Yeah, in the South.” He opened the shed, but before he stepped inside, he closed the gap between them, staring down at her with a serious expression. “Why do you fight everything I say?”

  “I don—” She realized she was doing exactly that and swallowed her words. “Knee-jerk reaction. I hate being told what to do.”

  His brows knitted. “You take the long way around everything you do. Just this once, trust me enough to do as I ask, okay?”

  She huffed out a breath. “I hate being confined.”

  “By the wet suit, or by me?”

  After a beat of silence, she said, “The wet suit.”

  He cocked his head, as if he didn’t quite believe her. Planting her hands on her hips, she opened her mouth to refute his thoughts, but she knew Dean would never buy it. They may not have been face-to-face all these months, but she’d been honest with him about everything. She’d even shared her dream of one day becoming a yoga back-care specialist, primarily for the elderly, on a full-time basis.

  She closed her mouth, warmed by the realization of how seriously he’d taken her dream. Seriously enough to have built me up to the one person who has the connections to open doors.