Bayside Passions (Bayside Summers Book 2)

by Melissa Foster

  “Not you, specifically,” she explained. “But…I’ll try a wet suit if you really think I should.”

  He stepped closer. He was good at this space-invader thing he did. Her heart skipped as he tipped her chin up with one finger and said, “And a real date? Think you can trust me enough for that?”

  Her lungs constricted. “Our friendship…?”

  “Is already on the line, regardless of what happens next.”

  “You’re going to be my boss.”

  “You’re fired,” he said with an impish grin.

  She laughed. “I can’t let down Drake and Rick like that. I said I’d offer yoga to your customers.”

  “We’ll send them to your classes at the inn.”

  “Dean, I can’t just back out on commitments because you want me to. What would that make me?”

  “Smart,” he said, tugging her closer again, softening her to his plight. “You’d have one less reason to pull away. One less excuse to keep your distance. One less reason to fight your own happiness.”

  She inhaled deeply, trying to weed through right and wrong. Am I clinging to the best excuse I’ve got to keep my heart intact? She didn’t know why she was suddenly worried about her heart.

  My heart?

  Her hand drifted absently to her chest, her heart kicking against her palm. She’d never given that particular organ much thought beyond remaining healthy. It was their friendship and her career she’d worried about. She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of Dean watching her intently. Her heart beat faster.

  “What do you say, Em?”

  She wanted to accept the challenge. Or was it an offer? Suggestion? No, she realized, this wasn’t any of those things. This was a gift. He was offering her an olive branch, giving her a way to set aside one of her worries and give them a chance. No one had ever given her the gift of happiness.

  Except sometimes they did. Her father had done it when he’d paid for her back-care specialist courses, and hadn’t Desiree given her a gift when she’d offered a space at the inn for Emery and her business?

  Okay, sometimes people who really care about me, really know me and love me, despite my faults, have done that for me.

  Dean cocked a brow, and she opened her mouth to accept, but “Can I think about it?” came out before she could stop it. The hope in Dean’s eyes faded. Jesus. I really do stand in my own way.

  “Sure,” he said, looking at her for a long moment before breaking their connection and heading into the shed to retrieve the surfboards.

  She watched his muscles flex as he carried the boards out of the shed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s actually good that you’re giving this some thought. I think it means something.”

  There it was again, a glaring difference between what she usually did and what she did with Dean. “Maybe,” she said noncommittally.

  As he loaded the boards into the truck, he didn’t push, didn’t make her feel guilty. He smiled and patted her butt, joking around like they always did, until she was breathing normally again.

  “Hey,” she asked as he locked up the shed. “Why is your board so big?”

  He chuckled. “You noticed?”

  The dark look in his eyes revved her up again. “Your surfboard, big guy.”

  “Like I said…”

  How would she ever make it through the next few hours? Everything he said brought her right back to the dark desires she’d been trying to outrun. “You’re impossible.”

  “Trust me, doll. I’m very possible.” He backed her up against the truck again, leering like a hungry wolf. “With you, I’m a sure thing. Although that longboard is meant for you, as a beginner. It’s easier to balance on a longboard.” He pressed his hips against her again and said, “But this longboard’s got your name on it.”

  Drawing all her wits about her, which at the moment weren’t much, she knew she had to try to ignore that comment and cling to the one that would keep her from jumping into bed with Dean. “I know how to balance. I don’t need a special board. Maybe I should ride the shortboard.”

  “Not happening, doll,” he said as he pulled the keys from his pocket. “You want to get up on the board, not fall off it.”

  She wanted to get up on something all right, but it wasn’t the surfboard.

  Not helping.

  “So, you’re riding the shortboard because you think you have better balance than me?”

  “I’m riding the shortboard because I know how to surf.” He opened the passenger door of the truck, laughing under his breath. “Riding the shortboard,” he mumbled as he helped her in. “That’s not the thing I’m hoping to ride, shortcake.” He smacked her ass and strutted around the truck, climbing into the driver’s seat.

  “Get over here where you belong.” He hauled her beside him, and she didn’t even try to complain as he hooked her seat belt.

  She didn’t want to.

  He draped one arm around her, holding her against him, and drove out to the main road.

  “I didn’t even accept a real date yet,” she pointed out.

  “You take the long way around things. I know this about you. But maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do. I tend to find the most efficient route.”

  “So that’s what this is? Efficiency? I’m living in your house. Kill two birds with one stone?”

  He shook his head. “That smart-ass bullshit might work on other guys to goad them into a senseless debate and throw them off-track, but not me. You’re living in my house because it was a better place for you. You’re living there because you want to be living there.”

  She opened her mouth to rebut him again, but before she could get a word out he said, “You could have stayed at Violet’s, but you made a big show out of the whole naked-dude thing. I think you wanted me to offer my place.”

  “Right,” she said sarcastically. “Delusional much?”

  “Did you fight it?”

  “No, but—”

  “I rest my case. Like I said, denial looks cute on you.” Dean parked the truck in front of Surf Magnet, which she assumed was his friend Jonny’s surf shop. He cut the engine and said, “But I have a feeling clarity will look smoking hot.”

  He stepped from the truck and came around to help her out. She knew a thing or two about clarity. She found it as she greeted each morning with yoga and meditation. Wasn’t she always preaching the benefits of centering oneself to her clients? Praising mindfulness, the coming together of mind, body, and soul? But where Dean was concerned, clarity was shrouded in worry.

  She stewed on those thoughts as she was measured and fitted for a wet suit, which she assumed they’d rent, but Dean insisted on buying. You’re a Cape girl now. You’ll need it.

  By the time they reached Newcomb Hollow Beach, the sun had dipped low in the sky and the waves looked enticing. Emery was excited and nervous about learning to surf, and she was glad that Dean was going to teach her instead of Brody. She was equally aware and excited by her newly discovered—accepted?—feelings toward Dean.

  Brisk ocean air swept up the dune, bringing a world of freeing sensations with it. Emery had forgotten how different it felt to be at the ocean than the bay. The bay was calming, while the ocean seemed to rejuvenate her entire being. She reveled in the way the salty air made her skin feel tacky as they kicked off their flip-flops and stepped into the warm sand. She carried the towels and wet suits down the steep walkway toward the beach. Dean had a surfboard under each arm. She walked behind him, trying not to stare at his perfect butt beneath his swim trunks, but what else was there to look at? A beach full of swimmers? No one compared to him. Not in looks, or as much as he’d hate hearing it, not in sweetness, either. His heart was as tender as his muscles were strong.

  There went her heart again, quickening, making it hard to breathe. That organ she’d never paid much attention to wasn’t fading back into the background anytime soon.

  Dean set the boards on the shore and took the wet suits and
towels from her, setting them down, too. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the sand, exposing another of his most dangerous weapons—his powerful physique. She was dying to know the meaning behind the ink covering his shoulder, biceps, and pecs, but each time she’d brought it up over the last few months he’d changed the subject. Now that her true emotions had not just surfaced, but crashed into her like rolling waves against the shore, she was more curious than ever.

  Dean stretched his arms over his head, then out to the sides, twisting and stretching. His muscles pulsed as he flaunted every angle of his deliciousness. Suddenly Emery was very hungry. Ravenous.

  He laced his long, thick fingers together and extended his arms forward with another deep stretch. Her spine tingled with the memory of how those adept fingers felt on her skin as they trailed down her ribs and beneath the hem of her shorts.

  Dean stepped closer, his blue eyes boring into her. She must have been dipped in ice for all these months to have kept her distance, because his eyes, his very presence…She could catch fire from the heat of this man.

  “You ready to get wet, doll?” he asked with a haughty look.

  I think I already am.

  Chapter Ten

  DEAN HAD THOUGHT covering up that skimpy bikini he’d been fantasizing about stripping off Emery all day would make it easier to concentrate on teaching her to surf. But it turned out that helping Emery into a wet suit was even more of a lesson in self-control than the bikini had been. She wiggled her ass, shimmied her shoulders, arched and stretched, all of which caused her luscious curves to appear even more pronounced and tempting. When she was finally zipped in tight, her gorgeous body encased in black neoprene, she looked absofuckinglutely scorching hot.

  Emery was back to being her sassy self, complaining about being shown how to wax her board and about having to practice the various stages of surfing—paddling, popping up to her feet, proper stance—on the sand before getting in the water. She was a spitfire of rebellion, and she tried his patience at every turn. While that was a great boner-killer, coming from Emery, it was also strangely a huge turn-on. He prayed he could control himself long enough to get into the water, because there was no hiding being fully cocked and loaded in a wet suit.

  He left his board on the shore, wanting to be right there if she needed him. “Remember, you want to cut through the waves head-on, not at a glancing angle, or you’ll lose your momentum.”

  Emery dropped her board in thigh-high water. One hand on the board, the other shading her eyes, she scanned the water. “What if I see a shark?”

  “Don’t try to pet it.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” He looked her dead in the eyes, recognizing the fear lingering there. “It’s an ocean, and there are sharks. We have a high seal population. But the chance of you encountering one is slim.”

  “Not helpful. The chances that I’d end up living in your house and getting all hot and bothered because of you were less than slim when I arrived.”

  He chuckled. “Duly noted. If you see a shark, keep it in sight as you head for shore.”

  “And when it chomps my leg off?” she asked.

  “Hope it doesn’t like the way you taste and get the hell out of there.”

  Her jaw gaped.

  “Emery,” he said in his most reassuring tone, “I will be nearby. If there’s a shark, my priority will be to get you out of the water, even if that means taking a hit myself.”

  She sighed nervously. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

  “Want to skip surfing?”

  She shook her head.

  “Want to paddle out and see how you feel? Find your sweet spot on the board?” As he said the words sweet spot his body heated up again. Fuck. He walked into deeper water, submerging his lower half, and said, “If you’re too frightened, you’re not going to get up on the board. You’ll just get frustrated.”

  She gazed out at the sea. “I’m not too scared.” In the next breath, she was on her board, plowing through the waves head-on, just as he’d advised.

  Dean swam after her, impressed with her resilience. When she began drifting sideways, he grabbed her ass, redirecting her.

  She glowered.

  He laughed and patted her ass. “Move a little lower on the board, so the nose is slightly above the water.”

  “Got it, Mr. Handsy.” She shifted lower and paddled with long, deep strokes, with Dean swimming beside her. “This feels good. I think I found my sweet spot.”

  He felt himself grinning. “I’d like to find your sweet spot. I can guarantee you’ll feel good.”

  “There you go, bragging again,” she said with a sexy smile. “I think I’ve got this.”

  He motioned toward the oncoming waves. “You know what to do, doll. Pick your spot, paddle like a bat outta hell, and keep looking forward.”

  He swam away, watching her like a hawk as she sat up on the board, used her hands and feet to turn toward the shore, and looked over her shoulder with the confidence of a lifelong surfer. She was stunning with the late-afternoon sun glistening over her damp skin.

  As the wave swelled she paddled forward. Every muscle in Dean’s body tensed as the momentum of the wave built and she tried to stand on shaky legs. The board tipped, sending her flying backward, into the crashing wave. His heart lurched as he quickly swam toward her. She broke the surface as his arm circled her.

  Swiping at her eyes and gasping, she yelled, “Stupid wave!” and reached for her board.

  “You’re okay?”

  “Yes, I’m okay! I’m pissed. I slipped right off the stupid board.”

  “It takes time. You did great. It’s really hard to find your footing when the world’s moving out from under you. You looked amazing out there.”

  She faced the waves again and climbed onto her board. “I looked like shit, but not for long.”

  She paddled away, and after four more failed attempts, each one bringing more frustration than the last, he held her trembling body, both of them bouncing with the force of the water.

  “You gave it a good shot. Let’s call it a day and try again—”

  “Hell no. If you can do this, so can I. I have balance. I’m the queen of balance. Watch.” She pushed away from him and paddled past the waves to calmer waters.

  He swam after her, stunned when she unhooked the leash from her ankle and stood on the board, fluidly arching backward into a backbend. How the hell…? He swam closer, careful not to create waves, and when she kicked her feet up into a perfect handstand and then lowered them perpendicular to the board in an even more precise handstand split, he saw her not as the sexual temptress he lusted after, but for the experienced, intense, determined yogi she was.

  A wide smile graced her beautiful face as her legs moved fluidly toward the board, and swiftly beneath her, until she was doing splits along the length of the board.

  “See?” she said, a little out of breath. “Balance isn’t my issue.”

  She straddled the board and reached for his hand. He climbed on, mimicking her position, her knees tucked against his inner thighs. She pressed her hands to her thighs, her brows knitted in concentration.

  “It takes a different type of balance when the board is cruising along a wave. It takes time, but you’ll get it,” he reassured her.

  “Will you help me learn?”

  He moved closer, her request touching him deeply. Emery wasn’t the type of woman who asked for help. Earning another level of her trust meant the world to him. “I’d love to.”

  EMERY LAY ON the surfboard with Dean perched above. His strength radiated in the small gap between their bodies, making her feel safe and excited at once as the swell of a wave propelled them forward. Her heart thundered as adrenaline and something even more thrilling, sexier, and unexpected coursed through her veins. He’d gone over what she was supposed to do so many times it ran through her mind like a mantra.

  I’ll stand, then you push up. Concentrate on y
our stance, knees bent, arms loose and extended, torso forward. Look straight ahead and know I’ve got you.

  Suddenly Dean’s hands disappeared, and the board tilted with his weight as he rose to his feet. It happened so fast, Emery didn’t have time to think. She gripped the edges of the board, pushing her chest up as her feet moved beneath her. Dean clutched her hips, strong and stable, helping her pop to her feet. One of his arms circled her waist, holding her back against his chest as they rode the wave.

  As they surfed along the shores of the Cape, the sounds of the rushing waves, distant voices in the wind, and the pounding of blood in her ears gave Emery a sense of freedom, euphoria, and at the same time, disbelief. The overwhelming sensations should bowl her over, or at least give her pause, but instead they gave her a sense of clarity.

  Dean held her until the very end of their ride, when he lowered her to a sitting position and hopped off the board.

  She was delirious with happiness and adrenaline, and her words tumbled out too fast. “That was amazing. Incredible. Life changing. Like the first time I did yoga. It felt like taking the clearest, deepest, soul-reaching breath, only the breath was inside and outside my body.”

  She swung her legs over the side, and Dean moved between them, his strong arms circling her hips. Her thighs pressed against his chest. The depth of emotions swimming in his blue eyes sent pulses of something warm and electric straight to her heart. She didn’t think, didn’t contemplate what it all meant or why her heart felt like it was trying to climb out of her body to reach him. She let it guide her and lowered her lips to Dean’s. Her head spun with the first touch of his warm, soft lips. In an instant, he took control. His hands flattened on her back, his arms squeezed her hips, tugging her closer, and his mouth—his gloriously hot, heavenly eager mouth—consumed her. The kiss turned rough and unstoppable. Amid sensual sighs and thrusting tongues, he hauled her forward, while simultaneously lifting himself higher on the board, as if he couldn’t get enough of her and might not ever have another chance. Her body slid into him. Hard. She clung to him with her arms and legs, never breaking their connection.