Paradise Cove

by Jenny Holiday

  She couldn’t have wiped the grin from her face if she tried.

  He came back to her. Placed his mouth back on her throat. Used his other hand to pull her against his body again, except this time, instead of placing it on her back, he splayed his palm over one ass cheek. Oh dear God.

  His lips started moving. He wasn’t kissing her exactly, just dragging his mouth against her too-sensitive flesh.

  She let loose a shaky sigh. He made her feel like she was melting and tensing up at the same time—the two sensations were at war inside her body. “What about the condom, though?”

  “We don’t need it,” he whispered against her skin.

  “Uh, yes we do.” She stiffened. She was on the pill, but there was no way she was having casual sex without a condom. She never would have thought of Jake as one of those guys who would try to suggest otherwise. She was shocked, frankly.

  “No, I mean we don’t have to do stuff that requires a condom.” He was still speaking with his mouth right on her.

  “Ohhh,” she breathed, her body surrendering to the melting as she contemplated what “other stuff” might mean. “Okay.”

  “Although…” He pulled back again. “I could go downstairs and ask Karl if he has one.”

  She laughed and shrieked at the same time. The idea of Karl finding out what was going on up here was both mortifying and amusing. He took a step away, and she tried to reach for him to get him back. That was the wrong direction. He was supposed to— Oh. Oh.

  He was taking off his shirt.

  She sucked in a breath. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen his chest. He’d been shirtless a couple times in her yard, back at the old house. But that had been a look-don’t-touch situation. Now, by contrast, she was going to get to put her hands all over him. She was— All right, then.

  He was shucking his jeans, too.

  He was taking the efficient approach, which she could appreciate. The idea of seductively peeling your bed partner’s clothes off was always sexier than the reality of it, when legs got caught in pants and bra clasps were hard to figure out.

  And either he wasn’t wearing any underwear, or he was good at multitasking, because when he straightened, he was naked.

  He was a naked man-god.

  Muscular and beautiful and…he was a big guy, and every part of him was in proportion. In proportion and at attention.

  “Well,” she said. “You get right to the point, don’t you?”

  His eyes darkened, and she worried she’d offended him. “I don’t do romance, Nora.”

  There had been a warning in his tone, but she didn’t need it. “I don’t want romance.” She meant it. She wasn’t cluttering up her life with furniture right now, while she found her feet, so she certainly wasn’t going to clutter it up with romance.

  She pressed a hand to her throat. She’d been worried before that her fluttering pulse would give away her lust, but now it was thundering so hard it physically hurt. So did the juncture between her legs, where she could feel her pulse equally strongly.

  “I mean it. I like you, Nora. And obviously I’m attracted to you. But I had my run at the whole relationship, white-picket-fence thing, and I’m done with that.”

  She must not have answered fast enough, because he took a step back and something shuttered in his expression. “And before you try to tell me that time heals all wounds—”

  “I would never tell you that.” She’d spoken more sharply than she’d intended, but honestly she was a little offended. “I would never tell you that.”

  She’d thought maybe that was going to be the start of an argument, and/or the end of the proceedings, but he surprised her by smiling. “And that’s exactly why I like you. You don’t speak in platitudes. You don’t think in platitudes.”

  She sucked in a breath. That might be the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. “Well, I mean it, too. I’m supposed to be figuring out my life these next two years. Being kind of selfish. I can’t do that chained to a guy.”

  His smile deepened—he liked that answer—and something twisted in her belly. “I also like your hair.”

  Okay, apparently they were still on the listing-things-they-liked-about-each-other section of the proceedings. “I like your hair, too. Will you take it down?” He started to do so, and she worried suddenly that she should say something else, lest he think she regarded him merely as a hot body with a great head of hair. “I also like the way you…get stuff done. You don’t talk about doing things. You just do them.” She laughed at herself. Then she laughed at the whole situation—turned on and cracking up was not a combination she had experience with, but she liked it. “Is it weird that we’re listing off things we like about each other while we’re naked?”

  “Well, I’m naked. You, on the other hand”—his eyes made a slow journey down her body—“should get naked.”

  “You wanna help?” It was out before she could think, and she’d said it automatically, like it was the next line in a script. It was what she would have said to Rufus, but hadn’t she just been thinking that undressing a lover was never actually as exciting or sexy as it was supposed to be?

  He must have agreed, because he said, “No. I want to watch.”

  Well. That was a good answer. An answer that went straight to the knot of tension between her legs and twisted it a little tighter.

  She reached for the tie of her dress, which was at her waist. He started toward her from where he’d been standing near the door, but as he passed, he held his arms up in a no-hands sort of gesture, making a show of not touching her as he slid past her and sat on the bed.

  She pivoted to face him. He rotated his hand to signal that he wanted her to get on with it.

  As she started undoing the knot, he asked, “What kind of dress is that?”

  “A wrap dress?” She wasn’t sure why she had answered with a question. She just wasn’t sure what he meant. Was he referring to style? Type of fabric?

  “A wrap dress,” he repeated. “So now you’re going to unwrap yourself?”

  She was going to try. The dress had holes you fed ties through, and one of the ties was absurdly long when it was undone because it had to go all the way around her waist and through a hole on the other side of the front. It looked like a simple dress from the outside, but it was actually kind of complicated, structurally speaking.

  She might have gotten self-conscious as she started pulling the long tie out, but he, Mr. Mute, started performing a monologue. “I gotta tell you, that neckline has been doing a number on me since I saw you up on that stage.”

  She paused. “I think it would be racier if I didn’t have such small breasts. I don’t even need a bra. This dress would be a lot sexier if I had perfect, perky breasts like—”

  “You are not about to invoke the Intern.”

  “Well…”

  He lifted a finger. “I swear to God, if you say her name, I will get up and leave.” She made a show of closing her mouth. He shook the still-raised finger at her. “All right, then. Now unwrap yourself.”

  She did. She even managed all the ties and holes without feeling too awkward. Which left her standing in front of him in her panties. Black, bikini-style, functional cotton panties, which, although they might not have been her first choice if she’d known Jake Ramsey was going to see them, were at least not as bad as they could have been.

  It didn’t seem like he was looking at them anyway. Her nipples started to…buzz? There was a distinct tingling sort of sensation happening in each of them. He was definitely looking at her breasts. In fact, she might say he was leering at her breasts.

  “See?” he rasped. “Perky.”

  “Yeah, but they’re so small, they can’t help but be perk—”

  “And perfect.” The bed was shoved up against a wall, and he scooted back on it until his back hit the wall. Then he curled his index finger at her.

  Nora did not have bad self-esteem, generally speaking. But she’d meant what she said when she told
him she was skinny but unfit. Yeah, she was petite, but she had jiggly bits.

  He curled the finger again, and his eyes sparked in a way that suggested he did not see the jiggly bits the same way she did.

  So she went. Crawled across the bed until she was kneeling in front of him.

  He reached immediately for the breasts they had just been discussing. In another context she would have used the word groped, except his touch made her jaw go slack. An involuntary moan slipped out.

  “Perfect,” he said again just before his mouth made contact with a nipple.

  She was kneeling up between his legs, so his head was at nipple level, and he went to town. Holding, kneading, working the flesh up into a handful that he would scrape his fingernails over before gathering it again and putting it in his mouth.

  “Jake,” she breathed.

  He hummed with his mouth still on her. “Hmm?”

  She hadn’t meant it as a question he needed to answer, had just been mindlessly saying his name as pleasure beat through her like a kettledrum being struck, over and over, too fast, so fast she couldn’t catch a breath. “I think I might come just from this,” she gasped.

  “Why don’t you?” he said lazily, but even as he made the lewd suggestion, he let go of her with one hand, which he then shoved down the back of her panties. He squeezed her butt briefly and then came back around front and burrowed through her folds.

  “Ahh!” She arched her back instinctively, and it had the effect of shoving her torso forward far enough that it hit his.

  Which, in turn, had the effect of reminding her how much she had wanted to touch his chest before.

  With her breasts, though. She wanted to touch his chest with her breasts.

  So she kind of rudely removed his hand from her panties. He started to say something, which she was pretty sure was an apology. That wasn’t called for. But instead of telling him as much, she straddled him. Mashed her chest against his and ground down on his lap.

  “Oh, damn, Nora,” he bit out.

  She wanted to laugh. Not at him, but in triumph. He thought he was playing her so expertly, being the Minister of Sensations while she was the…ministeree. But two could play at that game. She writhed shamelessly until she got herself into a position where she could rock back and forth on him in a way that perfectly stimulated her clit.

  “Oh, shit,” he growled. “I’m not going to last very long this time. I’m sorry.”

  She laugh-moaned. “This time?” How much did she love that phrase? Because it implied that there was going to be a next time.

  “Yeah, next time I’m going to beat off like twenty-five times before I see you.”

  “Oh my God.” That was so…flattering. Filthily flattering. She rocked harder. “It’s okay. I’m not going to last much longer, either.”

  They rutted against each other, and just when she was starting to get frustrated, when the pleasure was starting to tilt into get-it-over-already irritation, he kissed her.

  On the lips. Which they had not done yet.

  It was just a simple kiss. No tongue, even. But it tipped her over the edge.

  It had been a long time. She came long and hard.

  He came, too, with a growl and a great big buck of his hips.

  Eventually she slid off him, her panties all sticky with her wetness and his come. She’d been vaguely intending to get all the way off the bed and find some clean clothes, but he lay down and tugged her down with him, arranging her against his chest.

  Apparently whatever this was, this “I like you and we’re having sex, but we’re never going to be a couple” thing, it came with cuddling.

  She was down with that.

  They were quiet for a long time as their breathing slowed. The companionable silence had returned.

  “You never took your underwear off,” he said, stroking her back.

  It was true. She’d done all that grinding with a layer of cotton between them. She was playing with his hair, combing her fingers through it. He didn’t seem to mind, so she didn’t stop as she said, “So?”

  “In retrospect that seems like a lost opportunity.”

  She huffed a laugh. “Over the panties. Is that third base? Or just second?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the baseball person. You tell me.”

  “I’ve never actually known. First base is kissing, I think? But maybe that’s wrong? I really have no idea.”

  “Well, everyone knows first base is rolling around nearly naked in a pink room. So we can check off first base. Good job.” He raised his hand for a high five, and she laughed and slapped it.

  She wasn’t sure if she could or should return to playing with his hair, so she left her hand on his chest and forced it to remain still. “What’s second base then, do you think?”

  “Sex on the beach. With condoms.”

  She laughed again. She was doing a lot of that here. “In October? Brr.”

  “Sex in a room overlooking the beach,” he said without missing a beat.

  “Sex in a room overlooking the beach with condoms?” she clarified.

  “Of course.” He paused. “If you want to.”

  She smiled. “I want to.” She sighed happily. “Does friends-with-benefits second base come with grilled trout?”

  Even though she wasn’t looking at him, tucked up against his chest as she was, she felt his smile. “Of course it does.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Oh, for God’s sake.

  Jake hadn’t been kidding about his plan to beat off twenty-five times before he next saw Nora. Well, maybe twenty-five had been an exaggeration, but he had gotten in the shower an hour ago, after he’d cleaned both the cottage and the fish in preparation for her arrival, to take the edge off. Yesterday he had lasted all of forty-five seconds after she’d started grinding on him, and that was not a statistic he could live with on an ongoing basis.

  But as he and Mick sat on the deck waiting for her arrival, it only took one glimpse of her as she rounded the outcropping in the boots he’d left on the other side for her earlier in the day—he’d picked up one of her discarded shoes to check the size before leaving her room in the inn yesterday and bought her a new pair this morning—for him to pop a semi.

  Mick barked.

  “I know, dude. I know.”

  He got up, adjusted himself, and walked out to meet her. He’d instructed her to bring nothing, but her arms were laden with bags.

  He wasn’t sure how to greet her. Should they kiss? He wanted to kiss her, but that was probably uncalled for. He’d meant what he’d said about not doing romance, and he genuinely believed they were on the same page about that. So he gestured for her to hand over her bags. “What’s all this?”

  She picked up Mick, who was yipping happily at her feet and wagging his entire butt, and started kissing his head and…Was he jealous of a dog?

  “A pumpkin chiffon pie from Pearl’s, a bottle of wine, some doggie treats, and…” She nodded toward the bag in his right hand. “Look in that one.”

  He pulled out a box of condoms and chuckled. “Extra large. You flatter me.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  He shrugged. He had bought some, too. The same kind, in fact.

  “I’m actually a little scared of that thing.”

  Was she talking about his dick? He furrowed his brow.

  “I mean, I’m kind of shrimpy.” She laughed, but not like she had yesterday. This laughter seemed a bit forced. “And you’re kind of…not shrimpy.” She grimaced jokingly. “And it’s been a while.”

  “Nora.” He stepped in front of her so he could look at her. God. He would attend the Mermaid Parade every day for the rest of his life and make small talk with the whole goddamn town before he would want Nora to do something she didn’t want to do. “You’re here for dinner. Nothing else has to happen.”

  “I know.” She rolled her eyes as she came to a halt—he was blocking her path. “I mean, I’m here for dinner and for…everything else. I
really am. I’m just…”

  He didn’t like this. The Nora he knew was decisive. She didn’t let sentences trail off. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. “What?” he said, as gently as he could. Then, realizing that staring at her super intensely probably wasn’t helping the cause of getting her to feel comfortable talking about what was bothering her, he continued walking toward the cottage.

  He wanted to grab her hand, but that was another thing that wasn’t called for. They’d only done it last time as a practical means to keep together as they’d run away from Karl. They were friends who were sleeping together—or friends who had slept together once, past tense, because he wasn’t going to push her here—and there was no reason to hold hands.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, as gently as he could.

  She blew out a breath. “I’m having a crisis of confidence, to be honest. I was with Rufus for five years.” She snorted. “And unlike him, I never slept with anyone else in those five years.”

  He held up his free hand, but in a joking way, because he thought it would lighten the mood and that she might appreciate that. “Do not speak her name. You are way perkier than she is.”

  She smiled. “Anyway, yesterday just sort of happened, but this is…premeditated. Which has left a lot of space for me to ponder the idea that I haven’t slept with anyone else besides Rufus for five years, and you know…” More trailing off. He hated that. But he had to let her finish. “In retrospect, I guess I wasn’t doing it for him.”

  Oh God. Someone should just reach into his chest and pull his heart out right now. Stomp on it and throw it in the trash. Because this woman thought she was not sexy. He tilted his head and his neck cracked. Which seemed appropriate because he felt like he was going into battle.

  “Yesterday aside, I haven’t slept with anyone since my ex-wife.” He wasn’t sure what his point was. Unlike her, he wasn’t feeling insecure so much as incredibly turned on, but he wanted her to know that this was a big deal for him, too.

  Even though it wasn’t a big deal. Because they were just friends.

  It had been a while for him, was the point. A long while. “And we didn’t sleep together in the six months between when Jude died and she left. So it’s been almost four years for me.”