Barefoot Bay: When You Touch Me (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Marilyn Baxter

  “I want you to come again,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

  Sam was not a selfish lover by any means. He reached between them to the spot where their bodies joined, and it was his turn to massage. He pressed and stroked her slick, swollen nub until she cried out in response.

  Her orgasm energized him, and he quickened his pace. Exhaling hard with each thrust, he pistoned into her, three, four, five more times. He arched his back and his body quaked as he surrendered to his own orgasm.

  Sam collapsed beside her, still panting for air. He gathered her into his arms, resting her head against his shoulder.

  “Beautiful. Amazing,” he said as if unable to utter more than one word at a time.

  Jillian remained motionless, but her heart raced against his chest. Minutes later, when she felt his heart rate and breathing return to normal, he slipped out of the bed, and she watched as he walked to the bathroom on wobbly legs as he removed the condom.

  She opened her mouth to plead with him to hurry back, but the only sound that came out was like a beached fish gasping for oxygen. He had pushed her over the edge twice. Pleasured her like no other lover ever had. But this had to stop now, no matter how good it was.

  While he was in the bathroom, she slipped into her cover-up, stuffed the still damp swimsuit in her tote and perched on the edge of the bed to wait for him.

  “This afternoon’s session will be at the beach,” Jillian told him, unable to make eye contact. She didn’t want to see her shame reflected in his eyes, so she stared at the beams of light angling through the plantation shutters while he stood naked in the bathroom doorway.

  “You know I don’t like—”

  “It’s better for you,” she had countered insistently. “Just give it a try. Like that tattoo of yours says.”

  His nostrils flared and she could see the muscle in his jaw twitch.

  “Two o’clock on the beach,” she repeated before he had a chance to argue. Then she stood, spun on one heel and left the villa.

  She and Sam had done very little in the way of therapy today and way too much in the matter of crossing the line she had been so adamant about. Sex with Sam hadn’t just crossed the line; it had obliterated it completely.

  And nothing could ever uncross it. Ever.

  Chapter Nine

  Under most circumstances, Jillian had an intense dislike for big box stores. They were always overcrowded and understaffed and a source of stress in general. But it was hard to argue with low prices, especially when uncertainty tainted her future.

  Today, however, she wished Mimosa Key had one. Two, even. She needed sunscreen for her afternoon session with Sam, and didn’t have time to drive across the causeway to the mainland just so she could avoid a visit to the Super Min. Owned and managed by Charity Grambling, it was not only a place to shop, it was gossip central for the island.

  If there was news to be spread, you could count on two methods – telephone or tell Charity. And chances were better than even the news would spread more quickly with the latter. The woman had a network of informants that would put the CIA to shame. Jillian had been able to avoid the Super Min since her return home, but today she would have to bite the bullet or risk a sunburn.

  She slid behind the wheel of her six-year-old compact hybrid and drove the short distance to the island’s main intersection.

  “Damn it.” The curse flew from her mouth when she pulled into the Super Min parking lot and saw Sam’s rental car at the gas pump. She contemplated a quick reversal and a drive around the block to give him time to leave.

  Chicken.

  She had to face him on the beach in ninety minutes, but they would be somewhat in the public eye at the north end of the resort beach. She might as well get their first post-sex encounter over now.

  When she had returned home after they had made love, she stood in the shower and let hot water sluice over her until it ran cold. She had scrubbed every inch of her body as if she could wash away the shame and embarrassment of having succumbed to his charms. And to compound her shame, the sex had been good.

  Oh, who was she kidding? It was earth-shattering, toe-curling, once-in-her-lifetime sex. The kind of sex that made you forget all responsibilities and want more.

  And once again her conscience argued with her bank account. She had seven more appointments with Sam. If she stood her ground as she had earlier and kept their sessions in the spa or a beach cabana, she could muddle through the next three and a half days.

  Couldn’t she?

  Hell yes, she could.

  And she didn’t give a rat’s ass if he didn’t like sand and the ocean. He could suck it up because she was not ever going back to that villa or put herself in a position to be seduced by him again.

  Jillian hadn’t given him a chance to argue. She was so angry at herself, and at him, that if he had he argued, she might very well have cursed enough for Poppy to support the orphanage for an entire year.

  Ignoring the man in question who leaned against a bright red muscle car, she maneuvered into the parking space farthest from the pumps and marched into the Super Min.

  Charity stood behind the counter, five feet and two inches of unabashed busybody. She wore a shapeless lime green muumuu, which clashed horribly with her bad dye job and gave her the appearance of someone with a terminal cause of jaundice. The overhead fluorescent lights, which flickered and buzzed loudly, added to her sickly appearance.

  As the door squeaked shut behind Jillian, Charity looked up from one of the weekly tabloids she consumed like someone who had been deprived of water for days.

  “Well, if it isn’t Jillian Logan. Hon, I’ve been hoping to see you so I could tell you how sorry I was about your mother, God rest her soul. I was visiting relatives out of state when she passed. How long has it been? Two, three years ago?” Charity smiled but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  Jillian nodded at the woman and mumbled her thanks, then walked to the aisle holding personal care items. She heard footsteps nearby and turned to find Charity had followed her.

  “I heard Daphne put in her notice that she was retiring and moving to one of those mobile home retirement communities over near Orlando. Me personally, I wouldn’t be caught dead in a mobile home. A hurricane will rip that right apart you know. I was lucky when Damien came through here. Just lost a few shingles and a couple trees.” She paused to take a breath, but Jillian knew better than to expect Charity’s diatribe to be complete. “Have you decided anything about your mother’s store yet?” Charity raised an eyebrow that more closely matched the color of her roots instead of her hair.

  “I’m still weighing my options. I have some time before Daphne leaves.”

  “I don’t want to try and tell you what to do,” Charity said. Jillian knew otherwise; that was precisely the woman’s plan. “But I’d close it down if I was you. You can’t get decent help around here to run it and you sure don’t want to give up that cushy job up there at Barefoot Bay to sell keychains and coffee mugs, do you?”

  Jillian blinked at the woman’s audacity. “As I said, I’m still weighing my options.” She pulled a bottle of sunscreen from the shelf.

  A jangling sound indicated the front door had opened, and Charity spun quickly to walk back to the front counter.

  Jillian suspected it was Sam coming inside to pay for his gas. She decided to stay put, hoping he would pay and leave and she could avoid him at least for the present. She busied herself reading packaging labels, finding expired merchandise in the process. She would have to talk with Charity about the dangers of old products.

  Or not.

  The best path was not to stir a bee’s nest. And Charity was definitely a queen bee on Mimosa Key. Jillian wanted to avoid her sting at all costs, even if it meant letting someone consume outdated aspirin.

  “Do you think this brand works pretty good?”

  Jillian jumped and nearly dropped the item in her hands. She had been so engrossed in the ingredients of a bottle of Is
land Fresh body wash she hadn’t heard Sam slip beside her. She steadied herself and continued browsing without a response.

  “No? Then how about this one?” he asked, displaying the sexy grin she couldn’t resist. He was apparently intent on getting a rise out of her. Hadn’t he done enough of that just hours ago when he had rocked her world not once, but two amazing times?

  She hurriedly grabbed a tube from the shelf and thrust it at him. “This is best. For your scars. You need to protect them so they don’t discolor,” she said. “As a matter of fact, wear a t-shirt over the sunscreen as added protection.”

  And so she didn’t have to look at the chiseled planes of his chest and the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath his waistband and was a clear directional marker straight to temptation. Sam moved closer, crowding into her personal space.

  “I’m glad to see you’re protecting your skin. I’d hate to see you get all blistered because of me.”

  He reached out and ran his index finger down her nose. When he let it brush across her lips with a mere whisper and trail across her cheek to her ear, she felt as if her skin might blister beneath his touch. She turned her head, once again avoiding eye contact.

  “Oops, sorry,” he said, backing away. “I crossed it again, didn’t I? Your line.”

  Anger welled up from deep inside. “Will you stop?” she whispered between clenched teeth. “Charity could see us and she’s the island blabbermouth.”

  “We’re just talking.”

  “You were touching me.” Dear Lord, she sounded like a child stuck in the backseat of the family car with a bratty sibling. “Intimately,” she added.

  One corner of Sam’s mouth lifted in amusement. “That? That wasn’t intimate, sweetheart. But what we did this morning was most definitely intimate.”

  Jillian set the body wash back on the shelf and walked away. Maybe if she perused the feminine products he would go away. Behind her, she heard the slap of his flip-flops against the vinyl flooring. She stopped and blindly grabbed the closest item on the shelf. To her horror, she had picked up a box of condoms.

  “Not my favorite brand,” he whispered. He pulled a home pregnancy test from the shelf and held it out for her to see. “Good thing you won’t have to worry about one of these, huh?”

  “Here,” she said and shoved the condoms into his hands. Her face burned with embarrassment. She had to get away from him before he did something to draw Charity’s attention to them – if that hadn’t already happened. Jillian headed to the rear of the store and the cold food section. A bottle of lemonade might cool her flushed cheeks and hot anger.

  As she pulled a drink from the cold case, she heard the smack of his shoes again. “You don’t take hints very well, do you? Will you please leave me alone now?”

  Sam held up both hands, palms out. “Hey, I apologize,” he said. “But I won’t apologize for this morning because it’s kind of hard to be sorry about making love to an angel.”

  He leaned in, inches from her face, then closed the remaining distance between them. He touched his lips to hers. Jillian pulled away swiftly.

  “Oh hell, why did you do that?” she asked, her voice still a whisper. “If Charity saw us, the island grapevine will have a field day.”

  Jillian took her drink and sunscreen to the front counter to pay. Sam followed and edged his way in front of her. He tossed a twenty on the counter.

  “That ought to cover the gas and this,” he said, unwrapping a red popsicle and licking it seductively. “It’s gonna be a scorcher today, don’t you think, ladies?” The bell over the door jangled as he left.

  Jillian blinked slowly, remembering his mouth on certain parts of her body. It had already been a scorcher today. And she had three and a half more days to deal with the heat Sam stirred in her.

  “You know him?” Charity asked, ringing up Jillian’s purchases.

  “He’s a…uh…guest at the resort. I’ve seen him – naked – around.”

  “He seems like a nice enough fellow.” Charity bagged the purchase and slid it across the counter. “Real friendly. And handsome, too.”

  “Oh? Yeah. Maybe.”

  Jillian grabbed the bag and strode toward the door.

  “When you decide to close the store, I’ll buy your merchandise,” Charity called out. “At cost less twenty percent of course. I figure my business will pick up once I start selling merchandise for that new baseball team. And what I can’t sell here, I’ll dump on eBay.”

  Of all the nerve. Jillian’s blood pounded at her temples at the woman’s audacity.

  She stepped outside into the humid Florida air in time to see Sam’s red car peel rubber out of the parking lot and head toward the causeway.

  Jillian weighed the bag of sunscreen in her hand and wondered if she would even need it after all. She would almost be willing to bet Sam wouldn’t show up at the beach.

  Because, after all, she had told him to leave her alone.

  Chapter Ten

  Jillian opened one cabinet after another in the spa’s break room searching for something, anything, with caffeine. The ancient percolator had finally given up, and she was running on empty. Her mental note to order a new coffee maker had ended up in the trash, most likely when she and Sam had slept together. Only neither of them had actually slept.

  Her bad temper was also affected by Sam’s failure to show up at the beach for the afternoon session. After their confrontation at the Super Min, she almost couldn’t blame him. Almost, but not quite. His massage was a business appointment. A business appointment funded by a generous benefactor. And if Mrs. Granger inquired about Sam’s attendance, she would have to be truthful with the woman. Mrs. Granger would no doubt chalk it up to Sam’s PTSD. But in this case, it was more likely Post Sex with Jillian Disorder.

  After opening the last drawer and failing to unearth anything to satisfy her craving, Jillian rammed it with her hip. It slid shut with a loud clunk.

  “I guess there were no children to steal candy from on your way to work, so you’re taking it out on that poor drawer.”

  Jillian spun around to face Lara Whitney, another of the Eucalyptus massage therapists.

  “You don’t want to know. My coffee maker died, I didn’t have time to stop for coffee on the drive to work and this place is so healthy they don’t even keep a chocolate stash.” Jillian’s hands fisted by her side. “I need caffeine.”

  “Boy are you in luck.” Lara dug into her tote bag and retrieved a small plastic bag filled with tea bags. “Want some?” she asked and dropped her tote on the break room table. “I have real sugar too if you need it. I know we’re supposed to be all health conscious here but….” Her voice trailed off.

  “But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” Jillian completed the sentence. “And this girl’s gotta have caffeine. A little longer and I would be requiring it by IV drip. Thank you. I owe you.”

  Lara filled an electric kettle with water and turned it on. “Don’t mention it. The herbal stuff they keep here is okay when you need to mellow out after a long morning, but there’s nothing like the real deal.”

  When the kettle shut off, Lara retrieved two mugs from the cabinet, put a tea bag into each and filled them with the boiling water. “Didn’t you go to Mimosa High?” she asked as she offered one mug to Jillian.

  “I did,” she replied, wondering if she should remember the tall blonde with shockingly green eyes.

  “I thought I remembered you. I’ve been out on leave for a couple weeks so I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself. My husband had surgery and I’ve been taking care of him.”

  “I graduated in 2004, but I’m sorry I don’t remember you.” Jillian stirred a spoonful of Lara’s raw sugar into the mug, then took a sip. “Oh, yes.” She moaned as the hot liquid warmed her throat and the sugar danced along her taste buds.

  “I was class of 2007. I remember you from when you and your mother spoke at career day about being a small business owner. She inspired my boyf
riend to own his own business. He’s my husband now, and he does website development. He designed Casa Blanca’s site.” The young woman’s smile reflected the pride in her spouse.

  Jillian remembered the day well. She had insisted on helping with the presentation, not because she was an expert on small business ownership, but in case she had to rein in Aunt Daffy who had come along to help. She felt a pinch of sadness that she couldn’t tell her mother she had been someone’s inspiration.

  “Do you two live here on the island?”

  Lara shook her head. “We’re in Naples. And we have a three-year-old daughter. We inherited Kent’s grandmother’s house. And for now it’s plenty for us. We hope to move back to the island someday. I miss island life.”

  And Jillian had been in such a hurry to get away from it.

  She drained the remainder of the tea in her mug, washed it and replaced it in the cabinet. “I guess I should check on my nine o’clock.”

  “Hartman?” Lara asked. “I was at the front desk a little before eight when he called to say he wouldn’t be in. Something about not sleeping because he thought the diffuser did something weird. He wasn’t making much sense.”

  Jillian’s forehead wrinkled as she tried to imagine what sort of weirdness an oil diffuser could have. He hadn’t had a problem before now.

  “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll follow up on it. And thanks for the fix, too.”

  At the front desk, Jillian found her boss on the phone explaining to the caller that the spa did not offer snake massages, nor would they be offering that service anytime soon.

  Snake massage?

  Jocelyn ended the call, then shook her head and chuckled. “Last week it was snail facials. I’m open to alternative types of treatments, but I draw the line at snakes.” She shuddered.

  “Me too,” Jillian agreed. And speaking of snakes…. “Lara told me Sam Hartman cancelled his session this morning and said something about the diffuser.”