Pleasure Beach

by P. J. Mellor

  “Don’t answer that,” he said, wrapping the towel around his hips. “You know the way out.”

  He spun on his heel and walked out, not stopping until he heard her on the stairs, not relaxing until the soft slide and click of the patio door told him she’d gone.

  Weak with relief, and maybe something else he didn’t care to identify, he sank to the edge of his bed and waited for the feeling of certainty to come. He’d done the right thing. He didn’t want or need a woman in his life right now. Ditto with a relationship.

  Especially not with someone like Royce St. Claire.

  “Stupid, pigheaded so-and-so!” Royce stomped up the steps of her deck, ignoring the burn of hot planks on her bare feet.

  Her nail broke with a stinging pop when she attempted to throw open her patio door. “Damn!”

  Sucking on the injured fingertip, she stalked across the room and up the stairs, not stopping until she’d flung her towel in the hamper and wrapped her silk kimono tightly around her shaking shoulders.

  Tears of humiliation stung her eyes, burned her nose. She’d gone to Jack, opened herself to him as she’d done to no one else in a very long time. And what had Jack-the-ripper done? Torn out her heart and stomped on it. Brought up all her old insecurities, her feelings of not belonging, not being good enough.

  She sniffed and wiped her eyes, then reached for a tissue from the box next to her bed.

  Feelings she’d thought were buried bubbled to the surface. They were the past. Her distant past. She’d moved on long ago. Why was it that Jack was able to dredge up all her old insecurities?

  Because, despite her best intentions, his opinions mattered.

  He mattered.

  Jack threw the steaks on the hot grill, taking satisfaction in their angry sizzle.

  With a will of its own, his gaze drifted toward Royce’s deck. Her deserted deck.

  Where the hell was she? Did she have mind-blowing sex and then just walk away every day? What was he thinking—of course she did! After all, this was Royce. All you had to do was look at the way she dressed, the way she walked, the way she talked. And then there was her radio program.

  With a flick of his wrist, he flipped the steaks and ordered his heart to slow down. Here he was, getting all fired up, and she didn’t even have the decency to hang around.

  Sure, he’d practically ordered her out of his house, but she hadn’t had a problem with taking the hint. Disgusted, he shook his head. The woman had practically left skid marks with her hasty retreat.

  “Good thing, too,” he mumbled, prodding at the sizzling meat. “Saved me the trouble of having to try to get rid of her.”

  He glanced over at her deck again, then back down at the meat.

  “What was I thinking?” He slammed the fork onto the grill tray, vibrating the plate. “How the hell am I going to gag down two big steaks?”

  Well, there was only one thing to do. He’d have to ask Royce to join him for dinner.

  She’d provided lunch. It was only the neighborly thing to do, to invite her to dinner.

  That would be the end. He would owe her nothing.

  End it here and now, neat and clean. No muss, no fuss.

  The hollow feeling in his gut was just hunger.

  Royce rolled over and sniffed, listening to the repeated pounding on her patio door.

  At first her heart lifted to think it might be Jack. Then she forced herself to face reality. It wasn’t Jack. He’d made his feelings about spending any more time with her, now that he’d gotten what he wanted, abundantly clear.

  She rolled over and pulled the pillow tightly over her head. “Go away,” she muttered.

  Anyone else but Jack wasn’t worth the effort to answer the door.

  Frustrated more than he thought possible, Jack heaved one of Royce’s lightweight patio tables out onto the beach. It felt good, so he followed with the other one and both lounge chairs.

  Chest heaving, he regarded the litter of furniture on the beach. “That was stupid.” Where was Royce? Maybe she hadn’t locked the door. Maybe she was hurt or in danger. If so, he should check on her. After all, he was a doctor.

  “Lame excuse,” he muttered, “but maybe she’ll buy it.”

  With a gentle pull, her glass door slid open with a soft whisper.

  He stepped into the dim coolness and looked around her living room.

  Several boxes waited to be unpacked amid brightly printed, overstuffed chairs and a coordinated sofa. Brass framed pictures marched along the smooth surface of the wide mantle. Fat, squat candles clustered on one end of a well-polished coffee table, with several magazines stacked on the other end. Even after just moving in, her house seemed like more of a home than his place ever had.

  The air smelled faintly of lobster and Royce’s perfume.

  “Royce?” From his position he could see that the kitchen was empty. He headed for the stairs, then stopped, one hand on the smooth surface of the newel post. “Royce? You up there?”

  A sound drifted down the stairs, but he couldn’t tell if it was a reply.

  He advanced halfway up the stairs. “Royce?”

  The sound came again. Definitely human. Definitely Royce.

  Without hesitation, he climbed the rest of the way and came to a stop outside the open door of the master bedroom.

  The bedspread on the shining brass bed was a jumble of wild colors, some kind of tropical print. In the middle, a small lump moved.

  “Royce?”

  “I said,” a muffled voice replied, “leave me alone.”

  He walked to the bed and sat beside the lump. “Believe me, it’s a good thought, but for some reason I can’t do that.”

  He lifted the edge of the spread, curiously relieved to see the top of her head. “See, I wasn’t thinking and threw two big old steaks on the grill. If you don’t come rescue me by eating one of them, you’ll be responsible for wasting good meat.”

  Tear-spiked eyelashes blinked up at him.

  “You know,” he continued, “there are starving people on the other side of the world.”

  “Great.” She snatched the spread back down. “Send it to them.”

  Unreasonable anger—what else could it be but anger?—surged within him. “That’s it!” He smacked the lump with his open hand, hoping he’d hit her butt. “Is this a private pity party or is anyone invited?”

  A brief tug-of-war ensued. Jack won. He crawled under the covers with her.

  “You’re trespassing,” she said, tugging on the spread.

  “Not really. I’m a doctor, remember? It was my duty to make sure you weren’t injured.”

  She blinked her unusual eyes and he lost his train of thought.

  “Why would I be injured?”

  “Huh? Oh. Well, you didn’t answer your door.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Well, maybe not in Houston, but at the shore we’re a little more neighborly. If someone knocks, you answer the door. If the phone rings, you answer it.” He dipped his head closer to hers. “Do you see a pattern here? It’s called being civil.”

  She jerked to a sitting position, the movement pulling him forward. His face was planted between her breasts. Before he got the chance to enjoy it, her hands clamped on his shoulders, shoving.

  “Get off me!” She took advantage of his momentary sensory overload to scoot back another few inches beneath the bedspread.

  He looked at her, eyes narrowing with irritation. “I’m not doing anything. You knocked me off balance.”

  “You most certainly did do something,” she countered with a jut of her chin. “You took advantage of my vulnerability to try to make another move.”

  “Your vulnerability? What vulnerability? You about knocked me down. It wasn’t my fault.”

  “No one asked you to crawl into my bed.”

  He could feel the muscle in his jaw tick. “That’s right. No one did. Sorry to bother you, Ms. St. Claire.”

  He had one foot out of t
he cocooning spread when she said in a quiet voice, “You weren’t going to make a move?”

  “Honey, when I make a move, you’ll know it.”

  “I will?” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her fingertips, smearing her eye makeup.

  He nodded and reached to gently wipe the dark smudges with the pads of his thumbs. “Yep. First I’d get really close. Like this.” He scooted until their knees touched. “Then I’d lean forward and kiss you. Like this.” He brushed her nose with his lips, then trailed tiny kisses down to nibble on the edge of her mouth. “More?”

  She nodded and sniffed. “Yes, please.”

  His mouth settled on hers, his tongue dipping to taste her sweetness. She opened wider, her tongue shyly stroking his, her arms sliding up to encircle his neck.

  He moved closer, guiding her onto his lap. Her legs wrapped around his hips, the movement parting the thin robe. With a groan, he hauled her closer still, reveling in her dampness pressed so intimately against his burgeoning arousal.

  “Then what?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

  “Then I’d help you take this off.” He stroked her robe from her shoulders, then yanked until the belt gave way, and tossed the garment aside. “And I’d lay you down, like this.”

  He scooted her up to recline against the pillows, kicking the bedspread away. His breath caught. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, surprised to realize he meant it. He arranged her, his hands moving constantly, petting her. “Let me look at you.” He stroked between her legs, rewarded by the moisture he found there.

  Her slick feminity glistened with her arousal, her plump pink folds begging to be kissed. He dragged a finger along her opening and watched her sex bloom and weep, his erection straining his shorts to the limit.

  Her hands shook when she pushed at his shorts, urging him to get naked, too.

  He was definitely a willing participant.

  In a flash, his shorts and briefs hit the far wall and he eagerly reached for her. It wasn’t until the hard tips of her breasts branded his chest that he remembered protection.

  She opened languid eyes and blinked up at him, obviously questioning the halt in action.

  “Protection,” he explained. “Hold the thought.”

  He kicked at the impossibly tangled bedspread. The damn thing was strangling his ankle, but he should be able to reach his discarded shorts.

  He couldn’t.

  With a lunge, he lurched for the shorts, just out of his reach, and landed with a thud on the plush carpeting.

  Carpet fibers abraded his bare butt. Embarrassment seared his face.

  Royce propped up on her elbow and looked over the edge of the mattress at Jack, sprawled in all his naked glory, now kicking furiously at the bedspread surrounding his feet. Laughter bubbled up and, despite her best intentions, escaped to echo from the walls.

  Jack had the body of a god. It was lust-inspiring to just look at him, sprawled before her, but it was also one of the funniest things she’d ever seen. Who would have thought Jack, super-stud, could be such a klutz?

  He looked at her and for a moment she thought he might be angry. Then he grinned, white teeth flashing in his crimson face, and flipped the spread over his head.

  His action set off more peals of laughter. Royce rolled to her side, holding her stomach, tears of mirth streaming down her cheeks.

  Jack peeked out. “Do I still need the condom? Or have I totally blown the mood?”

  She wiped the tears away and smiled down at him. It would be so easy to fall in love with this man. No. No way. Jack McMillan was a major player. Mardee was living proof of how futile a relationship with someone like Jack would be. Sex. All I wanted was a chance to have a fling with him, to get him out of my system, once and for all. It’s just sex. It’s all it can ever be.

  Jack stood up, the bedspread falling to his feet. He was truly magnificent.

  Warmth spread through her again. If sex was all they could have, it was fine with her.

  She smiled and shoved the sheet from her suddenly heated skin. “Why don’t you bring some condoms back to bed with you? We’ll see what we can do about your insecurity.”

  He bent to retrieve the foil packets while she admired the view.

  Maybe down-and-dirty sex would exhaust her enough to let her sleep on one of her few nights off. If they did it right, it might even succeed in pushing more tender thoughts regarding Jack from her mind and heart.

  6

  Jack quietly closed Royce’s door and considered banging his head against the wall until he came to his senses.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” What was it about Royce that made him go temporarily insane with lust whenever he was near her?

  After Mardee, he’d sworn off relationships. Too much work. Yet here he was, practically foaming at the mouth whenever he so much as thought of Royce. And the idea of her with anyone else sent his blood pressure into stroke range.

  Still, he’d wanted nothing more than to pull up the covers around them and cuddle her all night long. Of course, that meant nothing. The sex was just so damn good, and he’d had such a long, dry spell.

  It couldn’t happen again. If Ms. Royce St. Claire, PhD, wanted another tumble, she would just have to come to him. Preferably on her hands and knees.

  Preferably naked.

  Damn! He looked at the steaks, stacked on the plate next to the grill. He prodded one with his index finger. Cold.

  Grabbing his remote phone from the deck chair, he punched in the number he’d just refused to call.

  His breath hitched at Royce’s sleepy-voiced hello.

  “Stay where you are. We forgot something.”

  Within minutes, the steaks were steaming hot.

  So was Jack.

  Royce had just enough time to freshen up and mist with the perfumed body spray she kept by the bed before Jack’s steps sounded on the stairs.

  By the time he appeared in the doorway, she was stretched out naked beneath the sheets, every cell ready for round two.

  What was he carrying?

  Dressed in just a pair of running shorts, Jack approached the bed, his smile white in the lingering sunset.

  He placed the tray on the bedside table and whipped back her sheet. Cool air puckered her nipples. From the way his body tensed and his gaze swooped to her breasts, Jack noticed.

  “We forgot to eat our dinner,” he said in the husky voice she loved.

  She began to sit up, but he placed a halting hand on her shoulder.

  “No, stay right there,” he ordered. “Allow me.”

  For the first time, she noticed he’d cut up their steaks and what appeared to be a huge baked potato. Several small bowls, with serving spoons, surrounded the single dinner plate.

  After dropping his shorts by the bed, his naked hip nudged hers. She made room for him, temporarily forgetting the mouthwatering aroma wafting from the plate in favor of a different kind of hunger.

  He swirled a piece of meat in the first bowl, then nudged her mouth open for the first delectable bite. While she chewed and tried not to moan, he licked a speck of sauce from her lower lip, then swirled his tongue around her mouth before swooping down to a kiss.

  He drew back and licked his lips. “Good, but not quite the level of satisfaction I was looking for.”

  He reached for another bite, this time of potato, and another bowl. His skin short-circuited her thought process with its gentle rub.

  Coolness from the sour cream laving her nipple made her gasp. He popped the bite of potato in his mouth then licked the sour cream from her breast.

  “Much better,” he murmured, feeding her, then repeating the process for himself.

  It was both heaven and hell, trying to remain still while remembering to chew and swallow, when her entire body quivered with pent-up sexual frustration.

  When he reached beside the bed again and brought up a bowl of strawberries and whipped cream, she’d taken all she could.

  It was time to give as good
as she got.

  She relieved him of the bowl and set it on the nightstand. Then, with strength that would surprise her personal trainer, she neatly flipped Jack to his back and straddled him.

  Beneath her, his erection twitched. She bit back a smile.

  “My turn,” she said in a breathless whisper and reached for the bowl.

  The strawberries were cool on her fingertips. In slow motion, she bit off the tip of one, squeezing it to let the juice trickle down her chin. She shuddered as it left a trail down her neck, between her breasts, and around her navel, and then tracked coolness between the juncture of her legs.

  Jack’s heated gaze followed the juicy trail.

  “Look at me, Jack.” Their gazes met. “I’m all sticky.” She leaned down, her breasts swaying so close she could feel his excited breath, which beaded her nipples into aching tips. “Lick it off,” she demanded.

  For a macho type, he certainly was quick at following orders.

  His warm hands bracketed her rib cage, lifting her high against his chest.

  An impossibly hot, velvet-soft tongue lapped the juice from her chin. His five-o’clock shadow gently abraded her neck while he followed the sultry sweet path.

  Her breath hitched as he laved circles around each breast, then followed the juicy trail down around her belly button. His hands tightened to lift her higher.

  She squirmed against the pressure of his mouth while he licked the last traces of the fruit from her folds.

  Then he turned the tables on her. Twisting to place her back against the body-warmed sheet, he knelt between her legs, spreading them wide with his knees.

  He reached for the fruit bowl and smiled a smile that could only be interpreted as pure sex.

  “I listened to your show,” he said, dragging a huge strawberry through a pile of whipped cream.

  “You did?” Why was the man talking instead of helping her ease her lustful pain?

  He nodded, still smiling. “It inspired me.”

  “R—really?”

  “Uh-huh. Gave me all sorts of ideas.”

  “Oh?”