Endless Summer

by Julie Kenner, Karen Anders

  She met his eyes, her expression bland except for the amusement glowing in her eyes. “Eager?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, with absolutely no shame.

  A genuine smile touched her lips. “Me, too,” she said, then eased forward. She dug a condom out of her tiny purse and grinned impishly as she rolled it over him, that touch alone almost enough to make him come. But there was more, so much more sweet torture, and when he was properly sheathed, she lifted her hips, rose over him and impaled herself on him. She arched her back, a breathy moan escaping as her mouth opened and her eyes closed.

  Ecstasy, he thought, and said a silent thank-you that he’d been the man she’d shared it with.

  She started to move then, and all thoughts evaporated from his brain, replaced with only the delirious sensation of moving toward something huge and explosive. His eyes closed, and he breathed in deeply, wanting simply to feel, to experience. More than that, though, he wanted to watch, and so he peeled his eyes open and used the few coherent brain cells he had left to enjoy watching Laci writhe on top of him.

  At first, she looked powerful, in control. But as he watched—as his own climax came barreling toward him and her body squeezed and shuddered against him—her expression changed, softened. She was in control, yes, but she was also lost in the moment. Enjoying herself. Enjoying him.

  He hoped so. Truly.

  He knew the moment she came, her muscles tightening around him, sending him over the edge only seconds behind her.

  “There is a heaven,” he muttered, and her short, soft laugh in response delighted him.

  He broke the rules then, by reaching up and stroking her cheek. Then he gently eased her down, holding his breath as she stiffened before loosening up again and sliding gracefully into the crook of his arm.

  “Are we done?” he asked, careful to keep a tease in his voice despite his fear that the answer was yes, and that she’d pull on her clothes and skip out of the van without once looking back.

  “Done? I’m wiped.” She edged up on her elbow, raised an eyebrow, the innocent-looking freckles that dotted her nose destroying the image of the in-control vixen she’d just played out on his cock. “Why? Is there something more you want?”

  She tossed the words out casually, but he thought he heard a real question in there. Maybe even hope.

  Or maybe he was engaging in some serious wishful thinking.

  He considered shaking his head and keeping silent, but he wasn’t a man to run away from things that scared him. And the one time in his life he’d failed to chase down something he’d wanted, it had slipped through his fingers. She had slipped through his fingers.

  He wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  “You,” he said, putting every scrap of sincerity he could muster into his voice. It wasn’t hard because he was as sincere as they came. And from the shocked expression on her face, he had a feeling she knew that.

  “You sure about that?” she asked lightly.

  “I want you, Laci,” he repeated. “I’ve always wanted you.”

  Her brow furrowed and she scooted away from him, searching the interior of the van until she found a crumpled beach towel. She dragged it toward her and slipped it over her shoulders, letting it hang down, covering all of her.

  He bit back a sigh, understanding she felt exposed, but not willing to back down because this was too important. Laci was too important. “I’m sorry,” he said, then paused to let the words hang between them before continuing. “I’m sitting here in the back of a rented van, half-naked, and I’m telling you that I’m sorry.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, didn’t manage it, and closed it again. But he saw questions in her eyes. Questions and a hurt he wanted to help heal.

  He reached out and broke the rules again, this time by cupping her face. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “But you did,” she said, her voice soft. Timid.

  “I know.” He still didn’t completely understand the why of it, but all that mattered right now was his regret and their probably futile attempt to somehow make it all better.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it fully. “I am honestly and truly sorry that I hurt you.”

  SHE WAS an idiot.

  She knew she was an idiot because she believed him. He said he was sorry in that Southern Comfort voice, and she looked into those eyes and damned if she didn’t believe that every word he said was true.

  She didn’t know if she was a fool or if he was a lying jerk or if it was a combination of both.

  Or maybe—just maybe—Fate was giving them a second chance.

  Because no matter how much he’d hurt her in the past, the band around her chest was dissolving. His presence alone had begun to strip it from her, and when he’d smiled, standing over her on the beach, the desire so clear in his eyes, that had loosened the band, as well.

  But it was here, in the dark, in the back of this absurd van that she knew. This wasn’t about her being in control or him getting off on her Hot-Girl-in-the-City routine. This was Taylor doing penance. This was Taylor genuinely sorry. This was Taylor apologizing.

  Most important, this was Taylor wanting her, just like he said.

  He was watching her now with hooded, worried eyes. “I can say I’m sorry again if you want,” he whispered. “I’ll say it as many times as I need to.”

  She licked her lips, wanting to trust him, but not wanting to be stupid. And sure as hell not wanting to get burned again. “Why are you here?”

  He flashed that quick grin that had made her fall for him, and she forced herself to stay strong this time. “Because you didn’t want to go back to my place.”

  It was her turn to grin. “On the island, Taylor. Why are you on this island?”

  “Because of you,” he said without hesitation.

  “Me?”

  He drew in a breath, as if what he had to say was important, and he knew it. “I’m here because I wanted to see you again. I’m here to make this right between us.”

  “No bullshit?”

  “No bullshit.”

  She was an idiot. And she was about to do something really stupid.

  She was about to hold out her hand to him and ask him to take her to bed.

  And all she could do beyond that was hope and pray that she wasn’t making the second-biggest mistake of her life.

  5

  TWO HOURS later, her bare legs wrapped in cool sheets and a naked man standing across the room pouring her a glass of sparkling water, Laci had to admit that if this was a mistake, at least she was going out with a bang.

  Three bangs, actually, at last count, and she felt positively, wonderfully boneless.

  “You look content,” he said, coming back to her with the water.

  She smiled, boldly watching him move, enjoying the easy way they were together, just like they’d been before San Clemente. “I am,” she said, refusing to let her memories destroy her mood. “I think you’ve melted my insides.”

  “Good for me,” he said, then sat down beside her on the edge of the bed. Her hand drifted to his knee, and she let her fingers idly glide over his thigh, the perfect intimacy of it delighting her. Hard to believe it was true, but in these few short hours they’d fallen back into their routine. A routine that had once comforted and excited her.

  A routine that had had her thoughts turning to marriage and family and permanence.

  A routine that had been ripped away from her when he’d screwed her over for his career.

  “Uh-oh,” he said, looking at her face. “What did I do?”

  She shook her head, determined not to be the kind of person who clung to bitterness. He’d come to her on his knees, wanting forgiveness, and she’d granted it. She wasn’t going to destroy what they now had growing between them by dwelling on the past. “Absolutely nothing,” she assured him. “At least nothing bad.”

  “Then why the frown?”

  She curved her mouth into a smile. “Maybe I’m thinking abo
ut tomorrow and the next day. Maybe I’m thinking that I don’t want to leave here.”

  “Then don’t.” He took her hand. “Stay.”

  She laughed. “My roommates would get worried.”

  “Just for the weekend. I have to leave for Sydney early next week.”

  A hard knot of disappointment settled in her stomach. “I’ll miss you,” she admitted, taking the plunge, and gratified by the way his eyes lit up.

  “It doesn’t have to be goodbye,” he said. “More like a see you later. You finish here, you can come down there. I could still get you in the competition if you want. Or—” he added quickly, apparently seeing the look on her face “—you can just hang with me.” He took her hand, looked into her eyes. “This isn’t about your surfboard, Laci. It’s about you. About us. I missed you. God, I missed you something fierce.”

  “I missed you, too,” she admitted, then leaned against him with a sigh. “I guess I could stay here for a few days.” She glanced toward the sliding-glass door onto his balcony. He was staying at one of the high-rise hotels just off the beach, and the storm was blasting away at the glass. The weathermen had predicted violent winds, most blasting inland, which would destroy any chance of decent surfing even during lulls in the deluge.

  Or possibly she was simply looking for excuses to stay inside, dry and warm, with Taylor.

  What the hell. She slid her legs over the side of the bed and padded to the dresser where she’d left her cell phone, the weight of Taylor’s eyes following her the entire way. Since she wasn’t in the mood to answer questions, she didn’t call either JC or Drea directly. Instead, she called the main number at the inn and left a message, telling the desk clerk to relay to her friends that Laci had run across an old friend, and they were going to spend the weekend catching up.

  “Have fun,” the front-desk clerk said, and Laci rolled her eyes. The clerk was about eighteen, and more than capable of reading between the lines. Who knew what she’d tell JC and Drea.

  Laci decided she didn’t care. Considering what she intended to do with the man for the next two days, whatever the clerk opined probably wouldn’t even come close to reality.

  APPARENTLY, taking his vitamins, saying his prayers and being nice to puppies had paid off, Taylor thought, because there could be no doubt at all that his prayers had been answered, his dreams had come true and every other corny clichéd line about wish-fulfillment that he could think of had manifested right there with Laci.

  She wasn’t going anywhere.

  He knew that because they’d already spent the night together and now it was lunchtime on Saturday, and they were still going strong. And no, not just sexually, though the last time he’d had so much fun in bed had been fourteen months ago with this very woman.

  No, they were going strong together. Connecting. Talking and laughing and generally hanging out.

  And yeah, a tiny part of him wanted to believe they were falling in love all over again, but he wasn’t quite willing to believe that yet, no matter how much he might want to.

  They’d talked about nothing and everything, carefully avoiding the past as if they both knew that they simply needed to get beyond it in order to heal. He’d told her about Georgia and how his father had struggled as a carpenter while the family had lived in a small shack on the grounds of a big house in Atlanta where his mother worked as the cook. He still remembered the day that all the fancy cars had arrived at the house for some big-deal party. He’d gone in the back door to ask his mother something, and the owner of the house had caught him, said things that made it clear that he wasn’t welcome inside. Not then. Not when the money was there.

  “And so you decided then and there to make your own money?” she asked. She was naked, on her stomach, draped across the bed. Her feet were up and crossed, and her chin rested on her fists. She looked, he thought, about as sexy as he’d ever seen her.

  “I know it sounds like a soap-opera plot, but it’s true. Money, and the respect that goes with it. How about you?”

  “And you’re doing well,” she said, dodging his question. “XtremeSportNet’s a great outfit. How long have you been with them?”

  “About a year,” he said, leaving unspoken the fact that Reggie had hired him fresh off San Clemente. “And yeah. It’s a good gig. Reggie’s a hard taskmaster, but he’s a good trainer, and he promotes up through the ranks.”

  Her smile was genuine. “I’m happy for you.”

  “How’s Millie enjoying stardom? She stole the show when I saw it.”

  “What?” Laci asked, sitting up and pulling a sheet up to cover her. Taylor laughed, completely enjoying how flabbergasted his comment had made her.

  “I’m working in Sydney right now, remember? I went and saw The Magic Flute a few weeks ago when I was in town to lock down some vendors and locations.”

  “You’re an opera fan?” she asked, and he had to laugh at the utter disbelief on her face. Well, why not? He wasn’t an opera fan, and she knew him well enough to know that.

  “I’m not,” he said, then met her eyes. “But she’s your sister.”

  Laci’s hand went to her mouth. “Taylor,” she whispered, her eyes welling with tears.

  “Don’t cry,” he said, pulling her close. “It wasn’t torture. The opera was really good.”

  That made Laci laugh, and the sound delighted him. He liked her laugh, liked her happy. And right then he felt the sappy, overwhelming desire to make her happy for the rest of her life.

  “I missed you,” he said softly, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away her tear.

  “I missed you, too,” she said, turning so that the sheet was the only thing between them. She sighed softly and hooked her arms around his neck. “Thanks for coming here for me. I’m sorry we waited so long. So many months. I feel like we need to make up for lost time.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, nipping at her bottom lip. “And I think that we definitely have some catching up to do.”

  He pressed his mouth to hers, his body firing with desire as she melted against him, no longer with retribution or a need for control, but now with a woman’s need to be with a man. It humbled him to realize that he was that man. Humbled him, and turned him on. Powerfully and desperately.

  He leaned back, putting an inch of distance between them, and feeling the smooth glide of the silk sheet as it slid over her breasts to pool over their hips and thighs. He dipped his head, his tongue laving her nipple, his heart beating wildly with an overpowering lust coupled with a tender longing that came close to driving him mad. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered. “Let me make you come.”

  LET ME make you come.

  He’d dropped that little suggestion on her Saturday, and now, late on Sunday, she had to say he’d certainly kept up his end of the bargain. She’d had so many orgasms her body was in a state of nonstop tingling, and they’d taken so many showers together it was amazing they both weren’t prunes.

  They’d ordered in exclusively, and had spent the entire weekend talking or making love.

  The truth was, she’d enjoyed both activities equally. She’d always enjoyed Taylor’s company; he was the only man she’d ever been able to talk openly with, to feel genuinely comfortable around. He’d been more than a lover, he’d been her best friend, and now that she was back in his arms, she could admit to herself how much she’d lost when she’d walked away from him—when what he’d done had forced her away.

  Don’t go there, Laci, she warned herself. Fresh starts, remember?

  Now, she stood in the shower alone as Taylor lounged on the bed, drinking wine and channel-surfing. She tilted her face up for the spray of water and smiled. So like a guy.

  And since he was so entrenched with ESPN, she was genuinely surprised when warm hands cupped her naked breasts, and the insistent press of a fully aroused penis thrust against the curve of her butt.

  “Oh, Michael,” she said, remembering the name of the room-service waiter. “You shouldn’t have come now.
My boyfriend’s in the other room.”

  “Your boyfriend’s a lucky man,” he said, sliding soapy hands down her belly, his clever fingers finding her cleft even as his cock pressed hard against her ass. His mouth nipped at her ear as one hand traveled up to stroke her breast, the other finding and teasing her clit. “Do you mean that?” he whispered. “Boyfriend?”

  She could barely breathe for the havoc he was wreaking on her, but she managed a soft, breathy “yes.”

  “Sweetheart,” he murmured, the passion evident in both his voice and his clever hands moving over her skin. Her body was so primed from having been so deliciously loved for days that she came right then, shuddering and breaking into a million glowing pieces. He stroked her and held her, his fingertips dancing all over her skin, his warm heat helping to put her back together again.

  “That was nice,” he said, reaching behind her to turn off the water. “But I think we need the bed to finish it properly.”

  She felt half-melted, so sated she could barely even giggle when he picked her up bride-style and carried her to the bed. He straddled her, his hands and mouth working over every inch of her. She was already ready, of course, but damned if he didn’t make her more so. Damned if he didn’t make her beg.

  And when she did, he didn’t tease. His gentle hands cupped her thighs, pushing her legs apart. And then, with one strong thrust, he entered her, then slid in and out rhythmically, gaining power with each thrust, as she lifted her hips to meet him, to bring him deeper.

  Finally, when she was certain she could take it no longer, he came, and she joined him, clinging and gasping, until they were both spent and exhausted, collapsed in a tangle on the sweat-soaked sheets.

  After an eternity, she stretched against him, the glow of great sex still clinging to her like bath oil, warm and slippery and deliciously comforting. “You really have to go away?”