by Olivia Dade
40-Love
Olivia Dade
Praise for Olivia Dade
With richly drawn characters you’ll love to root for, Olivia Dade’s books are a gem of the genre—full of humor, heart, and heat.
Kate Clayborn
Copyright © 2020 by Olivia Dade
Cover design and illustration by Leni Kauffman
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-1-945836-12-1
About 40-Love
This match is no game.
When a rogue wave strips Tess Dunn of her bikini top, desperate, half-naked times call for desperate, please-cover-me-kids-are-coming-closer measures. Enter Lucas Karlsson, AKA that flirty Swede in the water nearby. When he prevents her bare buoys from being exposed to fellow vacationers, even an ocean can't drown the sparks that fly.
Lucas, a former top-level tennis pro now giving lessons at the resort, fled there after the abrupt, painful end to his injury-plagued career. But he’s finally ready to move on with his life—and after a few late-night, hands-on sessions with Tess, he’s eager to prove he’s the ace she wants.
But this match comes with challenges: She's forty, and at twenty-six, he's barely old enough to rent a car. Worse, they only have two weeks together before Tess returns to her assistant-principal life in Virginia. During that brief time, they'll have to play hard, take a few risks, and find out whether their chemistry is a one-shot wonder...or whether they're meant to be doubles partners for life.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Preview of Sweetest in the Gale
Also by Olivia Dade
About Olivia
Acknowledgments
For Emma Barry, my ever-patient, ever-supportive, ever-wise, ever-talented friend, who guides me safely through the thickets, holds grudges on my behalf, and has the most joyful, infectious laugh in the world. This story is dedicated to you, with so much love. Thank you. ♥
One
Jesus, this stupid bikini was killing her.
Tess tugged on the bow digging into the back of her neck. “Dammit.”
She could only conclude that women with ginormous boobs, a long history of neck issues, and a decided intolerance for wardrobe-related discomfort should not wear halter tops. No matter what her friend Isabelle might argue about how the style flattered her body and the color suited her skin, blah blah blah.
Belle still harbored starry-eyed dreams of meeting her soulmate under swaying palms, a handsome hero of a man, one who would take one look at her cleavage and fall to his knees in worship to such mammarian bounty.
As of tomorrow, Tess was forty. She should know better.
Maybe a little adjustment might help. Could she tighten the back hooks to take more of her breasts’ weight and then loosen the neck ties? All without flashing some nip and traumatizing innocent spectators?
Dawn had broken mere minutes ago, and pink still streaked the eastern sky. Other than one oblivious guy a good distance away, she was all alone in the water, far from the other early-birds just now choosing their beach chairs and adjusting their umbrellas. Very few people on vacation, it seemed, rose before the sun. She wished she hadn’t either, but there was no escaping her body’s internal clock.
You could take the assistant principal out of the high school schedule, but you couldn’t take the high school schedule out of the assistant principal.
One last scan of her surroundings established that no one was looking her way, and her boobs were about to break her neck. She needed relief, stat. Belle also deserved to sleep longer on the first full day of their vacation, rather than have her foolish roommate reenter the room and wake her a second time.
Screw it. She was doing this here and now.
Tess waded farther into the turquoise depths surrounding the island, taking a moment to appreciate the natural beauty around her. This private, luxurious retreat off the Gulf Coast of Florida was famous for its clear, warm water, as well as its spotless beaches and countless amenities. And given how much of her savings this trip had consumed, she’d been relieved to confirm the truth behind all the hype.
Everything was perfect. Everything except the Bikini of Torment.
But she would fix that within seconds.
The island’s white sand slid between her toes, silky and soft, as the water moved over her waist, then her chest. Once the gentle waves lapped at her neck, she unhooked the back of the top, praying no one came closer. She’d keep an eye on the shore, just in case.
Under the circumstances, she couldn’t follow her usual bra-donning procedure: hooking in front, then rotating the entire garment one hundred and eighty degrees. Too great a risk of revealing her tatas to the world. Instead, she fumbled blindly beneath the water, attempting to locate the innermost eye with her top hook.
None of her increasingly frantic passes caught on anything, and her shoulders were starting to hurt. She lowered her arms for a moment, squeezing them tight against her sides to hold the top firmly in place. In a minute, she’d try again.
This bikini would not defeat her.
Probably.
When she’d shopped online—local brick-and-mortar stores didn’t stock cute plus-size swimsuits—for her upcoming birthday trip to the island, Tess had allowed herself to be persuaded by Belle. Yes, perhaps she could wear a bikini top without the usual buttresses and pulleys and cranes required to hoist her girls north of her navel. Yes, perhaps the thin strap fastened around her torso would take all the weight of her H-cup boobs. Yes, perhaps she should buy and pack a halter-top, in lieu of a standard bikini with thick straps and underwire that could serve as a garrote under different circumstances. Or, even better, a utilitarian tank with soft cups that would let her breasts hang virtually unhindered.
“Next time, I’m letting my sweet chariots swing low,” she muttered. “Or just going to the nude b—”
A wave suddenly rushed over her head, and her lungs filled with salt water. Choking and coughing, she flailed for the surface.
She caught a quick gasp of air before another abnormally high wave sent her under a second time. She scraped and tumbled against the sand, trying to figure out which way was up, before finally finding her feet. But then, as if nothing had happened, the ocean grew calm again, and she was standing once more in neck-deep water with only gentle undulations caressing her nape.
But something had happened. Four things, to be precise.
First of all, she was fighting to catch her breath through her coughing, but that was temporary. No real problem there.
Second of all, the tall dude in the distance was looking in her direction, but he couldn’t see her clearly from so far away, and he turned his back to her again as soon
as he ascertained she wasn’t drowning.
Thank Christ for that.
Because third of all, her goddamn bikini top was…gone. Totally, irretrievably gone. Nowhere in sight. Either the knot at her neck had unraveled or the top had simply slipped over her head while she was underwater.
And that was a real problem, because fourth of all, a group of freakin’ kids—why the hell were they up so early?—was suddenly splashing into the water, shrieking happily as they tried to dunk one another. A couple of them were carrying floats and boards, and they appeared bound for deeper water.
Where she was. Topless. A high school assistant principal on a family beach.
She could see the mugshot and the local news headlines now: Buoys of Terror: Assistant Principal Dunn Corrupts Innocent Children with Her Enormous, Naked Gozangas.
No school would make her principal then. Certainly not Marysburg High.
Crossing her arms, she tried to cover as much surface area as she could, but there was no hiding that amount of boobage. Anyone who came close would know she wasn’t wearing a top, even if they couldn’t spy her nipples.
The room keycard tucked into a secret pocket in her bikini bottoms wouldn’t help her now, and neither would the towel she’d carefully spread onto her chosen beach lounger. Belle was still asleep in their room.
Sure, Tess could move further out into the water until the kids left, but they might follow her. Besides, she wasn’t a strong swimmer, and Shark Week had left certain indelible impressions on her brain. From what she’d seen through her fingers, braving deeper waters meant becoming human sushi. And at some point she was going to have to return to shore, children or no children.
There was only one thing that could help her. One person.
Shit. This was going to suck worse than the school’s last audit.
Careful to keep both nipples covered with her right arm—a harder task than she’d anticipated, given how her boobs’ natural buoyancy and the waves made them shift in the water—she waved her left and raised her voice loud enough for Oblivious Guy to hear.
“Hey! Excuse me, sir!”
He didn’t move.
She tried again, abandoning diplomacy in favor of specificity. “You there! The really tall dude with the brown hair and that cowlick in the back!”
At that, he turned and squinted in her direction.
The children were getting closer, their shouts becoming ever more piercing.
“Yes, you! With the, um”—no other good descriptor came to mind, since water covered most of him, including his swimwear—“shoulders! And the face! Can you please come here?”
A lazy smile dawned on that face, a face she now realized—to her vast regret—was both handsome and smugly amused. Dammit, the last thing she wanted was help from a twenty-something bro. But it wasn’t as if she had much of a choice, did she?
“Thank you for noticing my best features.” He raised a cocky brow, moving a few steps toward her. “The ones you can currently see, anyway.”
He emphasized his vowels in a way she didn’t entirely recognize. The accent sounded kind of British, but not exactly. And was he…was he winking at her?
It didn’t matter. She could survive a bro, European or not; she couldn’t survive losing the principal job because of public indecency charges.
“Please come here!” she repeated, desperation in every syllable. A few dozen feet more, and those kids were going to see everything. Everything. “I need your help! Now!”
That self-satisfied grin still playing on his lips, he flicked her a salute. “On my way.”
Finally, he began a slow crawl in her direction, and God, she didn’t have enough time for this man-shaped tortoise to get up to speed. So she dove toward him and began—appropriately enough—a quick breaststroke, hoping the splashing of her arms and legs would disguise her topless state from any onlookers.
He arrived in front of her sooner than she’d expected, those long limbs propelling him through the water with enviable ease.
Then he stood, and water poured from his broad shoulders and glinted from his dark lashes as he scanned her up and down. Oh, Lord, he was tanned and muscular and way too pleased with himself.
Whatever. She only needed him for one simple task: grabbing a towel.
Arms crossed protectively over her chest once more, she attempted a polite smile. “Thank you so much for coming.”
His gentle snort of amusement rippled the water near his chest.
“No problem. I see you’ve experienced a—” He scratched his stubbly chin. “What do they call it? A wardrobe malfunction?”
His voice was low and husky, his words unhurried. The urgency of the situation did not seem to have punctured his equanimity in any appreciable way.
“Yes.” She dug deep for her poise and didn’t let her smile falter. “I lost a key component of my swimsuit in those rogue waves just now, and there are kids getting way too close. Is there any way you could—”
“Well, let me think about it.” He raised his broad hands from the water, eyeing them consideringly. After another glance at her partially covered breasts, he shook his head. “I may not be man enough for this job, but I’m more than willing to take it on.”
What?
Her smile collapsed. “I don’t know what you mean. I just need you to—”
“Oh, love,” he said, dimples creasing his cheeks. “This isn’t my first lost-bikini-top incident. If you want my hands on you, you don’t have to come up with an excuse. Just ask.”
Ah. Now she understood. Arrogant asshole.
While she searched in vain for a suitably crushing response, he kept talking. “No need to be embarrassed. They’re very good hands.” He flexed them a bit, as if in demonstration. “Besides, I admire a woman who pursues what she wants.”
She summoned her most fearsome stern-administrator tone and her most arctic former-schoolteacher glare. “I don’t want you to cover my, um”—her voice faltered—“assets with your hands, sir. I just want a towel.” She narrowed her gaze even further. “That’s it.”
He looked down at her, his heavy-lidded olive-green eyes skeptical. Behind her, the sound of splashing water was getting louder by the moment.
She enunciated very clearly. “Please. Get. Me. A. Towel. Now.”
“All right, then. One towel, coming up.” Flicking her another lazy salute, he turned for the shore.
Thank God. Finally.
He’d only taken a single, indolent stroke toward the beach, though, before she glanced over her shoulder and realized the terrible, terrible truth. She didn’t have time for him to slow-poke his way to a towel and come back to her. The kids were almost upon her, and her naked boobs were almost upon them.
They weren’t paying her any attention right now, but that could change at any time.
No more hesitation. A worthy principal-to-be should snap into problem-solving mode in an instant, and she was choosing to treat this circumstance like a particularly enthusiastic cafeteria food fight. An emergency, all hands on deck.
Lunging forward, she snatched the man’s ankle just before he swam out of reach. He jerked to a halt and sank a little beneath the water. But soon he was back on his feet, dimples popping and mouth open, no doubt in preparation to say something loathsome.
She didn’t give him the chance.
Before he could get out a single brotastic word, she’d grabbed his waist and maneuvered him until he was facing the kids. Then she leapt onto his broad back, her arms wrapped tight around his neck, her legs around his waist, and her breasts smushed against his shoulder blades.
A silent moment passed. Two. Then he started laughing uproariously, his shaking body rubbing against hers in unexpected and intimate and embarrassingly pleasurable ways.
Oh, Jesus. She’d done it. She’d plastered herself, half-naked, to a random bro.
With his unwitting help, she’d managed not to flash innocent children.
But who was going to save her from her sav
ior?
Two
The bro couldn’t have peeled Tess off if he’d tried. Which he didn’t.
“Keep me behind you at all costs,” she hissed into his ear. “I don’t want those kids to see me.”
His back had gone tense at the first contact of their bodies, every muscle delineated on those powerful shoulders. But when he finally stopped laughing and relaxed, her body melded to his with surprising ease.
“No flashing the children with your, uh, remarkable charms,” he murmured, his cadence as lackadaisical as ever, despite the situation. “Got it.”
Then he didn’t say more for a few moments. Enough time for her to regret her sharp tone.
Yes, he’d made some conceited assumptions about what she needed from him, but he was young and handsome. Women—even women her age or older—undoubtedly threw themselves at him on a regular basis. And if he was inclined to catch them, who was she to judge?
She’d snapped at him. She’d tackled him, half-naked. She was using him as a human shield. And he hadn’t uttered a word of complaint, even though she was disrupting his vacation.
Much as she hated to admit it, clutching him wasn’t exactly a hardship either. He was strong and warm and a formidable barrier between her and possible jail time.
His smooth, firm back felt good against her breasts. Too good. It was all very irritating.
Still, she knew her duty.
“Listen…” Her sigh pushed her breasts even tighter against him, and he went very still. “I’m sorry I was waspish. I panicked a little when my top fell off.” Before he could reiterate his preferred theory, she emphasized, “By accident. I’m an assistant principal. I can’t afford to be brought up on charges of indecent exposure and corrupting a minor and exceeding the maximum allowed volume of bare tatas in public.”