by Susan Fox
Her smile dazzled him. “She is.” Then she rose up and planted a kiss on his lips.
She probably meant it as a quick thank-you. But, still reeling from that smile, emotions a little crazy after all that had happened today, he grabbed her head in both hands and held her there. He kissed her back, with everything that was in him. The shock of the accident, the fear that Mr. Watkins would die, the relief when the paramedic took over. The uncertainty of his feelings for Jenna, and hers for him. The fun of carefree play in a kids’ park with a pretty girl on a summer afternoon. Jenna. All of it with Jenna.
Something leaped between them, mouth to mouth, body to body—that force, that fire, that thing that swept him up and away.
He’d had a theory about kissing her, and now he hadn’t the slightest memory what it was.
In some fuzzy distant space, he was aware of voices, people approaching. He tore his lips from hers and, panting with the strength of whatever had just happened, got out, “I need you. I want to make love with you.”
The sun hid behind clouds, yet her whole face was lit up, as if from some internal source of illumination. “Yes,” she breathed.
Chapter 9
Five minutes later, Mark and I were in the camper, curtains pulled and bed down. Staring into each other’s eyes without speaking a word, we yanked off our clothes. I’d never felt such an urgent need to be with a man.
To have sex with a man who made my body explode, melt, tingle, catch fire, dissolve, all somehow at the same time. A man who got me to share secrets I’d never told another soul. A man whose eyes, whose lips, reached inside me to places I hadn’t even known existed. Places that had never been touched before.
Places I couldn’t think about now, because we were naked and he was tumbling me to the bed.
Mark. His urgent lips, hard body, demanding hands, jutting cock so hot it almost seared my hand when I gripped it.
Me. Grabbing, stroking, needing to touch every inch of him I could reach. My nipples painfully taut as he licked and sucked them. My pussy pulsing with the desperate need to grip him and ride him to climax.
Us. Mouths fusing again, bodies flying, merging. Driving hard, fast. Him deep, deep in my core, stroking my womb, making me feel as if I were going to come apart. Making me feel … “Oh God, Mark!” Behind closed lids the world turned to fire as our bodies shattered together.
Bliss, as waves of orgasm pounded through me, cresting and breaking.
“Jenna. God, Jenna.” His voice, hoarse, breaking too.
Finally, finally, the blaze behind my lids cooled, the waves inside me eased to ripples. Gentle. Soothing. I could try to breathe again.
His weight was on me, his head buried in the curve between my neck and shoulder. His chest heaved against mine.
One of my hands rested on his shoulder, the other on the curve of his butt. I couldn’t move them, not even to caress him.
La petite mort, the little death. The French chef had told me that’s how the French referred to orgasm. I’d never got it before. To me, sex was about life, not death. But today, I felt half dead—and yet, somehow reborn.
Mark struggled to lift his weight off me, then flopped on the bed at my side. “What the hell was that?”
“Uh, good sex?” I ventured.
He turned his head and stared at me, brows raised. “No. That was not just good sex. That was something else.”
He reached down, then shock crossed his face. “Damn, no condom.”
I jerked upright, rediscovering muscles that a moment ago had been soft as honey. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit. I never forget.” Never, since Travis.
“Me either.” He shook his head. “Jenna, I’m clean, I swear. Before this, I hadn’t even had sex in five or six months. And I always use condoms.”
“Me, too.” Not the no sex in six months part. For me, it hadn’t been much more than six days. But condoms, yes, always. Wryly, I said, “And we know I won’t get pregnant.”
The sympathy in his eyes made me turn away. He guessed the truth, that I’d once dreamed of having children.
Spilled milk. No tears.
If I could have had kids, there’d be no better daddy genes than Mark’s. Smart, brave, sensitive, handsome, conscientious. After what he’d gone through as a boy, he’d try extra hard to be a wonderful parent.
And he would have kids one day. He’d find the right woman, a brilliant scientist, an environmentalist like him. They’d share life as partners—both work and family.
Things that I didn’t want, I reminded myself, as a slow sadness seeped through me. More of that little death thing, I figured. Postcoital melancholy. It was unlike me, but then this had been an extraordinary day.
I rolled away from Mark. “We should get back on the highway.”
His semen was sticky between my legs, dripping down my thighs. Unfamiliar. A reminder of how irresponsible we’d been. I washed quickly and pulled my clothes on as he lay back, watching.
When I was finished, I went outside to give him the space to get dressed.
And to give myself space. This journey back to Vancouver was turning into a bit of a wild ride. Too disconcertingly wild for even me.
As soon as we were under way, I said, “I’m going to take a nap.” Inside the confines of the seatbelt, I twisted sideways, bare feet up on the seat, and rested my forehead against the passenger side window.
He squeezed my ankle. “Have a good one.”
He was nice. So damned nice. In fact, he was close to perfect. For some other woman. A woman who wanted a serious guy.
Unfair, a voice whispered in my head. Yes, he was serious about the environment and his work, but he could be tempted to come out and play. He needed to be tempted. His grandparents had almost destroyed his sense of fun. Sometimes he even seemed to feel guilty about simply enjoying himself. If he hooked up with a woman who was like him, would the two of them ever play? Would they encourage their kids to play?
The hum of the tires, the warmth of the window against my cheek, the comfort of the big swivel seat all combined like a narcotic, and I found myself drifting off to sleep.
I woke when Mark pulled into a gas station. Yawning, I stretched and checked my watch, finding I’d slept for more than an hour. While he began to pump gas, I climbed out. “Where are we?”
“Coos Bay.”
“Sorry I slept so long. Time for a bathroom break. Want me to get you a coffee?” He was obviously addicted.
“Thanks.”
A quick glance around showed me a coffee shop across the street. Surely, they’d make better coffee than service station sludge, and they’d likely have interesting herbal tea, too.
I headed over, ordered our drinks, and made use of the facilities. When I came back to the camper, Mark emerged from the station.
I handed him a cardboard coffee cup. “Here, free trade beans.”
“Really?”
“From the coffee shop across the street.”
“Good idea. I’ll have to remember to check around in future, not just settle for service station brew.” He took a sip, then smiled. “Oh, yeah. Thanks, Jenna.” He glanced at my cup. “That’s not chamomile.”
“Rooibos. Red sticks rather than lawn clippings.”
He winced, and I laughed.
Back in the camper, as he pulled away, I asked, “Are we making up any lost time?”
“Not much. We can stick to the coast road through most of Oregon, but since we both need to get to Vancouver Sunday night, we’ll have to take the I-5 through Washington.”
“Gack. That’s nasty.”
“There’s a state park called Cape Lookout just southwest of Tillamook, which is an hour or so from Portland. I’ve never stayed there, only seen signs for it.”
“Sure.”
He glanced over. “I was thinking maybe you’d rather find a nice B&B, something like that? My treat.”
“Huh? How come?”
“The accident. Stressful day. It’d be more comfortable for you.”
I smiled and shook my head gently. “You’re sweet, but I’m not that kind of girl. Camping suits me just fine, especially if there’s a beach. And a real toilet and shower.”
“I’m pretty sure they have all that.” He glanced at the clock on the dash. “It’s mid afternoon now, and we’ve got about four hours on the road to get to Cape Lookout. It’ll make for a longish day today, but we’d get to Vancouver at a reasonable time tomorrow. Or we could stop somewhere else in an hour or so, but that’ll make a really long drive tomorrow. It’s up to you.”
“Why don’t we just drive and see how we feel?”
“Could, but if we’re going to get to a campground late on a Saturday in summer, we may not get in. If we know we want to stay at Cape Lookout, we should phone and reserve.”
He really needed to loosen up. Half the fun of life was when the unexpected happened. “If we’re meant to stay there, it’ll work out. If not, we’ll find someplace else.”
“The universe will provide?”
“You got it. Speaking of which …” I opened the bag I’d brought from the coffee shop. “Look what it provided when I got coffee.” The lemon bars had been irresistible.
“Thanks.” He glanced over as I held out a bright yellow bar topped with powdered sugar. “Looks a little messy, though.”
“Here.” I held it to his mouth so he could take a bite.
While he was chewing, I nibbled on the same bar myself. Mmm, I loved the bright, sunny tang of lemon.
For the next miles, we didn’t talk much, just took alternate nibbles until both bars were done. With the tip of one finger, I brushed sugar from his bottom lip. Such a warm, sensual lip.
He ducked his head, tried to nip my finger, but I jerked away in time, laughing.
“Tell me about some of the projects you’ve worked on,” I suggested.
With a little more urging, he complied, and I listened with interest. He really had done some amazing things.
As we talked, I noticed him rotating his shoulders, wincing a little. “Are you okay?”
“Just kinked my neck and shoulders a little, stretching over to reach Mr. Watkins’s arm.”
“I’ll give you a massage when we stop for the night.” After that last round of sex, I wasn’t sure I wanted to risk kissing the man again, but having him face down on the bed, his tanned, muscular body spread out in front of me, didn’t sound bad at all. “For now, why don’t you let me drive? I’m a good driver, honest. Tell me you’re not one of those cavemen who refuses to sit in the passenger seat.”
“If I were, I sure couldn’t confess to it now, could I?” He gave a lazy smile. “Yeah, that would be nice.”
He pulled over at the next opportunity, and we got out and stretched, then switched sides. I adjusted the driver’s seat and mirrors, pulled out, and drove cautiously as I got the feel of a vehicle so much bigger than Mellow Yellow. Once I was confident I said, “Your turn to nap if you want.”
“I wouldn’t mind. Wake me if you need anything.” He tilted the seat and stretched. A few minutes later, his soft, slow breaths told me he’d drifted off. Apparently, caffeine had no effect on him.
I always enjoyed driving, and this was pleasant, with Mark dozing comfortably beside me, a whole miniature house traveling with us.
Casually, I noticed signs go by. Dunes City, Florence. Back out to the coast and more lovely ocean views. Heceta Head, where there was a lighthouse. Yachats, a cute town tucked between the mountains and the ocean.
When we reached Newport, I needed a pee break, so pulled into a gas station. I hopped out to buy him some gas, then realized I didn’t know what type the hybrid camper took. As I was deliberating, the passenger door opened and Mark emerged, yawning and running his hand through his hair, tousling it.
For a moment, I had an image of what an adorable little boy he must have been. And what gorgeous babies he’d make. I felt a pang at the thought of Mark and some other woman realizing a dream that was impossible for me.
“Hey, there,” he said, dropping a kiss on the top of my head and reaching out to stab one of the buttons on the pump.
“Hey, yourself.”
When he glanced around, I said, “Newport.”
“Great. Only another hour or so to Cape Lookout.”
From the gas station we drove to a grocery store where, once again, the universe provided beautifully for us with skewers of pink prawns fresh from the ocean, mushrooms, chunks of onion, and green and red peppers. A display of fresh local raspberries lured me. Then Mark asked me to pick wine, and I went for an Oregon pinot gris.
“I always thought it was a waste of time to fuss over food,” he said.
“This was no more fuss than picking up cheese and crackers or getting a made-up sandwich, and it’ll taste so yummy.”
His upper lip twitched like he was hiding a grin. “I always thought it was a waste of time to actually taste food.”
I bumped his shoulder. “Learn something new every day. It’s a waste of time to do something and not enjoy the experience.”
“Good point.”
“Should we pick up something for breakfast?”
We agreed on bran muffins, and our shopping was done.
Back at the camper, I hung onto the raspberries while he stowed the other groceries in the back. I claimed the driver’s seat again, popped a berry into my mouth, and handed him the box. “These cry out to be eaten.”
The strawberries we’d finished at breakfast had been sweet and luscious, but the darker, richer tang of raspberries was as delicious in its own way. As we headed north on the highway, Mark shared out the berries one by one until the box was empty.
The casual sensuality was pure pleasure: the brush of his fingers against my lips, then the complex flavors bursting on my tongue.
We drove mostly in silence, with occasional comments about scenery, towns, or attractions we passed. Then I asked him to tell me about the paper he’d be presenting at the symposium in Vancouver, and listened, impressed. He’d achieved so much at such a young age.
It was kind of humbling to be around that kind of person—even though he didn’t seem to have an ounce of ego, only that powerful drive and commitment. And a tendency to judge others who didn’t share the same single-minded passion.
We’d reached Cape Lookout State Park, and I drove up to the gate and gave the attendant—a boy of about seventeen with acne and thick glasses—a smile. “Hi there. We’re looking for a camping spot for the night.”
He flushed. “I’m sorry, but we’re full up.”
Well, shit. Yes, the universe would find us another great spot for the night, but it had been a long, tiring day.
I was about to ask him for suggestions when Mark leaned over and said to the boy, “How about a reservation for Chambers?”
“Oh, you have a reservation.” He flushed brighter. “Let me look.”
“We do?” I stared at Mark. “When did you do that?”
“Last time we stopped. I was getting tired, and I figured maybe your universe could use a little help.”
So much for the fun of the unexpected, but I was tired, too, and ready to settle down for the night.
Mark paid the boy, who told us our campsite number and how to find it. “It’s a nice one,” he said. “Right by the beach. You’ll like it.” By now he was almost as red as the raspberries we’d been eating.
I thanked him and drove in the direction he’d indicated. “Poor kid. Could he be any more shy?”
“I’m sure it’s worse with pretty girls like you.”
“I’m old enough to be … well, definitely his much older sister.”
“You’re hot. You’ll always be hot, Jenna.”
So would he. His build, active life, and facial bone structure would ensure that.
Since we’d had sex, I’d been doing my best to keep things casual. But tonight we’d again be sharing the bed in the camper. That idea was both irresistibly compelling and kind of scary.
Th
is wasn’t like me, fussing over what would happen in the future. What had happened to my live-in-the-moment philosophy?
I had left the window down and now took a deep breath and tuned into my surroundings. “Listen to the waves.” To our left was a sand dune, and the ocean must be just beyond it. Smallish campsites dotted the road to our right, all of them occupied until we got to the one Mark had reserved. It wouldn’t offer much privacy, but if we left the camper windows open, we’d hear the ocean all night long.
I pulled in, turned off the ignition, and sighed with tiredness and relief. “It’s good to be here.”
He had the sense to not say, I told you so. Or maybe the thought didn’t even occur to him. Mark didn’t strike me as the kind of person who wasted time trying to “one up” others.
Slowly, we both got out of the camper and stretched. Then he held out his hand. “The beach.”
In perfect agreement, I took his hand. “Bet we won’t need sandals. All we have to do is cross the road, hike over the dune, and we’ll be on a sandy beach.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“No, but trust me.” I kicked off my sandals.
He bent to pull off his, too, then we left both pairs lying there and headed across the narrow road to the dune.
Warm sand scrunched under my soles and between my toes, and I beamed up at Mark.
He smiled back. “Yeah.”
When we stood at the top of the dune, I saw I’d been right about the beach: lovely sand with two or three dozen people scattered across its length, framed by the rugged wildness of the Pacific Northwest. “We grow great beaches up north,” I said. “Definitely not as civilized as the ones in California.”
“Not as swimmable, either.”
“True.”
“There’s no such thing as a bad beach,” he said with certainty. “I can’t count the number I’ve seen in my life, and they’re all incredible.”
“I envy you. I could spend my life exploring beaches.” Of course, for him it was less about exploring as about studying, healing, saving the beaches, the ocean, and the wildlife.