Castaway Cove

by JoAnn Ross

  “Hi,” she said in a breathless, needy voice she didn’t recognize.

  “Hi yourself.” With his eyes locked on hers, he pushed away from the railing and moved the few steps to close the gap between them. Again, it was only because she knew to look for it that she noticed the slight limp in his slow, determined, gunslinger’s walk.

  He’d gone into pure alpha male hunting mode and she was his prey. Thanks to the moves she’d learned in a self-defense class she’d taken when she first moved to D.C., Annie could’ve had any other man walking funny for a week.

  But when her gaze drifted down to that bulge beneath the metal buttons of his jeans, an entirely different set of moves scorched through her mind and kept her standing exactly where she was.

  Waiting.

  Wanting.

  He stopped, the tips of his black cross-trainers a whisper from her bare toes. His midnight-dark eyes made a long, slow perusal, from the top of her head to those toes, which Sally, who did nails down at Cut Loose, had painted a hot Charged-Up Cherry.

  “I must look a mess,” she said as his eyes returned to hers. She lifted a hand to her tangle of hair.

  “I like it. You look soft. Warm. Approachable. And”—his gaze drifted down to her breasts—“definitely dangerous.”

  Oh, hell. Annie belatedly remembered the message written across the front of her cotton knit scrapbooker’s nightshirt that she’d forgotten she was wearing: I RUN WITH SCISSORS. IT MAKES ME FEEL DANGEROUS.

  “Okay.” She folded her arms defensively across the nightshirt. “I lied. I wasn’t really wearing a red babydoll nightie and thong.”

  But the ridiculously expensive scraps of lace and silk that constituted the bra and matching panties she’d bought at Oh So Fancy to wear under the seduction lunch sundress had come close. Unfortunately, they were still in the top drawer of her lingerie chest.

  “There goes the fantasy I’ve been having for the past four hours, imagining pulling that lacy thong off with my teeth. . . . You didn’t lie about it being red, though.”

  “It’s also not the least bit sexy,” she said on a sigh, thinking of all the plans she’d made to turn this man inside out.

  “Depends on the woman. Some don’t need all the fancy trappings to be sexy as sin.”

  He didn’t seem annoyed, or even disappointed that she wasn’t dressed like a lingerie model. Instead, his lips quirked and laugh lines crinkled out from his eyes. “Don’t worry.” His hands settled at her waist. “It’s not like you’re going to be wearing it all that long.”

  That thought got an immediate response. As her nipples tightened beneath the silhouette of the running girl on her nightshirt, Mac’s wickedly clever hands slid up her ribs, barely skimming the sides of her breasts.

  “Are you cold?” As the fingers of his left hand brushed over her nipple, making it harder and even more sensitive, he smiled with blatant male satisfaction.

  Part of her wanted to make him as crazy as he was making her. At the same time she had never felt as insecure in her life. Sex with Owen had been a paint-by-number exercise, and he’d never, ever ventured outside the lines.

  As arousal stirred in her stomach, then lower, every instinct Annie had told her that with Midnight Mac it would be anything but.

  So, curious, excited, and yes, nervous about whether she’d be able to live up to his expectations, undoubtedly set by all the women he’d been with before her, Annie could only stand there.

  Still waiting.

  And, oh, God, still so wanting.

  As if reading her mind, he smiled. It was slow and wicked, and it made her tremble with longing.

  He cupped her breasts in his hands, his fingers rasping over them, until the soft, well-washed knit cotton between them suddenly seemed almost unbearably heavy. Annie wanted the nightshirt gone. She wanted to feel his touch, and his beautifully formed mouth, on her bare, hot skin.

  She was shivering. Not from any night chill, but from need.

  “You like that.”

  Until she’d met the man who had become her husband, Annie’s sexual encounters had amounted to six weeks of being pressured into sex by the son of one of her foster parents when she’d been sixteen. Later, during her freshman year at the University of Portland, she’d foolishly tried to find self-esteem by having quick, totally unsatisfactory sex with guys too selfish to ever think about pleasing a partner. They’d taken what they wanted, what she’d eventually come to realize she was giving away too freely, only to leave her feeling worse about herself.

  She’d accepted Owen’s proposal partly because he didn’t elicit any of those crazy sexual needs she’d suffered her first year out on her own.

  But as she soon discovered, being stuffy in the bedroom didn’t necessarily mean he was any more generous or less selfish than those callow college boys.

  Owen had never talked while making love. He never complimented her, never asked what she did or didn’t like. He did let her know by his actions and movements early in their relationship what he expected from her, and she, grateful to him for having married her, for giving her a chance to have an actual family of her own, honestly didn’t believe that she deserved anything more, so she had willingly, silently obliged.

  Those old lessons, she was discovering, died hard.

  She swallowed. Then nodded.

  “Tell me.” He caught a nipple between his thumb and middle finger and tugged. “How about this?”

  “Yes.” The word escaped on a shuddering rush of breath.

  “So far, so good.”

  His hands moved downward, down her ribs, continuing over her stomach, which she instinctively sucked in at his touch, then lower to cup her between her thighs, drawing a low, ragged moan.

  Even as he explored her with his touch, he kept his eyes on hers. “I take it that’s a yes.”

  Hanging on to her ebbing control, Annie nodded again. She was so turned on she didn’t trust herself to speak.

  His arched brow invited more. Oh, he was wicked. He knew what he was doing to her. But as much as her body was obviously his for the taking, he was insisting on hearing her say the words.

  Annie drew in a breath. Then managed, through lips that had gone impossibly dry, to say, “You know it is.”

  “Good. Because after all this time thinking about all the things I want to do to you, I want to make sure I get it right.”

  “You know you are. But I’m not used to talking while doing . . . having . . . Well, you know. Sex.”

  “We’ll deal with that later,” he said. “Let’s take it one step at a time. For now, what do you want?”

  How was it that she could feel vulnerable, yet in control at the same time? Perhaps, she considered, because he didn’t make any secret of the fact that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. That he found her as hot as she found him.

  Which gave her the nerve to say what she’d been thinking for days.

  “You. I want you.”

  “Far be it from me to deny you anything your sweet, sexy little heart desires.” Before she could perceive his intention, he scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her into the house.

  44

  “I don’t remember Rhett carrying Scarlett this way,” she said from her upside-down position as he kicked the door shut, pausing only long enough to twist the lock.

  “The guy didn’t know what he was missing.” Her nightshirt had slid down nearly to her waist, leaving her bottom bared to his touch. “I like this better.”

  Although it might not seem as romantic as Clark Gable carrying Vivien Leigh up that staircase, Annie, branded by his hand on her heated skin, decided she preferred this move, too.

  “Where’s the bedroom?”

  “Upstairs. First door to the left.”

  He found it without any trouble, then set her back onto her feet beside
the sleigh bed she’d found at Angie’s Antiques and Collectibles. It had taken her weeks to sand the peeling white paint off it and to paint it a soft cream color as an accent to the sea blue walls. Although it was still more than an hour before dawn, she’d drifted off with the wooden blinds and window open, allowing light from the moon to stream in. The room seemed to grow smaller and smaller as he spent a long time looking down at her, as if seeking answers to some question he hadn’t asked.

  “Mac.” She had never begged any man before. But at this moment, she would beg for him. “Please.”

  “Please what?” He bent his head and lowered his mouth to hers, nipping at her bottom lip. “Kiss you?”

  “That’s a start.”

  “Exactly. Just a start . . . Lift your arms.”

  His dark and dangerous tone possessed the power to fog her thoughts. When she did as he’d asked, he caught the hem of her very unsexy nightshirt and in one deft movement pulled it over her head and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

  Leaving her standing completely naked, with the sea breeze from the open window whispering against her bare skin.

  The night sky was atypically clear, free of clouds. Annie had never realized until now, when she felt as if she were standing in a spotlight, how very bright moonlight could be.

  “The neighbors—”

  “Live a very long way down your driveway and around the corner.”

  Which was true. One of the things she loved about her house was that except for the occasional sea kayaker paddling by, she had absolute privacy.

  “I’ve been imagining you like this for days.” The desire in his eyes echoed his words. “Since we first met at Still Waters.”

  “You certainly hid it well.” Another first. She never pouted. But she did now.

  He smiled, just a little, at her aggrieved tone. “I think I knew you were going to be dangerous.”

  “You were rude.”

  “Guilty. But maybe I can make that up to you.” He ran his hand from her shoulder to her thigh. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  But he could, she realized suddenly. Her plan of living in the moment, of sex for sex’s sake, of celebrating the now—or whatever trendy-modern-woman term she wanted to use for it—was backfiring.

  She’d already begun to care. Too much. He could, without even meaning to, hurt her more than those thoughtless boys or Owen ever had.

  His hands slid down her back, cupping her bare bottom, lifting her against him. He was hard and thick and the rough scrape of the denim against her bare skin had her wanting him inside her.

  Now.

  But before she could get the words out, he took her mouth in a kiss as hard as the body grinding against her. Her lips parted, inviting the thrusting invasion of his tongue, and as they pulled each other down onto the bed, she wanted to eat him up.

  As he fed her slow, deep kisses, he touched her everywhere.

  “Do you like it when I touch you here?” He cupped her breasts again, causing them to swell into his hands.

  “Yes.”

  “And when I put my mouth on your beautiful breasts?”

  He took first one, then the other, into his mouth, tugging, tasting, nipping at her nipples, causing a rushing pleasure just this side of pain.

  “Oh, yes.”

  His hands and mouth continued their quest, taking the same path as earlier, but without the barrier of the cotton nightshirt. He licked the underside of her breasts, which she’d never realized could be such an erogenous zone, then down her stomach, causing her to arch her hips as his tongue dipped into her navel.

  “You know what I was thinking about, all night at the station while playing those damn hot songs?” he asked, his words vibrating against her lower stomach like a tuning fork.

  “What?” she managed, as she lifted her hips, wanting, needing, for him to touch her there.

  “Touching you.” His fingers skimmed lower, and yes, parted her there.

  “Oh, God, yes.” This time he didn’t need to ask as pleasure and still more need tangled within her.

  “And tasting you.” With his hands spreading her thighs, he did exactly that, his tongue gliding over her center.

  “Mac.” Her hands felt inordinately heavy as they lifted from his back to tangle in his hair. She heard a ragged whimper, and belatedly realized it had broken free from her own parched lips. “Please. I need you.” She was writhing beneath him. “Inside me.”

  “And you’ll have me.” She’d never known that any man could possess such patience. “But we’re no longer on the clock, Annie my sweet.” Oh, God, his teeth had replaced his tongue, having her on the verge of going off like a rocket. How did he know to do that? “And I’m not nearly done with you.”

  To prove his point, his mouth claimed her. There. Sucking, licking, nipping, devouring her, creating a pleasure so sharp, so acute, she could only plead, over and over, in a voice that sounded nothing like her own, for him to stop.

  To never stop.

  Until the pleasure grew too intense, and suddenly her entire world was spinning away, into that dark night sky, flinging her among the white-hot stars, where she scattered into a million little pieces of light.

  Afterward, as she fell back to earth, Annie thought she might have gone blind. Perhaps she’d even fainted—because she couldn’t understand how she’d ended up lying, chest to chest, against Mac as he held her close, his lips pressed against the top of her damp head.

  “Okay.” Her body was still suffering internal aftershocks. “If we didn’t just have an earthquake, it’s official.”

  “What?”

  He smoothed the soaked strands of hair away from her face and touched his mouth to hers. In contrast to his earlier kisses, this one was as soft and gentle as dandelion fluff blowing on the wind.

  “You’re a sex god.”

  He laughed at that. A deep, rough sound she could feel rumbling up from his rock-hard chest.

  “Hardly.” His lips skimmed up her cheek as his hand moved down her back, his fingers tracing patterns that, amazingly, were getting her all hot and itchy again. “It’s you.”

  She blinked to clear her vision and read the truth in his gaze. Truth and a very raw masculine hunger, which reminded her that while she’d been flying among the stars, she’d—damn—forgotten something elemental.

  That it was only good sexual etiquette for the guy to get off, too.

  “I think it’s us.” How else could she explain the chemistry that had sparked between them from the beginning? Or that he’d managed to do what no other man had ever done?

  She slid her hands beneath his shirt. “But you’re wearing way too many clothes.”

  45

  Question, Mac thought, as he stood beside the bed, stripping off his clothes, risking endangering his junk with those damn metal buttons: How many guys, in the history of mankind, ever got off talking about their relationship?

  He kicked off his shoes.

  How about none?

  Although his hormone-crazed body had tried to tune out his more rational mind, Mac knew, on some level, that Annie had a point about their situation being more complicated. Because any decision he made, for the next twelve years, would have to factor in his daughter.

  Who obviously adored Annie Shepherd.

  Which wasn’t why he was here, in the woman’s bedroom, stripped down to a pair of navy ribbed boxer briefs and on the verge of getting his brains screwed out.

  He was here because whatever was happening to him—to his mind, his body, and yes, dammit, his heart, was beyond his power to stop.

  While the topic definitely wasn’t at the top of his hit parade of things to discuss, he and Annie were going to talk about where they were going. But right now, at this moment, looking down at her on those pretty flowered sheets, all naked and flushed and warm, all Mac co
uld think about was how many times over the past days, and especially the nights, he had imagined her like this. Too many to count.

  He wanted.

  She wanted.

  And as an early predawn light filtered into the bedroom, that was enough.

  He’d never met a woman who managed to be both guarded and open at the same time. Although she was no virgin, there was something untouched about her, which was why, although he’d felt as if he was slowly killing himself, he’d forced himself to take his time, learning her secrets, teaching her the sensual pleasure of simply lying back and enjoying them.

  Her body had been a banquet of sweet flesh, of hollows and curves, and he’d feasted, savoring every tasty inch.

  But now it was her turn, and she proved to be a quick study as she moved over him, her breasts, then her lips carving a happy trail down his chest, then beyond, touching and tasting as he’d done to her.

  She’d begun slowly, almost tentatively, learning his body as he’d learned hers, but as she picked up the pace, her hands and mouth streaking over him, Mac’s mind fogged.

  Needs battered away at him, and his hunger had claws.

  Unable to hold back any longer, he reached out blindly and grabbed the condom he’d put on her bedside table. Although he hadn’t fumbled with a condom since he’d had sex with Pam Wagner in the backseat the summer after his senior year of high school, not only had Annie managed to twist him inside out but she’d somehow turned all his fingers to thumbs as well, and finally, in desperation, he ripped the package open with his teeth.

  “Oh, I like that,” she said, saving him from complete humiliation by taking it from his hand. “Very caveman-like.”

  “I don’t think cavemen had condoms,” he managed as she took him in her hands.

  “Probably not,” she agreed as she rolled the latex down his length. “But without cable, I’ll bet they spent a lot of time doing this.”

  With her hands on his chest and her eyes on his, she lowered herself onto him and began to move in a way that had him fearing he would blast off before they even got started.