“Oh, that kind of music,” he teased.
I nudged him with my elbow. “I meant that I don’t really try to write a certain song. I let the words hit me, and then I write it. It’s kind of hard to explain, but I feel it, I don’t think it.”
I chugged on the beer, thinking maybe my first answer was better than my second. That was too much. He would surely think I was some kind of abstract artist who needed to be secluded in an artist-only loony colony.
“How did you learn to write lyrics?” He kicked at one of the logs with his foot. He seemed comfortable with the fire.
“It’s not something I went to school for. I think of it like poetry, I guess. I see the words together or feel them together.”
“Feel them?”
I twirled the bottle until I heard the beer sloshing. He had turned to face me, and I realized he was listening. His eyes scanned mine and his forehead fixed in concentration. “Yes, it’s a feeling, but it comes out as lyrics. It’s hard to explain.”
“It makes sense to me. Those are my favorite songs. The ones that actually mean something—not just rambling strung together to fit a beat, but words with soul.”
I followed his eyes, wishing it wasn’t getting dark so I could see the flecks of green. Right now, he was looking at me as if he understood everything I said and more, and I wanted to capture that look in his eyes and memorize it.
He broke the silence. “If you didn’t go to school for music, what did you study?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, that? My master’s is actually in education. My parents want me to be a teacher. We compromised on me teaching music.”
“Well, that sounds like a sensible idea. You get to do both, right?”
“No, not really. All I want to do is write. I’m sending songs out every week to labels, and any day I’m going to sell one. I really want a contract so I can move. I’ll pay my dad back for college and grad school and I’ll be done with this nightmare.” I gripped the bottle in my hand like it could steady me. I didn’t mean to get so worked up.
“Nightmare? I guess you’re talking about what I overhead this morning on the docks.”
He turned to look at me. It wasn’t pity in his eyes. It was the same look he had at the kayak stand—understanding and warmth. The kind of look I wouldn’t mind seeing more of. I liked the way it felt when he looked at me that way.
I tried to explain. “It’s a long story, but you could say I had a falling out with my dad recently and I’m ready to move on. First, I owe him for my tuition. It was part of the deal when I went to grad school. We came to a compromise after I told him I could make a higher starting salary with a master’s degree. I’m supposed to be grateful I got to go, but now it feels like I’m an indentured servant. Half of my pay goes to my tuition bill, and I get the other half.”
The beer was empty, but I wasn’t sure if it was ok to ask for another one so quickly. I liked talking with him, and if he brought me another beer, I would stay and swap stories as long as the fire burned.
Jake stood from his chair. “Why don’t I grab us a few more beers and the plate for the steaks? I’ll be right back.”
I watched as he walked back into the camper and decided a pair of khaki shorts had never looked so good on a man before. My cheeks flushed, wondering if his backside looked as amazing as his chest and arms.
“Here you go.” He returned seconds later with a cold beer. Using a long set of tongs, he reached into the fire and stabbed both of the steaks. “Cowboy steak is served. You ready?”
I nodded.
He handed me silverware and bread. “I’m not much on cooking. It’s steak and bread tonight.”
The hot plate in front of me looked and smelled wonderful. This was plenty. “I love it. Let’s eat.”
He cut into the steak and took a bite. “Mmm…might be my best yet.” He grinned, his mouth full.
“So, I’ve done all the talking. Tell me about where you went to school and your hometown.”
“There’s not much to tell.” He cut into the steak again. “I went to a small Texas school and played some football in college.”
“Football?” I knew he was too naturally athletic not to have been involved in sports of some kind. “What position did you play?”
“I was the quarterback, of course. But after the last concussion, I decided I needed to do something a little safer. I’d like to keep my memories.” He winked.
“So is that how you got into writing? It’s the football safety net? I wouldn’t pair those two things.”
He nodded while tipping a beer back.
“Tell me about your book. I want to know what you’re writing. I feel like I’ve been cut off from writer minds since I moved back home.” I tasted the meat and enjoyed the smoky flavor.
I watched him chew. Finally, he spoke. “I’m taking my time on this one. Just seeing how it goes. I need to feel it.” He winked. “You understand.”
I knew he was trying to distract me and I hated to admit it worked.
“Does that mean you haven’t started yet?” I wondered why he was so reluctant to share his work with me. I felt like I had just given him way too much personal information. I needed him to balance the conversation.
“Something like that.”
“But—”
He cut me off. “Damn it, my neighbor does not understand volume control.” The music from next door had increased several decibels, drowning out the sound of the waves. “Thanks to you, I now know what she’s playing is beach music. Let’s go in. I’ve got speakers inside. We can continue this conversation. I want to hear more about your songs.”
Slightly flustered, I clutched my drink and followed him inside the camper. It felt small and cool after sitting under the stars and in front of the fire. It also smelled like Jake’s cologne, fresh and soapy-scented.
“Sorry about that.” He pulled the door tightly behind him. “Alice likes to play her music loudly, and if I go over there now, I might not be back for a while.”
“Oh, ok.” I didn’t know if I should slide into the booth or sit on the couch. I wanted to keep talking. I wanted to get him to open up.
He fiddled with one of the speakers before strolling to the couch and crossing his ankle over his knee. He had selected a country song, but I hadn’t heard it before.
“What’s this?” I nodded toward the speaker.
“You don’t know this song?” He looked shocked.
I shook my head. The words were haunting and perfectly placed. It was an acoustic number, and the man’s voice was smooth and raspy on all the right notes.
“How about Quinn Jansen? Do you know her?”
I laughed. “She’s only my favorite singer and songwriter. I love her.” Ever since I had seen the indie artist’s first video on YouTube, I was hooked. After it went viral, she was on every show. Every top list.
He smiled. “Well, she wrote this.”
“What? But it’s a guy song.” I wondered if he was teasing, but he looked too serious.
Jake stretched on the couch. I admired his athletic body. A quick flashback of his dripping wet chest reminded me how sculpted he was under that shirt.
“Quinn can write. I’d listen to just about anything of hers.”
The next song was a Quinn Jansen hit.
He smiled. “Speak of the devil.”
I giggled. “Yep. I do know this is her song.”
I sat on the end of the couch, keeping a pillow’s distance between us. It was hard to ignore how the closeness of the camper brought us into each other’s space. It was immediately more intimate.
All day I felt as if we had been gradually moving closer to this moment. Thrills of recklessness tingled under my skin. What did I really know about this guy?
He pointed over my head. “Hey, would you mind cutting off the light over the table? Not only is Alice loud, she’s nosey.”
“Sure.”
I reached behind me. I meant to flip the light closest to the tab
le, but instead, I swiped all three, throwing the entire camper into darkness.
“Oh crap. Sorry. Sorry.” I fumbled with the wall, but couldn’t find the switch to save my life.
“Hey.” The tone of his voice was low and commanding. “Leave it.”
The way he sounded in the dark made me shiver and smile at the same time. God he was sexy.
He was moving closer. The attempt to steady my pulse was useless.
My heart beat faster, waiting for him to close in on me. But he took his time in the dark, setting his own speed for the chase. He knew exactly what he was doing. Strong hands slid around my waist and drew me toward him. He didn’t kiss me right away.
His cheek brushed against my face, and his lips grazed my ear. It was as if he wanted to inhale every part of me. The anticipation was dizzying. His body pressed close and I felt the heat from his mouth. He moved from my ear, to my neck, and skimmed my throat with his lips, raking me with his warm breath.
Oh shit. He was torturing me. It stirred the feelings of want I hadn’t been able to unleash all summer. Pent-up desire. Bottled lust. I leaned back, taking in every touch as he ignited blazes along my skin.
His hand clasped the back of my neck, wrapping his fingers through my hair before bringing my mouth to his. He tasted like the last sips of beer, and I couldn’t think of any better way to get drunk than on deep kisses like these. His tongue played with mine as he pinned me on the couch under him.
I wanted to think through what I was doing—making out with a virtual stranger at the campground—but thoughts seemed like a bad idea, an idea that wouldn’t do anything to ease the burning feeling taking over my core.
Everything throbbed and ached. I needed this. I needed him.
His hands slid under my shirt and worked their way up my back, pressing into my skin. I arched as his hands landed on my bra.
“Wait,” I whispered.
I pushed against Jake, creating enough space to pull the shirt over my head. I tossed it on the floor. He led the straps over my arms and dropped the lacy garment on the floor.
I could get lost in the kisses, the touches, the whispers in my ear.
I let out a deep moan as the heat of his mouth descended to my breast. He sucked hard, pulling my nipple with his teeth. I fisted my hands through his hair, knowing the pressure between my legs was building with each flick of his tongue.
“Oh God,” I whimpered.
He moved to the other side, and my breast throbbed from where his lips had been. He took me between his teeth, my nipple pebbling under his command. I heard a growl of satisfaction vibrate from him.
“Damn, you’re sexy,” he groaned.
He made a slow circle with his tongue. He blew across the wet skin, making my knees clench harder against his waist.
My panties were soaked. My clit throbbed. And my mind was blurred by everything my body wanted. What was he doing? All it would take was one flick of his fingers between my wet folds and I’d lose it. He’d see how desperate I was for this.
I’d fall off the cliff before we got to the good part. I was a live wire, waving in the wind. My breath was erratic. My center needy to feel how hard he was as my hips rocked into him.
I realized that the sudden abandon I felt by being with a total stranger was evaporating. This was all too intimate to experience with someone I didn’t know, and instantly, that seemed kind of important. We would be stocking shelves together in the morning. In our aprons, under my father’s watchful eye.
He’d think I had no restraint. That I was like every other girl on this island—no sexual experience in the world. God, this was embarrassing.
I bolted from the couch, knocking Jake back on his heels.
I broke the spell. I ruined the moment.
“Shit. Where’s my shirt?” I covered my breasts with one hand and searched the floor for my shirt with the other, my breath frantic. It had to be here somewhere. The camper wasn’t that big.
“Something wrong, darlin’? Are you ok?” Jake sounded calm. Of course, he wasn’t the one with only half his clothes on. “Hold on. I’ll help you.” He crawled to the floor. “Ah-ha. Here you go.”
I fumbled to find my clothes. I was glad we were in the dark so I wouldn’t have to see the look on his face while I struggled to redress.
“I need to get home. I didn’t realize how late it was. We have an early morning. Thanks for dinner. Really, it was great. And the music. And…” I had to get out of here.
“Chelsea, wait—”
But I didn’t give him a chance to explain or apologize. I bolted from the Silver Dollar and ran to my car. Today set an all-time record for embarrassments, and this night really needed to end. It was going to start over again tomorrow when I got to the store and had to train the man who had just made me almost come from nothing more than a hot kiss and some heavy petting.
Seventeen
Ben
I slammed my hand on the phone and stopped its incessant chirping sounds. Damn, it was five in the morning. I rolled under the checked comforter, not ready to leave the warm cocoon. I liked to keep the camper icy cold at night, so when I got in bed I could wrap up in the covers. It might not be energy-efficient, but I slept best that way.
The crickets started up again, and I groaned as I stumbled out of bed and into the shower. I turned the nozzle to hot as the water sputtered to life. The night hadn’t gone exactly as I planned. The last thing I wanted to have happen was what did happen—Chelsea ran out of the Sand Dollar as if I had scorched her with a hot iron. She wasn’t that kind of girl. I should have known better. I cursed out loud, knowing I had taken things too far too fast with her.
I pressed my hands against the shower wall and lowered my head, letting the water wash over my shoulders. The heat between us had taken me by surprise. The lights went down and so did my restraint. In the dark, I was surrounded by the scent of her shampoo. Her lips were soft, drawing me in for more. Damn if the way she moaned didn’t turn me on. I had fought those sounds when I tossed and turned in the camper’s master suite last night.
I didn’t know if I could make it up to her, but I would try. I wasn’t here to upset her. It got out of control before I knew what was happening. I pounded the wall with my fist, not proud of what I had done on the couch. The water slowed to a trickle. My seven minutes were up. Time to get dressed and get to work.
I parked my Jeep in the side employee entrance. I noticed Chelsea’s bike was racked in the stand. I exhaled. Today was going to be interesting. There probably wouldn’t be any kayak races after work. I would keep it cool and give her space.
I sauntered through the doors and grabbed an apron from the hook. She had explained that we wouldn’t open the stand until mid-morning. My first duties of the morning would include sweeping and getting the coffee ready. I could use a tall cup. The shower wasn’t long enough to wake me up.
“Hey, good morning.” I pulled the strings against my back. Chelsea was at the register, counting bills.
“Hey.” She didn’t look up and continued to stack the money in rows.
“What can I help you with?” I looked around for the coffee pot—my first choice.
“Ten—twenty—thirty—uh, why don’t you grab a broom from the closet and start on the aisles?”
“Got it.” I spun on my heels to fetch the broom.
If sweeping was what she wanted, sweeping she would get. I picked it up and tossed it to my other hand. I walked to the corner of the store farthest from her. The walk-in coolers hummed as I made piles of dirt. I had made it through five aisles before she walked toward me.
“So, after you finish with the floors, do you think you could unload some of the boxes that came in? They are kind of heavy for me to move around. I’ll put the merchandise on display. You don’t have to do that part.” Her gaze was steady, almost robotic.
“Absolutely. Just point me to the boxes. I’m your man.” I wanted to kick myself. That was a stupid thing to say. I had vowed not to fl
irt.
She turned away. “Let me just go ahead and show you where they are. You can come back to this.”
I followed her to a storage room off the hallway where the aprons hung. I could barely walk two feet into the room, it was so stuffed with mannequins, fishnets, and boxes.
“Wow. There’s a lot going on in here.” I looked at the shelves near the ceiling. Every single one was loaded.
She retrieved a box cutter and marked the boxes she needed help with. “All of the ones I need on the retail side have an X on them. Ok?” She hurried past me. “Just move those when you’re done sweeping.” She was gone before I could respond.
I looked at the stack and decided to haul a few to the retail side before rejoining the broom. T-shirt boxes were a lot heavier than I expected. I huffed as I placed the boxes on the floor. Definitely need to get back in the gym. Maybe Chelsea could tell me if there was one of the island.
I approached the counter where she was scribbling something on a roll of register paper. I recognized that look on her face. I had seen it before.
“Did a song hit you?”
She gathered the paper in her fist. “I-I was—”
“Can I hear it?” I leaned on my elbow.
Her blue eyes sparkled. “You want to hear it? Really?” Her tone softened. It was the first time she had countered my gaze all morning.
“Writer to writer. Let me hear it.”
She set her mouth in a determined line as if she was mentally sorting the pros and cons of sharing the words with me.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want. No pressure.” I backed off the counter a few inches.
“Ok. Yeah. Maybe you can help me. Writer to writer.” She smiled.
I liked that smile. It reminded me why I had taken the job in the first place—I was just trying to help a pretty girl. Nothing more than that.
She flattened the creases in the paper and held it up to read.
Holding you is like catching the wind
Breezing in and out of my arms
Before my heart can decide to let you in
Double Mountain Trouble Page 59