Perfect for the Beach

by Lori Foster

  “Dana Reed, will you marry me?” he asked, his voice deep and heartfelt. “Will you be my wife, the mother of our children, and my best friend for the rest of my life?”

  “Children?” she asked, and bit her bottom lip.

  He looked taken aback. “You don’t want children?”

  “I never thought I’d have kids,” she said softly, and trailed her fingers along his strong jawline. “But yes, I do want them, with you.”

  “So is that a yes?” he asked anxiously.

  She was done tormenting him. “Yes,” she said, and laughed. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “Thank God!” he rejoiced.

  He surged to his feet and kissed her soundly on the mouth. Then he quickly slipped the beautiful diamond engagement ring on her left-hand finger, as if fearing she’d change her mind, and claimed her as his. The stone hit a shaft of sunlight, and sparkled as bright as their future together.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, and kissed him, deeply and intimately.

  Within moments, Alex was taking over, guiding her back against the table until her thighs hit the edge. He swept aside their breakfast, lifted her up, set her on the cleared surface, and tugged the lapels of her robe down her arms so that he could feast on her nipples.

  She let him have his way with her and sighed in pure, unadulterated pleasure. “I think I could get used to this.”

  “Used to what?” he mumbled around a mouthful of her breast, even as his hands were sliding up her spread thighs to where she was dewy and hot and already primed for him.

  He propped her knees against his hips, and a gasp hitched in her throat as the hot tip of his shaft pushed into her, filling her to the hilt in one long, smooth stroke. “You being the aggressive, dominant one.”

  That stopped his steady thrusts. “Oh no you don’t,” he said on a low growl. “I like you being a tiger in the bedroom.”

  She reached around him and filled her palms with his muscular butt, pulling him forward as she bucked against him, lodging him deep. She grinned and bit him on the chin. “Then we’ll just have to take turns.”

  He groaned as she clenched her inner muscles around him, beckoning him to finish what he’d started. “Mmmm, I definitely think that could be arranged.”

  BLUE CRUSH

  Erin McCarthy

  Chapter One

  As the tropical storm waves tossed her like a whale with a beach ball, Sara realized her plan wasn’t going to work.

  It had seemed so simple at the time. Head down to the beach, walk around in a glam-slam bikini, and attract one of the many surfers taking advantage of the high waves. Show men that she wasn’t always Serious Sara, the glasses-wearing pediatrician, but was Sexy Sara, ready for a red-hot affair. Only the surfers hadn’t even noticed the new Sara, busy surfing instead, the uncooperative jerks, and she had gotten hot pacing the beach.

  A little dip in the water, and the next thing she knew she’d been sucked out twenty feet by vacuum-force winds and her mind wasn’t the only thing she’d lost.

  Her bikini top was missing, too.

  Kyle finished hauling out the “Beach Closed” sign and took one last survey of the water. There were still a dozen surfers in the water, riding the huge storm waves. They’d been warned the water wasn’t safe, and had refused to vacate. They were no longer Kyle’s responsibility. But he wanted to make sure there was no one else in the water.

  This was a hell of a way to end his six-year stint as head lifeguard of Acadia Inlet Beach. Tropical Storm Bonnie was pummeling the Florida coast, heading their way, and he decided it was a good way to exit. No time for regrets about quitting. His toes curled in the warm sand as he prepared to turn and leave.

  That’s when he saw something fifty feet out. Just a woman’s blond head bobbing in the water, arms and shoulders under the surface. Slumping forward, her position was unnatural, as if she’d lost consciousness. Kyle didn’t hesitate but ran for the water, diving in cleanly and moving toward her with smooth strokes, working harder than normal since the water was rough and choppy from the high winds.

  As he reached her, Kyle caught a glimpse of startled blue eyes, her head shaking back and forth, and he was relieved she was conscious after all. He said, “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  Kicking back away from him, her mouth opened in fear. The surf and wind tossed wet hair across her face, and she gave a pitiful gurgle before her head sank beneath a punishing wave.

  Treading water, he wrapped his arm around her mid-section and hauled her to him, grateful to hear her cough and sputter as she reemerged. “You’re okay,” he reassured her loudly. “I’m here to help.”

  She was struggling against him, a common reaction as people panicked. He slid his arm higher around her, trying to get a better grip as she clawed at him and tried to wiggle away.

  Then he nearly dropped her and drowned himself. Holy crap. She wasn’t wearing a bathing suit. He was sliding on the underside of her very smooth, round breasts. Slick, firm breasts. Years of training helped him recover quickly, and he locked his arm around her before they both went under as he rationalized with himself.

  It was just wet skin. It was no big deal. It was like an arm, or an ear, or a thigh … He gritted his teeth and started swimming back to shore, unwilling to look at her, or admit that he had the sudden deep urge to slip his hand a little higher and cup right over top of her luscious breast.

  “Just relax,” he said, wondering if he was suggesting that for her or for himself. Certain parts of him were definitely not relaxed.

  Maybe it was a good thing this was his last day on the job. He’d seen all kinds of half-naked women parading past his chair every day and it had never affected him.

  The woman whimpered in his ear, kicking out, causing his arm to roll over her tight nipple in the water as he almost lost hold of her. Affected? That would be a yes.

  “Stop!” she said clearly. “Please …”

  Kyle dropped his feet to the sandy bottom and bounced lightly in place. The water was up to his shoulders and he caught a splash across his face as the blonde gave another shove at him. Impatient with her hysterical resistance and his unprofessional reaction to her, he just wanted to get her on the shore.

  “I’m trying to help you get out of the water,” he said, clamping onto her tighter as he trudged forward, hauling her on her back, her breasts breaking the surface like buoys.

  Damn. Bad idea.

  Then she did the most amazing thing. She leaped on him, wrapping her long thin legs around his waist, clamping on and squeezing, her warm breasts colliding with his chest, arms gripping the back of his neck, her dewy, wet mouth very close to his. In less than one second his body responded with an instinctive hard-on that had nowhere to go but out.

  It was a futile and desperate wish that she wouldn’t notice.

  Sara felt it at about the same time she noticed something had changed in his green eyes.

  Oh. My. God. She had just jumped into his arms, and her breasts were touching him, plastered against him like seaweed. She sucked in her breath, very much aware that a certain part of him was pressing against a certain part of her. His part was big. Hers was wet, and it sure in the heck wasn’t from saltwater.

  She was surprised her body even knew how to respond, it had been so long since she’d been almost naked with a man, but she shouldn’t have underestimated the forces of nature. Or lust. Her red bikini bottoms were tight across her, and the surf rocked her forward. Right onto him, into that big part.

  Bump. Bump. Bump.

  And neither of them said anything. His chest was hard, muscular, his upper body tanned, and his dark blond hair streaked lighter in spots from the sun. He was holding her with very little effort. Without her glasses, his face was a tiny bit blurry, and it added to the feeling of having fallen into an X-rated mermaid video.

  “I lost my bikini top,” she said finally, just to distract herself from the very real possibility of having an oceanic orgasm.

  “
I noticed.”

  Of course he did. Her nipples were poking him like steel thimbles.

  “I don’t want to get out of the water, because I’m embarrassed. I’m a modest person.” As he could probably tell from the way she was imitating static cling all down the front of him.

  His eyes went wide, his voice husky. “I thought you were drowning.”

  “I kind of figured that. Thanks, but I think I’ll just stay in the water until everyone goes home.” Not that anything could be more mortifying than what she was going through right that minute, but she didn’t think she had it in her to stroll nonchalantly onto the beach like she was on the French Riviera. Sexy Sara had sunk along with the bathing suit top.

  He shook his head. “The storm is getting worse. I can’t leave you out here.” His eyes dropped to her lips.

  Which must have been her imagination. She shifted a little, trying to move her chest away from his. Instead, her bottoms caught on his swim trunks and rolled down a little at the waist as she scrambled up on his legs. She froze, swallowing hard. Her … hair had sprung out of the bottoms like a poodle popping up in a handbag.

  His hands had come around her back and he stroked her a little, right above the small of her back, running his fingers on the bumps of her spine. “I’m Kyle, by the way. Head lifeguard.”

  “Sara.” Stupid, sexless Sara.

  The thighs she was resting on were very hard, and his leg hair tickled her backside. She promptly forgot what she had been about to say. “I’m sorry, I think I’m having an anxiety attack. I can’t think.”

  “Me either,” he said, and once more his eyes dropped down. This time they went lower.

  Sara could feel a blush staining her cheeks, heating her skin. Tall, with long legs, she’d been a gangly kid and teenager and hadn’t gotten breasts until she was fifteen. When they’d finally arrived, they hadn’t been worth the wait.

  “There’s no one really left on the beach but surfers,” he said, wrenching his gaze from her chest. “They won’t pay any attention, they’re busy. I’ll walk first and you can just walk real close behind me until we get to the lifeguard office. Okay?”

  Since the other choices were staying in the ocean forever or bursting out of the water in a Bo Derek jog, she figured his way was best. “Okay.”

  Neither of them moved. He said, “You’re going to have to stand up.”

  Right. Of course. Apparently she’d left her brain along with her glasses on the beach. Still hanging onto his neck, she let her legs unravel from his waist and felt the surf kick her body out a little before she settled her feet on the ground.

  Whoa, he was tall. She was five nine, and he was towering over her, his chest and shoulders twice her width. Sara glanced down at the water, expecting it to start boiling from the heat rolling off her. Then it occurred to her that she wasn’t fully standing up yet, still bent at the knee.

  “Turn around,” she said, poking her hand up out of the water and twirling her finger as a directional. Not that he hadn’t already felt and seen her breasts, but she wanted to retain an ounce of dignity.

  He did, and she immediately reached under the water and fixed her bottoms. That was better. She was five percent dressed now instead of three. Then, with a courage that had gotten her through medical school, she stood up, moving so close to Kyle that her nipples brushed his back. It was meant to protect her from the view of surfers on the beach. It had the side effect of making her want to moan in extended pleasure.

  Before she could clamp down on it, one tiny, wispy moan slipped out as heat sliced through her bikini bottoms, and her eyes squeezed shut for a quick view of “what if.”

  What if she were having sex on the beach with Kyle, the lifeguard? What if she were having sex in the water, right now, with Kyle? Acting completely independent of her brain, her thighs responded with a resounding Yes, let’s do it, and rocked forward, nudging her mound against his rock-solid butt.

  A shudder ripped through her. Have mercy.

  * * *

  Shit, was Sara trying to torture him?

  Her fingers danced across Kyle’s back, like she was trying to fool him into thinking that’s what had been there the whole time. Hah. He knew a nipple when he felt one, and that had been a nipple. He had the erection to prove it.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready,” came the breathy reply, whispered over his shoulder.

  Kyle started walking and wondering. He was not a spontaneous guy, never engaged in one-night stands. He had never even dated a woman he had met at the beach while on duty, though he had done his share of harmless flirting. The reputation of ladies’ man came with the job and the blond hair, but he had never lived up to it, and had mildly resented that people assumed he was a beach bum, content to spend his life in a beach chair.

  No one really understood the training, hours, and effort that went into being a lifeguard, and he was tired of trying to explain it. After today, he was going to school to become an EMT, ready to move on to the next challenge, the next phase in his life.

  But before he did, wouldn’t it be fitting if he lived up to the image just once? With the wet and clinging Sara.

  He gave a quick adjustment to the front of his trunks before he emerged from the water and decided he was nuts. Sara wanted him to get her out of the water, modesty intact, not take her in the lifeguard office and give her mouth-to-mouth.

  Besides, he wasn’t a one-night stand kind of guy. It always seemed disrespectful somehow, to use each other like that for pleasure. His brain remembered that even if his body wanted to forget.

  Sara pressed closer to him, giving a little sound of distress. Kyle saw that several guys were glancing in their direction, and he reached back and took Sara’s hands in his own, threading his fingers through hers and giving her a little squeeze. He thought he felt her relax a little and he walked faster, determined to ditch her before she spotted his hard-on and ran screaming. Or worse, didn’t run.

  The wind was even more brutal than it had been fifteen minutes ago, and Kyle sensed rain about to drop. The office was right ahead and he led Sara in, turned around, and closed the door. In the cool air-conditioning of the small room, he took a deep breath and tried not to look at her.

  It was impossible. Standing in front of him, her hands across her breasts, he was looking at the most gorgeous body he’d ever seen. All long legs, thin hips, and firm, smooth skin, she was bending her narrow shoulders a little, hunching forward, her hair stuck to her like a wet blanket. Her hands covered her nipples, but not the swell of her breasts, not the luscious curve under each, not the flat abdomen that had drops of water rolling down it to a pair of red bikini bottoms.

  Bikini bottoms that were low, as low as they could go without giving him a heart attack. Actually, a heart attack was still possible, given the way they fit snug, hugging the contour of her body, the little indentation of her soft folds visible in the wet fabric.

  She looked uncomfortable and cold, goose bumps dancing across her wet skin. Yet her cheeks looked flushed, and her breathing was a little ragged, her eyes wide and filled with what he hoped like hell was something resembling the attraction he was feeling.

  Either that or it was medical shock.

  Which meant he really could do mouth-to-mouth. He never thought he’d be looking forward to CPR.

  Sara wanted to speak, but her lips wouldn’t move. Kyle was just staring at her, ignoring the drops of water dripping down his face from his wet hair, and she gripped her breasts tighter, like they’d sail off and leap into his mouth if she let go.

  “I don’t have a T-shirt,” he said. “I left it out on my chair. Let me go get it.”

  “Thanks.” Sara glanced around the sparse room. There was nothing but life jackets, flotation noodles, and first aid supplies. She could wrap gauze around her chest, but that would be a last resort, since she didn’t think she would be able to wrap it by herself. The image of Kyle, big, large, blond Kyle, rolling thin gauze across her breasts made her wa
nt to whimper.

  “I left my bag on the beach—it’s yellow plaid. I have a towel and a sarong in it.” A sarong that was see-through and utterly useless. But with her bag, she could put her glasses back on, drive home topless, and never set foot on this beach again.

  Kyle looked thrilled to be able to leave. “I’ll go get it. No problem.”

  Then he bolted, slamming the door behind him.

  “Dammit, dammit.” Sara dropped her arms and started pacing the room. What a total disaster.

  All she had wanted was to leave behind her staid and boring life, where everyone treated her as a doctor and not a woman, and for once, just once, experience what it would be like to have a man look at you and want you. Want you so bad he trembled, his mouth went dry, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

  It was partly her fault. As a teen and college student, she had dressed herself down, wanting to be taken seriously, and had rebuffed any attempts at flirtation from classmates. Then she had chosen pediatrics as her specialty, and now worked primarily with women. She loved her career, loved children so much she ached to have one of her own. But somewhere along the way she’d forgotten how to be a woman.

  This probably had been a lousy plan, trolling around the beach for a surfer to lure into a rip-roaring affair, and her friend Josie had tried to dissuade her. But Josie had a boyfriend, which made her unqualified to give advice to single people, in Sara’s opinion. Josie was having sex. Sara was in danger of collecting dust from lack of use.

  Now she could either slink home in defeat, or she could turn her plan from a surfer to a lifeguard.

  If she had the nerve. She pictured Kyle, remembered the feel of his large chest against her, his hands holding her tightly, and she decided if he gave any encouragement whatsoever she was going to be on him like white on rice.

  Sara stuck her hands in her hair, trying to rake the moppy strands back off her face and shoulders. Her nail caught in a tangle, and she was standing like that, arms all the way up, working it loose, when Kyle opened the door, carrying her bag.