by Shirley Jump
“Speaking of lucky couples…what is going on with you and Kincaid?” Jillian asked. She had finished her salads and loaded them on a tray, but made no move to leave the kitchen.
“Wait, did you say Darcy and Kincaid?” Grace plated the burgers, then came around to the salad station and gave Darcy a quizzical look. “Did you two get back together?”
“No. Yes.” Darcy shook her head. Having sex once and spending a day on the beach didn’t constitute a relationship. Even if she did feel giddy at the thought of him and was already looking forward to later tonight. “Definitely no.”
Grace and Jillian laughed. “That sounds a lot like a yes to me,” Grace said. She leaned forward and gave Darcy a hug. “I’m glad. He’s always been such a wonderful young man. And Lord knows that little pixie of yours would love to have him as a daddy.”
“I agree,” Jillian said. “Besides, Kincaid is a seriously hot looking guy. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for hogging the blankets.”
Darcy rolled her eyes. “For one, I’m not thinking about anything except work tonight. For another, my priority is and always will be Emma. Kincaid and I are…friends. And I don’t know if he’s going to be part of Emma’s future or not. We’re just exploring things right now.”
“What about the Big Bad Wolf?” Grace asked.
“I haven’t told Kincaid about what his father did yet.” Darcy sighed. “I just don’t know how to tell him. I know he doesn’t have the best relationship with his father, but finding out this…” She shrugged.
“You have to be honest.” Grace laid a hand on Darcy’s shoulder and met her gaze. “Even about the hard stuff. Otherwise, you are basing everything on a lie, and that’s like building a castle on the sand.”
“I know you’re right.” Darcy put the salads on a tray and raised them onto her shoulder. “But for now, I’m working. The rest I’ll deal with tomorrow.”
Jillian laughed. “Now you’re sounding like me, Miss Scarlett.”
“I do declare,” Darcy said in her best Southern belle accent, “that procrastinating is the best idea ever.”
The two of them laughed as they headed back out to the dining room and split off to deliver their orders. Darcy headed over to table two with the salads, then headed over to Kincaid and Abby’s table, where they were just finishing up their burgers. Abby had made a respectable dent in the wings and the cheeseburger, and was nearly done with all her fries.
Kincaid gave her a smile, a slow, hot, private smile, and it warmed something deep inside her. She had to fight the urge to slide into the booth and climb on top of him. Right here, right now. “Uh…do you need refills on your drinks?”
“I’m good,” Abby said. “Though I do want to see what you have for dessert.”
Kincaid laughed. “My God, where are you putting it all?”
Abby patted her belly. “The munchkin is hungry.”
“Sounds more like Godzilla.” He grinned at his sister. “No wonder you bought the extra strong crib.”
Abby swatted at him, but he pulled away just in time. “My brother thinks he’s funny,” she told Darcy. “I think he’s just a pain in the butt.”
“I happen to agree.” Darcy grinned at Kincaid. “A major pain in the butt.”
“Hey! That’s no fair. Two of you ganging up on me.”
“Get used to it,” Abby said. “I’m planning on staying on Fortune’s Island for a nice long time. So as long as you are here, I’m sure I can enlist Darcy in the teasing Kincaid campaign.”
He arched a brow. “There’s a campaign?”
“It’s an ongoing effort to repay you for the teasing you did to me as a child. I’m scarred.” Abby feigned sadness and added a few sniffles.
“Me too,” Darcy said.
“You, too, huh?” Kincaid looked up at her, his incredible eyes locking on hers and awakening a heat inside her belly. “And how have I scarred you? Because if I remember right, I was very, very nice to you. Back then and the other night.”
Her face heated. Her concentration evaporated again. All she could see, all she could think about, was making love to him again, and having him prove how very, very nice he could be.
But that would mean getting wrapped up with him again, while there was that threat from Edgar hanging over her head.
“You stole my heart, Kincaid Foster,” she said, with a little flippant air, “and you never gave it back.”
Then she spun on her heel, pretending that had been a joke. When she knew deep down inside that it was anything but. A part of her had never gotten over Kincaid, and that part was scared that if she opened her heart again and he left, the damage would be irreparable.
She busied herself with other tables for a few minutes before returning to Kincaid’s table to ask Abby about dessert choices. Kincaid didn’t ask her what she’d meant by the comment, thank God. He just ordered a slice of pie, along with Abby’s chocolate cake. “If you have a break coming up,” he said, “why don’t you join us?”
She wanted to, and she was, indeed, long overdue for a break, but she had a feeling that if she slipped into that booth beside Kincaid, she’d never want to leave. Especially if he was sharing pie. “Thanks, but it’s pretty busy here tonight. Maybe another time.”
“A raincheck?” He laid a hand on hers, and her heart skipped a beat. “Like at the end of your shift?”
She knew she should stay away from him. Knew she should protect her heart. Knew that falling for him could have far-reaching consequences. But knowing all that and sticking to it when he was touching her were two entirely different things. “Why don’t you come by after I get home tonight?” she said, before she could think twice. “I’ll bring home some dessert, and we can share.”
Abby arched a brow and smiled at her brother. Kincaid’s gaze stayed on Darcy’s, those eyes a girl could lose herself in, as Darcy had, a hundred times before. “It’s a date.”
She nodded, as if this was no big deal, but as she turned away, a smile curved across her face and her heart stuttered, and her steps became lighter. She went through the rest of her shift with this giddy undertone to her every thought, like a song that carried on her breath.
Kincaid and Abby ate their desserts, then paid their bill and headed for the door. At the last second, Kincaid turned back, flashed Darcy one of his amazing smiles, and then mouthed see you soon. She blushed like a schoolgirl, and nearly dropped the drink order on her tray.
By the time the last song was sung at The Love Shack and the lights were turned off, Darcy was moving at a record pace. It was as if she couldn’t clean the tables or set the chairs up fast enough. Jillian and Grace just gave her a knowing smile, and shoved her out the door a little early.
Darcy walked home in the dark, quiet night, but this time her steps were quick, and her mind on her destination. She carried a bag with two pieces of cake, and wondered vaguely if she had enough time to shower before Kincaid arrived.
She rounded the corner to her house, saw the waiting light and Nona sitting in a chair inside. Darcy hurried up the stairs, rushed Nona out of there in a blip, then hopped in the shower and scrubbed off the worst of the work day. Five minutes later, she had changed into a sundress, brushed her stubborn curls into loose waves, and pulled a bottle of white wine out of the fridge.
There was a soft knock at her door, and her pulse skittered. Kincaid, her mind sang. Kincaid is here.
It was how she had felt every single day that summer, as if the world had suddenly turned right side up, just because he was near. She crossed the room, gave one last nervous pat to her hair, then pulled open the door. “Hi.”
His gaze roved over her. “Wow. You look…incredible.”
“Thanks.” She felt her cheeks heat again, and wondered who this new Darcy was. Before this, she never blushed, never got embarrassed. She had her shit together—until Kincaid came back in her life. Then she was eighteen again, and hopelessly in love. “Want to sit on the porch? It’s a small house and I don’t want to wake
Emma.”
Truth be told, she was afraid that if she invited him in, she’d be all too aware of how few steps it was to her bedroom. How she could just take his hand and lead him in there, let the whole night stretch before them. So instead she grabbed the dessert, the bottle of wine and two glasses, and headed out to the two Adirondack chairs on her porch. She set a small table between them, then handed Kincaid a slice of cake and a fork. “It’s peanut butter chocolate. One of my favorites from that bakery.”
He took a bite and rolled his eyes. “Oh my God. That is good. Have you had this before?”
She nodded. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“Here, have a bite.” He forked off a morsel, then held it out to her.
Darcy leaned forward, her eyes on Kincaid’s, his on hers, thinking that sharing food was one of the sexiest things a couple could do. Her lips closed over the fork, and hunger flickered in Kincaid’s features. She chewed, swallowed, and moaned. “I think they put pheromones in those cakes. It’s almost…orgasmic.”
“Orgasmic, huh?” His gaze met hers, those hazel eyes dark and mysterious in the dim light on the porch. Heat unfurled in the small space between them. “Maybe we should compare the two. Purely for research.”
“Purely.”
“It could lead to the next scientific discovery.”
She swallowed hard, the dessert, the wine, forgotten. “So, it would be a contribution to science?”
“Might even win us a Nobel Prize.”
“Hmmm…that would be good on my resume.” She smiled at him, then decided there was no point in pretending she gave a damn about the cake or the wine, and got to her feet. “Suddenly I’m in a very scientific mood.”
“Me, too.” He took her hand, and they abandoned everything on the porch, and headed inside, across the front room and into her bedroom. She flicked on the bedside lamp, then stood beside her queen-sized bed and thought it looked both way too big and way too small.
Then Kincaid laid his hands on her waist and leaned down to kiss her, and she stopped caring about anything other than the taste of him in her mouth, and the way he touched her, and how very, very much she wanted him. He reached up, caught the spaghetti strap of her sundress in one finger, then tugged it to the side, following the strap’s path with his mouth. He started with the delicate divot of her shoulders, then rounded to the front of her chest, down her arm, back up, and across the tender space above her breasts. She pressed against him, wanting him to tear off her clothes and plunge into her as much as she wanted him to keep on doing this amazing, exquisite torture.
He lowered the strap the rest of the way, then peeled down one side of her bra, and kissed the globe of her breast, slowly, sweetly, dancing his tongue across the nipple. At the same time, he snuck one hand under her dress, and slid his fingers inside her panties. He teased her there, too, around the edge of her clit, then dipping inside her, and out again, then, just as she wanted to scream at him, Kincaid plunged two fingers deep inside her and sucked on her nipple at the same time.
The orgasm hit her hard and fast, a dizzying tornado rushing through her veins, exploding in her brain. She arched against him, which made his fingers go deeper, tipping the last bits of her climax even higher. When he finally pulled back, she nearly wept.
“So,” Kincaid whispered against her neck, “which is better?”
“I…I don’t know. I think we need…” he started teasing at the outer edge of her vagina again, and her breath hitched, “to…do…more…um…oh, yeah, um…research.”
“I agree.” He reached down, grabbed her ass, and settled her legs around his waist. His erection pressed against her, hard, insistent. Kincaid tossed a condom on the nightstand, then moved to the bed, sitting her on the edge. He tugged her dress up and over her shoulders, tossed it to the side, then undid the clasp of her bra with one hand, and let that tumble to the floor, too. She lifted her hips and he slid her panties off, then just as she reached for his shorts, he tick-tocked a finger at her. “Not yet.”
“Not yet?”
Kincaid shook his head, then lowered to his knees. He spread her legs, then kissed down the long length of her inner thigh, slow, steady, getting nearer and nearer to her center. The anticipation had her writhing, panting, wanting. When his mouth finally settled on her, she let out a gasp and buried her fingers in his hair.
Oh God, he was so good. So, so good. His tongue stroked her clit, and his fingers slid in and out, the combined touch setting off more fireworks inside her. She bucked up against his mouth, wanting, needing more, faster, now…her thoughts were a jumble. Then he seemed to read her mind, and his tongue moved faster, his fingers went deeper, harder, and a moment later, another orgasm was washing over her. The tide swept her up and carried her for one long, sweet moment, then she floated down again.
Kincaid rose. “Is that enough to accurately compare?”
She shook her head, smiling at him. “Not at all.” Then she leaned forward and kissed him, loving the taste of herself on him, the intimacy of that. She slid her fingers under his T-shirt, lifting it off at the same time she ran her palms over the ridges of his chest. She fumbled with the button on his shorts, then the zipper. She pulled them and his boxers down in one swift movement. Kincaid kicked them to the side, then pressed a palm against her chest, and lowered her to the bed.
God, yes, finally. All the rest had been amazing, but oh, how she loved him inside her. She always had. He seemed to know just how and where to touch her, which stroke worked best, which way to shift his hips. The anticipation for more—for all of Kincaid—nearly overwhelmed her.
Her ass hung just on the edge of the bed, and she raised her hips to his. He groaned. “You are incredible, Darcy,” he said. “You always have been.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
He chuckled. “You always know how to flatter me.”
“I just don’t want you to get too comfortable.” She ran the back of her hand down his belly, then skated it over his hard cock. Kincaid closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “So you try harder.”
“Oh, I’m going to try harder. Right now.” He reached for the condom, ripped open the package, and slid the rubber on. Then he slipped into her, in one smooth, long stroke. He gripped her hips and thrust up and in, hitting at exactly the right angle.
Darcy fought the urge to cry out, so she wouldn’t wake Emma, but oh God, he was so good, and every stroke sent her higher. She clutched at his hands, his arms, anything she could touch. Then Kincaid locked his hands with hers, raised them over her head, and lowered himself to her chest. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him deeper and faster, but instead, he began to slow his rhythm, taking the time to kiss her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. His eyes met hers, and she held his gaze for one long, vulnerable moment, her fingers tightening around his.
She wanted to say something stupid like, I love you. Because in that second, every ounce of her heart was screaming, I love you, I never stopped loving you, and she could swear she saw the same in his eyes, in his touch. Then he looked away, and the moment passed. Kincaid sped up his strokes again. Her back curved, and he deepened his entry, and then she was coming again, her brain a muddled mix of fireworks and desire. He groaned against her ear, drawing out her name in one long syllable, then he came, too, and the world slowed one degree at a time.
Kincaid lay on top of her for a moment, their hearts beating at twin rapid paces. She released his hands, and ran her palms over his shoulders, his back, re-memorizing every inch of the man she’d never really forgotten.
A little while later, he climbed into the bed beside her. She curved into his chest. She didn’t meet his gaze, because she was afraid in that vulnerable after-glow, he would see the truth. That he still had her heart, and always would.
Kincaid pressed a kiss to her hair, and tightened his grip on her. “I definitely think that was better than the cake,” he said. “I wonder which peer-reviewed journal we should alert first.”
“Great idea, professor.”
Darcy grinned, then got out of the bed, tugged on a robe, and headed out to the porch. She picked up the cake and wine, then stood a moment in the living room, seeing the long line of Kincaid’s leg in her bed, and thinking she couldn’t imagine life getting any more perfect than this.
Kincaid snuck out of Darcy’s house a little after three in the morning, feeling more like a teenager than he had in years. He tiptoed back into his own cottage, careful not to wake his sister, then lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and decided it was about damned time.
About damned time he lived the life he wanted instead of the one dictated to him.
In the morning, he was going to call his father and tell him he was done at the law firm. He was going to send out the novel on his computer, and keep working on the next one. Then he was going to look for a house on the island, hopefully one very close to Darcy’s, so he could begin to make up for the lost years with his daughter, and see where things led.
He knew he should be mad at her for keeping Emma a secret all these years. At first, he had been angry and hurt. But he remembered who he had been that summer, how afraid he was of stepping off the Foster rollercoaster, and knew that Darcy had made the right choice. If she had told him about Emma back then, he probably would have run from the responsibility. Thrown some money at her, and gone off to Harvard after all.
Because for all his bluster and plans to marry her, in the end, he’d accepted her note without argument and boarded the first ferry back to his real life. If he’d truly wanted to buck his father’s plans, he wouldn’t have let Darcy go without a fight.