Baby I’m Yours

by Elks, Carrie

  He’d last seen Rich about an hour ago, when he’d been dancing on the terrace leading down to the beach with a pretty nurse who couldn’t take her eyes off him. She’d tried to introduce James to her friend, but he’d managed to extricate himself.

  From the corner of his eye he saw the bar door push open, and the sound of the band wafted from the ballroom, a jaunty Sinatra tune. A woman walked in, her hair pinned to her head in a mass of gold-and-pink waves, her full lips painted perfectly red.

  It was her dress which drew his eye – shimmering gold, with printed white flowers. The fabric molded close to her bodice, before flaring out at the waist in a fifties style puff. She looked like Grace Kelly on acid. Nearly everybody in the room turned to look at her. James turned, too, swallowing hard as she sashayed across the marble tiled floor, completely unaware of the effect she was having on the men in the room.

  “What can I get for you, ma’am?” the bartender asked, as she reached the counter and perched on a stool.

  James waited to hear her voice. He had no idea why he wanted to hear it so badly. Maybe he was waiting for her to sound like Marilyn Monroe, all breathy and completely idiotic. Anything to take away the allure she had.

  “A Jack Daniels on the rocks, please.” Nope, not breathy at all. But she did sound faintly like Grace Kelly. Her vowels were clipped, her words short. She definitely wasn’t from around here. And she couldn’t have sounded less like Marilyn Monroe if she’d tried.

  James took another mouthful of whiskey. He could feel his heart beat in a way it hadn’t for a long time. Years, maybe.

  “Jack’s a popular drink tonight,” the barman said to her, grabbing a tumbler and filling it with ice. “You want another?” he asked James.

  “Oh, are you a fan, too?” she asked, turning to look at him. She was smiling brightly, those scarlet lips curved up at the corners.

  His eyes narrowed, as though he was looking into the sun. Her smooth skin contrasted with her dark lips. Her eyelashes were long and curved, framing her perfectly blue irises. If you wanted to nitpick, you could complain her nose had a tiny bump in it, and that there was a scar on the corner of her eye, which seemed to catch the light, but neither diminished the attraction.

  “I like your hair,” he said, his voice thick.

  “Thank you,” she said, patting it with her right hand. “I had it done in the salon here earlier.”

  “Do you work here?” Strange how words were spilling out of his lips. He almost didn’t recognize his own voice. It felt so long since he’d voluntarily conversed with a stranger, unless it was for work.

  She laughed. “I wish.” The barman passed her the whiskey glass, and she took a sip. “But no, I don’t live around here. I’m from Hollywood, just visiting for the weekend.”

  “You work in the movies?”

  “Kind of.” She shook her head. “Well not any more. It’s a long story.” She finished her whiskey, and the ice tinkled against the glass as she put it down on the counter.

  “Another?” the barman asked, and she nodded.

  James wanted to laugh. There was Rich dancing with a nurse from their hospital, when he was sitting opposite a bona fide actress.

  “I like long stories,” he told her. “And I haven’t got anywhere else to be.”

  She tipped her head to the side, surveying him through those thick lashes. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear my tales of woe. This is supposed to be a party.”

  “I prefer other peoples’ woes to my own.” He found himself smiling at her, his eyes crinkling in the corner. God, she was too damn pretty for her own good.

  And for his.

  She leaned her chin on her hand. “I lost my job. Can’t afford the rent. And my best friend moved out and left me all alone.” She shrugged. “It’s a ten-a-penny story in Hollywood I’m sure, but when it happens to you it sucks.”

  “Was it an acting role you lost?”

  She laughed. “I’m not an actress. I don’t think I could be one if I tried. My grandma always told me I can’t tell a lie to save my life.”

  He scanned her with his gaze, trying to figure out what she did, if not an actress. He curled his hand tighter around his glass to stop himself from reaching out to touch her skin. He ached to see if it was as soft as it looked.

  Christ, what had gotten into him? He should have taken that cab home an hour ago.

  “So what was your job?”

  “I’m a costume designer. I design and make the clothes you see on the stage and in movies. My whole department got closed down this week.” She sighed. “So I’m jobless, and soon-to-be homeless.”

  “And yet you’re still smiling,” he pointed out, nodding at her grin.

  “I blame the whiskey. And the company.” She lifted her glass. “Cheers.”

  He clinked his own glass against hers. “Cheers.”

  “So what are your tales of woe?” she asked him. “Maybe I can lend you a sympathetic ear.”

  Yeah. No. Now would be a good time to leave, because he definitely didn’t want to talk about his issues. He shook his head. “No, you don’t want to hear my problems. Let’s talk about yours instead. Have you started looking for another job?”

  She shrugged. “I’m trying, but with every position that comes up I’ll be competing with my old colleagues. And they’re all much more experienced than I am, so the likelihood is I’ll lose out.” She pulled her perfectly painted lip between her teeth, and the action made his body pulse. “In the meantime, I have a little side hustle going. I’m hoping to ramp that up to keep the money coming in.”

  “What kind of side hustle?” he asked her, leaning closer. God, she was so easy to talk with.

  “I design and sell my own clothes.”

  “Did you make your dress?” he asked, inclining his head at the golden silk bodice.

  “Yeah.” She blinked, her thick lashes curling down. “I’ve had it for a while, thought about selling it but I got too attached.” Her smile came back, and it was as though the sun had come out from behind the clouds. “This is the first time I’ve had somewhere nice enough to wear it.”

  “You look like Grace Kelly.” Did he really just say that out loud?

  She laughed. “I do? Wow, you sure know how to sweet talk a lady, don’t you?” She reached out and touched the lapel of his jacket, rubbing the fabric between her thumb and finger. From anybody else it might have seemed like a bold move, but from her it was natural, almost predestined. “This is nice,” she said. “Pure satin. Guys should wear suits like these more often. You don’t know what it does to us women.”

  “Maybe we do,” he said, his voice thick. He leaned closer, enough to smell the floral notes of her perfume. His hands were trembling. What the hell was she doing to him? He never trembled – he couldn’t. Not with his job. And yet here he was, his skin on fire, his heart pounding, and his fingers aching to touch her so badly it was all he could do to stop himself.

  An hour – and two more whiskeys – later, they were still talking. She was close enough for him to see the dark brown flecks in the vibrant blue of her eyes as she told him a story about a famous actress and a lack of underwear. He laughed and she joined in, putting her hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

  He could smell her perfume again, floral and sweet.

  “I’m being really indiscreet,” she told him, smiling into his eyes. “I blame the whiskey.”

  “In that case we should get another.” A lock of her hair had escaped from the pins. He reached out to push it back behind her ear, his finger trailing down her neck.

  She breathed in, her chest rising up, her eyes gazing into his. He was still touching her. Couldn’t bring himself to pull away. She was too warm, too soft. Too full of everything he wanted.

  “I have a room,” she said softly, closing her eyes for a moment. He immediately missed looking into them. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

  Her hesitance was so damn sexy it kicked him where it mattered. H
e reached out to cup her cheek, desire shooting through him like a bolt of lightning.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes, as he inclined his head toward hers, the flat of his brow pressing against her own.

  How long had it been since he’d felt another woman’s face against his? Forever. Another world, another life.

  He shouldn’t be doing it now, he knew that. Shouldn’t be feeling his body throb to the beat of the music like he was an instrument being played. He traced her collarbone with the tip of his finger and swallowed a smile when her breath caught in her throat.

  “You’re beautiful,” he told her, his voice low and thick. He slid his finger across her bottom lip, gratified at the way her mouth parted at his touch.

  It was as though his body was on autopilot, ignoring every warning his brain tried to shock him back to reality with. He didn’t care if it was the whiskey, or the hotel, or whatever else it was that made him act this way. He had to have her or die trying.

  He lifted his hand to cup her face once more, swallowing hard at the way she was staring at him. Sometimes you had to ignore the warnings and just do it. Even if you knew you’d regret it in the morning. A smile quirked the corner of his lips as he took her hand and helped her down from her stool.

  “Show me your room.”

  4

  Harper didn’t do this kind of thing. Except here she was, bringing this hot, sharp-jawed, dark-eyed man back to the little bungalow facing the sea.

  Of course she knew the risks. She also knew there were panic buttons throughout the bungalow, gleefully pointed out by Caitie as she took Harper on the tour of the place earlier.

  She also knew her own gut. And yeah, you could argue that so did the people Ted Bundy managed to drag into his VW Bug, but it had never steered her wrong before.

  Still, she found herself typing out a quick message to Caitie as the two of them left the bar, taking the back exit leading straight to the accommodation to avoid the ballroom and terrace full of revelers.

  “I’m just telling my friend I’m leaving,” she told him, staring up at his warm brown eyes. “In case you’re some kind of axe murderer or something.”

  “Very sensible.” He nodded. “Should I tell a friend, too?” He reached out to touch her bare shoulder, as though he couldn’t stand not to. She loved the way it sent shivers down her spine.

  “Probably.” She laughed. “I’ve watched enough movies to know the villain’s always the one you least expect. For all you know I could be some kind of deviant.”

  “Is it wrong that I hope you are?” His eyes softened as he stared back at her. God his lips looked delicious. “What kind of name would you have? Jane the Ripper? The Preying Mantis?”

  Her chuckle cut through the warm night air. “Aren’t those the insects who kill their mates after sex?”

  “Yep. I can’t imagine any insect dies happier than that.”

  She looked up at him again, and their eyes met, sending another delicious shockwave through her. His hand was still curled around her shoulder as they walked, protective and warm. She could smell his cologne, deep and woody, and see the dark shadows where his beard was beginning to win the battle against his razor.

  “I don’t even know your name,” she murmured, reaching out to trace his jaw.

  “I don’t know yours.”

  “Call me Grace,” she said, referring to how he’d described her earlier. “And I’ll call you Frank.”

  “As in Sinatra?”

  Her eyebrows rose up. “You’re wearing a tux, it fits.”

  Her fingers had reached his lips. They were warm, soft, and she was desperate to feel them.

  They’d stopped walking. In the distance, she could hear the sound of music carrying in the breeze, along with the rhythmic sound of the ocean crashing against the shore. But the loudest sound was the pulse in her ears, the rapid thrum echoing in her mind, reminding her how long it had been since she’d been touched. How much she wanted him, needed him. Was desperate to feel his skin against hers.

  When he reached out to cup the back of her head, tipping her face back until her eyes met his, she couldn’t think of anything else but her need.

  To feel him.

  To touch him.

  To kiss him.

  He dropped his head so his lips were only a breath away from hers. Close up he was overwhelming. Warm eyes, high cheeks, a jawbone that could cut through rock, and lips that might have been too swollen on anybody else, and yet fit his face perfectly.

  “Can I kiss you, Grace?” he asked, his voice thick.

  “Please,” she breathed.

  He threaded his fingers through her hair, sliding his other hand down her back to the dip right above her behind. A half step forward brought his body to hers, his hard chest pressing against hers.

  “You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers caressing the sensitive skin of her neck. “I love the way you feel.”

  “I love the way you touch me.”

  There was a moment of hesitation. Not from fear or anxiety. But a need to savor the second before their lips touched, before the fire was lit and neither of them were in control any more. She looked up at him, seeing the darkness in his eyes, illuminated by the reflection of the moon over the water. She wanted to bury herself in them, to swim inside his senses the way he was overtaking hers. And just as the second seemed to stretch into a lifetime, he captured her lips with his.

  Her toes curled as their mouths pressed together, warm and needy and oh-so-delicious. He pulled her closer, so she could feel the hard planes of his body against the softness of her own, and his need aching between them.

  Reaching up, Harper looped her arms around his neck, feeling the roughness of his short hair and the softness of his nape below. He deepened the kiss, the tip of his tongue running along the seam of her lips, until she opened up to him, desperate to feel him against her. Her whole body was on fire, lit up by the closeness of him. One more touch and she thought she might explode.

  When he broke the kiss she found herself fighting for breath, light-headed from the combination of lack of oxygen and desire. “We should go inside,” she said, her voice rough with need. “My bungalow is over there.”

  * * *

  “Come here,” he told her, as soon as he’d closed the door behind them. The low lights set into the side of the walls automatically flickered on, their soft glow illuminating her face as she did exactly what he requested. She stopped in front of him, her eyes wide, her lips parted, waiting to see what he’d do next.

  Leaning forward, he pulled the pins from her hair, watching as it tumbled around her shoulders in a cloud of blonde-and-pink tendrils. He reached out to touch it, feeling the silky strands slide against his fingertips. “I really like this hair.”

  He moved his hands down, until his palms slid against her shoulders, feeling their warmth as he rounded them to the top of her arms. “Can I take this off?” he asked, sliding his hand down the back of her dress. She nodded, so he pulled the zipper down, sliding his hands through the gap to feel her shoulder blades, her spine, and the deliciously aggravating dip leading to everything he wanted.

  She shrugged the dress off, completely unaffected by the fact she was naked apart from the silky scraps of lingerie. He swallowed hard, taking in her perfectly smooth skin, the rise of her breasts, and the dip of her stomach. Another time, another place and he’d be hesitant, aware this was the first time he’d seen a woman strip for him in years.

  But tonight he wanted it all, to touch every inch of her, to hear her soft gasps as he gave her pleasure. Leaning forward again, he kissed her hard and hot, leaving them both breathless when he pulled away.

  “Take your tux off,” she told him. He grinned at the way she tried to imitate his commands. But he still did what he was told, shucking off his jacket, loosening his tie, unfastening the pearlescent buttons leading down to his waist.

  “You like?” he asked as her pupils dilated when he was bare from the stomach up.
<
br />   “I do,” she told him. “I really do.”

  She stepped forward, pressing her chest against his, and he felt the need aching through him. He slid his hands beneath her ass, lifting her until her legs wrapped around his hips, and carried her over to the bed.

  A smile played on her lips as he laid her down, climbing over her, and pressing his lips against her neck. He could feel her pulse throb against his mouth. He licked the point with the tip of his tongue and she sighed.

  “Take off your pants,” she said, pulling at his belt. “I need you.”

  God he needed her, too. He unfastened the buckle, and pulled at his zipper, dragging the expensive black fabric down his hips and thighs. She blinked as she watched him, her eyes drinking him in like he was a glass of Jack, widening when she saw the evidence of his need pressing against his shorts.

  “Do you have something?” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” A condom he carried more to appease Rich than with any intent to use it. He grabbed the foil packet from the wallet in his pants pocket, before placing it on the bed next to her. Reaching behind her to unfasten her bra, he swallowed hard as her breasts spilled out.

  Leaning forward, he captured a nipple between his lips, tasting her, worshipping her, pleasuring her. And when she arched her back and pulled down her panties, before she grabbed at the band of his shorts, he knew there was no going back.

  For the first time in forever he lost himself to the pleasure, and forgot about the darkness in his life.

  * * *

  James wasn’t sure when he fell asleep. Not that it was a restful slumber – he’d woken covered in sweat with a racing heart. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he turned to see her curled on her side. Her pretty hair spread across the white pillow, her lips pursed together as she dreamed deeply.

  A feeling of regret washed over him. He shouldn’t have done this; shouldn’t have opened himself up to a stranger. Shouldn’t have let his desires overtake his good sense. Shouldn’t have had sex with somebody he had no intention of seeing again.