Before I could knock again, the door swung open, and Morgan openly glared at me. Her hair was piled on her head in a casually sexy knot, her face free of any makeup that would cover her flawless skin, and she was dressed in plaid pajama pants and a loose T-shirt that proclaimed that good grammar was sexy.
“What could you possibly want, Jackson?”
Jackson. I liked the way she said it, refusing to drop the formality and call me Jax—like it was an actual barrier to keep me from her.
Too bad she didn’t realize her voice had the opposite effect. That drawl was more addictive than the sugar they laced the tea with around here.
Well. Shit. It had been years since I’d been floored by a woman, and that’s exactly what this was, wasn’t it?
Fucking inconvenient.
“When’s the last time you left the house?”
She folded her arms under her breasts. “Why does it matter?”
“You might only be a beard short of a full-blown recluse.”
She arched an eyebrow at me. “Maybe I like being a recluse. Besides, I’m enjoying the last day in my house since I have to move out tomorrow.”
“You’re moving out tomorrow?” What the hell?
“Just for a couple of weeks while they jack up the house and drive in new pilings, place the center support, and pop a new roof on.”
Relief I had no business feeling hit me all the same. “So you picked a contractor.”
She nodded. “Steve gave me some good estimates, and he had this window open up. Plus, he swears I’ll only be out for two weeks.”
“Then you definitely need a little fun. I’m having a barbecue. You don’t even have to get dressed.” I motioned my head toward the beach. “Just a few friends. Come hang out with us.”
“Just a few friends?”
“Yep, give or take a guest or two. We like to barbecue on Sundays, and looking at the forecast, this is going to be the best weekend for about a month.”
“Sunday barbecues.” She softened, her shoulders relaxed, and her lower lip found its way between her teeth.
“You’re tempted. Come on, Kitty. Take it one step further. Come down to the beach. You don’t have to stay long or even talk to me. There’s about a dozen other people you could meet. Humans. Vitamin D. Hamburgers. Maybe a beer. Live dangerously.”
A corner of her mouth lifted, and a spark flared in her eyes.
Victory.
“I guess it would be rather un-neighborly to turn you down.”
“A downright affront to southern hospitality,” I confirmed, internally swearing at the jolt of awareness that punched me in the stomach when she gifted me with a full smile.
Why couldn’t a nice, middle-aged guy buy this house? Why didn’t I get another older retired couple who I’d wave to at the odd times I saw them? Or, better, why couldn’t Morgan be ignorable? Just normal?
But hell no, she was a knockout. Stubborn, funny, nice to Fin, with a gorgeous face, soft brown hair, legs for fucking days, and a smile that might actually control the tides if it would appear twice a day—that’s who I got as a neighbor. About as ignorable as a nuclear detonation.
Not that I was doing much to keep clear of the blast radius.
“Okay. Let me throw a suit on and I’ll meet you down there.”
“Or how about I wait right here, outside, while you put one on, and then I walk you down?” I offered.
She scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “You don’t think I’ll show.”
“Would you actually?” I challenged.
“Probably not,” she admitted with a scrunched nose.
“Exactly.” I leaned back against the deck railing, feeling it burn against my T-shirt. “I’ll wait right here.”
“Hopefully the banister holds up.” She rolled her eyes and shut the door. The song changed twice before she opened her door again, wearing a tank top and shorts with a halter-top tie showing in her neckline. Her beach bag was slung over her shoulder, and her sunglasses ate up about half of her face.
“This doesn’t mean I’m giving up my recluse status,” she told me over her shoulder as she skipped down the steps with me hot on her heels.
“Of course not. This is a heatwave miracle.”
She shook her head at me, but I saw those lips lift briefly as we crossed to my backyard.
I lifted the cooler and didn’t miss the way her eyes widened as her gaze dropped to my arms, then darted away.
She cleared her throat. “Um. Need help?”
“Nope. Lead the way.” I motioned toward the path. She held the gate open for me and then closed it once we were through.
“So who all is here?” she asked, then cringed. “Silly question. Like I even know anyone on this island.”
We crested the dune, and I scanned over the party as the unblocked breeze off the ocean hit us full force. “Mostly guys I work with and a few friends.”
“This is not a few friends.”
“I said give-or-take some guests.”
She shot me a look, and I grinned.
The volleyball net was up, with a game in full swing. Sawyer and Garrett held down one side with a couple of the mechanics, and Goodwin was teamed up with Cassidy, Thornson, and a few local girls on the other.
Beach chairs surrounded the area, and the grill was already fired up and manned by Moreno.
“What is it with volleyball and the Outer Banks?” she muttered as we descended the dune steps.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s all very Top Gun.” She motioned to the game and, no doubt, the shirtless guys.
“Except we’re not fighter pilots or covered in baby oil. I could probably hook us up with some ‘Highway to the Danger Zone’ if you want, though.” We reached the bottom of the dune and started toward the grill. The sand burned my feet where it poured into my slides—hot but not scalding.
“Damn, and I was hoping you were going to offer the baby oil.”
My eyebrows rose with appreciation at her quick comeback.
“What do you guys do, anyway?” she asked, pausing to slip off her flip-flops.
“We’re coa—”
“Heads up!” Garrett shouted.
My head snapped toward the game just in time to see the volleyball on a collision course with Morgan’s head.
I dropped the cooler and swung my hand out. The ball hit my palm with a slap before Morgan even removed her second shoe, its momentum reversing and sending it into the sand.
Morgan gasped, her eyes wide when she met mine.
“You okay?” I asked, shaking the sting out of my hand.
“Well, yeah. I’m not the one who hit the ball or dropped a cooler on her foot.” She glanced down and then looked at me like I was an idiot. “Are you okay?”
That explained why the toes on my right foot were a little pissed off.
“Perfectly fine.” I grasped the plastic handles of the cooler and got it off my foot. Sweet relief swept over the little digits when the pressure was removed. Luckily, the sand had taken most of the impact.
“Doesn’t look like anything’s broken, but I’m not exactly a doctor,” Morgan drawled as she dropped down to examine my foot.
“I’ve been through worse.”
“Well, thank you,” she said, coming to a stand. “But I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“Perfectly fine,” I repeated like a puppet with a pulled string.
“Those are some serious reflexes you’ve got there,” she said as we walked the rest of the way to the grill where the sand firmed up.
“Having a five-year-old daughter will keep you on your toes.” I deposited the cooler in the sand and slapped Moreno on the back. “How about I take over, and you can go give Garrett and Sawyer a hand? They’re getting their asses kicked.”
Moreno laughed but ha
nded over the spatula. “Yeah, I’ll go save their precious little egos. You got this?”
“Absolutely.” I opened the cooler and fished a beer out of the ice as Moreno joined the volleyball game. “Want one?” I asked Morgan.
She peeked around my shoulder at the selection.
“I’d love a Coke, please.”
I plunged my hand into the ice again and pulled out a Coke, brushing off tiny bits of ice from the top before handing it over.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, popping the top as I used the bottle opener I’d installed on the edge of the grill. “So, where is Finley?”
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Most women who ended up at our barbecues never thought to ask about my daughter unless she was actually there. “She’s with her grandmother.” I took a swallow of the cold beer and flipped over the first row of hamburgers.
“Oh.” Her forehead wrinkled as she watched the game, rotating the silver tab on her soda from side to side.
I nearly laughed—she looked so conflicted.
“You can ask, you know. I’m pretty open,” I offered, flipping the second row of burgers.
“Is she with her grandmother often?” She chanced a look at me.
“Vivian takes her a weekend a month. It gives them some girl time.”
“And you a little off time?” she asked, no judgment in her tone.
“Yeah, I guess. Lets me get stuff done, take a weekend shift at work—”
“And have Sunday barbecues,” she noted with a smile as she reached for the package of cheese slices on the grill’s side table. “Want me to unwrap?”
“That would be great, thanks.” I glanced past Morgan to see Sawyer and Garrett headed this way. “Okay, forgive whatever comes out of these idiots’ mouths. They know not what they speak, but they are my best friends,” I warned before they appeared on either side of her.
“Got it.” She nodded, already placing cheese slices on an empty plastic plate.
“You couldn’t help us out there?” Sawyer accused me, then promptly assessed Morgan while she wasn’t looking.
Asshole.
“Hey, I sent Moreno,” I answered, bringing his attention back to me.
“Ignore him. He’s whiny today,” Garrett said, pointing to Sawyer. “Burgers smell good, though.”
Morgan glanced at them both and finished peeling the cheese. A tiny—okay, huge—pang of satisfaction smacked my chest that she hadn’t lingered on either of my friends the way she had when I’d run past her that first morning.
“Garrett, Sawyer, this is my new neighbor, Morgan,” I introduced them.
“Nice to meet you.” Her voice was soft, but her smile was fake. She was missing the little crinkles next to her eyes that had appeared when she’d smiled a few minutes earlier.
“Nice to meet you.” Sawyer poured on the charm. “Where did you get that delicious accent?”
“So subtle,” Garrett mumbled.
“Isn’t it the same as around here?” she asked.
“Not even close,” I answered and was rewarded with her attention. “Yours is deeper. Don’t give me that look—it’s not a bad thing. It’s pretty great, actually.”
She smiled, the crinkles appearing at the edges of her eyes, and I mentally fist-pumped.
“Southern Alabama,” she answered. “I guess I never realized it was that much stronger. Y’all don’t even have accents.”
“That’s because I’m from Oregon,” Sawyer said, like it made him foreign or something. “West Coast.”
For fuck’s sake, it was Oregon, not Brazil.
“And you?” she asked me.
“Maine.”
“My God, could you get any farther north?”
“Not without becoming Canadian.”
“Or Alaskan,” Sawyer suggested, stepping closer to Morgan.
“That would still be American, jackass,” Garrett interjected.
The two started trading insults, and Morgan stepped backward and picked up her beach bag. “You know, that water looks pretty great. I’m going to sneak away, if that’s okay with you boys.”
Boys? My eyebrows hit my hairline. Between that and pretty, I didn’t know if I should be charmed or offended.
Her hands twisted in the strap of her bag, and I nodded in understanding when she caught my eye. “Enjoy your alone time. Just a warning: the water’s still freezing.”
“Doesn’t seem to bother you.”
“Well, yeah, but I swim it every day.”
“Part penguin. Gotcha. I’ll watch my toes for frostbite.” She flashed me a quick smile and practically ran toward the water.
“That’s your neighbor? I mean, holy shit. I’m going to move in,” Sawyer said, grabbing his chest in dramatics.
“It’s a two-bedroom house,” I reminded him, slapping cheese on half the burgers.
“I’ll take the couch. I won’t eat much. I swear.”
“Do you ever not think with your dick?” Garrett asked, reaching for a beer.
“Nope,” Sawyer answered. “Why would I when it has the best ideas?”
“Man, those smell good,” Brie said as she came to stand next to Sawyer.
“They’re just about d—” My words died in my mouth.
Twenty feet ahead of us, Morgan peeled off her shirt, revealing two straps of a halter top around her back and neck, and was now sliding her shorts over her hips, exposing a cobalt-blue bikini bottom that cut straight across her hips.
“God bless the south,” Sawyer muttered.
Once her shorts hit the sand, she bent over, that incredible ass in the air as she retrieved her clothes.
“Seriously?” Brie asked, her exasperation clear at the open male ogling.
“Okay, that is a gorgeous woman,” Garrett admitted.
Apparently, we were all watching the same show.
Morgan’s arms arched above her head as she twisted her hair around her hand and somehow got it back into a bun. Fuck me, she was perfect. Lithe yet still ridiculously curved in every place my hands itched to touch.
“Jax,” Brie chided.
“I’ll be…over there,” Sawyer declared his intent, his eyes on Morgan.
He didn’t even make it a step in Morgan’s direction before my arm snapped out sideways, blocking his path. “No.”
“But…” He looked at me like I’d killed his puppy.
“No,” I repeated, making sure he understood.
“Whoa.” His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.
“What?” I snapped.
“You calling dibs?”
“Jesus Christ, are we in junior high?” Garrett asked.
“Jax.” Brie’s annoyance registered somewhere in the back of my mind.
“She’s a woman, Sawyer. Not a pre-K snack you lick and say it’s yours.” My eyes found their way back to where Morgan walked into the water, the water reaching her knees.
“Well, seems like you wanna lick her,” Sawyer teased.
I shot him a quick glare and watched Morgan sink to her hips in the Atlantic.
“I mean in a calling-dibs kind of way. Well, and the other way. Every way, really, from what I can tell by looking at you.” Smugness practically oozed out of his voice. “But, I mean, if you’re not interested…” He shrugged.
“Jax,” Brie called, her voice sharper this time.
I put my finger up, wordlessly asking her to wait a second.
“Don’t even talk about licking her,” I warned Sawyer.
“Oh shit, Montgomery is going primal.” Garrett laughed. “This is getting good.”
Sawyer shrugged. “I’m cool with it. I haven’t seen you legitimately interested in a woman since—” His eyes hit the sand, and I saw Brie tense in my peripherals.
“It’s not like that,
” I protested, my eyes narrowing when I saw waves breaking on either side of Morgan but not in front of her.
“Jax!” Brie shouted.
“What?” I didn’t take my eyes off Morgan, hair rising at the back of my neck.
“You’re burning the burgers!”
Shit, Morgan was exactly where she shouldn’t be and getting deeper. I shoved the spatula at Garrett’s chest, kicked off my flip-flops, and broke into a dead run as a bigger wave receded, pulling the water off the beach. My shirt was off two strides later.
“Morgan!” I called out, my pulse kicking up a notch.
She looked back at me over her shoulder and moved forward, the water already tugging at her. It was waist-deep, but she was easily twenty feet offshore on the sandbar.
“Move over!” I pointed north, my feet hitting the water, which immediately slowed my progress.
She startled but moved as the water swept past her, and was already in the safety zone before I reached her.
My hands gripped her shoulders. “God, woman! It’s like you’re determined to find every possible way to injure yourself!”
“What’s wrong? You scared the bejesus out of me!” she snapped, like I was the one in the wrong.
“Hell yes, I did! You were standing in a riptide zone. Any deeper, and I would have been showing off my Baywatch moves!” My fingers tensed on her skin, but I was careful not to squeeze, to shake, to let my emotions manifest physically.
“What?” She looked back to where she’d just been. “There’s no sign or anything.”
What? I held her steady as a wave swept by, bringing the water up past my waist.
“Right, because we didn’t put one out.” Adrenaline pumped through my system, and I concentrated on keeping my words even and soft. The ocean was an unforgiving bitch who didn’t give a fuck about signs. You broke her rules, she ate you whole, and sometimes she changed the rules just for fun.
“Why would we put one out?” Her forehead puckered.
“Because we own the beach, at least up to the tide line.” Understanding dawned. “You’ve never been on a private beach, have you?”
She shook her head. “Always public.”
The Reality of Everything (Flight & Glory) Page 6