The One Real Thing

by Samantha Young

  The sun was just beginning to filter in through the curtains and Nate looked like he might still sleep awhile. Last night, while I was struggling to keep my eyes open, he was complaining about feeling too awake. I wondered how long it had taken him to fall asleep. Resisting the urge to reach out and touch his face, I slowly and quietly got out of bed and reached for the complimentary bathrobe I’d found on the back of the bathroom door last night. It was made of the softest terry cloth. Bailey Hartwell did not scrimp on the details.

  Having grabbed my phone off the bedside cabinet, I tiptoed over to the French doors and opened them as quietly as possible. I squeezed out between the smallest space I could, attempting to let in as little light as possible so as not to disturb my husband’s rest.

  Once out on the balcony, I closed the doors behind me and sat down on one of the seats at a small round table in the corner. The sun was breaking across the horizon, a warm orange strip of light chasing the water to shore. The boardwalk looked still and almost unreal, like something out of a movie set, bathed in the lilacs of encroaching dawn. Seagulls cawed overhead and I found myself frowning up at them.

  “Quit it, will you?” I whispered. My baby’s sleeping.

  But they continued on as if they hadn’t heard me, and after a while the noise became just a background soundtrack to the beach. Soon the whole place glowed with early morning sunlight, and I closed my eyes feeling its prickle on my skin, listening to the waves lap gently to shore below. I’d brought my phone out, intending to take photos, but in that moment all I wanted to do was enjoy the peace this place cast over me.

  For a while I wasn’t worried about my kids or if we were saving enough money a month for their Christmas presents, and I wasn’t worried about work or my new employee who kept calling in sick. And for just a sliver of a moment, I didn’t feel that niggle in my belly, the one that told me that things still weren’t completely resolved between me and my husband.

  He still hadn’t really opened up to me about why he got so lost after Peetie’s death, and why he pushed me away when Cam pulled Jo closer.

  And just like that my peace was shattered.

  I’d let the worries intrude on our vacation.

  My eyes flew open and I released a heavy sigh.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Holy shit!” My hand flew to my chest as I jumped. Twisting around, I found Nate leaning against the French doors, wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms and an amused smirk. “I didn’t even hear you get up.”

  “I know.” He pushed off the door. When he walked over to me he bent down and pressed a kiss to my lips before taking the other seat at the table. His gaze drifted over our magnificent view. “You seemed far away.”

  “I was just enjoying the peace.” I gestured around us.

  “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  My gaze drifted over his gorgeous profile, and down over his bare torso. He was all honed muscle and tan skin. He used to have just the word “After” tattooed across his chest in black script. It once was a mere letter—“A”—to represent his first love, Alana. She died of cancer when they were teenagers and it royally fucked Nate up about women. When I met him he was the ultimate player. It had been easy to fall in love with each other but incredibly difficult to get Nate to admit it. When he eventually did, he had hurt me so badly I’d decided I didn’t want to be with someone who was still hung up on a ghost. He’d turned the “A” into the word “After,” meaning that I was what came after his childhood sweetheart. He told me he would always love Alana but I was the love of his life, and knowing what that tattoo had meant to him, the gesture finally convinced me he was telling the truth.

  Two years ago, he had the script lengthened to “After my first came my last.” I’d burst into happy tears when I saw it. The romantic son of a bitch. He got lucky so many times for months because every time I saw the tattoo I turned to mush. Looking at it now flooded me with memories of our sexcapades that summer.

  Now I wanted to lick him all over.

  Jesus, I shouldn’t have married someone so hot.

  Pushing thoughts of licking my husband out of my head, I said, “Did you get much sleep?”

  “Aye.” He looked back at me, his dark eyes alert and bright, proving the truth in his answer. “I must have fallen asleep not much later than you.”

  “You were tired after all.”

  “It could have been your snoring. It lulls me.”

  I glared at him. “I do not snore.” The only time I ever snored was when I was pregnant. I knew I had because Nate recorded it and made fun of me.

  He grinned. “You’re so easy to wind up.”

  “Winding me up is not a great way to start our vacation.”

  “That depends”—his eyes suddenly smoldered—“on which way I wind you up.”

  A smile tickled my lips as my body grew eager just at the thought of Nate winding it up. “What did you have in mind?”

  He leaned toward me, his arms crossed in front of him on the table. “Would you rather act out a familiar fantasy or play a new game?”

  I grew still, my skin already flushing hot at the thought. Over the years, Nate and I had sometimes jazzed up our sex life by playing out little fantasies. I’d even dressed up for him on occasion. I liked all of our fantasies but I was up for anything when it came to my husband. “Play a new game. Did you have something in mind?”

  “We’ve never been strangers who meet in a bar before.”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “We’ve never been strangers who meet in a bar and fuck each other within minutes of meeting.”

  My breath stuttered at the thought. “Is that what you want?”

  His eyes dipped down to the gap in my bathrobe to my generous cleavage. Lust flared in his gaze as it drifted back up to my face, lingering on my lips before locking onto my eyes. “Aye, I’d definitely be up for that.”

  “Pun intended?”

  Nate winked at me.

  Shit, he knew what that did to me. When we first met we were just good friends, and anytime he winked at me or gave me that wicked, dimpled smile or said anything remotely flirtatious, I had to push it to the back of my mind. I hadn’t wanted to fall for him. But the truth was I hadn’t been able to ignore my attraction to him. Especially after we kissed for the first time. Some days the sexual tension had made me so hot . . .

  Wait a minute.

  “Do you remember what it was like before we started having sex? Do you remember the tension between us? Every time I was with you I felt like I was going to come out of my skin.”

  Nate expression turned tender. “I remember.”

  “And do you remember what the sex was like when we finally gave in?”

  “I thought I would never stop coming.”

  I squeezed my legs together as my lower belly flipped with desire. “You couldn’t get out of there fast enough,” I teased.

  Nate’s gaze darkened. “Because I knew then that you were the only woman I wanted to be inside for the rest of my life.”

  My nipples tightened. “You and I have both been thinking about sex since the moment we got in the taxi on Dublin Street.”

  “Very true.”

  “So why not torture ourselves a little? Let’s not have sex right away.”

  My husband immediately frowned. “Are you suggesting we don’t have sex on our vacation?”

  “No, I’m suggesting that we plan our stranger’s fantasy three nights from now. I think by then we’ll be ready to explode.”

  For a moment, I didn’t think Nate would agree. Then he surprised me by saying, “This is just about fantasy, right? You’re not . . . There isn’t something I should know about? You want to have sex with me . . . right?”

  It shocked me that he would think otherwise, and that’s when I realized he was feeling that niggle of dissona
nce between us, too. I swallowed down those worries and replied, “Of course I want you. I just thought it might be an interesting game to play.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “I’m already hard as iron for you, babe. I don’t know if I need to delay gratification any more than it already has been delayed.”

  Feeling a little disappointed, because I was pretty sure prolonging sex would make for amazing orgasms, I just shrugged.

  But he knew me too well. “Fine.” He sighed. “But not three nights. I’ll give you until tomorrow night.”

  “That’s hardly prolonging sex, Nate.”

  He abruptly stood up and I bit my lip at the sight of his hard-on straining against his pajamas. They stretched so . . . he was definitely up.

  “Point well made,” I said. “Tomorrow it is.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Although Nate had agreed to wait to have sex until we played out our little “strangers in a bar” fantasy, I could tell he was disgruntled. For some reason his irritation made me want to torment him even more. After we showered (separately) and dressed, I grabbed his hand when we walked down to breakfast, trailing the fingertips of my free hand over the skin on his forearm exposed by his T-shirt.

  Walking down the stairs, he frowned at me. “You’re doing that deliberately.”

  “Are you saying I don’t get to touch you at all until tomorrow night?”

  “No.” He suddenly stopped and pressed me up against the wall of the stairwell, his mouth inches from mine. His hand, the one not holding mine, slipped under my sundress, his fingertips caressing their way up my inner thigh.

  “Nate.” I gasped, looking down the stairs to make sure the entrance was empty.

  “You tease me, babe . . .” His hot breath whispered against my lips. “I tease you tenfold in return.”

  I fought with the desire flooding me and the concern over disrespecting our very nice inn owner. My concern won out and I reached for his wrist under my dress and forcefully removed his hand with a flash of ire in my eyes that made him smirk in triumph. “Not here.”

  “Just playing your game.” He stood back and then began leading me down the stairs like nothing had happened.

  There was only one other couple in the dining hall that early in the morning, an older couple who smiled warmly at us and greeted us hello as we grabbed some coffee from the buffet area.

  We’d just taken a seat at a table when Aydan came out of the kitchen and beamed at us. “You two are up early. Jet lag?”

  “Yeah,” I said, fighting off a yawn. “I’m still kind of feeling it, actually. But this will help.” I raised my coffee cup.

  “So will some food.” She handed us each a menu. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”

  We were looking over the small menu and I was trying to decide between scrambled eggs, potatoes, and bacon; pancakes, maple syrup, and bacon; or waffles and bacon. “I forgot how good breakfast is here.” I glanced over at my husband, who seemed less excited than me about breakfast. “You’re getting the egg white frittata, aren’t you?”

  Nate used to indulge more food-wise but he’d found, as we all found, that he couldn’t metabolize crappy food as well as he used to. So he only indulged every now and then.

  “Aye.” He nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He knew it bugged me that he had more willpower than I did.

  “I’m getting the waffles with bacon,” I immediately decided.

  Nate laughed and leaned over to caress the top of my ass, which thankfully was hidden from anyone else’s view by the back of my chair. “You eat whatever you want, babe. We’ll both enjoy the fruits of that labor.”

  I should have glared at him for feeling me up in the breakfast room of this quaint inn, but I couldn’t, because it felt like I had my old Nate back. The guy who made me feel sexy and wanted no matter what. So instead I gave him a soft smile.

  For some reason my reaction made his gaze turn liquid with heat, and he impulsively leaned over, cupped my face in his hand, and kissed me. Hard. Deep. Quick.

  When he let me go I couldn’t even think long enough to be embarrassed that he’d just Frenched me in front of an elderly couple who were trying to eat their breakfast. I could only blink, dazed, my lips wet and waiting for more. “What was that for?”

  “Because I love you.” He shrugged, like it was most obvious answer in the world.

  Before I could say anything else, the sound of Bailey Hartwell’s raised voice met our ears from somewhere near reception. “It’s ridiculous, that’s why!”

  Nate and I shot each other amused looks, and pretended to peruse the menu even though I knew we were both listening in. Nosy buggers.

  Her voice was lower now, and the fact that we hadn’t heard another voice reply suggested she was on the phone. “Vaughn, we have a house,” she hissed. “We don’t need another . . . Why would you sell it? It’s beautiful . . . We don’t need to buy a house together to be together . . . it’s a waste of money . . .” There was a longer stretch of silence. “Okay, if you’re that intent on wasting money, why don’t we just strip the house out and make it the way we both want it . . . It sits right on the water. . . . Stop being romantic when I’m trying to be practical, you know it confuses me . . . Stop it, I’m at the inn.” Her voice dropped even lower. Her breath seemed to catch. “You’re going to pay for that, Tremaine . . . no . . . no . . . Vaughn . . . Okay, fine. . . . I love you, too, you handsome bastard.”

  That seemed to be the end of the conversation, and I turned to Nate, laughter bubbling in my throat. “That sounded familiar.”

  He grinned. “Didn’t it?”

  “I don’t think our inn owner is going to Scotland anytime soon.”

  “No?”

  “No. If she’s got what I’ve got, she’s staying put.”

  Instead of softening, Nate’s features hardened, the muscle in his jaw twitching. He leaned over, his hand on my thigh, gripping it tight. “If I’m not allowed to fuck your brains out until tomorrow night,” he whispered harshly in my ear, “you have to stop saying things that test my restraint.”

  I tried not to react, but I could feel my breasts swelling, my nipples tightening into buds that pressed against the fabric of my sundress. I wore only a thin bikini underneath it, and Nate’s eyes dropped to my chest, seeing the evidence of my arousal.

  “Jesus fuck.” He let go of me to slump in his chair. “This is torture.”

  It was torture. “It’ll be worth it.”

  “Aye, I know.” His dark gaze flashed fire. “That’s the only reason you’re still sitting there and not on my cock.”

  “Oh my!”

  I looked up in horror to discover that at some point, while I was lost in my interlude with Nate, Bailey had entered the dining room and had approached our table. A flush of mortification hit my cheeks as Bailey stared wide-eyed at us for a moment.

  Nate sat there, cool as you please. “Morning, Miss Hartwell.”

  “Oh . . .” She waved him off, laughter suddenly overtaking the shock in her eyes. “Call me Bailey.” Her eyes flew to my face, which I was sure was red with embarrassment. It must have been because she grinned reassuringly. “I have one of these, too.” She gestured to Nate. “He says inappropriate things to me in public, so don’t worry about it, I get it. And I only heard because I’m right here.” She leaned in. “My other guests are oblivious, don’t worry. I was just coming over to see if everything was okay, and that you’re all settled in, but it sounds like you two are good.” She chuckled to herself. “Do you know what you want for breakfast?”

  We gave her our order just as Aydan was coming out to take it.

  “I got them.” Bailey smiled at her over her shoulder as she took our menus. “Let’s just leave these two lovebirds to it.”

  When they were gone, I turned to scowl at my husband. “Re
ally?”

  His answer was to burst into laughter.

  Chapter Seven

  It turned out that Bailey’s best friend, Dahlia, owned a boutique next door to the inn. Hart’s Gift Shop was a much smaller structure, but the two buildings were architecturally similar down to the white-painted shingles. It even had a porch, although not a wraparound.

  As Nate and I took our morning stroll together with the early sun not quite strong enough yet to fight off the ocean breeze, I was glad for my husband’s arm around my waist. His body buffered me from the chill, so I only felt it slightly. Beside Dahlia’s was a candy store, next to that an arcade, and from there the boards ran along a main thoroughfare. There was large bandstand at the top of Main Street—a long, wide avenue with parking spaces in the middle to accommodate visitors to not only the beach and boardwalk but to the commercial buildings on the street. We wandered up and down the tree-lined Main Street where restaurants, gift shops, clothing boutiques, retailers, fast-food joints, spas, coffeehouses, pubs, and markets were neighbors. After our little jaunt to nosy at everything, we were distracted before moving on down the boardwalk by a plaque near the bandstand.

  “This must be it,” I said to Nate as we came to a halt.

  That morning when we asked Bailey if there was anywhere in particular she recommended we explore, she’d told us about her friends’ places, and said we should just stroll along the boardwalk and take it all in. She then proceeded to say, “And you two look so in love I’m sure you’ll prove the legend of Hart’s Boardwalk true.”

  “Legend?” I’d asked.

  “There’s a spot on the boardwalk near the bandstand with a brass plaque for tourists about the legend. It says if they walk the boardwalk together, and they’re truly in love, it will last forever. It comes from this old love story, dating back to my ancestors. People here have grown to believe that the legend is true because townies who fall in love on the boardwalk stay in love their whole lives.”

  I nudged Nate playfully. “You think this is cheesy, don’t you?” I gestured to the plaque.