Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides)

by Roxanne St Claire

  She laughed, looking skyward as if she couldn’t believe him. “I thought Will Ya, Will Ya had that honor.”

  “That’s my favorite rock anthem. My Sweet Ambrosia is the best ballad in rock history. It’s about you?”

  “Well, me when I was an infant.”

  The melody already threaded through his brain, as familiar as his name. “I must have listened to that song ten thousand times.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  She was Sweet Ambrosia? He still couldn’t wrap his head around that.

  The nectar of the gods, delicious and divine, making all who drink her beauty live for all time.

  “It’s not like any other song of his,” Nick said. “There’s something so haunting about it, like he was in physical pain with how much he loved Ambrosia.”

  She laughed and pulled away, dragging her hand down his arm and capturing his fingers in hers. “He might have been. He says he wrote the lyrics while singing to me one sleep-deprived night, desperate for me to stop crying.”

  Beautiful lady, precious and pure…

  He closed his eyes, walking with her, feeling the hit directly to his heart. That song had always spoken to him, deep inside, stirring him.

  “Hey.” She tugged on his hand. “You were about to make some major romantic pronouncement prior to learning that I’m the subject of a song.”

  Not a song. The song. “I was.” He eased her back to him. “I was about to say that all that I’ve learned about you tonight makes me certain I’ve initiated the right optempo for you.”

  “Optempo?” She lifted her brows, confused. “Navy SEAL-speak?”

  “Operation tempo is the pace at which a military plan is unfolded.”

  “I am now a military tactic, Lieutenant Hershey?”

  He wrapped her tighter into his chest. “A critical operation that must be handled with”—he slid his palms up and down her back, enjoying every curve under his touch—“experienced, caring, capable hands.”

  Her eyes fluttered closed with a sigh. “You have those.”

  He hoped so. “I’ll call it Operation Sweet Ambrosia.”

  She curled her fingers around his neck and tunneled them into his hair. “I sure hope the optempo isn’t too damn slow.”

  “It will be just right,” he promised with a kiss. “Here’s my attack strategy.” He put both hands on top of her head. “Tonight, my area of control is from here…” He smoothed her hair as he moved his hands down her cheeks, over her neck, and to her shoulders. “To here…” Down her arms to her fingertips. “And here.” Back up by way of her waist. “To here.” And slowly, over her breasts, the nipples puckering as he lingered a few seconds before sliding back up to burrow his fingers in her hair. “All that is my personal target zone to infiltrate and gather intelligence.”

  “Intelligence?”

  “I’ll need to find your hot zones and vulnerabilities.” He kissed one, right on her neck, then worked his way up to her ear to whisper, “So I really know exactly how to implement the most effective campaign to complete Operation Sweet Ambrosia.”

  She let her head fall back in pure resignation, a gorgeous smile on her lips. “Get to work, Lieutenant.”

  * * *

  It really was a beautiful song. At least, it was when Nick hummed the melody to My Sweet Ambrosia and held Willow so tight and secure she could have fainted and not hit the sand. She’d always liked the song, of course—how could she not?—but the piece took on a new meaning now. She used to think of it as a lullaby. On Nick’s incredible lips, it became a love song.

  He walked her back to his villa, stopping only to kiss intermittently and brush the sand off their feet. By the time they reached his door, her heart was power-pumping in anticipation of what would happen next.

  More kissing, she soon discovered, this time with him pressing her against the front door of the villa.

  “Let’s go inside,” he murmured, sticking his key card in the lock.

  “One condition.”

  He inched back, a question in his expression. “I’m in charge of this operation.”

  She laughed softly. “I’d expect nothing less, but—”

  “We’re not, you know, finishing things up tonight.”

  She tamped down a curl of disappointment, even though she wasn’t surprised. “I know, but that wasn’t my condition.”

  He opened the door and guided her in. “Name it. And you only get one.”

  “No Z-Train in the background. I can’t…you know…with my dad’s voice screaming at me.”

  Laughing, he kissed her and closed the door. “You know? You don’t know, that’s all I’m going to say, but I agree to your request.”

  “No, I don’t know, Nick…” She closed her eyes and leaned against the door, angling her head so he could continue his kisses on her throat. The masculine scent mixed with the smell of salt air, teasing her, making her dizzy. “But I’m willing to learn.”

  “You’re doing okay for a rookie.” He guided her across the room. “Here, on this loungie thing.”

  This “loungie thing” was a Hollywood-style chaise tucked into the corner of the room. He pulled her down so they could lie side by side.

  “Kiss me more, Nick.”

  He obliged with a long, lingering, sweet kiss that demanded she sink a little deeper into his amazing arms, ripped muscles holding her tight, his masculine chest pressed against her. Sparks ignited between her legs, sharp and bright and aching for pressure. Unable to resist, she pressed against his erection, moaning at how glorious the contact felt.

  He dipped his head, sucking lightly on her throat, flicking her collarbone with swift, sweet licks. His hand moved slowly over her V-neck bodice, skimming the top of her breast, threatening to flip open the oversize buttons that kept her linen top closed, but he didn’t.

  She kissed his temple, his soft hair, and got her mouth over his ear, but he still held her gingerly. He slid off the chaise to kneel on the floor next to her.

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  She didn’t quite get it. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Staying focused on my target area. Turn around so your head is down here. On your back.”

  The orders sent an unnatural thrill through her. He meant what he’d said when he said he was in charge. Without arguing, she switched her position, laying her head on the flat bottom half of the chaise and folding her knees so her feet tucked under the headrest and cushions there.

  “Close your eyes.” He knelt on the floor at the end of the chaise, facing her.

  “This is not like any foreplay I’ve ever heard of.”

  “Shhh.” He scooped up a handful of her hair and let it fall off the end of the chaise, no doubt spilling into his lap. “I’m not like any man you’ve ever heard of, either.”

  That was for sure. Her reply was just a sigh as he played with her hair. Stroking it, finger-combing it, lightly caressing her scalp.

  “That feels good. But I can get this at the hair salon.”

  He laughed softly. “Woman, you need to shut up and enjoy every single moment of this.”

  She smiled at his upside-down face. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  His mouth pressed on her forehead, gently, but the warm contact surprised her. “Listen to me, Willow Ambrosia.” He gently rubbed her temples. “When I am finished tonight, I will have kissed, touched, tasted, licked, sucked, and appreciated every inch of my target zone.”

  “What will I do?”

  “Drown in pleasure.”

  “Mmm.” She was already halfway there.

  “Discover exactly what turns you on.”

  Everything he did turned her on.

  “And…” He closed her eyelids with a sure hand. “When I’m finished, you will see yourself as the beautiful, sexy, sensual, desirable, and smokin’-hot woman that I see every time I look at you.”

  Something cracked inside—some ice around her heart, maybe? Or maybe it was the wall of protection she�
�d erected for so long she couldn’t remember life without it. Or perhaps it was her willpower to say no to anything.

  She didn’t know, but all Willow could do was hope she didn’t shed a tear while Nick Hershey gave her a gift she’d feared she’d never get or deserve. Adoration.

  He’d moved to her ears, licking one slowly, nibbling the lobe, hot breath like a tropical breeze that lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.

  “Sweet ears,” he murmured. “And lucky you, they both work.”

  He kissed his way back over the top of her head, pausing to inhale a handful of hair. “What is that? Strawberry? Lavender?”

  “It’s goat milk,” she said. “A local girl makes it on her farm here and sells it at the spa. I think this is called Vanilla Sunrise. Her boyfriend names them all.”

  “Nice.” But he didn’t pause long, flicking his tongue over her temple and down to her other ear. “Can you hear me, Willow?”

  She barely nodded, capable only of digging her fingers a little deeper into the plush velvet under her.

  “Listen carefully, okay?”

  Another nod.

  “Every single time you doubt your beauty or worth or value or sex appeal?”

  She didn’t answer, but only because the lump in her throat was growing too fast. How did he know she doubted that stuff? How did he know she fought demons daily that told her she had none of that? She hadn’t told him.

  “You remember that just looking at your goddamned ear gives me a hard-on.”

  Her fingers relaxed a little, aching to dig into something other than the chaise. She managed to swallow despite a bone-dry mouth.

  “Okay,” she said. “Now where are you going?”

  He chuckled softly. “Your throat.”

  Oh. Could she take that? She arched her back to offer him access, and he took it by planting his kiss right on her pounding pulse. “Someone’s fired up,” he teased.

  “You should feel my heart.” In fact, please do. Now.

  “Getting there, baby. First, I like this.” He leaned over her face, his bare chest against her lips.

  “When did you take your shirt off?” And what else did Mr. I Love to Get Naked take off?

  “While you were thinking about other things.” He licked the tender spot between her collarbones, which felt great, but she was completely assaulted by the pressure of his granite-like muscles over her face, the scent of soap and man and sea air clinging to him like she wanted to. She reached up and closed her hand over his head, pushing his mouth down to her chest, wanting his incredible abs in her face so she could lick every crevice and cut.

  “I’m getting there, sweetheart,” he promised. “Not quite yet. There’s all this delicious territory.”

  He splayed his hands over her breastplate, and she did the same on his cheeks, pulling him to her face for an upside-down kiss. It was as awkward and dizzying as it was perfect, his tongue finding new access to her mouth, hot and wet.

  Lifting his head, he started on the wide, stylized button of her top. She used the break to get her breath, to look up and see nothing but masculine neck, the angles of his chest, a hint of dark hair he must shave, and sexy, taut nipples.

  She lifted her head and kissed whatever skin her lips could find, her ears hammering with a wild pulse, her whole body already rising and falling as if he were on top of her.

  “War is hell,” she muttered, making him laugh and kneel all the way up. “Where are you going now?”

  “Approaching the target by the side.” As he scooted around to her left side, she was both relieved and disappointed he still had his cargo shorts on. But the thought was short-lived as he finished with her first button, kissed the rise of her breast and then opened the second.

  “Ahh, a pretty bra you bought just for me.”

  Why deny it? “You like baby blue?”

  “It matches your eyes.” He spread her blouse wide after finishing the last button and stared at her breasts. Normally, she’d burn with embarrassment. Especially on her back, knowing that didn’t exactly display optimum perkiness.

  But the only burn she felt was from his eyes as he stared at her, his jaw slack enough for her to know he liked what he saw, his next breath a tad ragged.

  “Damn, Willow, I’m honored.” He finally dragged his gaze to meet her eyes. “You put down some cash on that pretty bra.”

  She laughed, so not expecting that. “Worth it?”

  He answered by lowering his face to her cleavage, then closing his teeth along the top of the bra. “Tastes expensive.” He reached under her, easing her back up so he could reach the hooks. “I’ll be careful.”

  She didn’t reply, still trying not to pant and to somehow keep from lifting her hips, too, because, she wanted him…there.

  But he simply unlatched the bra, with one easy, experienced flick of his fingers, then repositioned himself, kneeling closer, looking up at her.

  “You could join me on the loungie thing, you know.”

  “I like this view. And if I get up there, it’s all over.”

  Exactly. “And you want to drag this out.”

  What he dragged was the side of her top, sliding it back so he could get her arm through the hole. “That’s not why I’m doing this. I’m a huge fan of fast and furious sex.”

  Her heart slipped at the thought of fast and furious sex with him. She bit her lip to keep from begging.

  “But I told you, I’m in charge of the optempo.” He got the other arm out and gingerly removed the top altogether, laying it neatly on the floor next to him. “We have many, many years of missed foreplay to make up for, Willow.”

  She knew he meant she had years to make up for, but let herself roll around in the pleasure of the “we” anyway. They did have years to make up for.

  “We should have done this back in college.”

  Her jaw loosened in surprise at the statement.

  “Don’t you agree?” he asked.

  “Well, yeah, but… Nick, we don’t have a missed history or anything.”

  He looked hard into her eyes, his smoky and dark with arousal. “We do have a missed history, Willow. Yes, I was nice to you because of your dad, but I also liked you. You made me laugh. You were real, and all those other girls were fake.”

  She considered that, liking the sentiment, somehow believing it, or at least talking herself into believing it. “How did you lose your virginity, Nick?”

  He didn’t answer, instead ran his finger over the lacy trim of the high-end bra that lay loose on her now, brushing her skin, but also concentrating on each little loop and flower on the lace. “Some girl whose last name I don’t remember. I was a junior in high school, a hormone time bomb, and I met her at a football party. We were a little drunk and…” He shrugged, lifting a shoulder. “Stupid.”

  “Bet it wasn’t stupid at the time.”

  “It wasn’t much of anything, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “It wasn’t what I want your first time to be.” He lowered the lace, revealing more of her breast. “I want your first time to be so incredibly special that every time you think of it, you can’t help but smile.”

  She smiled then. “You know what I want my first time to be? Soon.”

  “Not yet, Little Miss Impatience.”

  She gave in and rocked her hips, glaring at him. “I’m dying down there.”

  He knelt up, revealing a huge tent in his cargo shorts. “Me, too.”

  “Well…”

  He shook his head. “This is my operation. You want a siege. I want…” He slid the bra strap down her shoulder, moving the cup away to reveal her hardened, swollen nipple. “An indirect counteroffensive.” Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and took it in his mouth, sending a white-hot spray of pleasure through Willow’s body.

  “Nothing offensive about that,” she whispered, instinctively clutching his head to press him harder. He licked a circle around her nipple then put it between his teeth, nibbling oh-so-softly, making every cell dance with fire and forc
ing a cry out of her lips.

  He kissed his way over to the other breast, holding her securely from his kneeling position, cupping and caressing, getting her bra off with remarkable ease, leaving her upper half as naked as his.

  He didn’t miss an inch, sighing and sucking and stroking her until she no longer fought the waves that rolled between her legs, letting her hips rock in a natural rhythm, aching and screaming for his touch. But he refused, giving one hundred and ten percent to her breasts and throat and mouth and oh, back to each distended, aching nipple again.

  “Nick, I have to, I have to…”

  He took her hand, prying the fingers from the velvet, and sliding her hand into her pants. “Do what you want, baby. I’ve got this territory to control.”

  He controlled everything. Including her hand as he nudged it down between her legs, and she couldn’t fight. She touched herself, shocked at how slick and wet and pulsingly ready she was for his hand and his body.

  “Nick, I want you.” Not her hand, his.

  “When we’re ready, you’ll have all of me.”

  Damn it, she was so, so ready. He squeezed her breast and sucked some more, dragging his tongue across her nipple over and over again. Losing control, she rubbed her sweetest spot, knowing exactly where to touch to make herself come, but never, ever having it happen with a hot, wet, skilled mouth and masterful hands touching her somewhere else.

  He kissed her mouth, murmuring instructions into her lips.

  Telling her what he could do, what he would do. Her imagination exploded as she closed her eyes and dreamed of the night—very, very soon—when he would fill her with his enormous and sexy manhood.

  “Inside,” she muttered. “I want you…”

  He chuckled softly. “You’re gonna make me come, baby.”

  And just the thought of it, the image of him out of control from merely making love to her breasts, put her over the edge, making her spiral and moan and finally give in to the best orgasm she’d ever given herself.

  Fiery, numb, twisty, achy, perfect.

  She couldn’t take an even breath for ten minutes, and the whole time he continued his upper-body assault until she was certain there was no inch of his territory unassaulted.