Bayside Passions (Bayside Summers Book 2)

by Melissa Foster

  As she lay against him, safe and comfortable, she realized that it hadn’t been Desiree she’d thought of first thing this morning, even though she hadn’t lived in the same area as her for ages. It was Dean. In fact, it hadn’t been Desiree for a very long time.

  THERE WAS PROBABLY some sort of sin wrapped up in allowing himself to soak in every second of this closeness with Emery, but it was worth it. Dean was acutely aware of her every breath, of the way her body relaxed into his and of her hand resting on his thigh. How many nights had he longed to hold her? Watching her on a screen didn’t come close to being able to feel her in his arms and brush his cheek over the top of her head, enjoying the feel of her silky hair against his skin, the scent of her shampoo.

  This was so damn good.

  A fantasy.

  Literally.

  She was a friend resting in his arms. She wasn’t his in the way he wanted her to be.

  Not yet, anyway.

  He ran his fingers along her arm from her bracelets to her elbow. Her skin was just as soft as he’d imagined, and he told himself this would have to be enough until he could figure out how to convince Emery that what had happened with the so-called friends she’d dated in the past would not happen between them. Their friendship would turn into something more—into everything more. How could it not? He had no idea how she could be oblivious to the thrum of heat between them. He’d dated Diana Longhorn, his father’s business partner’s daughter, for about six months, and he’d never felt for her what he felt for Emery a month after knowing her long-distance. Emery was everything the women he’d dated weren’t. She was spontaneous, unfiltered, and so full of life, she was like the brightest of lights on the darkest of nights, outshining everyone and everything around her. He’d never met anyone so enthralling—or so infuriating—and it didn’t matter how long it took, he wasn’t about to give up on showing her how great they could be together.

  “We got so sidetracked with Brody,” Emery said, pulling him from his thoughts. “I forgot to tell you that I saw my office at the resort. It’s perfect, and I love the color.”

  Of course you do. It’s buttercup, your favorite. He wondered if she even remembered telling him that. He was mesmerized by her sleepy, breathy voice and her slightly Southern drawl as she told him about how, on Desiree’s recommendation, she’d designed flyers for her yoga practice while she was at the inn earlier and planned to put them out at local stores later in the week.

  “I wish I knew where to go, but Des said just to hit every store along the main drag. That’s what they did for their shop. She already has tons of signups for next week when I start teaching, so I don’t even know how much promoting I need to do. But it can’t hurt, right?”

  “I’ll drive you around and show you the most likely places where you’ll get clients, if you’d like.”

  “Don’t you have to work?”

  “Let me worry about that.” There were perks to being his own boss, and one of them was taking as much time as he wanted with Emery.

  She relaxed against his lap again, and they watched the rest of the episode in silence. When it came to an end, he noticed that Emery’s eyes were nearly closed. Moving slowly, so as not to jostle her, he used the remote to turn off the television.

  She started. “Hey!”

  Tango lifted his head. Cash opened one eye, watching them as if they bored him.

  “You’re half asleep, doll. We can watch tomorrow.”

  “I am not.” She sat up, blinking excessively, as if that would make her appear less exhausted. Tango and Cash repositioned themselves, watching Emery. Tango patted her leg with his paw. Emery stroked his head and said, “We can’t stop now. The very definition of binge-watching is to watch so many episodes your eyes cross.”

  He chuckled. How many times had she nearly fallen asleep while they were Skyping and watching movies, only to get upset when he suggested they end the call so she could go to bed? She was a funny one, this sweet, feisty woman he adored.

  “Okay,” he agreed. “One more episode, but you need to lie down before you fall over.” He set a pillow on his lap and patted it.

  “Two more episodes,” she said rebelliously, and lay down on her side with her head on the pillow. He covered her with a throw blanket from the back of the couch, and she wiggled closer, sighing as the kitties curled up beside her. “Why can’t dates be just like this? It’s perfect.”

  They can be was on the tip of his tongue. But Emery had just moved into his guest room, she was coming off a bad date, and she was half asleep. Now was not the time for him to bare his soul. Instead, he ran his hand along her back, trying to think of an innocuous response that would comfort her. He was pretty sure telling her she was dating assholes was the wrong thing to say. He tried to concentrate on the show, but his brain wasn’t on board with the plan. He couldn’t silence the debate going on in his head between telling her how he felt and risking it all, or letting it ride for…what? Another day? A week? A month? The thought killed him.

  She made a dreamy sound and wrapped her arms around his legs, hugging them tight. Hope climbed up his chest. Maybe she already knew how he felt. He leaned forward so he could see her face—and she was fast asleep. For some reason that warmed him to his core.

  He stroked her hair, glad she’d finally allowed herself to rest. He let her sleep, listening to the even cadence of her breathing and reveling in how nice it felt to be together, even if only as friends. For now.

  Afraid to wake her, he left the television on, and after the episode ended, he lifted her into his arms. She wound her arms around his neck in her sleep. He carried her through the dark house to her bedroom with Tango and Cash by his side. Moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating her luggage and the piles of clothes still littering her bed.

  “Only you, doll,” he whispered with a smile, and carried her to his bedroom.

  He pulled the covers back and laid her in his bed. She made another sleepy noise as he pulled his blankets up around her. Cash jumped onto the bed and curled up behind her, and Tango followed.

  Dean wanted to be next in line, but he knew better. Instead, he brushed a kiss over Emery’s forehead and whispered, “Night, doll. Sleep well.”

  “Love you, Dean” came out breathy and slow, the way it often did when they ended their phone calls, but hearing it in person hit him square in the center of his chest.

  He stilled, his heart hammering as he searched her face. But her eyelids didn’t flutter, and her lips didn’t curve up in a smile. She’d said it in her sleep.

  He scrubbed a hand down his face, telling himself to get a fucking grip, and quietly collected running clothes for the morning. He’d need a long-ass run after what was sure to be a sleepless night knowing she was just a few feet away in his bed. This wasn’t quite how he’d pictured it in his fantasies. He closed the curtains and took one last, adoring look at Emery before heading out to the couch for the night.

  Chapter Six

  EMERY AWOKE TO the feel of gentle vibrations against her belly and found Tango curled up beside her, purring like his little life depended on it. She blinked away the haze of sleep, the scent of Dean surrounding her like an embrace. She turned her nose into the pillow and inhaled.

  Mm. Dean.

  Her eyes flew open wider. Holy shit! Dean!

  She bolted upright, and Tango darted out of the room. Emery pulled the soft brown blanket up to her chest, scanning the bedroom as her mind traveled back to last night, when she must have fallen asleep on his lap. She was still dressed and obviously hadn’t been drunk last night, so they definitely hadn’t hooked up. But why was she in his bed?

  Her gaze crawled over the rustic wooden headboard, to the timbers that trimmed the doorframe and cathedral ceiling. A cat’s toy sat in the center of a black leather chair in the corner of the room. The far wall was home to a single heavy wooden dresser, and the windows were draped in caramel-colored curtains and flanked by heavy granite planters with lush greenery sp
illing over the sides. Simple lines, no clutter, masculine. Perfectly Dean.

  She pushed from the bed, burying her toes in the dark throw rug sneaking out from beneath the bed. A few steps later her feet met hardwood, and she went in search of him, stopping cold at the sight of his big body sprawled out on the too-small couch. He lay on his back wearing only the gym shorts he’d worn last night. The material was bunched up at the top of his thighs, making his formidable package look even more impressive.

  Wow. Violet wasn’t kidding…

  She forced her eyes away from the land of temptation to the sleeping kitty cradled in his arm. Dean’s other arm hung off the edge of the couch, the back of his fingers grazing the floor. She glanced across the cottage to her messy bed. Her heart squeezed. Instead of waking me up or moving my things, you gave me your bed. He was a gentleman to the bone.

  Bone…

  Her eyes slid back to the promised land, and her stomach dipped.

  Great. He was just about the kindest man on earth, he’d opened his home to her and given her his bed, and here she was, ogling all his off-limits hotness while he slept.

  Disgusted with herself, she hurried into the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and hair and washed her face. Then she tiptoed past Dean and changed into her sports bra and yoga pants. Maybe she could meditate her mind back into submission. She went to get her car keys so she could grab her yoga mat from the car, but they weren’t on the counter where she was sure she’d left them. She searched the kitchen, quietly tiptoed around the living room, and circled back to her bedroom, but her keys were nowhere in sight.

  She finally gave up and headed out to the backyard. The path of plush lawn around the patio would do just fine.

  The brisk morning air teased over her skin as she moved through her morning yoga routine. It was chillier there than it was in Virginia at six in the morning, but she welcomed the cooler air, the hint of sea in the breeze. Emery always began her routine with the most basic positions. The sun salutation was the perfect eye-opener, before moving on to more advanced, core-strengthening moves.

  She raised her hands upward, palms facing overhead, focusing on inhaling as she bent backward, stretching her core, then bent forward, bringing her hands to her feet and her face to her shins. Eyes closed, she exhaled. The image of Dean lying on the couch appeared behind her closed lids, making her insides quiver. She opened her eyes, annoyed with herself, and pushed that image aside as she transitioned seamlessly and sank into a lunge position, inhaling deeply. But Dean’s terse voice swam into her mind. You don’t need to date every guy in Wellfleet the first week you’re here.

  Tension climbed up her limbs, making her moves rigid and difficult. Dean and his skip the thorns and go straight to the calyx. Did he really think dating was that easy? And if so, why was he still single?

  The thought brought a thread of guilt. She knew it wasn’t that easy for him. He’d told her that he’d rarely strayed from dating the kind of women his overbearing prick of a father approved of. It was such a stupid way to live his life, hoping to use the most personal aspect of his life to appease an unworthy man. She’d told Dean enough times that she hoped one day he’d throw caution to the wind and go out and find the most exciting and daring woman he could, just to break free from his father’s stranglehold.

  She moved through a few more positions, trying to calm the thoughts ping-ponging in her head, but it was the ache in her chest that had tension clinging to her like a second skin. Dean went out of his way to help everyone, checking on Desiree when Rick had to travel back to DC for meetings and playing peacemaker in his family for his older brother, Jett, who had turned his back on their father, and in turn, it seemed, his family. Giving me your bed. The mountain of a man had a heart of gold, and while she wanted him to break free from the stifling confines his father had drilled into his head, the idea of him doing so with a horny stranger made her queasy.

  She was definitely losing it.

  She stretched her arms up and bent forward, closing her eyes and exhaling as she grabbed her elbows with opposite hands, maintaining the Uttanasana pose, an intense forward-bending position. At this rate she was never going to clear her head. She tried to focus on her spine lengthening, the stretch in the back of her legs, the air flowing through her lungs. And when a sense of calm descended upon her, she exhaled a long breath. Finally.

  “Now, that’s a good morning welcome if I ever saw one.”

  Her eyes sprang open, and her stomach pitched at the sight of Dean standing behind her, staring at her ass. “So you’re an ass man, too?” She straightened her spine, set a hand on her hip, and glared at him, hoping to scare away the misguided heat missiles darting through her.

  “I don’t discriminate. I like every aspect of a beautiful woman’s body.” He stepped closer, clearly ignoring the scowl on her face. “Is this the way you greet every morning? If so, I’m going to have to get up a little earlier.”

  He was messing with her. Well, she’d mess with him right back. Her gaze slid down his bare chest, stopping just shy of his shorts. Unfortunately, the way his cock twitched did not go unnoticed. It was like a thick snake trying to find its way out of its den. Awareness zinged through her body like lightning. She was dancing on a slippery slope, but she couldn’t keep herself from engaging in the flirtation.

  “Maybe you should come out and learn how to thread the needle with me.” She pretended to gaze out over the gardens as she stretched her arms over her head, hoping he didn’t sense the way he’d affected her.

  “Mm. Now, that sounds worth an early alarm.”

  Her mind took the ball and ran with it, wondering what it would be like to feel his hard heat against her, inside her. His gaze rolled over her face, and sparks ignited beneath her skin.

  “What’s going on, doll? Thinking about how much you want me to thread your needle?”

  “No,” she lied. “You just…you got in my head last night and it’s pissing me off.”

  “Did I?” He stepped closer. His eyes darkened, boring into her and leaving no room for misinterpretation. “In what way did I get in your head?”

  Her pulse went crazy, and not the kind of crazy it should be going toward a friend. It was going I-want-to-touch-you-kiss-you-and-devour-you crazy. Holy sex machine. Violet was right. How had she missed this blazing inferno between them?

  She wasn’t about to admit that, so she fell back on the other thing that was bugging her. “You said those things about Brody, and now I’m going to be uncomfortable when I see him today.”

  His long legs ate up the last bit of space between them, bringing them so close his body heat seeped into her pores.

  “Dean?” fell from her lips, full of confusion and inescapable desire.

  “Emery,” he said in the richest, most seductive voice she’d ever heard.

  He touched her hip, and her traitorous nipples rose to greet him. She opened her mouth to say something snarky, to sever their connection, but her sass was trapped beneath simmering lust. “What…? What are you doing?”

  “What I should have done the minute you showed up on my doorstep.” His gaze moved slowly over her face, as if he were seeing her in a new light. “Being completely honest with you about how I feel.”

  Her entire being was on fire, but she couldn’t do this, no matter how much she might want to. “Dean. We’re friends.”

  “We are.” His gaze did not waver from hers.

  “You don’t want to do this. I’m not even your type.” She knew his father would never approve of a small-town, uneducated yoga teacher for his precious son, which meant they could never have anything real and lasting even if she was willing to risk everything.

  “You’re wrong, doll. I’ve wanted to do this since the first night we met, and every phone call, every text, every fucking thought of you since, has only made me want you more.”

  Panic swelled inside her, warring with the manic butterflies that had taken flight. She’d done such a good job of not lett
ing herself see him as anything more than a friend for so long, she couldn’t relent now. It would only lead to the beginning of the end of their friendship, and their friendship was too important to risk.

  His fingers tightened around her hip, hot and enticing. She held her breath, fighting against what felt like an unrelenting force between them.

  “What’s wrong, Emery? You don’t like my killer smile? My eyes that say I’ll fuck you and love you at once? Or is it my panty-melting body that you’re opposed to?”

  A half laugh, half oh-god-shoot-me-now sound fell from her lips as he threw her own words back at her. “That’s a stupid question. How could any woman in her right mind not find you attractive?”

  To prove—to herself?—he hadn’t opened some sort of floodgate, she pressed her hands to his chest, but heat seared up her arms, and she pulled them away as if she’d been burned. His lips curled up in a satisfied smile.

  “We can’t do this, Dean. I can’t. I’ll screw us up.”

  “I won’t let you,” he said, steady and confident.

  “You can’t stop it.” Fear exploded inside her at the thought of losing his friendship—and at revealing the truth she’d never shared with anyone. But with Dean, she suddenly couldn’t hold back. She didn’t want to. He needed to know why this was a bad idea.

  “It’s who I am, Dean. I don’t know how to be whatever it is that you want.”

  “Emery.” He cupped her jaw, and Lord have mercy, she leaned in to his reassuring touch. “I want you. Emery Andrews. The girl who downs ice cream when she’s had a bad date, watches creepy movies from behind splayed fingers, and refuses to admit she’s too tired to stay awake. You don’t have to be anything other than yourself.”