All I Desire (Paradise Beach Book 4)

by Tamara Lush

  I grin. “But you wanted to invite me over for dinner and cared enough to impress me with good food.”

  “Exactly. I don’t want you to think I could recreate this all on my own. I’m great with a microwave, though.” Shrugging, she carves out a square of lasagna and places it on my plate.

  She slides her portion of food onto her plate, then sits. “You know, some guys expect women to be perfect. To be the cool girl, to have a great job, to be a gourmet chef. I can do some things really well. Like design jewelry. Like run a resort. Ask me to do anything in the kitchen but boil water and make coffee and I’m lost. Might as well tell you that up front.”

  Holding my knife and fork, I look up at her. “I’m a thirty-nine-year-old man. I can feed myself. I fail to see the problem here. Good food, amazing company.”

  A gorgeous smile spreads on her face, and warmth spreads through my chest.

  NATALIA

  Oh God. I like this guy. Really like him.

  First off, he’s got better table manners than most guys I know. Okay, so that means he chews with his mouth closed and knows how to use a knife and fork. He also doesn’t talk with a mouth full of food. Considering the things that I’ve witnessed at the dinner table with four brothers and a string of bad dates, that’s no small feat.

  He’s clearly an excellent communicator, asking about me, answering questions about himself, and making sure there are no lulls in the conversation.

  No insults slip from his mouth. No negative statements about how I look or how much food I eat. No disparaging comments about his ex. No use of the word “bitch” when talking about other women. We devour Ma’s tiramisu for dessert and he asks about how I got into jewelry making.

  “I took a class in college. Found that it calmed my nerves. It’s all about focus. Bead by bead.” I shrug, trying to make it seem like no big deal. In truth, back when I was eighteen, making jewelry was the one thing that prevented both panic attacks and the self-destructive urge to call my ex.

  Those little beads saved my life.

  “And what about you? Any hobbies?”

  He smiles sheepishly, and the expression makes my heart soften. “I’m a gearhead. I love engines. Fixing things gives me a feeling of accomplishment. Probably like when you finish a necklace.”

  Trying to find common ground in conversation. Such a simple thing, but something few men are able to pull off. Either I’ve only been exposed to some really shitty guys, or Matthew is dating gold.

  “You’re sure you don’t want me to help clean up?” he asks when the meal is finished. He grabs a dish towel from the counter as I’m stacking dishes in the sink.

  He is dating gold, I’ve decided.

  “You’re really trying to impress me, aren’t you?” I try to take the towel from him, but he doesn’t let go, instead, pulling me toward him. I dry my hands, my gaze going to his forearms. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his light blue button down, showing off those gorgeous muscular arms of his.

  “Maybe. But my mom always taught me to pick up after myself. And to be a polite guest.”

  I wrap my arms around him, my hands at the back of his neck. “Your mom deserves a medal. Tell her that. Most guys aren’t like that.”

  He slides his hands around my waist and kisses my forehead. “You might get a chance to tell her yourself.”

  My God. Are we already talking about meeting each other’s families? And what about his daughter? He mentioned her a little over dinner, and I wondered if he was holding back, trying not to scare me. I have so many more questions, both about the kid and his divorce. But I don’t want to get into that when things are going so well, probably because I’m afraid of ruining the magic.

  And there’s definitely magic between us. It crackles and sparkles every time we look at each other. Every time our hands brush against one another’s. Like now.

  He’s kissing me, hard. Right here in the kitchen, next to the sink. The dishwasher is half-loaded and the door is open and I don’t care one bit. My stomach’s all jittery from the anticipation of more.

  “Yum,” I whisper in between kisses. “I want you for dessert.”

  “Oh yeah?” he growls, then hoists me into his arms and carries me to the living room couch. For the first time, I’m grateful that I got the extra-large console sofa, because we have plenty of room to move around. Visions of dirty positions romp through my head.

  He lays me down and cages me with his arms, staring into my eyes. “You’re gorgeous. Man, I feel like the luckiest guy on the planet right now, being here with you.”

  “Oh, come on,” I chortle into his broad chest.

  “What?”

  “You. You don’t seem real. You’re so good. And too sexy.”

  He chuckles. “I’ve never been called too sexy.”

  “You could be a candidate for People’s Sexiest Man Alive.”

  “No way.”

  “Way.” I pull him down so I can kiss his gorgeous lips. The full weight of his body is on me, and for the first time in forever, I feel both achy and eager. The emotions spread through my chest, down my stomach, and settle between my legs.

  The balcony doors are open and I can hear the soft surf and feel the cool night breeze on my bare legs, and I swear, this moment is perfect. Just freaking perfect.

  I shut my eyes as he nuzzles my neck, dragging his lips across the sensitive skin. His big hand goes to my waist, then he lifts himself half off my body while kissing me, skimming his hand over my chest, then down to my belly.

  His fingers dip under my shirt, and then his entire hand. Oh, God, that feels amazing, the warmth and pressure of his whole palm on my breast.

  “Lace. Nice,” he murmurs, his fingers caressing me through my black bra. I’m not all that big up top and could probably have gone without one. But tonight, I wore something cute and feminine underneath my tank top and shorts. And matching, too!

  My skin ignites under his touch. More, my brain demands. So I wriggle out of my tank top, shimmying underneath him, brushing my thigh coyly against his erection. His mouth parts when he sees me without my shirt, wearing only my lacy bralette.

  “So beautiful,” he whispers. His lips trail over my collarbone, then to my cleavage. I moan at the sight of his hand brushing aside the lace bra cup, exposing my nipple.

  His breath is hot on my skin, and his mouth is even more scorching. I arch my back into him, feeling slightly dizzy. I’d probably be unable to stand in this moment; I’m so overwhelmed by the sensation of his lips.

  His tongue circles my nipple while his hand frees my other breast from the fabric. He lifts his head, looking at me with a hungry, rough expression.

  “Natalia,” he rasps. “I want…”

  I start to unbutton his shirt, looking him squarely in the eyes. “What do you want, Matthew?”

  “You. I want you. I want to bury myself inside you. That’s cheesy. Sorry. Christ, I haven’t felt this horny in decades.” He grins, licking his bottom lip.

  My hands are shaking, fumbling at the buttons. Meanwhile, my breasts are caged in the elastic lace, pushed up lasciviously. He sucks on my nipples, then kisses me hard.

  “Look. At. You.” He lightly bites a nipple. I gasp.

  “Kiss me, please?”

  “Of course.” Grinning, he captures my mouth. Again and again.

  I match his urgency, clutching at the fabric of his shirt with one hand. My other hand’s in his hair, pulling, tugging, yanking. I can feel his hardness through his jeans, pressing into my core. My legs snake around his, and we’re thrusting and mimicking something that’s probably a staple scene in countless porn movies.

  And I’m loving every freaking nanosecond. This sweet, kind guy has turned into a ravenous, dominating — yet totally respectful — hottie. Am I dreaming?

  “Take my shirt off. I have to feel my skin against yours. Now,” he demands.

  We grin at each other. He thrusts his hips into mine. I am definitely not dreaming.

  So, I rip o
pen his shirt, the pale, blue buttons pinging against the sofa cushions and clattering to the floor. I’m vaguely aware that Mister Sinister is chasing one across the tile, but I’m too busy pawing Matthew’s naked chest to care. He shrugs off his shirt and tosses it over the back of the sofa.

  He dips his head to kiss my neck. His chest is so close to mine, and I can feel the heat coming off his skin in waves.

  And then, his phone goes off.

  Chapter Nine

  NATALIA

  The phone’s on the coffee table, emitting a bubbly pop tune. It cuts into our crackling sensuality and halts our kiss. It’s as if a horde of tweens are doing a flash mob in the middle of an adult film. We pause, our lips hovering next to one another’s.

  “You have an Arianna Grande song as your ringtone?” I ask, stifling a laugh.

  Matthew stops kissing me, putting his forehead to mine. He groans.

  “Yeah. My daughter set that. She said I couldn’t have a boring ring, so she did something to my cell. I don’t know how to change it.”

  I giggle. That’s pretty adorable. “You should get that call.”

  “I know.” He brushes a quick kiss across my lips and sits up, half straddling me. He splays his right hand on my bare stomach.

  “Hello?”

  I study his rugged form. He’s not jacked, but deliciously muscular around the shoulders and arms. The whole shirtless while wearing jeans thing is working well for him. If this is what dad bods look like, I’m a fan.

  I run my finger around the dark, downy line of hair near his bellybutton. He grins at me then licks his bottom lip.

  His dark brows furrow together. I snap out of my sexy reverie.

  “What? Yvette? They did what?”

  My stomach tightens at his shocked tone. Yvette. That’s his ex-wife’s name. Uh-oh.

  “Can I talk with her? Or is she not calming down?” He swallows.

  From the hard, worried look on his face, I can tell that something’s definitely wrong.

  He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Is she calm enough to go to sleep? I’ll call her to say goodnight in a bit. Thanks for letting me know. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

  Even after he sets the phone on the coffee table, he remains sitting up, straddling me. Because of that, it feels right to reach for my tank top and slip it on. He moves to a sitting position, and I do, too.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry for the interruption, Natalia. That was my ex.” He brushes my hair away from my face.

  My stomach plummets. Does his ex call him often? That’s awkward and weird. Maybe he’s not as perfect as I thought. “No apologies. Is something wrong?”

  His lips are pressed together in a hard line. “It’s my daughter. All last year in school, she was bullied by a group of kids. Tonight, she went to the community pool and some of those kids were there. My ex said she was inconsolable when she got home.”

  My mouth goes dry. “Oh no. That sounds awful.”

  “Yeah. It’s this one boy in particular, one little asshole. The kind of kid who will grow up to be a lobbyist for foreign dictators or something. He’s just relentless. When it first happened, my ex and I told Chloe that he was doing it because he liked her.” He pauses. “But that’s the wrong thing to say, we later found out.”

  My heart’s suddenly beating fast, for a whole different reason than earlier. That’s how things had started with Chad and me, actually. He’d picked on me in middle school. Then in high school, the bullying turned to affection. We dated, and then things took a dark turn.

  “Correct. Because you shouldn’t teach a kid that love equals abuse.”

  Matthew glances at me. “We’re hoping that this move here to Paradise Beach will help her in every way.”

  I nod slowly. “Hasn’t the school year already started? I heard some people at work talking about it.”

  “Yeah. We actually pulled her out to homeschool her last spring, things got so bad. Well, my ex did. I wasn’t entirely in favor of it, but agreed to try. Then Yvette got a promotion at work and we agreed it was best I bring Chloe to Paradise Beach.”

  “I see.”

  He shakes his head, grabbing my hand. “I’m sorry. This isn’t what you signed up for when you asked me over for a romantic dinner.”

  “It’s okay.” I squeeze his hand. Asking him to make out and get nasty seems inappropriate now. Maybe we should cuddle and watch a movie. “Do you have to go?”

  “Yeah, I probably should. I’d like to video chat with her. I do a better job of calming her than Yvette does. I’m so sorry.”

  Of course I’m disappointed, but my heart squeezes at the thought of him being such an attentive dad.

  “When does she come here for good?” I chew on my bottom lip. Will he even have time to see me once his daughter’s here? Am I a selfish person for thinking about that right now? God, I am.

  “Next week.”

  I lean in and kiss his cheek, and he folds me in for a hug.

  “Let’s try to do something soon, okay? If you want, that is.” His voice is low and sexy in my ear.

  “I totally want to.”

  “Good. Because I do, too.” There’s an awkward pause. “Well, I’d better get going.”

  I spring off the sofa. “Of course. Of course! I hope your daughter’s okay. Being bullied is so hard for a kid.”

  He wraps his arms around me. “It breaks my heart to see it, you know?”

  I nod into his broad chest, an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

  “I’ll text you, okay? Thank you for dinner. It was delicious. And you are delicious. I’m really sorry I have to leave.” He cups my face in his hands and gives me a slow, sensual kiss. With tongue. It’s so scorching that my knees wobble.

  He breaks away with a groan. “Jesus, you’re gorgeous. I wish I didn’t have to go.”

  This makes me smile. “We’ll continue this later.” My voice is shaky, but I’m trying to sound upbeat.

  “Definitely.”

  I walk him to the door and kiss him once again. When he leaves, there’s an emptiness in my place that I hadn’t noticed before. I flop down on the sofa, hugging a pillow to me. Mister Sinister emerges from the bedroom, glancing around the room with his orange, marble-like eyes.

  There’s a knot in my stomach, one that’s twisted and coiled both with threads of my past and with what just happened in the present, and I don’t like it one bit.

  The next day, I’m in my office at work, trying to concentrate on a proposal to host a naturist convention at the Paradise Beach Resort, but I’m really still thinking about Matthew’s daughter. Starting a new school will be difficult for her, and I’m trying to think of people I know with kids her age. Maybe if I can find a few, I could organize some sort of play date for her, to welcome her to the island.

  Is that too much? I tap my pen on my cheek. No. Everyone loves a party.

  But do ten-year-olds still have play dates? Or is that just for little kids? My lack of knowledge regarding children is glaringly obvious. And would Matthew even want my help on something like that? So many questions. This is why I’ve always tried to avoid dating men with kids. It just opens up a whole new can of worms.

  My phone pings with a text. It’s Matthew.

  Hey cutie!

  I grin. Hey you. How’s your daughter?

  Better. Thanks for asking. What are you up to?

  Trying to decide if the resort should host the Florida Union of Naturists’ annual convention.

  Naturists?

  Nudists. It’s a nudist convention. Five hundred nekkid people here at the resort in February.

  He sends a shocked face emoji.

  Why don’t you join me at the resort for lunch and I’ll tell you all about it?

  How can I resist that offer? When should I come over?

  Anytime. I’m starving.

  Should take me all of ten minutes to get there. I’m at the airport.

  It’s a little crazy how excited I am to se
e him. I grin stupidly at the phone, right when my brother Max barges in.

  “Thanks for knocking,” I say.

  “There’s no way we can host a nudist convention.”

  I look up from my phone. “Naturist convention. They prefer the term naturist. Their group is called FUN. The Florida Union of Naturists.”

  “Whatever.” Max sinks into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Can you imagine what the city council would do if we unleash hundreds of naked people, all roaming the island?”

  I squint at my brother. “I don’t think they’ll be naked anywhere but at the resort. It’s not like they’re just roaming the streets of Paradise Beach naked. That’s why they want to hold their event here. Because we’re a self-contained place and they can be nude at all times, and not have to go off-property.”

  Max grimaces. “Do you want to see a bunch of dicks swinging for a weekend?”

  I roll my eyes. “You are so uptight. This is business. It’s money. They’re paying top dollar to reserve our entire resort for a long weekend. And”—I pick up the proposal—“they’re willing to pay an extra cleaning fee.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “You really think we should do it?”

  “I do. There’s no harm in it. I’ve been doing some research, and the naturists take things pretty seriously. It’s not a sex thing. It’s a nude thing. Live and let live. God, I don’t know how you got to be so stuffy. Ma and Dad didn’t raise us that way. Remember when we were kids and that hippie band and their groupies came for a weekend?”

  “Fine,” he grumbles.

  “If you don’t want to deal with it, plan to take Lauren somewhere that weekend. I’ll handle everything.”

  Max reaches for a bowl of gummy worms that I keep on my desk. He scoops out a handful. “Not a bad idea. She’s been wanting to go to the Caribbean.”

  “Perfect.”

  “I wish I could talk her into eloping.” He shoves the candy into his mouth.

  “And deny Ma the pleasure of seeing her first-born prince get married? No way, dude. Plus, Damien will be home early next year. It’ll be a family celebration.”