One Little Kiss (Smart Cupid)

by Maggie Kelley

  “Right here.” He tore open the bag and offered it to her. She accepted, nodding her thanks. “I love this place. As kids—me, Janey, Nick—we dreamed about this kind of refuge. Nights my brother waited up for our dad to stumble home, I’d sneak into the attic with my sister and we’d talk about just taking off one day, leaving Brooklyn in the dust.”

  She grew quiet, surprised both by the way his tone shifted from teasing to reflective, as well as how much he felt comfortable revealing. “Where was your mom?”

  “Working two jobs. Every day, every night.” He glanced down at the faded quilt, and it struck her that the blanket was probably a Brooklyn castoff. “Trying to fix it. Keep it together.”

  Kate nodded, understanding. “Must’ve been tough. Not knowing who to count on.”

  “We managed.” He reached back and pulled a few Tupperware containers from the basket, his tone indifferent, as if he’d revealed nothing. “But a place like Paradise…this was a dream.” Picnic arranged, he lifted his wallet from the basket and pulled out a photo he’d had tucked behind his driver’s license. “My favorite.”

  She peeked over at the fading image. “Oh my gosh, Brighton Beach. Is that…”

  A quick nod of confirmation and he continued. “Me and Jane, about six and seven, each of us missing a couple of teeth. Nick’s on the far right.” A fond expression formed on his face as he looked at the picture, three kids, shovels in hand, fake palms behind them bent in the summer breeze. “We spent most summer afternoons skipping stones in the gutter along the East River, shooting off bottle rockets, stupid stuff.” He slipped the photo back into his wallet. “But that day, my dad stayed home instead of racing out to bet money we didn’t have on the ponies, or drink too much at the Italian-American Club.” His jaw visibly tightened. “That day, he drove us from Brooklyn all the way to Brighton. Bought us ice cream, Nathan’s hot dogs. Money for the arcade. Let us beat him at Skeeball. A kid’s dream.”

  She gave him what she hoped was an optimistic smile. “That’s a nice memory.”

  Jake tossed the wallet into the basket. “Yeah, well, he took off a few months later.”

  Her hand fell to his knee. “I’m sorry.”

  He looked over at her, his expression shuttered, acceptance rather than pain etched into his features. “I think I’d been dreaming of a place like this ever since.”

  “And when your marriage fell apart…”

  “After I figured out I couldn’t fix it. I came here—to paradise.”

  She tilted her head toward the wallet. “But you miss home, your family.”

  “I do.” Without looking at her, he pulled a plastic cup and the small bottle of champagne from the basket. The shift in his tone left little doubt that he’d revealed more than he’d planned. “Home is home, right? For better or worse.”

  “Home is home.” She nodded, searching for a way back to their more intimate conversation. She wanted to know him, not only for the profile, or because she’d won six answers to six questions, but because when she’d read the words in his book, she’d known he was a man capable of real love. She wanted to know that man—even if she wasn’t meant to be the one he loved. An unexpected pain stabbed at her insides. Her voice grew quiet. “Do you ever think about writing again?”

  “Sometimes.” He gave her a guarded look. “When I started out after grad school, I was looking for a job, any job. Ended up loading trucks for UPS at night. That left my days free, so I started writing and then…The Sex Factor just took off.” His hand cruised through the air at an angle like a jetliner. “But it was never about the bestseller list for me.” His mouth twisted to one side. “I really wanted to make a difference in peoples’ lives.”

  He popped the cork and poured the golden liquid into her cup. “I think I was writing about what I thought relationships could be…or should be. Not that I’d experienced it. Then I met my ex and signed on for the celebrity-style life I didn’t want…” He let the words fade away, a resigned expression on his face. “Most of the book seems like fantasy stuff now. Rules to romance by.” He shook his head.

  “Nothing wrong with abiding by the rules,” she said, searching for the correct words. “Finding…the right person can be…exhausting.” She threw out a bemused smile. “Nothing wrong with having a romantic roadmap. I love your rules. Not that I’m an expert in relationships. Obviously. Considering my string of dating nightmares.”

  “Which ones do you like?”

  “Which dating nightmare?”

  He cracked a smile. “Which rule?”

  “Oh,” she said, feeling a blush sting her cheeks. “Pillow talk. Learning what inspires someone.”

  “Someone?”

  “A man.” She glanced over at him a moment, and felt the now-familiar crackle of electricity between them. “Learning what makes a man want to know a woman…really know her. What makes him want to stay in bed with her and reveal his secrets. What turns him on?” She peered up at him. “What turns you on?”

  He growled, like the answer wasn’t something he wanted to admit. “You know what turns me on.”

  “Do I?”

  “Keep looking at me like that and you’ll find out.”

  She took in his stubbled chin, dark hair in need of a serious cut, those ocean blue eyes. “Tell me.”

  Her gaze dropped to his lips, and he moved closer, his mouth brushing the edge of her jaw, the touch so brief it might have been her imagination, if not for the sigh that escaped her.

  Easing back, he slipped the thin strap of her bikini top over her shoulder. “This turns me on.” His palms ran along the collarbone to the side swells of her breasts, and she shivered, despite the warm sun.

  “And this.” He moved aside the filmy material of her bikini and drank in the sight of her naked skin. “The sight of you. The feel of you.” His thumbs grazing her nipples, circling, tweaking, until the tips grew taut and aching with need. “The taste of your skin.” He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked on her flesh until she practically whimpered, a soft desperate cry she couldn’t hold back. “That’s right, all your sexy pleading.” He yanked away the remaining material of her bikini top and took her other breast in his mouth, seemingly on a mission to drive her crazy. Another moan escaped her lips. “God, yes, that turns me on.” His lips on her warm skin felt so good, so incredibly right. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

  “You turn me on,” he whispered, low and rough and with barely-concealed need. His gaze locked onto hers. “Every gorgeous, beautiful inch of you.”

  His lips bent to lick at her neck, her breasts, down her stomach, across her hip. He was setting her ablaze, bringing out feelings in her she’d never had. Never realized were possible.

  You can’t plan passion.

  Now she knew how true those words were.

  God, yes. She wanted more than a simple lesson in what turned him on. She wanted it all, the complete island fantasy—one last sensual experience with this man who made her feel utterly and completely desired. Like an erotic daydream, her time with him was unlocking sensual fantasies she never even knew she had. His hands moved back to the zipper of her jeans. A shiver of excitement coursed through her body as he tugged the denim over her hips and thighs, kissing her inner thigh, behind her knees, her ankles as he worked the fabric away from her body.

  He looked up at her, a smile at the edge of his lips. “Know my real sexual fantasy?”

  Unable to speak, she shook her head.

  “Sex on the beach.” He untied one side of her bikini bottom as she’d imagined he would—in one swift tug. “In this deserted cove. With you.” He pulled away the second tie, tearing at the fabric. The sound sent a naughty ripple of excitement through her body. “Right now.”

  Naked beneath his gaze, her breasts swollen, their wet tips aching, her nipples beaded into tight, sensitive knots despite the warm sun, she felt the slick wetness at her core. Trembling with excitement, her hands moved to the waistband of his shirt, but he caught them
and pinned them to the side, and pressed her back against the blanket. Heat flooded her body as his mouth drifted south, across her belly, dipping further into her core, the flick of his tongue against her clit setting her on fire.

  A desperate whimper hitched in the back of her throat as he moved his mouth away and buried his fingers inside her, demanding the release her body was so ready to give. Shivering as the tantalizing sensations ran through her, her body grew impatient, and she ached to have him fill her. After breaking free, her hands tore open the button of his shorts and tugged them over his hips. He reached back to slip a condom from his pocket and smiled as he tore at the wrapper. “Always prepared.” She smiled. “I love that about you.”

  Together, they struggled to get it on, managing to ramp up one another’s need in the process, and when his hands coaxed her body closer, driving his erection down as she rose up to meet him, she cried out in pleasure. She wanted him to remember her like this, reaching for him, taking his body into her, fulfilling his personal fantasy. Her hands curled into the muscles of his broad shoulders. “God, you feel so good. So incredibly…good.”

  His body responded to the obvious need in her voice, driving harder, faster, sinking deeper inside her. She bucked against him, her legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him deeper inside her. Nails digging into his back, she threw her head back, crying out as pleasure crashed through her body as hard as the waves in the distance. She felt the tension ramp up inside his body. Felt his need as he thrust forward, his body shaking, his fingers curled into her hair, his gaze locked onto her face. Moments later, he followed her over the edge, and with the city hundreds of miles away, there was nowhere else in the world she would rather be. Nowhere. “One hell of a fantasy.”

  His fingers skimmed her hip as she gazed up at him. “One hell of a fantasy.”

  …

  An hour later, as they wandered by the water, the summer sun shimmering on the waves, the sand beneath his feet, this beautiful woman by his side, Jake felt a knot in his chest.

  Having bested the matchmaking attempts of a certain Cupid, they’d soon be back to living their separate lives. He’d continue the renovation of the bungalow. She’d end up with a new and different bachelor. A different bachelor. The knot in his chest tightened.

  Different time zones. Different lives.

  Different worlds.

  Next to him, Kate leaned over to pick up a sand dollar, rewarding him with a deluxe view of her curves. Man, he really liked her curves, but there was more… She made him feel. He swallowed hard. He’d been alone for so long. Did his self-isolation account for the ache in his chest? Or was there more to it?

  Not wanting to think, he closed the short distance between, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her swiftly into the surf, beyond the breaking waves, until they were surrounded by the ocean and the quiet. Beneath the cool water, he slipped his thigh between hers, their hips angled but close. Then, in one fluid motion, his lips captured hers. Tenderly at first, his kiss seemed to search for its limits, equal parts poignant and sweet, made more so by the nearness of her departure. His hands moved up her back and tangled in the blonde curls at the nape of her neck.

  He knew her rhythms, light and tender, slow and soft, but this felt different. Now, he felt good-bye in her kiss. Good-bye.

  An unexpected twinge centered in his chest. For a therapist, he fell short on the self-awareness scale, and rather than analyze the pain, he deepened his kiss, anything to avoid thinking about the feeling in his gut that was trying to warn him, screaming at him to get her out of this secluded cove and off the island before he decided he wanted more of her.

  More of her.

  He kept kissing her, knowing the idea was crazy. There was no way he could wish for more of this woman—any woman—but especially one who valued Relationships with a capitol R. Adorable, sexy women searching for The One were particularly off-limits. He was not a Relationship guy. Despite having no role model, he’d wanted a relationship, so he tried. Tried and failed.

  But he’d been a damn good therapist. Noticed when people hid their true natures, closed off their desires and emotions. He’d done a helluva lot of closing down himself. But so what? Keeping his emotional distance, not wishing for more, meant never having to face that kind of pain again, and while Kate seemed sweet, he could never risk that kind of agony, that kind of disappointment ever again. He wasn’t interested in more. But if that was true, why did he hate the thought of her leaving?

  Hours ago, she’d arrived on the island, and the sight of her had set off alarm bells. Then she’d barreled into him, and he’d felt the electricity shoot through him like a lightning storm. A summer storm that had set his body on fire. He drew away slowly, and his gaze fell deeper into the eyes of the woman who’d swept onto his island like a force of nature, all wrapped up in a soft, swaying package.

  He drew in a breath. No. No

  He’d simply been charmed by her sweet, cherry-blossom ideas about love—about finding The One. Let her keep her romantic notions. He was the expert who knew better.

  Framing her face with his hands, he kissed her one last time, letting his lips linger, taking in her expression, her softly parted lips, her flushed skin.

  Her voice was steady and soft. “This is good-bye, then.”

  A small smile passed over his lips. “Still the ride back to the house.” That damn burning sensation extended from his gut to the center of his chest. “I’ll take you to the airfield, too. Buy you a martini.”

  Her fingers entwined with his. “No more martinis. I made it here. I’ll make it home.”

  Home.

  To New York.

  Where she belongs.

  Kate might think he was a coward, and the hurt look on her face made him feel like one, but the truth was she couldn’t stay here. Even if he wanted her to. She had a life in the city. He wasn’t going back to New York. All that was left for him there was a lengthy legal battle. A few what-the-hell-happened-to-you interviews. And family, he reminded himself. His family.

  Jake glanced down at their interwoven fingers. He’d always been a fixer, the guy who held on and made relationships work. Even the wrong relationships. Especially the wrong ones. But he didn’t believe in relationships anymore. And he wasn’t interested in love.

  The island was home now.

  Even if she was right. Even if he was hiding.

  Kate stopped at the edge of the cove and turned toward him, her eyes clear and bright. “Just so you know. I’ll always remember today. Thank you for bringing me here. For sharing your personal fantasy.” Her skin flushed that sweet, pretty pink. “For the overnight accommodations. But mostly, for all the really hot chips.” She smiled up at him, casually beautiful, but more than just beautiful. So much more.

  After pressing a soft kiss on his lips, she turned to go, and as he watched her drift toward the stone stairs, that dull ache settled squarely in the middle of his chest. Maybe he’d managed to avoid becoming Cupid’s next target, enjoyed one helluva night, not to mention one heavenly morning. But watching her walk away, a thought struck him as hard as a storm wave, the kind with the power to knock a guy sideways.

  Even when her first shot missed its mark, Cupid almost always got the last laugh.

  The Daily Blog: Smart Cupid.com.

  Posted by Senior Love Blogger, Kate Bell.

  Let’s face it, Cupids, we’ve all been there. Wild, impulsive actions in an extreme situation (for example, flying into a hurricane), leading to flirtatious behavior (with a man, who may or may not be a hottie, but who is definitely your interview), followed by spontaneous kissing, and before you know it…a one-night fantasy.

  Now, I am not recommending this for every situation, every man, or every relationship. I believe in commitment. But not every guy has to be the right guy. Not every guy is The One.

  So.

  If a chance to enjoy some mind-blowing, life-altering fantasy sex just happens to come along…well…frankly, a one-night, n
o-strings-attached, side dish of man candy may be desirable. Even healthy.

  Think of it as a sweet, sexy stop along the road to self-actualization. True, the morning after will likely be…awkward. Even a bit painful. Do not hyperventilate. Do not run. Take a deep, seven-second breath, and on the exhale, get out of bed (make the bed—good form if you’re a guest), check the weather (you did fly into a hurricane), and then, wearing your heart on the strap of a borrowed bikini, find your bachelor (the object of your inappropriate flirtatious behavior).

  For better or worse, some memories simply can’t go on the record. Keep those close, enjoy the last of your sexy times, and kiss him good-bye. Because while a twenty-four hour fantasy can restore a girl’s confidence and help heal her broken heart, an island fantasy is not forever. Climb onto the plane (or subway or bus) bound for home and get back to the business of living your life.

  Pursue your own career. Make your dreams the priority. But keep your heart open. Even if it stays empty for a while, eventually, when you least expect it, The One will find you.

  Let him.

  Chapter Nine

  Six weeks later…

  Kate raced for the A Train. Late again, she shoved a stale breakfast bar down her throat. The grime and humid air of the Brooklyn subway clung to her black linen dress. Crazy, but she loved this city. After elbowing past the other Manhattan castaways to the back of the car, she settled into a corner and turned up the volume on her iPod. Anything to free her mind from fixating on what would happen now that her bachelor profile had tanked.

  Or more accurately, now that she’d insisted it not be published. Jake didn’t want to be Smart Cupid’s next bachelor any more than she wanted to go back to Ohio, so she’d bailed on the profile—which meant no Cosmo.

  She wanted to be New Kate, free from obsessing over what tomorrow would bring, but without that job, she’d scarcely be able to afford her rent-controlled apartment. A fact her father would remind her of as soon as she told him.