The Beach Bachelors Boxset (Three Complete Contemporary Romance Novels in One) (The Beach Bachelors Series)

by Pamela Browning

  They had been half sitting, half leaning against the log behind them, but now they sank to the sand in a fluid motion, moving as one. His body lowered over hers until she could feel the full length of him easing onto her with a gentle pressure, so welcome. He rested on his elbows, his hands on either side of her face, cupping her cheeks gently. "So beautiful," he said before again capturing her willing lips with his.

  She was conscious only of the weight of his body lying against hers, of the exquisite intimacy of warm flesh smooth against flesh. And then, as Chad's seeking fingers began to caress, to stroke, to explore the fabric of her brief swimsuit, she struggled back to consciousness, realizing belatedly that things had gone too far. This shouldn't be happening, she thought wildly, as his kisses burned against her throat and downward to the firm skin between her breasts.

  She fought her own surging emotion to come back to reality and pushed the frenzied longing for the fulfillment of her passion to the outer reaches of her consciousness. She pushed him away, and he eased his weight. She pulled herself to a sitting position, knowing with a sinking heart that she couldn't allow intimacies with a man she didn't love.

  Chad leaned back against the log and stared at her, his features turned golden in the glow of the fire's embers. "Why?" he asked quietly when she had regained her composure.

  "It wouldn't work," she said, her voice low but determined.

  "On the contrary, it seemed to be working very well," he said with a trace of his old sauciness.

  "That's not what I mean," she said. "You're talking about the physical part. I'm referring to the emotional part. There has to be more to it than just sex."

  Chad picked up a twig and threw it into the dying fire where it flared briefly. "Suppose you're right," he said. "What would it be like, this—this emotional feeling that you're talking about?"

  Paige thought for a while. Somehow she wanted Chad to know how she felt about man-woman relationships—and in her present state of mind it didn't matter why. So at last she said, "I suppose you could call it a communion of the spirit," expecting him to laugh, but, surprising her, he didn't. "It's a feeling between two people when they're completely as one," she explained haltingly. "Mentally as well as physically."

  It was what was missing with Stephen, what she had wanted to talk over with her aunts. Suddenly she was glad she hadn't shared her intimate feelings with either of the aunts after all. Somehow, unexpectedly, it seemed appropriate to be speaking of them with Chad. She'd certainly never felt like broaching the subject with Stephen, even after he asked her to share an apartment.

  "I suppose you've felt this 'communion of the spirit?'" Chad was looking at her out of the corners of his eyes.

  "No, not yet. But I will some day, with the right person." It was what she had always believed, and she spoke with conviction. Beside her, Chad had an openly skeptical look on his face, replacing the unbridled passion of a few moments before.

  They watched the fire for a moment before Chad stood and said abruptly, "It sounds very nice, Paige. I hope you find that person. In the meantime, though, maybe you could just settle for a common, ordinary, lustful communion of the body."

  He was laughing at her after all. Paige felt a monumental sense of disappointment. She should have known not to expect understanding or even acceptance. She felt like an utter fool after so openly revealing what Chad obviously regarded as naiveté. To break the tension and to mask her own embarrassment, she threw a clump of dried-out seaweed at him, but she missed.

  The swim she had intended to take seemed long overdue and more necessary than ever to completely quench the fire that Chad had ignited with his kisses. With one quick movement she stood and slipped out of the wrap-around skirt, fully conscious of Chad's eyes upon her scantily clad figure before she escaped into the dark sanctuary of the night-time sea, which was calmer than it had been all day.

  The water was much colder than she had imagined it would be, and she gasped as she felt its chill on her legs. But she needed its oblivion, and she dived directly beneath the surface of the moon's path, curving upward again before beginning to swim parallel to the shore with strong even strokes.

  When she finally began to tire, she lay back and let the water buoy her. The temperature no longer seemed too cold; in fact, it felt the exact temperature of her body. She closed her eyes and floated lazily, languidly, letting the soothing sea currents slide over her like waving banners of silk. In the distance, when she opened her eyes, the eye of the bonfire was a beacon on the shore. Above her winked thousands of stars flung out across the sky. There was no sign of Chad. Perhaps he had begun carrying the food back to the Manse.

  Paige's mind drifted with a ripple of excitement back to the scene on the beach. No doubt about it, he knew how to make love. This was no inexperienced boy; Chad knew all the little tricks of pleasing a woman. She shivered as she recalled the tenderness of his lips nipping at her throat, and she wondered how she would be able to resist his advances now that she knew how delightful his lovemaking could be. And she had reciprocated.

  She'd never met a man like Chad Smith, so roguish yet compelling, so masculine and so mysterious. Distrusting him as she did, how could she explain her ardent reactions? She'd have to regain her determination to remain aloof, and she would have to make sure that opportunities for sexually charged contact were reduced.

  A splash nearby, a skimming movement, a head beside hers. Startled, frightened, she almost cried out, but to her immense relief she saw that it was only Chad.

  "You frightened me," she managed to say, treading water, reaching in vain for the sandy bottom with her foot. It was no use, the water was over her head.

  "I didn't mean to startle you," he said, beside her. He was so tall that he could stand up, even this far out.

  Small waves rose and fell gently, caressing their bodies, swirling around them in little eddies, glowing in the moonlight with a flickering phosphorescence. Droplets of water shimmered on Chad's face in the moonlight, lending it a strangely iridescent quality. Paige dipped her head backward in the water and lifted it up again so that her hair trailed sleekly down her back. Salt water trickled slowly down her shoulders, disappeared in the shadowed crevice between her breasts.

  "You didn't say anything about a swim," she said breathlessly, beginning to tire from the effort of staying afloat. "I didn't think you'd worn a swimsuit."

  "Who needs one?" said Chad, smiling at her and lifting a damp eyebrow.

  "You mean you're—"

  "Naked as the day I was born," he said wickedly. "Want to see?"

  "No," she spluttered, swimming a few strokes away. She didn't know whether to be amused or outraged.

  "You should try it some time," he said, floating toward her. "Such a sense of freedom. It would do you good to loosen up."

  Paige eased into a sidestroke, keeping her eye on him. "If I ever decide to loosen up, you'll be the first to find out," she said dryly. She had to fight an urge to smile at his audacity.

  "You might be interested to know that I sleep in the nude, too," he volunteered, grinning as he swam a few strokes behind her.

  Paige kicked a little fountain of water at him. "I'm not the least bit interested in how you sleep. You can wear a space suit for all I care." She turned languidly on her stomach and resumed a steady crawl, keeping her face in the water except when she came up for a breath. When she stopped to rest, she saw that he had kept up with her.

  She'd had enough, she decided. It was time to go back to the Manse. She'd dry herself in the warmth of the bonfire's embers and get away from Chad's absurd idea of humor as quickly as possible. She only hoped he would have the good sense to stay in the water until she was out of sight.

  She began to swim again, but not for long. Suddenly, without the slightest warning, a crippling pain seized her right leg. Cramp! She floundered and cried out.

  Chad, sensing trouble, stopped swimming immediately. Gone was his mischievous expression, replaced by total concern.
/>   "What's wrong?"

  "My—my leg," gasped Paige. "A cramp."

  "Can you reach bottom?"

  With great effort she tried, with her unaffected leg, to stand. "No," she gasped.

  "Let me hold you," he commanded, sliding toward her through the black water.

  "But you're—" She didn't like to think about his nude body suspended below the surface next to hers.

  "You don't worry about things like that at a time like this!" he said sharply. He slid one hand smoothly around her waist and she could feel the warm skin of his chest against her arm. Beneath the water his leg brushed hers, sliding against it so softly that she might have mistaken it for a sea current if she hadn't known better. The thought of his nude body in contact with hers brought on a sensation so fiercely voluptuous that she almost forgot the terrible pain in her leg.

  She wanted to push him away when she recognized that her feelings for him were again getting out of hand. But that would be foolish. She might not make it to shore without him. And now he was ordering her to wrap her arms around his neck, and she was doing it, wondering helplessly if she was obeying strictly out of a wish for survival or out of another equally compelling urge.

  Chad was gliding his free hand down her body, pleasuring her unwittingly. When his probing fingers found the muscle in her calf knotted with tension, he asked, "Is this it?"

  Paige couldn't speak. She only nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. Carefully, with gentle fingers, he massaged the muscle. "Try to relax," was all he said, and she closed her eyes and laid her head against his broad shoulder, so warm and so reassuring.

  Slowly the pain in her leg subsided. The muscle relaxed under Chad's soothing fingers.

  "It's better," she said at last.

  "Think you can make it to shore?"

  "Maybe," she said, doubting it.

  "I'll help you," he said, and still holding her in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, he carried her through the dark water.

  How could she not notice the droplets of seawater caught in the thick hair on his chest and glittering like jewels in the moonlight? How, with her head resting where it was, could she neglect to feel the strength in his arms as he clasped her to him?

  She gave in to it for a brief moment, submitting to the involuntary tremor of passion and letting go just enough to experience the nuances of movement in his body that told her that he was feeling it too. She was more conscious than ever of her own body betraying her emotions, of her own rich curves accommodating intimately to Chad's, of her long hair swirling damply against his muscular arm and clinging to his biceps.

  Without thinking, she touched her tongue to the water-slick skin of his shoulder, tasting the sharp tang of salt. He stopped walking, swiveled his head and stared down at her questioningly.

  "Don't make it any more difficult for me than it already is!" he burst out, his voice harsh.

  "I didn't think—I mean, I didn't know—" She couldn't have explained what had come over her to save her soul.

  Chad was breathing hard, but he still held her close to him, their skins electric beneath the concealing water. He said quietly, "You should be able to swim to shore now. I'll wait here until you've gone."

  Paige nodded, still shaken. Wordlessly she slipped from his arms into the waiting water, skin sliding against skin. She ventured a few experimental strokes. "I'm all right," she said tremulously.

  "Good. Swim slowly." He stood and watched her, his arms crossed across his chest, his face impassive.

  When she reached the spot in front of the bonfire, she waded carefully out of the ocean and up the sandy beach to the log where she'd left her skirt.

  She picked it up and dried herself off with it the best she could. Chad had always seemed so completely in control, and the knowledge that he was also having difficulty maintaining emotional distance changed something fundamental in their relationship.

  Beyond the edge of the black water, Chad Smith was watching and waiting. Knowing that his eyes were upon her, she lifted her chin and walked haltingly up the beach, feeling a new emotion that she couldn't define.

  Chapter 4

  By the end of the next week Paige wondered if she'd been wrong about Chad. He threw himself into refurbishing the Manse with an intensity that surprised her. He was up every morning at dawn, painting or hammering or noisily tearing away rotten woodwork. His hyperactivity drove the aunts to distraction.

  "But I thought you wanted this work done," Paige said, wrinkling her brow at Aunt Sophie and Aunt Biz one evening over sherry.

  "We did, dear, but Chad suddenly seems to have taken it all so much to heart. He's been extremely moody since he's been working on these projects, not at all his old sunny-natured self," said Aunt Biz.

  "And the paint smell is everywhere," Aunt Sophie complained. "I can't get away from it, and it aggravates my allergies." As if to prove her point, she sniffed and managed to look completely miserable.

  Paige was surprised by the aunts' attitude, and she wondered if she had been wrong about putting Chad to work. But actually she had only made the list, she hadn't ever had a chance to goad Chad into following it. He had taken it over right after the night they had cooked out on the beach, plunging into this spell of frenzied activity the very next morning.

  After that night when he had stood in the water and watched her walk slowly up the hill to the Manse, Chad had treated her with a coolness that was barely civil. No more teasing banter, no long appraising looks that told her he found her attractive. There had been no attempts at lovemaking, a development that should have pleased her. Oddly, she felt disappointed rather than relieved. He seemed to have clamped such a tight hold on his emotions that he'd shut her out of his life completely.

  Paige should have been grateful for this. But she found herself wishing that their relationship could resume on a friendly basis at least. After all, the aunts were too busy with their own interests to be good company all the time, and they took long naps every afternoon, leaving her at loose ends.

  With Aunt Sophie and Aunt Biz, Chad at least tried to maintain the same kind of lighthearted exchange they'd enjoyed before Paige's arrival, but Paige could see that he often failed abysmally. Neither of the aunts could understand the change, and even he seemed annoyed with himself at times. Nevertheless, Paige was interested to see that Chad appeared to be genuinely fond of the aunts in spite of his apparent inability to respond to their friendly overtures.

  At least, with the withdrawal of Chad's attentions, she was able to think more lucidly about what to do about Stephen McCall. Since she'd come to St. Albans, she had found concentrating on the problem of Stephen difficult. And even though she'd thought she had distanced herself from him, Stephen found a way of effectively intruding on her life at St. Albans.

  Chad had evidently fallen into the habit of making something of an event out of distributing the mail, which he picked up in Brunswick whenever he had to go there on an errand. On the first afternoon that they heard him striding up the oyster-shell path and shouting, "Mail call!" Paige set aside her needlepoint and joined an eager Aunt Sophie and Aunt Biz on the front porch to greet him.

  He stood below them, his fair hair slightly ruffled over his forehead after the boat trip to the mainland. Despite his recent coolness, he seemed determined to make their receiving of the mail a good time for all.

  "For you, Aunt Sophie," he said, sounding doggedly cheerful, "a new catalogue of kitchen gadgets. Maybe you'll find something in there that will unboil pots," and the catalogue was presented with a great flourish. "For Aunt Biz—looks like another flyer from the garden supply store. Don't they know that you have plenty of fertilizer? The last load nearly scuttled the poor Marsh Mallow and broke the motor down besides."

  He shuffled through the envelopes. "For Paige," and he held out a letter from Stephen, the bold handwriting on the envelope unmistakably masculine. Chad stared at the handwriting for a moment, compressing his lips before thrusting it toward her. "
And for Paige," as he handed her another identical one. "For Paige, for Paige, for Paige, for Paige, and for Paige." He knitted his eyebrows as he tossed her the envelopes. Forgotten was his effort to make mail call an event. He proceeded to distribute the rest of the mail hurriedly and with no attempt at further humor.

  Paige noted that he did not call out his own mail, which consisted of several newspapers and a number of envelopes with windows, the kind that usually contained bills. After an almost sullen goodbye, he strode abruptly down the path, his own portion of the mail tucked under his arm. Paige, whose eye had been caught by the stack of bills, couldn't help but wonder briefly what possible sort of expenses someone like Chad could have, living as simply as he did on this isolated island.

  "Such a lot of letters," Aunt Sophie said to her in open curiosity as she and Aunt Biz followed Paige into the cool recesses of the Manse. "Your young man hasn't forgotten you, I see."

  "Mmm," said Paige abstractedly, at this time not at all prepared to discuss Stephen or their relationship. The number of his letters had surprised her; she had thought that perhaps Stephen would not think of her if she were not available, and she couldn't imagine how he had gotten her address. Before she'd left New York, she'd informed him that she'd be incommunicado for a while due to the isolation and lack of modern communication on St. Albans. He'd seemed fine with it at the time.

  Paige had immersed herself so completely in her aunts' problems of keeping up the Manse that it was hard to realize that she had a real life of her own, a job to which she would eventually have to return, and an ardent suitor who wasn't simply going to fade away.

  "Dearest Paige," each of his letters began with identical fervor. And then he went on to write such things as, "When you come back to New York, remind me to take you to a club called Elbert's Back Yard. I haven't been there (I wouldn't want to go without you, sweetheart), but I've heard they have a talented comedian." Sweetheart? He had never called her "sweetheart."