by P. J. Mellor
Ben was standing right outside the door when she opened it, after she had wrapped a towel around herself. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. He licked his lips.
After what had just transpired in the tub, her legs were already wobbly. All it would take for her to forget her stupid idea of abstaining would be for him to make a move. Any move. Heck, even an indication he might make a move.
She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. It helped somewhat. “What’s up?”
“What’s up? I heard all kinds of water sloshing and then you choking. I thought you were drowning!” Hand shoved in the pockets of his cargo shorts, he looked at the floor, then met her gaze. “Why did you lock me out?”
Okay. Good question. Too bad she didn’t have a good answer. Well, she had thought she had a good answer, but abstaining didn’t seem like it was such a good idea now.
Just looking at Ben standing there, chest bare, his shorts riding low on his lean hips, made her mouth water. Other places were feeling pretty moist too.
Decision made.
“I didn’t mean to worry you.” She stepped closer and walked her fingers up his firm pecs. “I assumed you weren’t interested in sharing my bath, since you already took a shower.”
“Right.” He slid his arm around her, tugging the towel until it fell at their feet, then groaned when she rubbed her nipples on his chest.
After a long and thorough kiss, she looked up and smiled while she tugged at the zipper of his shorts. “Why am I naked, and you’re wearing these?”
He smiled back, his teeth white in the dimness. “I can fix that.” He pulled a handful of condoms from his pocket and tossed them on the nightstand, then shucked his shorts and underwear in one movement.
“I do like how you’re prepared, after all.”
Gathering her in his arms, he playfully nipped her neck, earning a shriek of laughter. “And I like the way you smell.” He took a gigantic exaggerated whiff. “Mmm. Fresh and clean.”
She shrieked again when he tossed her on the old bed, its springs creaking with their weight as he followed her down.
“I think, though, I need to check.”
“Check what?” She tried to back away a little, but he was having none of it as he held her ankles.
“To make sure you did a good job.” He ran his hand down her leg, then back up, pulling her to him by her foot.
His kisses on each toe tickled, but he held her still as he trailed his tongue between each toe. When he sucked on her big toe, her giggling stopped.
Arousal, hot and heavy, slammed into her. Her breathing became shallow.
Their gazes met.
How embarrassing was it to get turned-on by having your toes kissed?
She struggled to regulate her breathing while he gave her other foot the same treatment.
Toe sex, that’s what it was. Who knew?
Then he kissed his way up to her inner thigh, and she forgot to breathe entirely.
Leisurely licks took him to her core and had her panting for more. Literally.
“Pretty.” His breath was hot against her exposed flesh. “Give me your hands. Feel. Feel how wet and slick you are for me?”
Embarrassment heated her cheeks, but she did as he asked.
He arranged her hands until she was holding her labia open for whatever he wanted to do to her.
His tongue probed her. Briefly. Too briefly.
She tried to pull him back.
He grinned up at her. “Don’t let go.” He again arranged her hands. “Keep them just like that. Trust me. You’ll see. You’ll like it.”
He proceeded to lick, suck, and probe her with his tongue, sucking her to at least three screaming orgasms—she lost count—while he pinched and rolled her distended nipple.
She wanted to reciprocate, she really did. But he didn’t give her a chance, even if her thoroughly sated body would have obeyed her commands.
When he’d sucked what surely must have been her last orgasm from her, he planted a smacking kiss on her cherry red folds and reached for a condom.
She watched, amazed at the size of his erection.
But he’d been wrong about one thing. She hadn’t liked what he’d done to her.
She’d loved it.
“The wind.” Ben’s breath was still labored from their last session. They lay snuggled beneath the old quilt on the bed, too exhausted to move back to the lobby for a while. While they panted, Ben continued to touch her, petting her breast, tweaking her nipples, kissing her wherever he could reach.
Reese sighed and snuggled closer. “What about the wind?”
She liked having sex with Ben. Besides being a fantastic lover, he was fun. And thoughtful. She’d noticed he made sure she’d climaxed at least once before he came. And she loved that he liked to snuggle. No wham, bam, thank you, ma’ am with Ben Adams.
A wave of sadness washed over her. If he lived in Houston, he’d be the perfect boyfriend.
He nodded toward the window. “It’s picking up again.” The treetops waved wildly, loose leaves flying. If possible, the sky looked even more ominous. The rain pelting the windowpane increased. “I need to go move the boat.”
“Where?” She didn’t remember seeing anything other than the dock. Did boats have garages?
“To the protected side of the island, by the beach. I can’t risk the storm tearing it apart at the dock.”
She nodded, attempting to wrap her tired brain around what he was saying. “Why didn’t you do that to begin with?”
He exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck, as though he were struggling to hold his temper as he sat up on the side of the bed. “Because the dock is on that side. When the hotel was built, it was considered to be the more scenic side. Probably,” he added. “And it’s an easier walk to the front of the hotel. But the opposite side is the sheltered side, the one that faces Sand Dollar.” She admired the line of his arm, the firm muscles when he pointed toward the window facing the back of the hotel. He bent to look into her eyes, his warm palms on her bare shoulders. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. And I need to do it sooner rather than later.”
“Then why are you asking my permission?” She pulled the quilt up and wished he’d just go so she could have a little time to give herself a pep talk on why having sex with him again had not been the best idea of the century.
And so she could remember all the reasons why a relationship with him would never work.
27
Ben bent and leaned into the wind as he made his way down the slope to the dock, where his current home was being thrown against the old wood by the crashing surf like a discarded bath toy. Rain pelted him, stinging his eyes. But he didn’t need to see what Mother Nature was doing to know his boat needed rescuing.
He’d just untied the bowline, when a gust of wind took him over the edge of the dock and deposited him into the churning water. Even beneath the water, the storm howled.
Spitting salt water and obscenities, he bobbed for a few minutes, not needing to tread water, thanks to the movement of the choppy Gulf. Another wave crashed into him, washing him high enough to grasp the starboard rail and flop down onto the decking.
Panting, he lay with the rain stinging his face for a few seconds before rolling to his knees and struggling to his feet.
Irrational as it may be, he couldn’t help but feel at least part of his problems stemmed from Reese Parker.
For one thing, if he hadn’t ferried her to the island, he wouldn’t be in his current predicament.
For another, if he hadn’t been seduced by her, he would have had more strength to do what he needed to do to get his boat, and only source of shelter, out of the storm.
He took out his frustration on the anchor chain. It felt good to work off some of his anger hauling the anchor up.
Anger? Was he really angry? And, if so, with whom? While Reese was a good candidate, he had to be honest: She couldn’t have seduced him if he wasn’t willing. And eager. Okay, maybe also a l
ittle hard up, not that he wanted to admit it. And, face it, she wasn’t the only one doing the seducing.
So now here he was, fighting the storm and the Gulf of Mexico to stay afloat long enough to seek shelter. That was his goal, his motivation, for the time being.
He fired up the engine and motored out into open water. The power of the waves made it doubly important to keep his distance from shore in order to prevent crashing on some of the sharper rock formations surrounding the northern tip of the island.
Wind buffeted his boat, rocking it violently, when it wasn’t tossing it up and down.
He bit back a smile as he navigated the turn toward the bay side of the island. Reese would be tossing her cookies if she was with him.
Soon the old diving platform came into view through the rain and he bore port and pulled back on the throttle.
“What the hell …?” Through the gray downpour, a fishing boat bobbed in the waves, tied to a leg of the old platform.
He racked his brain, trying to remember if he’d spotted it when they passed on their way to the dock. Surely, he’d have noticed another boat on a deserted island. His deserted island.
Trespassers should not only be tried and prosecuted, but shot.
The bow of his boat bumped against the platform and he cut the throttle, scanning the beach for the boat’s owner.
Another thought hit him. What if the owner of the boat was also scoping out the island with the intent of bidding on it? He had enough to worry about with Reese.
Reese. Shit, he’d left her alone in the deserted hotel. Naked and alone in the deserted hotel. The unlocked deserted hotel.
Where the hell was the owner of the damned fishing boat?
The water was too shallow to risk getting closer to shore. He’d have to tie onto the platform like the fishing boat and hope for the best. After securing the rope, he stood on the undulating platform, anxiously scanning the deserted beach. Where the hell was the boat owner? If he hadn’t gone inland or, worse, to the hotel, he had to be close by. The only shelter Ben remembered was a small cave he used to play in as a kid. His grandmother hated the cave and always threatened to have it filled in. If it wasn’t snake infested, she’d maintained, it was at the very least unsafe. With a wry grin, he noticed she’d never destroyed it.
If the owner of the boat was anywhere nearby, he was probably holed up in the cave. He hoped.
After only a second of hesitation, he hopped into the fishing boat and pulled the starter rope. The little motor whirred to life. Ben scanned the beach, waiting for the unseen fisherman to run along the shore, yelling about him stealing the boat.
Only the sound of wind and rain and surf filled the humid air.
Untying, he pointed the craft toward shore and opened the throttle. Waves slapped against the hull, pitching him off the hard metal seat and then slamming him back down. When no one came running, he continued until he’d run the little boat ashore.
Cutting the engine, he hopped out and scanned the area once again. Seeing no one, he bent into the rain and headed toward the mouth of the cave.
Reese finished making the bed and paused, listening for Ben’s return. How long did it take for him to move and park his boat?
Sighing, she leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window and listened to the wind and rain while she looked out over the property behind the hotel. After she’d located the roof of the outhouse, she tried to figure out where she’d seen the flowers blooming. Again, orange showed through the dreary, rain-soaked scenery. Soon she spotted another and another.
Squinting, she looked to the far left and thought she saw another spot of orange. She knew it wasn’t flowers. What the heck was it, and why were there so many of them?
In the bathroom, she pulled the little chair close to the tub and climbed up. Using her fingertips, she pulled up until she could peek through the high window. But from that angle, she found it was difficult to see much.
She dragged the chair to the bedroom window and climbed back up.
Suddenly she knew what she was looking at—sort of.
“It’s some kind of a grid,” she whispered, her breath fogging the windowpane. But why? What was the purpose?
“Ben!” Her voice echoed. Jumping from the chair, she ran for the hall and yelled again. “Ben! Are you down there?”
Nothing.
Practically tripping in her haste, she ran down the curved staircase.
The lobby was vacant.
“Ben!”
The kitchen was cold and empty.
He wasn’t on the wraparound porch. Ditto with the back porch.
What the heck could be taking him so long?
She had a feeling the grid was important, and maybe Ben would know why.
Grabbing the old quilt they’d dried on a peg by the back door, she wrapped it around and over her head like a colorful poncho. She stuck her feet into her cold, semiwet, and muddy deck shoes and leaped off the back porch.
It took a few seconds to get her bearings. If the hotel faced the Gulf of Mexico and the “safe” side of the island was the opposite, facing Sand Dollar, then she needed to head straight out from the back porch until she found water. Ben should be there by then, and maybe between the two of them, they could figure out what was with all the orange stuff.
Overgrown landscaping caught and tugged at her shorts, scraping her legs, as she slowly made her way into the vegetation. Every few minutes, she looked back, making sure she could still see the back of the hotel and that she was still going in a somewhat straight direction.
“Ow!” Her toe stubbed something hard, the pain vibrating up her shinbone.
It was a paving stone, shaped like the state of Texas.
A few feet beyond, she found two more, about a foot apart. A path! Of course there would be some kind of paths throughout the hotel grounds, if not the entire island.
Especially to direct guests toward the beach.
Practically skipping with excitement, she hopped from one stone to the next, checking her location every once in a while.
Through the haze and rain, a horizontal ribbon of deeper bluegray edged the horizon.
Ben paused at the opening of the little cave and listened to the sound of male voices. He didn’t recognize any of them. It was best not to take them by surprise. No need to jump to hasty conclusions, but he touched the fillet knife strapped to his waistband, just in case.
“Hello?” He edged into the darkness.
The voices quieted.
“Hello?” Ben repeated, walking slowly into the dimness. As he rounded a shallow curve, he saw four men, dressed in bright yellow slickers and waders, sitting around a small campfire.
They turned to look at him. The closest one stood.
“Hey,” Ben said, forcing a relaxed posture. “Storm catch you by surprise?”
The standing man shrugged and grinned. “Naw, we sort of expected it. It’s been predicted for the last few days.”
“You must be hard-core fishing fanatics to face these kinds of elements.” He smiled and extended his hand. “I’m Ben Adams, by the way.”
“Clay Mills.” The standing man shook Ben’s hand with a firm grip and looked directly into his eyes.
Ben’s grandmother had always said no one with something to hide would look you in the eye.
Ben prayed Gram knew what she was talking about.
He nodded.
Clay motioned to the other men. “This is T.J. Rutherford. The two misfits on the other side are Austin Packerd and Barry Lange.” His smile faltered as he looked out over Ben’s shoulder. “Wish the rain would ease up so we can get out of here.”
“Fishing sucks right after storms,” Ben said, and waited.
“Oh, we’re not fishing,” the man identified as T.J. said as he stood and turned to kick dirt onto the fire until it smothered.
“Oh. That’s not your boat out yonder?” And what about the four tackle boxes lined up against the wall of the cave?
; Clay followed his gaze and laughed. “I guess you’re wondering about the tackle boxes.”
“Yeah, it crossed my mind.”
“Those are for samples,” Austin said, picking up two and handing one to the man Clay identified as Barry.
“Samples? What are you, fucking Avon Ladies?” How stupid did these guys think he was?
All four laughed, but not like they really thought he was funny.
“I tell you,” Clay said as he donned his hat and slapped Ben on the back as they all headed for the mouth of the cave, “sometimes I think that would be easier. Unfortunately, it’s not anything that glamorous. We’re here to take soil samples. After we tag them and log ‘em in, we store ‘em in the tackle boxes.”
“Ah,” Ben said with a nod. “I guess you have your reasons, but why the hell would you do it in the middle of a tropical storm?”
“No choice. We’re on a deadline.”
A deadline for what, they weren’t saying. Ditto with the mysterious soil samples.
“Yeah,” Austin chimed in, “and thank God these are the last ones.”
Clay nodded. “Yep. We’ve been waiting for the storm to break, but it doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen anytime soon, so we’re outta here.”
They stepped into the rain and paused, all staring at the beached fishing boat.
“Hell of a place to dock your boat,” Ben said with a smile. “I don’t want to hold you men up, so—”
“Ben!” Reese appeared through the sea grass, then came sliding down the berm to scamper along the beach toward them, his grandmother’s old quilt flapping in the wind. “Ben, I need to talk to you about—oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize you weren’t alone.”
“Clay Mills.” Reese shook his extended hand. “I was just telling your husband—”
“What? He’s not my husband! He’s just …” What was he? Her boyfriend? No. Her lover? Well, technically, kind of, sort of. But it wasn’t any of this man’s business. “My employee,” she said for lack of a better way to describe their relationship.
It was probably wise not to glance in Ben’s direction. She’d have to explain it to him later.
Standing to one side, she watched as the men shook Ben’s hand and then pushed their boat into the water before climbing in. The motor caught on the second pull and they turned to head into the bay.
