by Sarah Morgan
“You don’t have to watch your words,” he said evenly. “You shouldn’t have to look before you take a step, Brittany. I booked the place because we’ve spent most of the last two weeks naked and feasting off grilled cheese sandwiches at two in the morning. I wanted to show you that your body isn’t the only thing that interests me. I wanted to have dinner with you.”
She was floored. Speechless. And confused.
She had no idea how to respond in a way that wouldn’t send him running, but fortunately she didn’t need to because he pulled up outside her cottage.
She wanted to ask what his plans were. Wanted to ask if he’d made any decisions about Philip and Camp Puffin, but she didn’t want to push him. She reasoned that if he had something to tell her about that, he’d tell her.
Instead of focusing on that, she focused on the cottage and the bay.
“I love it here. Leaving it seems to get harder every time.”
“Then don’t leave.”
She stared ahead, watching wispy clouds drift lazily across the horizon. Soon the leaves would turn and the temperature would drop. “Now that the plaster is off my wrist, there’s nothing to keep me here.” And she’d been putting off the decision about what to do next, a tiny part of her thinking, hoping—
Unwilling to accept even to herself what she’d been thinking and hoping, she slid out of the car.
Frustrated with herself, she stretched her hands into the air. “It feels amazing not to have that cast on my wrist—Zach!” she gasped as he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.
Breathless, laughing, she thumped his back. “What are you doing? Put me down—”
“I’ll put you down when I’m ready.” Pausing to toe off his shoes, he strode across the sand as if she weighed nothing.
When she realized what he intended to do, she started to squirm. “Don’t you dare drop me in the sea, Flynn. Put me down. Put me down! I’ll lose my flip-flops, soak my jeans, it’s freezing and—oh!” She felt a tug on her feet as Zach removed her flip-flops and dropped them on the sand and then he was wading into the water and she was laughing and clinging at the same time. “Don’t drop me!”
“A moment ago you wanted me to put you down. Make up your mind.”
“I’m going to kill you, Zach. I swear I’m going to—holy crap—” she gasped as he lowered her into the freezing water. “That is so cold!”
“All summer you’ve been telling me how much you missed swimming.”
She stood, shivering, as her calves turned slowly numb. “Obviously it was one of those memories I’d built up into something different in my head. Suddenly I’m missing the Mediterranean.”
“Wimp.” He was looking at her and she was facing out to sea, which was how she saw the wave racing towards them and he didn’t.
“Did you call me a wimp?” She held his gaze and timed it perfectly, her push sending him spluttering under the water.
He recovered quickly and grabbed her around the waist and she struggled to keep her balance, laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe.
“I’m soaked.”
“That’s what happens when you swim in the sea.”
“But people generally change into something more suitable, like a bathing suit or a wet suit. I can’t feel my legs. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I may have frostbite. You’ll have to fly me to the hospital again, Flynn.”
“I have other ways of warming you up. Better ways.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the water as another large wave rolled in and soaked the only part of her that was still dry.
Her hair was plastered to her forehead, her eyes stinging.
“These are my favorite jeans and now they’re stuck to my body and nothing short of a surgeon’s scalpel is going to be able to remove them. I swear I’m going to kill you.”
“Better do it inside. That way my body won’t be washed away.” Still holding her hand, he scooped up their shoes and together they walked towards the cottage.
Feeling the cool sand beneath her feet, she felt a pang of nostalgia. “When I was little, my grandmother used to pick me up and wash my feet off outside the door so I didn’t bring the sand indoors.”
Zach paused. “When your mother left, why didn’t she take you with her?”
“She was a single mother and I was settled in school and doing well. I loved the island.” She bent and brushed the sand from her feet. “I don’t remember my parents’ divorce being a great trauma. My father was away all the time when I was young anyway, so the divorce simply made it official. It didn’t change my day-to-day routine. And I always knew I was loved. I was lucky.” She sent him a look. “Is it hard for you to hear this?”
“That you had a happy childhood? No.” He reached out and smoothed a strand of damp, tangled hair from her face. “I’m glad you were happy. You deserve to be happy.”
So do you.
She kept the words in her head as she unlocked the door to the cottage. “My jeans weigh a ton.”
“I’m happy to help you with that, Dr. Forrest.” His hands closed over her shoulders and he lowered his mouth to her neck.
Heat shot through her and she closed her eyes. “How does that help? Or are you trying to melt me out of my pants?”
“Maybe I am.” He kicked the door shut behind them, took her hand and led her up to the bathroom.
“This shower is not built for two. It’s going to be cozy.”
“Cozy works for me.” He stripped off her jeans, T-shirt and underwear, followed by his own, and Brittany shivered and ran her hands over the hard planes of his chest.
She felt the familiar knot of scar tissue and pressed her mouth to it.
Tension rippled through him and he lowered his hands to her shoulders. His eyes were flinty dark, like the sky before a storm. “Don’t—”
“I wish none of that had happened to you.”
A muscle flickered in his cheek and he slid his fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp with his hand. “It’s all right.” His words were neutral but she felt the distance in him, that distance that she’d never totally managed to breach.
“Trust me, Zach.” She rose on her toes and ran her mouth over his jaw. “You don’t have to protect yourself anymore. Trust me not to hurt you. Let me in.”
There was a glitter in his eyes and an expression on his face that she didn’t recognize.
For a moment he stood perfectly still, and then he reached out and switched on the shower. She gasped as needle-sharp hot water cascaded over both of them, warming their skin.
He washed her, his clever fingers leaving no part of her undiscovered, and by the time he finally turned off the water she was trembling.
She tried to speak but tumbled straight into the penetrating heat of his kiss. Sensations blended together, racing over her skin and seeping into her pores. She was no longer cold but hot, feverishly hot, and he licked into her mouth, kissing her with intimate precision. She felt the heat of his palm slide up her rib cage and then he dragged his thumb over the tip of her breast and she went weak and pressed against him. “What time is dinner?”
“When we’re ready.” He wrapped her in a towel and carried her through to the bedroom, taking ruthless advantage of his superior strength as he flattened her to the bed.
“You’re going to make us late.”
He gave a slow, wicked smile. “Honey, I’m going to make you come.”
“Again? You’ve pretty much done nothing else for the past few weeks.” She laughed and then gasped as he spread her thighs. “Zach, stop—you can’t—we already—I don’t have time—I—Oh, God—” The laughter turned to a moan as she felt the slow, slippery sweep of his tongue against her most sensitive flesh. He explored her with ruthless skill, holding her captive as she writhed against the explicit torture.
She cried out his name and felt him rise above her, his body hard and heavy as he entered her with a single thrust that took him deep. She slid her
hands down the taut muscle of his back, almost sobbing with the relief of being able to finally hold him with both hands. His skin was warm and sleek and she slid her fingers lower, down to his backside, arching her hips to take him deeper still.
He groaned deep in his throat and surged forward, finding a perfect rhythm, filling not just her body but her head and her heart.
In a tiny corner of her mind, appearing like the merest wisp of a cloud on a perfect blue-sky day, was a niggling worry that he’d never lower that barrier enough to lose that control and for once, she wanted him to forget technique and make love with his heart and not just his body. She felt the rasp of stubble against her skin as he kissed her neck, the ripple of muscle and the hard strength of his body and then there was a subtle change in his rhythm and all thought left her as he drove her skillfully to climax.
It felt as if it would never end, her body closing around his, her inner muscles rippling down his shaft. It left them both spent and he rolled onto his back and took her with him, holding her firmly.
Dazed, she lay there, drifting out of a sexually induced slumber, feeling his hand gently stroke the curve of her hip, wanting to tell him she loved him but too scared of driving him away.
AS LUCK WOULD have it The Galleon was crowded, which meant there was no chance their presence would go unnoticed. And anyway, he’d known from the moment Brittany had walked into the kitchen of Castaway Cottage that going unnoticed was an impossibility.
She’d chosen to wear a short blue dress that revealed mile-long legs.
He’d taken one look at her and almost swallowed his tongue.
“I’ve changed my mind about going out.”
She’d smiled and walked past him towards the door. “I’m hungry, Flynn. You need to feed me before we go another round.” So now here they were, staring at each other over fine linen, sparkling silverware and the flicker of candles.
They ordered without paying too much attention to the menu or the other people seated in the restaurant.
“A toast to our first proper date?” She raised her glass and smiled, her mouth a glossy curve.
He kept his expression neutral. “I have a distinct memory of buying you a pepperoni pizza from Jack’s. I can’t believe that moment isn’t etched into your memory.”
“Actually it is. It was great pizza. We ate it on South Beach. That was the night I decided I was going to have sex with you. It was two days after my eighteenth birthday.”
Zach felt hot all over. “I remember that night.”
“I dragged you to the cave and tried to get you naked. You showed a frustrating degree of self-control.” She leaned forward, silver earrings swinging. “I like the way you look in a jacket and tie. Makes me want to unwrap you.”
“So unwrap me.” Anything to reduce the sweltering heat. He wanted to fling open a window or demand that the restaurant staff turn up the air-conditioning.
“Not yet. Part of the fun is the anticipation. I bet you were one of those kids who opened all your presents on Christmas Eve.” Her merry smile faded and she looked guilty. “I’m sorry. That was so thoughtless of me. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“For being tactless.” She looked annoyed with herself. “Christmas must have been a horrible time for you.”
“It was no different from any other day.”
“That’s what I mean. It was a thoughtless thing to say.” She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Again, I’m sorry.”
“You have no reason to be sorry. I’ve told you, you don’t need to watch where you step with me.”
“When I hurt a friend, I apologize.”
“I can’t imagine you hurting anyone.”
“Not intentionally, but we’re all human. And when I’m more human than I’d like to be, I apologize.” Her light tone was in direct contrast to the firm grip of her fingers.
He glanced down. Her nails were short and gleamed with clear polish, her fingers slim and delicate compared to his.
He didn’t know whether it was the warmth of her hand or the compassion in her voice, but something unraveled inside him.
“My first year in foster care, they had a large Christmas tree.” The words came from nowhere, without any forward planning on his part. “It was the first time I’d seen one up close. It was covered in huge sparkly decorations and chocolate wrapped in shiny paper.”
Her eyes lit up with humor and understanding. “You ate the chocolate. Of course you did. You were a kid. There was chocolate on the tree. It’s a no-brainer. And then you were probably sick.”
He could stop now.
He could let her leave with that version of the story in her head.
Or he could tell her the truth.
“I’d never tasted chocolate before, but I’d been hungry often enough to have learned that when I saw food it was best to take it. I took it.”
“Crap, Zach—” The laughter had gone from her eyes but her hand stayed on his. “You were hungry?”
“Most of the time. Sometimes I managed to steal something from the fridge, but there were plenty of days where there was no food in the house.” Days when the vicious gnawing pains in his stomach had been so bad he would have eaten just about anything that could be chewed and swallowed. “There was a grocery store close to our apartment.” He wondered if apartment was really the right word to describe the cramped, filthy space that had been his home growing up. “I often helped myself to breakfast.”
“Did they catch you?”
“No. I made sure they didn’t. Or maybe they guessed but decided letting a bony kid eat one meal was their charitable act for the day. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “On my first day with my foster family, I opened their fridge and it was full of food. I ate everything I could cram into my mouth.”
“I hope they refilled the fridge instantly. Did they have kids of their own?”
“Their kids had grown up and left home. I was their first foster kid. Their good deed. The way they were judged by the community. In their own way they kept me as trapped as my mother had. They didn’t trust me not to screw up and embarrass them.” He sat back as their food was delivered. “They deserved an easier start than me. I didn’t fit their notion of a dream child. They were expecting gratitude, but by then I knew that the only person looking out for me was myself. I was all about survival. I ate their food and I slept in clean sheets, but I gave them nothing in return except an almighty headache.”
“If they knew your background, then I’m sure they understood.” Still she didn’t remove her hand and Zach realized he didn’t want her to remove it.
“There was no way people like that could have understood.”
“Not what you’d been through,” she spoke softly, “but they should have understood that after the way you’d been forced to live your life, it wouldn’t be easy to gain your trust.”
“I think they spent too much time trying to anticipate what I’d do next to even think about gaining my trust. I stole food from the fridge and I couldn’t sleep in a bedroom without moving the furniture in front of the door. I broke two lamps and a chair hauling things across the room. The final straw was when my foster mother crept into the room one night to check on me. It was one of those rare occasions I was asleep. I woke up to find someone leaning over me. That had always been bad news in the past, so I attacked her. Things got a little messy after that. Four months after I arrived with them I was moved to another family, but not before they’d made sure I knew how disappointed they were by my failure to magically transform into the child they’d dreamed of. The social worker told me a while later that they’d adopted a baby. I’m sure that was the right thing for them. They needed a child who hadn’t formed any bad habits. A child who wasn’t going to rearrange the furniture and store food under the bed just in case there wasn’t any next time he looked.” While he’d been talking, the food had grown cold and their server had twice approached their table only to retreat when
Brittany had given a brief shake of her head. “We should eat.”
“I’m more interested in talking to you than eating the food.”
“If I’d known that I would have ordered takeout and eaten it on the beach.”
“I wouldn’t have worn this dress on the beach.” She leaned forward slightly, the neckline hinting at the tempting dip between her breasts.
“In that case I’m glad I booked this place.”
Zach discovered he didn’t care that the food was cold because he couldn’t taste it anyway.
When he bought a woman dinner it was usually a precursor to sex. Everything from the exchange of looks to the conversation was leading up to that moment. There was very little that was personal about it.
But tonight felt personal.
Tonight felt different, which was why he’d—
Hell. “I’m sorry I told you all that.”
Her gaze lifted to his and he saw kindness and warmth in his eyes. “Why? Because it makes you feel uncomfortable or because you’re worried it makes me feel uncomfortable?”
“Both.”
“I’m sure it’s hard for you to talk about it, but it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Angry, definitely, and a little sick to my stomach if I’m honest, but not uncomfortable. I’m glad you told me. Given your start in life, it’s a surprise you turned out so well. You were the human equivalent of Jaws.” She finished her food, a delicate tartlet of red pepper and goat’s cheese that had been more than happy to wait for her attention. “This is good.”
“You think I’m like Jaws?” He appreciated her attempt at humor. “Physically or psychologically?”
“Physically Jaws is by far the most attractive, I’m sure you know that.” She put down her fork, and sighed. “You lost trust in humans, and no one would blame you for that. Thank goodness for Philip and Celia. How is Philip, by the way?
“Refusing to believe he needs to give up doing some of the things he loves.”
“Has he asked you to take over?”
