Waves of Romance: Contemporary Romance (Holidays Beach Read Book 2)

by Lori Ann Mitchell

  Waves of Romance

  By

  Lori Ann Mitchell

  Waves of Romance Lori Ann Mitchell

  Copyright© 2015 by Lori Ann Michell.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

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  Table of contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Prologue

  Sage Drake felt the cool water cascade over her suntanned body, washing off the surf wax and sand, the salt and coconut sunscreen as, at the next nozzle, Derek Chambers did the same.

  Though by now she knew, intimately, every nook and cranny of his tall, lean body, Sage couldn’t help but sneak peeks at her handsome boyfriend every chance she could. Water from the beach access shower splashed down onto his broad shoulders and lean torso, drizzling all over – and through – his baggy board shorts before dripping down his tapering legs. If you looked up “surfer” in the dictionary, chances are you’d see a picture of Derek: Sun-kissed and charming, happy and free, lean and spray and sexy as hell. And he was hers; all hers.

  Sage loved this time of day, late afternoon, early evening, the sky a heady blue while the horizon was tinged with hints of orange and black. The shadows fell on Derek’s sexy body and, even as she wriggled around in her new bikini, Sage could hardly believe that this was her life – and that he was her man.

  Ten years her junior, Derek was sex on a surfboard, and hers – all hers. Another reason she loved this time of day was because Sage knew that after drying off and grabbing a beer or two and some friend clams at Shuckers Raw Bar, they would drift quickly back to Derek’s rented cottage on Sawgrass Lane.

  There, with the day’s last light weakening outside Derek’s cozy two-story cottage, they would be moments away from slipping from their damp bathing suits and tumbling into each other’s arms, naked and sunburned, sore from the long session in the surf but more than ready for another hour – or more – in Derek’s bed, putting in another kind of “workout” all their own.

  Sage noticed the water turning off and glanced up at Derek’s face. “Clam strip for your thoughts,” he said, referring to their longstanding “date” at Shuckers, the raw bar next to their favorite beach access and home to the biggest plate of clam strips this side of Nantucket.

  “Nothing specific,” she said, turning off her nozzle as well. “Just happy, I suppose.”

  “Same here,” he said, handing her a warm, thirsty beach towel. “I love this time of day, and I love it even more with you here by my side.”

  He smiled his crooked smile, brown eyes soft in the fading sunlight. “You mean that?” she asked, running the towel over her wet hair.

  He inched closer, helping to dry her off with the oversized towel. “I mean it every time I say it, Sage,” he scolded her playfully. “So stop asking me if I mean it every time I say it!”

  He shook her shoulders playfully before returning to dry himself. They dressed, Sage’s belly warm with desire and anticipation. She slid into her favorite cover-up, a black sundress Derek had bought her at one of their weekend excursions through the local surf shops in Seaside, Florida, most of which she’d never even walked in before, despite growing up in town and living there all her life.

  It was comfortable while still dressy and, with her brown sandals and sun-kissed skin, was the perfect fit for happy hour at Shuckers. They carried their boards to the back deck and leaned them against the railing next to their favorite table, a two top in the corner overlooking the frothy blue and green Atlantic Ocean, their own personal playground.

  “The usual?” asked Fiona, a young mother who seemed to work at Shuckers nearly every day. At least, every day Sage and Derek went there. Which, Sage just realized… was practically every day!

  “Please,” Derek replied, settling into his chair and peering back at Sage across the cramped little table.

  He looked crisp and clean in his soft blue surfer’s hoodie, thin and clinging to his lean, muscular frame. His hair had grown out from the short stubble he’d favored when they first met months earlier and now looked adorably shaggy, a dirty blond mane that wreathed his young, handsome face. She kept waiting for a photographer to leap from behind the potted palm behind them and offer to take his picture for the cover of the next edition Surfer magazine.

  “One surfer’s special for the happy couple,” said Fiona, placing a pitcher of Corona, two glasses and a steaming basket of fried clams between them. “Enjoy you two!”

  Derek poured them each a beer, cold and frothy as they waited for the clams to cool. They sat, the soft sea breeze drying their hair as the afternoon’s long surf session left Sage’s limbs pleasantly sore and rubbery. Like the sun on her hair or the salt on her skin or Derek’s lips on the back of her neck, it was one of her favorite new sensations, and one she could hardly believe she lived so long without.

  “Look at you,” Derek said after a few long, healthy sips of beer. “A surfer girl, through and through.”

  “Don’t tease me,” she said, topping their beers off and snagging a still-too-hot clam.

  “I’m not,” he said. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, Sage. You look like you’ve been surfing all your life.”

  She shrugged. “I just can’t believe I never picked up a board before I met you.”

  “Me either. You’re so good at it.”

  “Please,” she scoffed, waving away his compliment. “I had the finest teacher…”

  “Please,” he said, mimicking her playfully. “I can remember a girl who wouldn’t leave the bookstore to go the emergency room, let alone shred fat waves every afternoon. And now look at you, drinking in the middle of the day just like a proper surf rat.”

  “I trust Heather,” she said, referring to her favorite assistant manager and all-around go-to employee. “Besides, all work and no play makes Sage a dull girl. Weren’t you the one who told me that, once upon a time?”

  He nodded, reaching for a clam strip before wolfing it down and reaching for a few more. “Take it from me, Sage, you’re never dull.”

  “Not anymore maybe.”

  He nodded begrudgingly. “You have loosened up these last few months,” he confessed.

  She slid her bare, sandy feet across his. “That’s one way of putting it,” she purred, feeling the vague tingle beneath her bikini that crept up, like clockwork, this time every day.

  “I’m serious,” he said, though she felt his feet press back, tenderly, against hers in a way that indicated he had more on his mind than clam strips and beer. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, with us, but… I know I like it.”

  “Me too,” she said, reaching for a few more clam strips. She had seen, and ignored, the “Surfer’s Special” on the Shuckers menu for years, but now she knew why it was called that: The salty fried clams and cold tap beer were the perfect combo after hours in the surf trying to keep up with Derek. Not too heavy, not too light, they were satisfying and yet didn’t make her too full or sluggish to enjoy the “dessert” that would come once she’d tugged down Derek’s baggies in the foyer of his sandy beach co
ttage.

  Fiona, spotting the signs, drifted over with a check almost just as Sage was reaching for the crumpled twenty dollar bill inside her cinch sack. “Isn’t it my turn?” Derek asked, snatching the last clam strip in the greasy basket before winking playfully at their waitress.

  “I think you bought yesterday,” Sage mumbled as Fiona brought back her change.

  “Or the day before,” he chuckled. “They’re all kind of running together at this point.”

  She left a five from the change for Fiona’s tip and stood, shivering with delight as Derek followed her and slid her cinch sack over one shoulder, then the next.

  “Not that I’m complaining,” he murmured in his ear as they drifted off the Shuckers deck before grabbing their boards for the quick walk home.

  Not surprisingly, the streets were deserted this time of day. Seaside, Florida wasn’t exactly known for its rush hour but, instead, it’s slow, steady, quiet pace that defied a 9 to 5 lifestyle. They walked quietly toward Sawgrass Lane, a tiny stretch of seaside Victorian cottages a block from the beach. Derek’s was shabbily quaint as they drifted up the warped front steps to rest their boards along the weathered outer railing. Looking down the crooked row of similar cottages, each unique in its own quaintness, Sage noted the dozen or more boards resting in similar positions.

  It felt good to be part of the club of local surfers rather than outside looking in as she’d been for most of her life. Like her new attitude about clam strips and beer during the day or shredding the waves instead of stocking the shelves back at her bookstore, Sequels, it was one more thing she had Derek to be thankful for.

  He opened the door and, as she drifted in, he reached for her arm, turning her gently around to face him. The small motion left her breathless, both with surprise and anticipation. There, in the doorway, he leaned in to smother her mouth with his own. When at last he let her loose, both of them breathless, she leaned back against the door jam.

  No matter how often Derek kissed her, each time still felt like the first time; the best time. Would it always feel like this? She thought, peering back into his eyes as he studied her body, up, down and sideways. Regardless of the answer, Sage had long since given up feeling foolish about it and, instead, embraced the “high school crush” feeling she got whenever she and Derek were together.

  “Sorry,” he apologized, reaching for her once more. “I just couldn’t wait any longer to do that.”

  “Who said you had to?” she asked with a husky voice, dragging him inside the foyer and swinging the door shut behind them with a practiced ease. Sage had always envied women who were so casual about sex, who could talk about it, even brag about it, as if it were no big thing. Who could have it every day, all day, and never tire of it. Now that she and Derek were together, she understood how powerful passionate, intimate sex with a true, trusted lover could be. She also realized that, like oxygen, one could never get “too much” good sex.

  More so than the physical sensations, although they were never less than intense and frequently earth shattering, Sage simply loved the feeling of being in love; of having someone in her life, someone kind and generous, thoughtful and giving, in and out of the bedroom. Whether it was handing her a beach towel as they showered off after surfing, or holding a door open or just cuddling up in front of the TV at night, or chilling next to each other on the deck with their morning coffee, his companionship was as sexy as, well… his sex.

  As if reading her mind, Derek chuckled and, wordlessly, tugged at the back of her bikini top. It slid from her torso with a delightful rasp against her tender breasts, pale where the rest of her body was tan, nipples almost instantly taut as he caressed them with loving, knowing fingers.

  “Mmmmmm,” she murmured, writhing beneath his touch as a mere tug of her fingers along the waistband dragged the baggy swim trunks off his narrow waist and down to the floor. They pooled around his ankles until he kicked them off. He, too, had glorious tan lines, from his pelvis to mid-thigh, his dirty blond pubic hair unruly around his thickening staff, taunting and tempting her with his rich, curly silkiness.

  “Jesus,” he said as she took him in hand, never tiring of the velvety feel of his thick, rigid cock. “I still can’t get enough of you.”

  “Me either,” she panted as, with one hand still tending to her breasts, Derek dragged the skimpy bikini bottom from her waist and down her long, willowy legs. She stepped out of her suit as eagerly as he had doffed his own until, still in the foyer, they clung to each other, naked and panting, skin still salty from the sea no matter how many showers they took.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he grunted as, pressing her against the wall, he reached down to guide himself inside of her. He fit like a puzzle piece, gently sliding in, deep, hard and wet, as they began to writhe with an almost familiar rhythm.

  She could hardly believe this was her, backed against the wall of his beach cottage, a young surfer passionately thrusting inside of her, her teeth biting down gently against the salty, tan skin of his shoulder to still the wanton squeals that even now threatened to burst forth from between her lips.

  Whatever physical pleasure Derek gave her, Sage would always be grateful to him for the life he’d given her as well. For so long she’d been sheltered in her bookstore, hiding – quite literally – behind the café counter or inside the stacks of books from the life she felt unworthy of living. As if in hibernation, she had been merely existing, not knowing she was living only half-a-life. At least, not until he showed up that day, carefree and handsome, offering to read from his latest travelogue.

  Outside her store, the sun shone and the waves crested and for years – her entire lifetime, in fact – she had ignored them for the safety, serenity and comfort of her family bookstore, Sequels. She had been content, comfortable, and it was enough… for a while.

  But Derek had offered his hand, and his friendship, his guidance and his youthful energy to gently drag off her work apron and thrust her into the waves. Despite her fear and hesitance, he had not only taught her to surf, but how to live as well. And now, nearly every afternoon, he showed his love in dozens of ways, and not just the feverish thrusting that never failed to make her climax, often multiple times, from the sheer pleasure that he, and their life together, gave her.

  He was gentle and kind, trustworthy and sensitive, funny and wise in ways she never thought a twenty-two year old could be. “Where are you?” he asked, seeming to know her mind was elsewhere even despite the little pants and squeals that meant she was on the verge of coming as he pressed her back to the wall, his pelvis gently wavering against her own.

  She chuckled, throatily, a lover’s sound, and clung even tighter to him. “Right where I want to be,” she grunted and, as if in agreement, he thrust even faster, harder, hotter and wetter, every inch of him gliding along her throbbing bud until the tension grew to a dizzying degree.

  Sage felt the old familiar heat building, cresting to its inevitable release even as she willed her body to enjoy every moment of Derek’s tender, loving thrusts and pulls, drags and pumps, grinds and grunts. She heard herself moaning with pleasure, back gently pounding against the foyer wall as his thrusting intensified. They had long ago knocked down every picture and wall hanging in the rental unit and, fearing a repeat performance, simply left the wall bare so they could screw, anywhere, anytime they saw fit – black and white framed palm tree prints be damned.

  She clung to him, his loving tender and giving, body flawless and dripping in the summer heat. She could cling to him forever, Sage thought, as she closed her eyes and gave herself over to the throbbing and thrumming inside of her. They rode each other until the moans became whimpers, until the gasps became squeals, until they had both shuddered and come and leaned against each other, panting and desperate to catch their breath.

  He let her down carefully and, naked and sweaty, damp and sticky, they drifted into his bedroom. White sheets lay beneath an open window, matching curtains flutt
ering in the late afternoon breeze as they lay next to each other, hearts pounding, skin ablaze and still salty from the sea.

  He kissed her neck, damp with sweat, then rolled over and quickly fell to sleep. She smiled and lay on her back, peering up at the ceiling, smiling and content as her breathing returned to normal and her heart slowed from pounding against her chest.

  As much as she loved the surfing, the sand and the sex, Sage loved the moments in bed afterward, quiet and alone, almost as much. Here she could keep Derek close, and her emotions closer. Some days she smiled so much, so happy and afraid that something might happen, that tears sprang from her eyes and slid down her smiling cheeks.

  Today was one of those days…

  Chapter 1:

  Sage

  Sage was admiring a bevy of new titles in the “New Releases” section as the afternoon dragged on. Business was usually slow this time of day, and she enjoyed the freedom to roam around the bookstore, straightening shelves and listening to the smooth jazz ooze overhead. A fresh pot of cinnamon cream coffee was brewing, filling the entire store with a rich, spicy aroma.

  “Sage?” asked Heather, her favorite part-timer.

  Sage turned, noting the look of concern on Heather’s young, pretty face. “Heather,” she said, startled. “What’s wrong?”

  Heather avoided her eyes, straightening a stack of bestsellers Sage had just finished straightening only moments earlier! “Nothing,” she said. “I mean, nothing major.” At last she looked up, soft brown eyes apologetic. “Can we… can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  “Only if it’s cinnamon cream,” Sage said, linking her arm in Heather’s as they walked back to the café section of Sequels, her bookstore-slash-coffee shop-slash-bakery. “You know it’s my favorite.”

  “Yeah,” said Heather, softly, as she drifted behind the counter and slid two clean mugs over on the bar. They were a lovely shade of avocado green, with “Sequels” spelled out in simple white cursive on the side. “That’s why I brewed it.”