The Summer of Us: A Romance Anthology

by AJ Matthews

  “I don’t know what my perfect life would be, but I do know one thing.” She waited. His eyes had lost their vulnerable look. Her heart thudded again, pounding in her ears and against his chest. She strained to feel his heartbeat, needed to know if his beat as wildly as hers. He seemed implacable. And silent. She wanted to prompt him but didn’t. He finally spoke again.

  “It would include you.” He rasped the words. She grasped at them and wanted to hear them again, wanted to capture them and hold them and to hold him. She moved more fully on top of him now and held his face in her hands as he moved his hands to hold her waist. She felt a tremor but it might have been her own.

  “Why are you telling me this? What does it mean?”

  He shook his head. Then he raked his hands up her back and through her hair and pushed her face toward his until he caught her lips with his mouth and latched on, nibbling and kissing and pulling her tightly to him. She wanted to be devoured by him, wanted to devour him, to revel in the taste of him, the salty harbor water mixed with sweat and that special flavor of Dane, strong and bitter and bold.

  The feel of his strong deft hands slipping inside her shorts and pressing into the flesh of her buttocks, cool and wet and maddeningly sensual. She moaned as her hips ground into his and the aching press of his cock found that sweet center between her thighs, spiraling her need and driving everything.

  When he pushed her shorts and panties from her hips, a surge of panic combined with the heart-pounding thrill. Her chest bubbled with excitement and she moved her hands over him, pulling at his clothes, reaching between them to find his zipper in the crush between their bodies.

  All the while, he never let go of her mouth, nipping and catching her bottom lip with his teeth and plunging his tongue to claim every corner in possessive strokes. When she freed his cock from his pants, he lifted her hips to fit himself between her legs. The shock of his bold move and the sudden quick separation followed by the intimate joining of his pulsing cock sliding deep and alive and penetrating shocked her senses so that she called out his name.

  He dragged her face back down to his and nuzzled her neck and whispered in her ear like a caress, endearments of every kind, words of love and promise and forever and never. His hard breathing and soft words and thundering heart and pulsing cock inside her filled her mind and became the entire world. The vibrating of her entire being surged until she could stand it no more and he pulled her hips close and moved in that way he had that made her scream at the agonizing jolt of pleasure and release in wave after wave of seemingly endless searing mind-melting ecstasy.

  He moved her hips with his strong hands in unrelenting rhythm against his, hard and fast until her world exploded again and he exploded inside her and she felt more searing heat and the swelling of pleasure went through her entire body, filling her chest and her mind like a white light, suspending her in time for a moment like a stop-motion picture.

  After what seemed like forever and as though she were returning from a different world from far away, from an imaginary universe without dimension, she came back. She felt the hard surface of his chest beneath hers as the heaving breaths slowed. She felt the tight hold of his arms around her relax. She became aware of the heat and sweat and the earthy scent of their lovemaking mingling with the heavy summer night air surrounding them. And then he whispered in her ear as he brought a hand up to touch and caress her hair as he always did.

  “You know I adore you.”

  The words sent a surge of warmth and a spasm of pleasure around his cock still inside her. He chuckled softly into her hair and nibbled her earlobe. She wanted the moment to last, but she already felt it slipping away.

  As happened on these rare occasions where they stole some intimacy, pretending they were a real couple, the lovemaking glow didn’t last and left them more distant. It was as if the lovemaking exposed the gap, making it seem wider when it was over. But Shana knew that wasn’t true. It was the fear filling the gap—the fear of exposure of what was there in their hearts and souls, the longing. They both needed to hide that from each other and from themselves too.

  So each time they made love, threatening to reveal their deep down heart’s desire, they doubled down on closing up, hiding and armoring themselves against the exposure.

  Dane rolled to his side so that she lay next to him, separate, and he zipped his pants. He looked over at her saying nothing, expressionless. He’d already shut down the tenderness, removed any trace of intimacy or vulnerability.

  Shana rose from the grass to a stand and left him. She shuddered from the chill of losing his warmth, of losing the tender moment. It terrified her. She pushed it all aside and ignored the scared pounding of her heart as she went inside the back door to the stifling heat of the beach shack. She walked straight to the shower, turned the cold water on full blast and stepped under the bracing chill of the spray.

  Chapter Four

  Shana avoided him the next day. He let her. He rose early, abandoning her warmth, but leaving a pot of coffee and a note for her. When he got to the end of the note, the compulsion to sign it struck him and he struck back. He dropped the pen without writing his name—or any closing—like “affectionately” or “yours truly.” Or “love.”

  It wasn’t that he was a coward. It was that he didn’t have it in him. He’d been there once—maybe twice. He’d lost whatever ability he had to trust that kind of bond. He knew it was poison. He knew his limits. He’d been a fool to tell her he adored her.

  He’d rather face down an ambush in a remote mountain village—again—than head into another romantic commitment. He told himself he was no fool.

  Somehow, he didn’t believe himself.

  That was the mood he’d left the house in and drove around town in, ran the beach in, ran down records in and returned home in. He had all the information he needed to go to the damn party and catch their damn thief. He’d half hoped he might run into the French pretender in town so he could drag her sweet ass into Cap’s police station and wring a confession from her, then call it a day. How hard would it be?

  Sweaty and not caring if he was the world’s biggest meanest bastard, he headed home. Shana hadn’t called him once. She was angry. Or maybe he imagined she was. She’d been avoiding him.

  Or maybe he’d been avoiding her.

  He flung open the screen door to the beach shack and then swore loud enough to scare the neighbors into hiding when he paced through the house to find Shana not there. That’s when he became aware of his raging need for her, to be with her, for her touch and for her loving and her barbs, for every scrap of her—good and bad—everything she had in her. The empty feeling surprised him. And reminded him—

  The door opened behind him as he stood in the kitchen and he spun around. His senses shot to awareness of her all at once. When her eyes met his, she stopped and backed up an almost imperceptible step. Hers looked startled and frightened and then worried. His chest tightened and that pit in his stomach pushed him forward. She stood her ground. Because she was Shana.

  “Where the hell have you been?” He wanted to yell the words, needed to feel the anger, but the relief overtook him before he could gain control and he let it as he pulled her into his sweat-soaked embrace. And she let him.

  “I was...” She never finished her sentence. She wrapped her arms around him.

  A phone rang. She moved to pull away and he clamped down, hard, holding her to him, spreading his hands along her spine and over her ass, her beautiful perfect round ass. She moved again. He clamped down again pulling her hips against his cock. It was diamond-cutter hard. She sighed and leaned into him, arching and fitting herself to him.

  They were back to playing house.

  The phone stopped ringing and when the answering machine came on, Dane realized it had been the house phone—the secure line—that had been ringing. They both came to attention then and he let go.

  “Give me a rain check on that,” he said. His voice sounded raw, like someone sawi
ng lumber with a dull blade. He went to his living room-turned-office, checked the message and cleared his throat before he picked up the phone and punched in the number. He wasn’t too surprised, but the caller ID made him smile.

  “Who was it?” Shana asked from close behind him. Dane drew a ragged breath and thought maybe they needed to take a shower. Together.

  “Jean Luc Ruse.”

  Chapter Five

  “I won’t bore you with preamble,” Jean Luc said in his perfectly charming French accent—or so women seemed to think, although Dane couldn’t see why. Refused to see why. Shana hovered over his shoulder, leaning on him, making him hot. So he forgave her the smile she wore for Jean Luc.

  “I suppose you’re calling to ask me to look after your niece while she’s visiting—you really should have called ahead, Jean Luc. Then we could have prevented all those jewels from going missing and your little niece wouldn’t have to get thrown in jail.”

  “Non. You have it all wrong. I am calling to tell you there is someone else. He has followed her to Martha’s Vineyard and he uses her entrée—”

  “Who?”

  “He has many aliases.”

  “Pick one.”

  “I’m not sure what he goes by. He is French, but one would never know it. He speaks many languages and can have either an American or British accent. He is middle aged—like yourself.”

  “Watch it—”

  “And he is dangerous. But don’t worry, Dane. He is not a womanizer. He is overweight and bald and not attractive. He may wear a toupée, he may have a moustache and glasses or he may not. He is short—”

  “So you’re telling me to watch out for a short, fat, middle-aged man and you have no other information on what he looks like or his nationality or name—that it?”

  A beat of silence followed. Dane wanted to sound dismissive, but he was not. Either Jean Luc was trying to throw them off his niece’s trail or he was concerned. Either way, Dane was paying attention.

  “I am sorry I don’t know more. She has felt like she’s being followed but has not been able to identify her tail. I will work on finding out more. Until then, I ask you something I know I have no right to ask you—for your help. I would like you to protect my niece.”

  Dane was about to respond when Jean Luc added, “I will pay you.”

  He slid his eyes to Shana’s to catch the jolt of pleasure he knew would be in her face and it sent a familiar sizzle through him.

  “You’re on. Does she know about it?”

  “Non. Do not tell her—she will never forgive me.”

  Dane didn’t waste an eye roll, but he wasn’t impressed with the charade.

  “Okay Jean Luc. I’ll watch out for her—and for this dangerous, fat, middle-aged man. I’ll see that he doesn’t go near her. Shana will work with me. But there’s one caveat.”

  “Yes? Of course.”

  “If she steals anything, all bets are off.”

  No response. Dane thought the line went dead after a few ticks, but then Jean Luc spoke up again.

  “All bets? You would have her arrested?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you say. Then that is the deal.”

  Dane was about to ask Jean Luc what he meant by his comment—but the line went dead and he wouldn’t have gotten a straight answer anyway. He put the receiver into its old-fashioned cradle and turned his attention back to Shana. She was vibrating with excitement and it didn’t matter to Dane that it was the case that had her in this state. He meant to take advantage.

  They made it to the party at the appointed time—before the other guests arrived—to check out and meet the staff. But it had been tight. Shana was anxious about the close call.

  “If we were late, that would have been unforgivably unprofessional.”

  “Almost doesn’t count, girlie.” Dane smiled and he tossed the keys to the valet, giving him a close look and committing his face to memory.

  They were driving his Jag tonight. The fact that he’d had it delivered from storage bought him all kinds of brownie points with Shana. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but for now, they were a couple. Not much of an undercover couple since everyone on the island knew who they were, but they were dressed to the nines and out at a posh soirée for the night—probably all night, if reports were correct.

  Shana had arranged for Ronnie Ryan, a twenty-something kid they knew who delivered food on the island and had proved trustworthy even if he was a goofball, to work the party as a server and wear an earpiece. She’d also arranged for Sassy, a twenty-something young lady they’d hired to help them with a baby they’d been protecting—and who also happened to be an excellent pie baker—to work in the kitchen with an earpiece. They figured they’d need extras to spot their fat middle-aged man whether he was a danger to Angelique or her accomplice. They weren’t sure which.

  Cap was told to keep uniforms clear since they wanted to catch the thief. Dane didn’t bother telling Mr. Gable they knew who the thief was. Shana would have killed him since she wanted to maximize their fees—or rather, do a thorough job.

  Mr. and Mrs. Gable, dressed in their finery, met them in the foyer after Shana rang the bell and waited a few beats. Mr. Gable whistled at Shana. Dane wondered what Mr. Gable would do if Dane whistled at Mrs. Gable. Shana read Dane’s mind and elbowed him in the ribs.

  “So you are an undercover couple?”

  “I don’t think that’ll work, Gable. You know everyone on this island knows who we are.”

  “Yes—that’s true—in fact my guests are very excited that you’ll be at the party. I’m afraid they’re hoping for some... action.”

  Dane thought they might need to triple their fee, whatever it was.

  “I will be playing an undercover role of sorts. We have a suspect—a very likely suspect. A woman. I’ll seduce her—”

  “Your role is to seduce a jewel thief?” Gable’s voice raised a couple octaves, but he checked it and returned to normal quickly. Gable’s eyes slid to Shana and back to Dane. Dane folded his arms across his chest, stood straighter and looked down at the man.

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Gable said. “It’s brilliant, in fact—an undercover agent seduces a lady jewel thief—it’s great—”

  “We’re not shooting a movie,” Dane said. Shana shifted closer to him—within elbowing distance. She caught him in the ribs with a move no one but he would notice.

  “Of course not. I understand this is serious business, but you have to admit there is potential for drama.”

  “Just stay out of the way and no one will get hurt,” Dane said. It was a completely unnecessary and irrelevant thing to say except to calm the guy down. Dane would have to ask him for the surveillance tapes later, or he had a feeling he and Shana might be the stars in another home movie highlight reel at cocktail parties around the globe or wherever this guy went. It occurred to him that he’d done his homework on everyone involved except their own client. Shana had taken care of that. Dane knew Gable made his money making films. But it didn’t matter what he did as long as he wasn’t a drug lord running a cartel.

  “Dane and I will do a check of the systems now and let you get to your own obligations. We’ll be in the main room—”

  “The ballroom,” he said.

  “Yes—when the guests begin arriving.”

  Dane and Shana stood shoulder to shoulder, almost like co-hosts of the party, inside the ballroom door with the Gables. The room remained cool in spite of the growing crowd.

  “Time for us to start circulating and keeping watch,” Dane said.

  “Angelique didn’t arrive yet—we need to keep our eye on her most of all.”

  “We split up. We can both keep our eye on the entry. Don’t forget—she likely has a partner. We need to spot the guy.”

  “You think the old fat guy—”

  “Middle-aged.”

  “You think he’s the accomplice?”

  “Yes. It’s classic. They’re setting him up to ta
ke the fall.”

  Shana nodded and leaned in. “Don’t wander too far. Remember—you’re mine at the end of the night.” Her green eyes sparkled under the perfect lighting of the chandeliers. The room was lively but not too bright. Her words jolted his blood to raging through his veins and he fisted his hands to keep from grabbing her by the hair and dragging her up the stairs in the main entryway. The thought of everyone seeing him drag her off excited him even more and he turned away as she left his side. He couldn’t afford to watch her bare back retreat into the crowd. He’d end up being drawn after her. Like the shutting of a rusty door, he put the thought of making love to Shana from his mind and focused on the room.

  The party—or soirée —was in full swing. Keeping one eye on the entry, Dane wandered toward the terrace doors past people in dinner jackets and tuxes and gowns and shimmering mini dresses and all kinds of sparkling jewelry on ears, necks, wrists, hands, and even ankles. They were drinking, eating and dancing to the swing band. He could imagine himself in a different era, but he wasn’t sure which one this party tried to emulate. It seemed like a mix of 20s, 40s and 60s. It felt like he was in a Best of Partying eras mash-up. He smiled as he reached the doors to the terrace and swung them open. The heat had abated some, but the air was still heavy. He looked out at late-night lights shimmering off the water and left the terrace doors open to let the AC drift out to the sultry night. It had cooled off just enough to be bearable. Most people had stayed inside. He could barely see the entrance from here. He pressed the control to his earpiece and spoke to Ronnie Ryan.

  “Cover for me—get your eyes on the front entry and look for our mark.”