Barefoot at Sunset (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 1)

by Roxanne St Claire

  Lost. Emma was lost in the sensations that rolled over her. Heat and desire that coiled through her chest. Achy anticipation tightened her lower half. Every inch of her body sparked as if his fingers held electric charges.

  He easily peeled off her pants and stood to strip his own. They were down to nothing but her lacy thong and his fully engorged boxer briefs before either one slowed down for a second.

  When he did, in that last moment of suspended expectation, Mark got up and pulled the bed drape, then walked around to the other side and did the same. Through the sheer fabric, she watched him open the nightstand drawer and take something out. Then he closed the final pane at the bottom and climbed in, cocooning them in their own intimate, sexy, secret world.

  He set a condom packet by the pillow and slid her higher on the bed. Next to her, he moved his gaze over her, up and down, as heated as his hands. Finally, he circled his finger around one nipple, staring at the response he elicited.

  “Beautiful Emma,” he whispered, his finger so light it was as if he was afraid he’d break her. She looked up at him, the closed drapes diffusing the light and accenting the angles of his chest and the darkness of the hair between his pecs.

  Talk about beautiful. Even she had no words.

  He trailed his finger down her stomach, circling her navel and making her smile when it tickled.

  “I don’t want to rush this,” he said.

  “Kind of hard not to.”

  “First time should be special.”

  She exhaled softly. “It is special.”

  He slipped his finger into the lace band of her panties, then took it out again, drawing a line up her stomach. “You’re so damn smooth.”

  “Oil and body scrub. Yours are the second hands that have been all over me today.”

  His eyes shuttered as if her statement hit him hard. “No more. Just mine.” He underscored that by spreading both palms over her, then moving on top of her, straddling again. “Mine for the week. Mine for…” His gaze lifted from her body to her eyes, his blue eyes surprisingly intense.

  “For now,” she finished. “Emphasis on…” She lifted her hips under him, trying to let him know how ready she was. “Now.”

  He laughed softly. “Woman, I’m going to have to teach you how to cherish the moment. In fact, I think I’ll take all night and day to teach you.” With a teasing smile, he lowered his face and kissed her briefly on the lips, then worked his way down, leaving a fiery trail over her body.

  She surrendered to his mouth and kisses that were slow and thorough and insanely deep. He touched everywhere, exploring, licking, tasting, and blowing soft breaths on her skin until she whimpered and sighed. He finally slipped off her panties and kissed each thigh, spreading her legs to torture her with his tongue and take her right to the brink of satisfaction.

  She hung there while he made his way back up. Mark let her strip him naked so she could close her hands over a thick, solid erection that pulsed with his need. She ached to taste him, too, but he gave her the condom to sheathe him. Purring with pleasure, she slid her hands over his shaft. Again and again, memorizing every inch of it.

  On top of her, he pulled her legs around him, braced himself over her, and looked at her for what felt like an impossibly long time, but was probably only a few seconds.

  She lifted her brows. “Do you want me to beg?”

  “No…” He let the tip inside. “I want you to feel. Everything. Every second. Every shudder. Every time I move in and out. Don’t miss a thing, Em.”

  “Okay.” She grabbed the hard muscles of his backside and tried to pull him in faster, but he laughed softly.

  “Why are you in such a hurry?”

  “Desperation?” Her voice cracked a little, but he just smiled.

  “We have all the time in the world.”

  They had a week. But now didn’t seem like the perfect time to remind him of that. “Mark,” she whispered into a kiss. “I really want you inside me.”

  It was enough to put him over the edge, making him thrust in deeper. All the way, filling her, making her cry out with the perfection of their joined bodies.

  He stayed all the way inside her, holding perfectly still for one second, two, three, looking into her eyes, balancing them both in midair, breathless. And then he let go, plunging in and out very slowly at first, then building to a perfect, natural, sexy rhythm. He moaned her name and groaned with need and dragged her right along to the edge of complete surrender.

  And one more time he held them there, poised on the cliff of pure ecstasy, suspended, every stroke and touch one step closer to falling, falling, falling into his arms.

  Into him.

  Pleasure finally won, pulling her over waves and waves of exquisite sensations, dragging her through an orgasm so long and intense it almost hurt. He pumped, then slowed, pushed, then stopped. Then it started all over again, until there was another crash, another surrender, another cry from her lips as she came again.

  And just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he lifted her backside enough to reposition them and drove into her with merciless command, forcing her shattered and satisfied body to squeeze out one more blinding climax.

  The last one was best of all, sweet and endless and perfect, because he came with her. Eyes closed, he lost control and pumped her full of himself with sexy sounds until all he could say was her name. Over and over again. Emma.

  Emma.

  No one had ever said her name like that. No one had ever made her come three times in a row. No one had ever made her wait so long or want so much. No one…until a perfect stranger who, by his own admission, would only ever love one woman.

  And that wasn’t her.

  Forget the ticking clock. It wasn’t the short-term present or unknown future that worked against her with Mark. It was the past.

  Had she forgotten what she was “up against”? The memory of his soul mate, who could never be replaced.

  She closed her eyes and tried to erase the thought with the sound of her name on his every breath, wrapping her arms around his neck until their breathing steadied and their sweat dried and their hearts slowed to a normal beat.

  Except, after that? Emma was afraid nothing about her heart would ever be normal again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I can only imagine how you’d describe this,” Mark said, laying his head back on the marble tub while he tried to decide if it was worth it to remove his hands from the sweet, soft spots of Emma’s body to get a drink of champagne from the plastic glasses they’d brought in with them.

  “Take a guess,” she said, nestling her back flat against his chest and lifting her long leg up to let the bubbles drift over her silky skin.

  “Wet, warm, and wonderful?” he suggested.

  “A little elementary, but you did incorporate alliteration. There’s hope for you yet. Try describing what you’re feeling.”

  “Umm…hard again?” He pressed against her backside so she knew he wasn’t kidding.

  She laughed and jabbed him lightly with her elbow. “Not in my brochure, Mr. Solomon.”

  He stroked her bare breast, thumbing her. “It’s been a long time since I only needed a few hours to recover,” he admitted. “I like it.”

  She sighed. “You know what I really like about you?”

  He rocked his pelvis again as an answer.

  “Besides that,” she joked. “I like that you are one hundred and fifty percent honest.”

  “We had a deal, remember?” Although, a little shadow of guilt darkened the corners of his conscience. He hadn’t been one hundred and fifty percent honest with her—not about her ex.

  “I don’t think I needed to ask for that favor of honesty, though,” she said, reaching for her drink. “You’re a fundamentally honest person.”

  “Mostly.”

  “When’s the last time you lied?” she asked.

  “Lies can be of omission, you know.” He moved his hand from her breast to take
a deep drink, wishing he hadn’t agreed to champagne just to see her pop the cork without fear. He’d prefer Scotch for this conversation.

  “Really? What haven’t you told me that you should?”

  Shit. Way to ruin a perfectly good round two. The minute he told her that he knew Kyle Chambers had left her for another woman, she’d spiral. Who wouldn’t? She’d be hurt all over again, and she’d be ticked at him for not telling her sooner.

  Maybe he should do this over food. Dressed. Pushing up, he managed to climb out of the soapy tub. “It’s almost eight o’clock, and I’m starved. In or out tonight?”

  She looked up at him, her gaze dropping over his body and lingering on his partial erection. One touch—hell, that look for two more seconds—and he’d be at full staff and ready to go again.

  “As much as I like the idea of going out to dinner, I’m a little over the rich restaurant food,” she said. “I saw some pasta and the basic makings for a salad in the kitchen. Too pedestrian for you?”

  “Are you kidding? I love that idea. Let’s cook dinner.”

  She reached up and ran her hand up his thigh, settling just below his balls. “Unless you want to try it fast and furious this time.”

  “Fast is for teenagers. Slow is for lovers.”

  She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “I will make a copywriter out of you yet.”

  Laughing, he stepped into the shower and rinsed off the bubbles with cold water, which helped deaden his arousal—a little, anyway—then walked into the bedroom to grab some loose-fitting linen pants, skipping anything under them.

  He stuck his head in the bathroom to tell her he was going to start boiling the water, but didn’t say anything when he found her still in the tub, pressing her fingertips into her temples as if her head ached. “Stop,” she whispered to herself. “Just stop.”

  “Emma.”

  She turned, startled.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She smiled, but it was tight and didn’t reach her eyes. “Never been better.”

  “Now who is lying by omission?” He stepped into the bathroom. “What’s wrong?”

  “Would it be totally breaking the rules if I lie and say the champagne gave me a headache?”

  “Yes. Tell me what’s the matter,” he said simply, coming closer.

  “Nothing,” she replied.

  “Emma.”

  “I mean that’s the problem. Nothing is wrong…with you. You’re perfect, and this is…not real, and I’m having a moment, okay?”

  “Plenty is wrong with me.” He sat on the side of the tub and reached out to her wet hair. “And I really don’t like when you look unhappy.”

  “See?” she asked, holding up her hands as if her point had been made.

  “Not…entirely.” He tread lightly, knowing better than to contradict a naked woman making confessions in the bath.

  “I know I said no regrets or second-guessing or morning-after doubts, but…” She shook her head and looked outside, more to avoid his gaze, he suspected, than to appreciate the water view.

  He stroked a finger over her bare arm. “It’s not the morning after yet, and you’re allowed to doubt. What brought this on?”

  “The third orgasm?” she said with a crack in her voice.

  “Should we go for four, five, and six? Maybe they’ll cancel the others out.”

  “I won’t be able to walk, let alone dance.”

  “How about we eat and talk? We need to talk.” Talk…about truths. Although, if she was having doubts about having sex with him, he’d just rock her whole world by dumping the truth about Kyle on top of her. That just wasn’t fair.

  But not telling her wasn’t fair, either.

  “Talk about what?”

  He sighed. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

  Her eyes widened in horror. “Please, oh God, please don’t hit me with something like you’re married.” Her voice rose and tightened. “Please—”

  “Emma!” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Of course I’m not married. I’m one hundred percent single and free to do this. Put that out of your mind.”

  “Whew. Okay. ’Cause, whoa, liars and cheats. I can’t take them.”

  Shit. Double shit. Son of a bitch shit, he was about to hurt her with the truth about her ex.

  “Okay,” she said, sounding lighter. “Go start the pasta water, and I’ll shower off the suds and be with you in a few minutes.”

  He took her chin in his hand and leaned over, planting a kiss on her mouth. “Take your time,” he said, and meant it. He’d need a few minutes to come up with how to tell her in a way that wouldn’t completely destroy her heart.

  How had he started caring about her so fast, he wondered as he filled a pot with water. It had been only a couple of days. A crazy charade, a walk on the beach, a few good car rides, some dancing…and one mind-blowing afternoon in bed.

  But the thought of seeing her hurt tore him to shreds. He put the pot on a back burner and closed his eyes with a sigh.

  “I know what it is.”

  At Emma’s words, he turned to find her on a barstool, facing the kitchen. She wore a loose-fitting beach cover-up with no bra, the shapes of her breasts and points of her nipples evident enough to make his mouth water with the memory of tasting them.

  “What what is?” he asked.

  “What you want to tell me.”

  No, she didn’t. She couldn’t. She’d brought the half bottle of champagne they’d been drinking to the counter, and he nodded to it. “Can I get you a fresh glass? No plastic this time.”

  She rested her chin on the heel of her hand as she studied him, ignoring his question. “You don’t want to tell me,” she said. “Why is that?”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  “In fact, you’ve gone to great lengths so that I don’t find out.” She angled her head. “Why?”

  He swallowed and braced himself on the counter, facing her. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  She frowned, drawing back. “I’d be hurt if I knew where you went this afternoon?”

  That’s what she thought he was holding back?

  “Is that why you never answered me when I asked you where you went?” she asked. When he frowned, she said, “Remember when we were leaving the spa, and I asked you where you’d been? You changed the subject.”

  He actually had no memory of that and hadn’t changed the subject on purpose, but slowly, the possibility of telling her something that wouldn’t hurt her formed in his mind.

  Was it wrong? Was it too easy?

  “I thought you might…” As he played with the words, he looked at her, seeing the flush of sex still on her cheeks, the light that never quite dimmed in her eyes even when she’d struggled with the aftereffects of amazing sex.

  He’d steal that light and drain those cheeks of color if he told her the truth about Kyle.

  He clenched his jaw and made the decision. He wouldn’t hurt her. He just wouldn’t. To what end? His first instinct on the matter was right, as usual.

  She’d find out soon enough when word got out of her boss’s new girlfriend, and he’d be…wherever he was going next. She’d never know that he’d had that conversation with Kyle and knew the truth.

  “I thought you might laugh at me,” he finally said.

  Her lips lifted in a half smile. “My favorite pastime.”

  He chuckled, turning to the cabinet to get them fresh glasses for a hearty red wine he’d opened to go with their pasta.

  “I will tell you where I went and why,” he said. “But keep your mockery to a minimum, because I got the answers I was looking for.”

  Silent, she watched him, finally taking the bistro glass of Chianti he’d poured and raising it to him. “Here’s to honesty,” she said.

  Right. “To happiness,” he countered. He tapped her glass with his, the thin crystal rims dinging the start of a round. A round she’d lose if he were perfectly honest,
so he opted for a completely different kind of honesty.

  “I went to the high school after all.”

  She sat up a little straighter. “You faced a fear without me? I mean, if you’re now willing to admit it was a fear.”

  “It was,” he conceded.

  “What changed your mind?”

  “I went looking for advice from Julia,” he said after taking a sip.

  Emma’s hand froze midair, the glass inches from her mouth. “Really?”

  “Really. And, believe it or not, I got that advice.”

  “From Julia.” She couldn’t hide the skepticism in her voice.

  “Sort of. And from Principal Wigglesworth.”

  She leaned against the back of the barstool and finally took her drink. “The ninety-year-old guy who was at Lacey’s party?”

  “Ninety-six.” He checked the water to be sure it wasn’t close to boiling and came around to get next to her, ready to tell her this particular confession. Her past relationship had no bearing on their future. But his did. And he wanted her to know he realized that.

  She looked a little confused and uncertain. “How is that advice from Julia?”

  He let out a breath. “She was there.”

  She gave him a look of sheer incredulity.

  He laughed softly. “We were at the trophy cases and her picture was there, but…I feel like it was a legitimate message just the same.”

  She searched his eyes and put the wine glass down, using her free hand to touch his face. “Why are you telling me this?”

  He looked back at her, searching his heart for the truth. “It was why I was able to make love to you today with so much…feeling.”

  He could see her swallow hard, but she didn’t say a word.

  “Normally, I…”

  “Don’t have feelings?” she guessed.

  “I avoid them and escape with the next high-adventure vacation,” he admitted. Then he smiled and looked down at his wine. “So you were right about that, too.”

  She took his chin and forced his face up. “What was this message from Julia?” she asked, her voice tight. “What did she say?”

  “Nothing. It came from the ninety-six-year-old principal. He said his biggest regret in life was not pursuing another woman after his wife died forty-five years ago,” Mark said, turning the barstool so Emma was facing him. “He stayed alone.”