Carolina Home

by Virginia Kantra

  “What do you think?” she asked, a hint of mischief in her tone.

  He couldn’t think. All his blood had deserted his brain and gone south.

  “I think…” He cleared his throat. Come on, dickhead. Speak. “As long as you’re naked, we can do whatever you want.”

  Her smile lit her beautiful face. “I mean about the quote.”

  Quote?

  “It’s Millay.” She turned slightly, her arms still lifted over her head. The position raised her breasts, her bare, amazing, twenty-five-year-old breasts, taut and smooth and…

  She had a tattoo. Running along her ribs just under the pale bottom curve of her right breast, unexpected, erotic. Two lines of dark text inked into her silky skin, and some kind of flower lying on its side, its petals half open.

  “‘I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one,’” he read.

  “It’s from a poem about taking a perfect moment and accepting it for what it is. Not trying to hold onto it, not grasping at happiness.” Her gaze met his. “Just…being glad. Happy.”

  He looked into her eyes, intelligent, warm, hopeful, and didn’t know what she wanted him to say.

  He didn’t know if he could make her happy or not.

  He sure as hell hadn’t made Kimberly happy.

  “This moment feels pretty damn perfect to me,” he said.

  It wasn’t poetry, but maybe it was the right thing to say anyway, maybe it was enough, because she grinned. “I bet I can make it feel even better.”

  Oh, baby.

  She moved closer, all the way close, her soft breasts pressing against his chest. His arms came around her automatically, his rough hands on the smooth skin of her back. The world spiraled down and coalesced with her as its center, Allison, her flushed, pretty face, her soft pink lips, the heat and humor in her eyes.

  He couldn’t hide what she did to him, the evidence hard against her stomach. Her hands were on the back of his neck, urging his head down. She leaned up to kiss him, taking his mouth in soft, hungry bites.

  His blood pounded as he kissed her back. His hands slipped down to cup her sweet ass as she tugged his T-shirt from the back of his jeans, working the fabric to his shoulders. He wanted to be inside her, to bury himself inside her, to make her part of him, his.

  He broke off kissing her long enough to yank his shirt over his head. While he was temporarily blinded, bound by his shirt, he felt her fingers busy on his buckle, cool and smooth against the hot skin of his stomach. His muscles jumped. His zipper rasped. She covered him with her hand.

  Jesus.

  He’d promised himself to take it slow.

  But this…But she…

  She shoved at his jeans, pulled at his boxers. His erection sprang free, dark and eager. She dropped to her knees, making this sexy hum, Mmm, in the back of her throat that nearly destroyed him.

  He threw his shirt into a corner, threaded his hands in her hair. “Allison…”

  He barely recognized his own voice. Begging. Stop? Or Don’t stop?

  She licked her lips and took him into her mouth.

  HE WAS HOT and thick, salty and delicious, hard against her tongue.

  His legs were planted like tree trunks, but Allison could feel the tremor in his muscles as she sucked him, worked him. It was such a rush, such a turn-on, knowing she could make big, strong Matt Fletcher tremble at her touch.

  Kneeling between his feet, she rubbed her face against him, drunk on his scent, dizzy with power. Loving the feel of him, hot stone and satin against her cheek.

  “Oh, God, Allison.” His fingers tightened in her hair.

  He tugged her head up.

  She smiled into his eyes, feeling almost incandescent with heat and satisfaction. “I’m not finished.”

  A choked laugh escaped him. “I will be if you keep that up.”

  Taking her shoulders, he dragged her up against his long, hard body. They kissed, his mouth hot and seeking. His thigh thrust between her legs. Heaven. His tongue tangled with hers.

  “Let me…” he said.

  He hopped on one foot. They staggered, clumsy with laughter and lust, as he struggled out of his shoes, stripped off his jeans.

  She reached for his hand. “Bedroom.”

  He grabbed for his pants. “Condom.”

  Most of the boys she’d had sex with needed to be reminded to use birth control.

  But then, Matt was no boy.

  Something she appreciated even more when she saw him like this, naked, his broad chest—no manscaping for this guy—his hard muscled stomach, his thick shaft jutting between his thighs.

  Straightening, he hauled her off her feet and into his arms. A thrill ran down her arms and spine.

  “So romantic,” she teased breathlessly as he carried her into the bedroom and sank with her onto the mattress.

  But it was. It really was.

  At five-ten and almost one hundred and forty pounds, she didn’t get swept off her feet very often.

  “I’ll show you romantic,” he promised.

  His lips moved down, hot against her neck, ticklish on her stomach, but she didn’t need that. She needed him, Matt, inside her, now. Wanted him as hot, as desperate, as crazy for her as she was for him.

  She rolled with him, nearly clipping his jaw with her knee. His head dropped back against the pillow. She scrambled over him, straddling his thighs, stretching over his head for one of the condoms he’d tossed on the bedside table, practically shoving her breasts in his face. He liked that, turning his head to suckle her, making her catch her breath. So hard. So good.

  She wriggled back, propping herself with one hand on his hot, muscled chest. Sinking on her heels, she ripped open the packet and covered him.

  His eyes darkened. “Sweetheart…Let me…”

  She panted. “No.”

  Leaning forward, she took him in hand, rubbing his hot length against her, making him feel how wet she was, how ready. He grasped her buttocks firmly as she shifted and…

  Sat.

  They both groaned at the same time. Reality narrowed down to this moment, to him, in her. She felt too full to breathe.

  Matt held still deep inside her. His eyes sought hers. “Okay?”

  Warmth unfurled inside her. She felt burnished inside and out with flower petals. She loved the look of concern on his face, loved…“Very okay.”

  To prove it, she began to move slowly up and down, setting a rhythm. His big hands were hard on her hips as he pushed inside her, as he pulsed inside her, filling her, flooding her senses. She arched back, feeling him, wanting him in every nerve and tissue. He rocked her, faster and harder, moving inside her, part of her, hers. She was drenched, drowning in him.

  Swept away.

  She cried out as he slammed up into her, holding her tight. His release shattered them both. She came, clenching around him as he clutched at her, absorbing his shudders in her own flesh, colors running in her head like the sun sliding into the sea.

  MATT LAY EMPTIED. Stunned. Satisfied.

  In his experience, there was no such thing as bad sex. Some of it was less good, that was all.

  And some…

  He blew out his breath. Allison’s warm, pliant body sprawled over him, her skin damp, hair silky against his jaw, across his chest.

  It wasn’t just the sex, he thought. Or the end of his four-month moratorium. It was her. Allison.

  She was as full of contrasts as the sea, the bright surface and cool depths. Every time he thought he had her figured, she surprised him. Like that tattoo she wore, waiting to be discovered under her pastel cardigans.

  She stirred him up, he admitted. Stirred feelings he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time. He was drawn to her warmth, challenged by her determination to embrace life, to try things out, to take things on, to put herself out there.

  To be naked, in every way.

  She murmured and burrowed deeper into his neck.

  She felt so good he didn’t want to move. He could stay l
ike this for the rest of the night, for the rest of his life, forever.

  The thought stuck in his mind, a quick, warning tug, like a big fish testing his line.

  She yawned and stretched on top of him, making his skin prickle with awareness.

  “You cold?” she asked sleepily. “We could get under the covers.”

  He didn’t need to get under the covers. It’s not like he could spend the night. He never spent the night. “I’m fine.”

  “Just ‘fine’?”

  Wrong answer, he thought. After rocking his world, she deserved better than a lukewarm, lame ass “fine.” “I’m great. You’re wonderful. That was…” He searched for a word.

  Her lips curved against his neck. “Fast?”

  He laughed. She had definitely challenged his staying power, but he knew damn well he hadn’t left her behind. Besides, he could feel her smiling. “I was going to say, ‘amazing.’”

  She raised her head. “You sound surprised,” she said, the way he’d said to her after dinner.

  “Maybe I am.”

  Maybe he had harbored some outdated ideas about schoolteachers. The way she’d gone down on him…his body stirred, reacting to the memory and the feel of her plastered against him.

  She watched him, a hint of uncertainty in her gaze.

  He stroked his hand down her hair, brushed the back of his fingers along that dark, erotic tattoo. “Mostly I’m just happy.”

  Her smile bloomed.

  He added, “Not to mention grateful.”

  The light in her eyes set off a warning knell in his head like a channel buoy.

  Deep waters here.

  He ignored it.

  Nothing had really changed. His life hadn’t changed. He knew that, and she understood it. Accept it for what it is, isn’t that what she’d said? One perfect moment.

  Or as many moments as he could get before she went away.

  He grabbed another condom from the nightstand and rolled her under him.

  Eleven

  NIGHT BLANKETED THE island. The sky pulsed with fistfuls of fat diamonds undimmed by city lights.

  Matt made his way to the cottage, navigating the familiar path easily in the dark. His body felt loose and relaxed, his head light and clear.

  She hadn’t asked him to stay.

  He stuck his hands in his pockets. That was fine. That was good. He was a man who liked his space, in bed and out. Besides, they both had things to do in the morning, Allison had said with a smile.

  No pressure.

  But it had been surprisingly hard to leave her for his cold truck, his empty bed. He couldn’t remember ever regretting leaving a woman before.

  He climbed his steps, glancing automatically over his shoulder at the wide, black windows of the inn. His parents’ room, dark. The kitchen, dark. The family room…

  Matt frowned at the silver light flickering against the glass. The television? It was after midnight. His parents were in bed. Josh, too, or his son had some explaining to do.

  But somebody had left on the TV.

  Matt crossed the yard and climbed the steps to the deck. No harm in checking it out.

  In recent years, the town had incorporated and hired a police chief. But his time was mostly spent directing traffic, assisting the Coast Guard, and busting up underage drinking parties on the beach. Theft was rare on Dare Island. Everybody knew what belonged to everybody else, so stolen goods were rapidly identified and returned to their owners. Tess, however, had grown up in Chicago. Even after all these years, she still locked up at night. Quietly, Matt let himself in the back door with his key.

  A tiny bulb shone over the stove. Red numerals on the coffeemaker glowed in the dark. Matt moved lightly through the kitchen, following the spilling silver light and the rising, falling voices from the television.

  The family room was lit with the glow of the TV. On-screen, a couple of women with artificial tans and smiles sat around a studio coffee table, discussing the amazing effects of some skin-care product.

  Matt looked for the remote and spotted Taylor curled on the couch, wrapped in one of his mother’s afghans, his brother’s hat on her head.

  Asleep.

  The sight of her punched a hole in his chest. Her wary blue eyes were closed, her bony shoulders relaxed, her pointed chin soft and delicate. For once, she looked younger than her ten years and more vulnerable. She looked like a girl.

  He didn’t know much about little girls, but he did know she couldn’t spend the night on the couch.

  He sighed. Tomorrow he would ask what the hell she was doing sneaking downstairs on a school night while his parents were in bed.

  Tonight, he would tuck her in and hope she wasn’t completely wiped out in the morning.

  The remote had slipped to the floor. He picked it up and turned off the TV, setting the control by the set. The room plunged into darkness.

  “Taylor?” He kept his voice low, so he wouldn’t startle her. “Come on, honey, time for bed.”

  No answer. He hadn’t really expected one.

  Scooping her up, afghan and all, he moved with her toward the kitchen. He’d carried Josh like this, years ago. Through colic and fevers, tears and bad dreams, coming home from fireworks and after late night fishing trips. The memories crowded in, evoked by her soft dead weight and her little kid smell, grass and sweat and shampoo.

  She exploded in his arms, thrashing and screaming. “Let me go! Let me go! Leave me alone!”

  Matt nearly dropped her in surprise.

  Her small fists flew, bashing him in the mouth.

  His head snapped back. Instinctively, he tightened his hold.

  “Easy. Taylor. Ouch.” With his gut tied in slippery knots, he tried to soothe her, tried to contain her, tried to put down this tornado of blanket and limbs without letting her hurt herself.

  He knelt, keeping one arm loosely around her. Reaching into the flailing, wailing storm, he found her shoulder and gave it a shake.

  “Hey, Taylor. It’s okay, kid, you’re all right.”

  Her wide, terror-filled eyes met his, her mouth still open to scream.

  “Uncle Matt?” she whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  Those eyes—Luke’s eyes—flooded with tears, gleaming in the dark. With a sob, she flung herself at him, her skinny arms fastening in a death grip around his neck.

  Jesus. He rocked her, giving comfort.

  The overhead light snapped on.

  “What on earth is going on?”

  Tess stood in the kitchen archway, belting the sash of her robe, her salt-and-pepper hair sticking up in every direction.

  Matt shrugged as best he could with Taylor clinging to his neck. “No clue.”

  “Taylor, sweetie.” Tess rustled forward to stroke her granddaughter’s hair, to feel her forehead with an expert hand. “What’s wrong? Do you feel sick? Are you all right?”

  Taylor shook her head against Matt’s shoulder.

  “Is that, no, you’re not sick, or no, you’re not all right?”

  “Mom.” Matt spoke patiently. “Give us a minute, okay? We both just had the crap scared out of us.”

  “That makes three of us,” Tess said. “I thought somebody was being murdered.”

  Taylor’s muscles were rigid.

  “So naturally you decided to investigate in your bathrobe.” Matt smiled at his mother, keeping his tone deliberately light. “Come on, Mom, you’ve seen all those scary movies. You know that when the heroine hears a bump in the night she’s not supposed to go down into the basement.”

  As he talked, he could feel Taylor’s grip easing, her trembles fading away.

  Tess met his gaze. “We don’t have a basement,” she said, matching his relaxed tone. “Anyway, I’d like to meet the monster who’s a match for me and my frying pan.”

  “You or Taylor.” Matt explored his throbbing lower lip with his tongue, tasting blood. “That’s some right hook you’ve got there, kid.”

  TAYLOR STOLE A cauti
ous look at Uncle Matt. He didn’t sound mad. But you never could tell with grown-ups.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “No problem.” He smiled at her crookedly, touching the back of his hand to his mouth.

  She winced. He was bleeding where she’d punched him. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, and she almost believed him. “Your dad and I used to pound on each other all the time. Of course, I won, being older and bigger and all. But he was a scrapper. Like you.”

  She smiled back, relieved and guilty, still not sure if she was in trouble or not.

  “So.” He was still smiling, but his eyes were serious. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”

  Panic clogged her throat. She couldn’t. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t tell anybody.

  “I…” She darted a look at Grandma Tess, standing there in her bathrobe. “I had a bad dream.”

  He nodded. “I figured that much. What were you doing downstairs?”

  Taylor swallowed around the hot lump in her throat without answering.

  “This is the third time I’ve found her sleeping on the couch,” Grandma Tess said.

  Uncle Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Grandma Tess shrugged. “What could I say? I thought she’d get over it. You always did.” She patted Taylor’s shoulder. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you back to bed.”

  Back to the dark and the quiet, where bad things could happen.

  Taylor’s stomach clenched. She shook her head.

  Grandma Tess looked at her kindly, the way grown-ups did when they didn’t have a clue. “Honey, we talked about this. You can’t stay down here.”

  “You do.”

  “She’s got you there,” Uncle Matt murmured.

  “Because my room is down here,” Grandma Tess said. “My bed. You can’t sleep on the couch every night.”

  “My mom would let me. She let me sleep on the couch at home all the time.”

  Which was a lie, but they didn’t know that. Taylor’s throat burned. They didn’t know anything.

  The two adults exchanged glances over her head.

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to be up there alone,” Uncle Matt said, and Taylor felt hopeful and scared at the same time, because if he got that part right, who knew what else he might guess?