Flash Drive

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  The pro pulled up just a few feet from the out of bounds marker and the rosemary bush. Garrett hopped out the moment the cart stopped and made a beeline for her, stalking through the rough grass as the pro called after him, “Hey, where ya goin’? You can’t go on private property!”

  Laurel looked up when he was a few feet away, her eyes wide with surprise. When she recognized who he was, she beamed with delight and stood, hands on hips, mocking him. “Garrett, you didn’t hit out of bounds again just to steal more of my rosemary?”

  He smiled back, closed the distance between them, and with his hands gripping her elbows, he effortlessly lifted her over the newly dug hole that was between them.

  “No,” he said looking down into her flushed face. “I’m here for a kiss to tide me over until date number two. I’m suffering. I miss you.” He ducked his head and took her lips with his as his arms went around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. Long and thorough, he mated his lips to hers, tasting and absorbing her flavor. When he discovered the caramel melting in her mouth, he skillfully flipped it off her tongue and sucked it into his mouth.

  “Mmm,” he said as he reached down and swiped a finger across her lower lip, catching a smear of caramel. He licked the dab off his finger. “Mark my place, I’ll be back for more Friday night.” He fished in his pocket for the bag of lemon Jelly Bellys and fed her two of them, murmuring, “Even exchange.” Then he dropped his hands, steadied her, turned and headed back to the cart, smiling and sucking on the Werther’s he’d stolen.

  As he climbed back into the cart, with steel in his voice, he said, “She’s mine. Don’t touch. And tell your cousin I’ll break his fucking neck if he looks at her again.”

  “Uh, yes sir. Uh . . . I suppose we’re done sir?”

  “We’ve got a few more holes to go. You think you can stop shaking enough to work with me on my irons?”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Garrett called while Laurel was stirring the batter for the brownies. She picked up the phone and tucked it under her chin as she continued to blend the ingredients. She sensed that it could be Garrett, but oddly, the number was blocked from her Caller I.D.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi there.” Yes, it was Garrett—his voice soft, low, and seductive.

  “Am I disturbing something?”

  “No, not at all. Just making brownies.”

  “From scratch?”

  “Of course. No other way.”

  “With nuts?”

  “Both ways. Roman likes them, Philip doesn’t.”

  “These are the friends I’ll be meeting?”

  “Yup.”

  “We only had one date and I have to meet your friends? Do I worry you so?”

  “No. Why would you say that?”

  “Well if I’m not worrying you, then surely I’m not putting enough effort into this.”

  She laughed. He literally felt his knees give out and he had to lean against the counter. He loved that sound.

  “You’ll like my friends. Don’t sweat it. We’re going to have a great time. I guarantee it.”

  “I know how you can absolutely positively guarantee it,” he murmured.

  “Four. The magic number is four, we agreed.”

  “You know we could have already had number four by now if you hadn’t been so busy this week.”

  “Yeah,” she sounded wistful. Then bounced back nice and cheery, “But it couldn’t be helped. Commitments you know.”

  “What kinds of things do you commit to?” Again that soft sexy drawl. And a blatant innuendo.

  She had to smother her gasp. Oh my, this was heady stuff. “Well, the Garden Club took a tour of my garden yesterday, so that was pretty stressful.”

  “I’ve seen your garden. You had nothing to worry about.”

  “Well, I had to feed them, too.”

  “Hmmm. Okay. What else?”

  “I had a charity luncheon on Monday, then an oyster dig on Tuesday—”

  “You dug oysters?”

  “Well, not the way you’re thinking. I dig them out of the trash. Behind the restaurant. With Cat. Sometimes with Tess. Viv doesn’t like to do it so much anymore.”

  “Uh . . . I think you and dumpster diving is going to take a little more explaining.”

  “We collect them for the Oyster Recycling Program. There are a few restaurants in Calabash that save them for us. When they have enough we haul ‘em away, take them to Varnamtown, where they are loaded onto a boat to get taken out to be recycled in the ocean.”

  “Ahh. I thought you had a penchant for them . . . which I saw as promising.”

  That silky, chiding voice—did the man never stop? “No, not all that fond of them actually.”

  “As causes go, I figured you as more of a

  turtle follower.”

  “Oh, I do that, too! In fact, I have a nest assigned to me that I have to check on after the concert. We’re patrolling it constantly ‘cause it’s about to hatch. I thought maybe you might want to walk down with me.”

  “Sure. A walk on the beach in the moonlight, a pretty girl on my arm, what’s not to like?”

  She giggled and he vowed he would coax more of those amazing sounds from her.

  “But, here’s the thing. Since, we’re changing locations, doing two totally different things. I’m afraid it’s going to have to count as two dates.”

  She could practically hear him smiling. “You’re a determined fellow.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll meet you there, then take you from the concert to the nest . . . and then I’ll take you home.” There was a lot implied by the way he drew out the word home.

  “Uh, alright.” She noted that whose home hadn’t been established. It sounded like the most tentative of answers. But they both knew that she’d just said yes.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Midway through Pink Cadillac, Garrett thought his eyes were going to fall out of his head. He felt like a high school jock. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes from Laurel’s chest since he’d met her and her friends in the museum parking lot two hours ago. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t the only man caught gaping.

  From the moment he’d stepped up to her in the parking lot, shook hands with her friends, and kissed her cheek, he hadn’t been able to focus on anything other than those two weighty mounds gently lifting and swaying under her filmy top. With each step she took the full globes surged high on her chest, firm and resilient, yet jiggling delightfully, and making his hands itch to caress her. Several times he’d had to force his hands to his sides while his fingers drummed impatiently on the chair he’d been carrying.

  He wanted nothing more than to pinch the peaked nipples that were prominently outlined and oh so obviously broadcasting the high-tipped targets to lively, comely breasts. She wore tight capris that showed off her slim legs and dainty feet. She was on a petite frame, but she was built—she filled out her allotted five-foot-two with curves a man longed to caress. It was all he could do to force himself to keep focused on her face. She was stunning. And he was a goner—something the man named Roman had picked up on right away.

  Roman had taken a large picnic basket from the trunk of a gold Lexus and handed it to Garrett. “Here, this should help,” and Garrett flushed with the knowledge that this man was reading him like a neon sign.

  Through the introductions and prerequisite man banter, he’d been okay. He’d turned his chest toward each man he spoke to, effectively diminishing her effect on him and easing the muscles in his groin. He’d read about Matt’s various enterprises, knew Philip from his banking reputation, and saw a kindred spirit in Roman. On the walk over to the concert stage
, he discovered that he and Roman were both unsocial renegades, running with the pack only when it was unavoidable—preferring one-on-one interaction with a lovely lady and a small, close-knit circle of friends. The fact that he had been included in this tight little gathering was not overlooked. But it was like a man dating a woman with three godfathers. Garrett had to turn on the charm and allay each one’s fears in turn.

  Through dinner, eaten in low-slung beach chairs, he’d gotten to know them and they’d gotten to know him. He watched each man, learning things about them by the way they treated their wives, by the way they sat and chatted, by their confident repose and easy mannerisms. That they adored their wives was readily apparent. Roman eyed Tess so openly and with such blatantly sensual eyes that even he could feel the charge in the air. Philip, with an easy grace, leaned into Viv and whispered against her neck, sending secret messages that colored her neck, her throat, her cheeks—plans for later, no doubt. And Matt, sitting next to him, snagged Cat as she returned from talking to friends, and settled her in his lap for enthusiastic kisses that promised more of the same.

  Now Laurel was shimmying and shaking, cha-cha-cha-ing and twirling to Pink Cadillac as she and a slew of men and women did the Tush Push not ten feet from where Garrett sat, trying to master his erection and back it down. My God, why wasn’t she wearing a bra?

  Roman leaned forward from three seats away and called out to him, “Poetry in motion.” He didn’t know whether to bust the scoundrel’s lip or laugh with him. But it was pretty obvious that he wasn’t the only man gaping at the woman line dancing on the asphalt. Well, he couldn’t take them all on.

  When Laurel returned to her seat laughing and panting, he leaned over and nuzzled her temple, “Why aren’t you wearing a bra?”

  She reached behind her and snapped the elastic. “Oh, but I am.”

  He cocked his brow. “This I have to see.”

  She smiled at him coyly. Too coyly.

  He stood, “C’mon, let’s go check out that turtle nest.”

  She looked up at him, an innocent look on her face, “But the concert’s not over yet.”

  “It is for us. Get your things.” He pulled her up, folded their chairs and shook hands with the men. Then he leaned down to whisper something in Tessa’s ear. He saw Roman tense and his smile widened because of it. Tessa laughed and turned to Cat and whispered in her ear. Viv was next to get the message. They all laughed, raised their Solo cups and promised to take all the picnic items with them when

  they left.

  Garrett hoisted the chairs onto his shoulder by the straps and took her hand.

  “What did you say to Tessa?” she asked.

  “I told her the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “That we were going to have sex on the beach.”

  They were walking toward his truck, hidden between two vehicles when she turned to face him. “We still have two more dates to go.”

  “No, after we get to the nest, date number five will be history.”

  “How do you figure?”

  He counted on his fingers, “Bald Head, Chang’s, dessert at your house yesterday, the concert, the walk on the beach.”

  “Dessert at my house? Yesterday?”

  “Yes, don’t you remember? We dined al fresco; I was treated to a marvelous caramel treat. By all rights, we should be having sex right here. Right now. And believe me, I want to.”

  With his free hand he reached up to cup her, to heft her heavy left breast. She moaned. He bent and took the peak into his mouth, sucking and tugging both her and the fabric between his lips, worrying the nipple with his tongue. She gasped. His hand dropped and slid under her shirt. He felt the elastic band under her breasts, and slowly ran one lone finger under it, from right to left and then back again. She held her breath. He slid his hand up to her shoulder and fingered the strap there, rubbing the skin under it in tiny circles with his thumb, up and down and over her shoulder. She sighed. Then he trailed his fingertips over her breast, caressing her flesh and tugging the sides of her breasts more fully away from the elastic circling them, bringing her breasts impossibly forward. He inched toward each nipple, but did not give her the satisfaction of even a light graze by a fingernail. She sobbed and leaned her head against this chest in supplication.

  “Enough double, triple, and quadruple dating. You’ve been teasing me all night. Exposing yourself in a way you knew would entice. You drove me crazy and clearly you meant to. It’s payback time.”

  He took her nipple between this thumb and forefinger and pinched it lightly as he took her lips with his, taking possession of her warm glossed lips and eager tongue. It was a thorough kiss, sampling and testing at first, and escalating with the increased pressure he was using to pinch her nipple. When he was pinching it as hard as he dared, he ended the kiss.

  “I want you Laurel. I want you in the worst way, well . . . maybe not the worst way, but certainly a universally accepted one. Let’s get a blanket, go find that nest and make love on the beach. Just you, me, and the turtles.”

  His hand slid to her waist and he lightly squeezed it. “If you’re not sure I have no scruples, I’ll convince you right here. ” He reached for the fly on her capris, and skillfully undid the single button with a quick flick. His fingers found her zipper, tugged on the tab, “I’ll make you so horny right here that we won’t get much further than this parking lot and my truck.”

  She looked up into his dark, intense eyes, glinting in the meager moonlight. Hers, he could see were filled with stars, and it was the first time that expression had ever made sense to him. But there she was, a woman with stars in her eyes—for him.

  “What do you say?” The zipper inched down.

  “Well, I really do need to check that nest tonight.”

  He smiled, pulled her zipper back up and spun her around toward his truck. His hand grazed her ass. “Those eggs better not hatch tonight. I don’t want an audience while I’m learning your body’s naughty little secrets.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Laurel couldn’t get her mind around the fact that she had just consented to have sex with this man that she’d known less than a week. Good God, she hadn’t had sex involving another person in . . . forever. All the old insecurities came crashing home—was he going to like her body, would he be able to make her respond, or would she climb and climb, only to be left shaking with want and not be able to be satisfied? And of course, the mother of all fears, if she let him “go all the way” now, what would he think of her later? Would he lose interest after he’d had her?

  He looked over at her, ran a finger down her cheek and cocked a brow, “What are you thinking? You look lost in your thoughts,” he said as he drove down 179 toward Sunset Beach.

  No way was she going to voice her insecurities, he didn’t need to know that she was intimidated by him, by his size, by his manner, by his gorgeous profile and windblown mop of sexy hair. She improvised, “I’m wondering if the nest is going to hold off or if we’re going to have a boil tonight.”

  His eyes flew wide, and he turned to her with shock, “You eat them? I thought you were working to protect them!”

  She shook her head in wonder. Here was a very intelligent man, a local on the island, how was it people knew so little about the turtles right outside their beachfront doors? She sighed in exasperation and began her spiel.

  “It’s called a boil because it looks like a pot boiling over. It’s caused by the eggs cracking and shifting as the turtles climb over each other to get out of the nest, or crawl as it’s called, which is essentially a big hole in the sand that the eggs have been buried in. The eggs can hatch up to three days before hatchlings emerge because they have to absorb all the nutrients from inside the shell through their navels in order to have food to sustain them for the lo
ng swim. When the boil is about to begin, the sand gets grainy and dark and actually looks like coffee or tea granules shifting. We don’t eat the hatchlings; in fact, we spend a lot of time and effort keeping foxes, feral cats, and ghost crabs from eating them. The turtle patrol has been watching this particular crawl for several nights now. After the hatchlings are released, the nest is opened by patrol members who are certified to count the unhatched or unfertilized eggs. An average nest has 100-125 hatchings whose sex is largely determined by the temperature of the sand. I’m surprised you don’t know all this.”

  “I didn’t know all that, but I still do my part. When I’m running on the beach, if I see any large holes, I fill them in so the hatchlings can’t get trapped in them; I have motion sensors on all my outside lights, some I even turn off until the hatching season is over; I close my blinds at night, and I donate so the turtle patrol can buy the tape and webbing used to keep people away. I appreciate people like you being so dedicated, but it’s just not my thing . . . too much hovering and waiting.”

  “Well, I appreciate you walking down to the nest with me. This is one of the last crawls of the season, so we’re monitoring it very closely. I just have to check in before eleven.”

  “So we have plenty of time,” Garrett said as he pulled into a spot marked in the pavement at the end of Main Street, just past the 40th Street Access.

  “How far down is it?”

  “Not too far, about half a mile or so.”

  He smiled and leaned in to kiss her lightly on the lips. “Do we need anything other than water and a blanket? Maybe a condom or two?” he asked with a wicked grin.