Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove)

by Donna Kauffman

  She blinked and looked into his eyes again. Shattered topaz, she recalled thinking, when she’d fainted into his arms. That was the perfect description. “Stop what?”

  “Pulling back every time you begin to let go. Never apologize for feeling.”

  She wanted to duck her chin, to duck him, but she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her do either. “You’re a very frustrating man, you know that? Annoying, too.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first to say so.” There was a smile in his voice and a curve in those lips.

  Lips she found herself staring at again.

  And then he was shifting closer still, so that their bodies almost brushed together. The broad palms he’d pressed against her cheeks moved until strong fingers were weaving through her hair, urging her to tilt her face upward even more. “Talk about frustrating,” he murmured, and his gaze dropped to her lips.

  It had the positive effect of making her forget everything they’d been talking about . . . but the less positive result of making every nerve ending in every sexual part of her body and even some she’d never thought of as particularly erogenous stand up and cheer. “What is?” she whispered, once again having fleeting thoughts—memories?—of what his mouth tasted like . . . as if she knew. For certain. Not from a dream.

  “Wanting you,” he said, his voice so deep he might as well have rubbed those words directly across her bare nipples. “Knowing I shouldn’t.”

  Her entire body gulped. “Why shouldn’t?”

  “Because it will complicate things.” He let his head drift closer, his lips even closer still. “And I don’t need complicated. I already have complicated. But it’s the kind I can handle. You . . . you’re a whole other kind.”

  Her pulse was thrumming so loudly in her ears, she almost couldn’t hear him. She continued to stare at his mouth. “Can I—can I ask you something?”

  “I’m pretty sure at this moment you could do almost anything and I wouldn’t say no.”

  She would have laughed at that, or at least smiled, but she wasn’t feeling flirty, she was feeling . . . confused. “That night . . . that first night . . . when I fainted. I woke up in your guest bed. You had to have put me there. Right?”

  He nodded, his pupils shooting wide as he glanced into her eyes.

  She swallowed hard—twice—at what she saw there. Naked desire. Emphasis on the naked part.

  “I did,” he said, his voice black velvet on sandpaper.

  “Did we—did I—do . . . something? Inappropriate? I’m sorry, I was pretty sure it was a dream, only now I’m . . . not sure.”

  “What are you not sure of?”

  “I-I remember wondering about kissing you.” Her gaze darted to his. “I was delirious, remember.”

  “Of course.” Those beautiful lips tilted, and the glimmer of humor in his eyes set off the topaz like a match striking a spark. “After all, no sane woman would want to kiss me.”

  It was hard enough hearing his voice go all gravelly with want, but add in that wry humor and she was a goner. “I didn’t mean it like that. But, did I—I mean, was that all I did? Wonder about it?”

  “Maybe this will refresh your memory.”

  He brought her lips up to meet his, then moved into the kiss by sliding a hand down her back, then wrapping it around her waist and molding her body to his. He kept his other hand woven through her hair, cupping the back of her head, urging her mouth more fully against his as he took hers slowly, intently, in what had to be the most thoroughly decadent kiss she’d ever experienced.

  One she knew instantly she could never have dreamed. She had kissed him. And he’d let her. But he wasn’t done refreshing her memory as yet, and she found she was in no hurry to stop him.

  If his voice had been enough to make her body vibrate with need, the deep groan he made as she opened her mouth under his almost made her come. Her clipboard clattered to the floor as she gripped his bare shoulders, digging fingertips into the thick muscles as he lifted her to her toes when he took their kiss deeper still.

  And when she thought she might pass out from how fast her heart was beating, he left her thoroughly kissed lips and moved along her jaw, alternately kissing, nipping.

  “You didn’t—we didn’t—before,” she stammered breathlessly. “I was—I woke up dressed.”

  “No, we didn’t. I might have let you kiss me and I might have kissed you back, but you were in no shape for more. Nor was I, to be honest. You surprised the hell out of me.”

  “You . . . you didn’t tell me.”

  “If I thought you’d remembered, I would have apologized. When you didn’t, I thought it was better to leave it be.”

  “Apologized?”

  “You didn’t know what you were doing. I did.” He tilted her head, giving him greater access to that sensitive spot where her neck curved into her collarbone. “It was just a kiss. A hell of a kiss, but that’s all. I probably shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

  “And now?” she gasped, gripping his shoulders.

  “Do you know what I thought when I came out of the shower and saw you lying on my bed?”

  She couldn’t make a single noise, so she shook her head.

  “I thought I dreamed you.” He nipped her earlobe. “That first night, you kissed me like I was the last man on earth.”

  She shuddered, pleasure rocking through her as his hand slid over her bottom and cupped her to him.

  “That’s what you did to me that night,” he said, his voice dark and thrillingly velvety as he kissed the side of her neck. “I needed a cold shower, only there wasn’t one cold enough for that. So . . . I took a hot one instead.”

  She clung to him, helpless, not caring as long as he didn’t stop touching her, using that voice of his like a live vibrator against every oversensitized inch of her skin. The feel of him, the sound of him, and now those images of him, steam rising in the shower, him hard, erect, needing release . . . because of her. She squirmed against him, making him groan.

  “I can’t get in that shower without . . .” He held her more tightly against him and, heaven help her, she rocked against the hard length of him, barely covered in that damp towel. “And then there you were. In my bed.”

  “So inviting in all this lumberjack plaid,” she panted, gasping as he continued his sensual assault, reaching for something, anything . . . rational. Anything sane. This was . . . off the charts crazy.

  “Layers,” he said, not slowing down, not letting up. “Begging to be peeled off.” He lifted her completely off her feet and carried her to the bed, wrapped torso to torso. “I’d have used my teeth. Gladly.”

  “Logan—” She didn’t even know what she was asking. She didn’t want him to stop. She wanted to yank that towel away, wanted him to claw her clothes off. Wanted . . . Just blessedly, mercifully wanted.

  He laid her on the bed and came down on top of her, dragging them both into the middle of that sea of mattress as he climbed over her. He found her mouth again, kept her lips molded to his with his hand fisted in her hair as the arm he still had wrapped around her waist pulled her up into his body.

  She moaned against his mouth, already arching against him. There were so many reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this, going so far, so fast, except she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t think at all. Didn’t want to. She just wanted to revel in feeling something so intense, so all consuming, something that, for once, wasn’t pain.

  “I want you,” she said, owning her part in what was happening. She felt him jerk against her and it was . . . exhilarating. “Layers,” she gasped as he ran his hands between them, covering her breasts with those broad, warm palms, rubbing fingertips over her tight nipples. Fingertips she’d felt on her cheeks. She knew they were a little rough, knew they could make her come if she could feel them directly. “Take them off.”

  She didn’t have to tell him twice. Still kissing the side of her neck, he moved his lips along her collarbone as he unbuttoned the plaid wool shirt. She moaned a
s his mouth closed over her nipple through the layers of T-shirts and bra, squirming under him, wanting them all to magically vanish.

  “Stop . . . wriggling,” he breathed, then yanked her shirts from the waistband of her jeans and up and over her head in a single, very satisfying tug that made her feel sexy, desirable, and more than a little wild.

  He didn’t waste any time peeling her out of her bra. Before she could spend even two seconds worrying about what he thought of her naked body, he was showing her . . . with his tongue, his fingers . . . and making her do a lot more than wriggle. Panting, moaning. She might have screamed a little. Okay, a lot, but damn, the things he was doing to her . . . and that was just her nipples.

  And then she was toeing off her boots and he was unbuttoning her jeans and she was having a hell of a hard time keeping her hips still, the anticipation almost killing her. His palms almost framed her entire waist, holding her where he wanted her, making her feel utterly claimed as he moved his mouth below her navel.

  He didn’t toy, he didn’t tease. He peeled off jeans, panties, socks in one smooth slide, before working his way up the inside of her calf, across one knee, over to the inside of another thigh, until he found—

  “Oh. Oh!”

  She’d have grabbed his head, fisted her hands in his hair much as he’d done hers, only he needed absolutely no guidance, no urging onward. And she was too busy gripping the sheets like a tether to reality. He made her hips jerk, her back arch, and her teeth grind while he wrenched—not teased, not cajoled—wrenched an orgasm from her that rocked her so hard she might have seen stars.

  As soon as she could form credible thought, she reached for him, wanting his weight on her body, and to feel him fill her while she was still so sensitized she was pretty sure a mild breeze could send her over the edge all over again.

  He was more than happy to comply. A man who knew what he wanted, and hallelujah, it was exactly what she did. She didn’t question it, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders and pulled him up on top of her.

  Once again, he needed no urging. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, bit her earlobe, traced his tongue along her jaw. His oh-so-very talented tongue, making her quiver all over again.

  “Now. Now!”

  “Your wish,” he growled, his voice so deep it was just a velvet buzz saw. “My command.” He pulled her thighs up to press against his hips, still nipping, kissing, licking, until she was jerking under him, so close . . . so damn close. . . .

  “Dammit.” He paused and started to move off her again, looking toward his nightstand. “I don’t think I have—shit.”

  “We don’t need—I’m—the pill. You?”

  “Police. Tested. Annually.”

  “Thank God.”

  He chuckled against the slick skin along the side of her neck. A moment later, he was jerking her thighs up higher, urging her heels to lock behind his hips. He didn’t have to urge her twice.

  “Hold on,” he groaned. “Hold on tight.”

  And, oh, that voice. Turned out it was enough to make her come, and she started to shudder, started to fall apart again.

  “Wait for me.”

  Then he was finally, finally where she needed him to be. She wanted to hurry him, wanted him to fill her in one hard thrust, take her the rest of the way home, shoot her to the stars. But ready as she was, he was . . . big. So he pushed, then lifted her up, and pushed again, tilted her hips . . . and thrust the rest of the way in, with one satisfying growl.

  She’d groaned in utter, exultant pleasure the entire time. Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing had ever felt like him. He filled her beyond what she knew, what she’d ever experienced. “Yes!” Oh, hell yes!

  And then he began to move.

  “Don’t . . . stop,” she ground out, arching with every thrust.

  He found her mouth, and their tongues danced, thrust, moved, in the same rhythm as their bodies. She shouted, he growled, they panted, gasped, groaned. He moved faster, she dug in her heels, her nails, and urged him on, commanded him on. He lifted, drove, drove again and again . . . and she peaked again, shuddering, crying out, shaking, clinging. Reveling, soaring.

  Then he was driving, climbing, climbing higher, thrusting harder, and she was with him every slick slide, every groan, every gasp, clenching him, holding him, pushing, pushing . . . taking . . . until he shuddered his way through a guttural, shouting release that made her feel like she’d just won the lottery, discovered Santa was real, and seen God, all in one.

  They clung to each other like shipwreck victims, floating, floating, trying to find something solid, something whole to hold on to while attempting to suck in air, find their breath . . . struggling . . . and not caring. Finally he rolled off her to his back. They lay there, side by side, trying to find their way back down to earth, to reality.

  “That was . . .” she breathed.

  “Yeah . . .” he panted.

  Still working for every breath, Alex stared at the ceiling, the cracked plaster, the water stains, for once not cataloging repairs or mentally fixing any of it. When she could finally speak, she said, “So . . . for one, I’m not going to tell you how professional I am. Ever again.” She let her head roll to the side and looked at him. “I can say, the person I used to be would never have just up and . . . frolicked. Not like that. And never with her boss.”

  “Frolicked, huh?” Logan looked at her, his dark hair all mussed, perfect mouth curved in a knowing smile, eyes that said way more than words ever could. He knew . . . too much. Because he knew her.

  It made her heart pound all over again.

  “I know who I used to be.” She looked back at the ceiling again, willing her heart to slow down, or just stay in her chest. “But I realize now I have no idea who I am in my life, part two.”

  He could have done or said so many things. Or nothing at all. What he did was slide his hand across the tangled sheets and find hers. He wound their fingers together, pressed his palm against hers, just like that. Simple . . . except it felt anything but. It was an entirely different intimacy, that connection, palm to palm, pulse to pulse where their wrists crossed. Making her feel more than just physically naked . . . or sexually connected. It felt like . . . a bond. And a lifeline . . . to a person, one person, who knew her. Knew her. Was it true? Did she have a person now? Someone in her life, her new life, who understood? Who would listen if there was something that needed to be said?

  She didn’t even dare think it.

  “Maybe,” he said at length, his voice more gravel than velvet now. “Maybe it’s time you found out.” He pressed his fingertips to the back of her hand. “Maybe it’s time I did, too.”

  His words made her heart catch. This was all so much. Too much? In part, it was overwhelming, definitely. But in part it also felt . . . just right. That part scared her a lot more.

  His cell phone buzzed and his hand left hers as he rolled to get it. “Yes, Barb.” There was a pause, then he sighed and cleared his throat, finding his police chief voice. “No, no, I can handle it. Yes, I’m sure. Give me ten. Thanks.”

  Alex didn’t wait for an explanation. She didn’t need one. The truth was, despite what had just happened, they weren’t really in each other’s personal lives. She might not know who she was in this new life, but she did know who she wasn’t. She rolled over and slid to the far side of the bed and silently dug around for her clothes, pulling them on as she uncovered them.

  Maybe what her new life was about was just taking things as they happened. Making choices as they came up. Living in the moment, as they say. No regrets. Then continuing onward, until there was another choice to make, another moment. No planning for a set future because she knew all too well the future didn’t always go as planned.

  Was that what she wanted? Would that be enough?

  He kneeled behind her on the bed, but didn’t slide his arms around her.

  She was grateful, despite the fact that five minutes ago he’d made her shout through her third o
rgasm, then she’d made him climax so hard she knew she’d be feeling it for days. She was pretty sure any twinge, any residual muscle ache would make her smile—which was when she knew she’d be okay. With that anyway.

  One new thing learned.

  He leaned in and kissed the spot between the curve of her shoulder and the curve of her neck. He rested his mouth there for another second, but didn’t say anything. Then he moved away, rolled off the bed, and walked into the bathroom.

  She let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. What was that kiss about? She’d been okay. They’d given in to their animal attraction. They’d had sex. Wall banging, crazy hot sex. But . . . sex. They’d bonded over their similar pasts, which meant she felt . . . safe with him. Accepted. Respected. And that was enough. She wasn’t going to be the Girl Who Wanted More.

  So . . . what was that?

  A kiss good-bye? Wait for me later? Thanks for the great lay? What?

  She discovered her second thing. In this new life, she wasn’t going to be content to consider, to endlessly ponder, or worry. Life left too many things unanswered. So when there was an answer to be had, well, dammit, she wanted to have it.

  With two T-shirts on, one inside out, and one sock in her hand, she got off the bed and walked to the bathroom door. Okay, so maybe half-stalked, half-staggered was a better description. She didn’t want to be get-crazy-after-great-but-meaningless-sex girl, either. She just wanted a simple answer. What did he expect? She needed to know that, so she could decide if it was what she expected, too.

  She took a calming breath as she lifted her hand to knock on the door. See? So civil, so polite. Not at all crazy-after-sex-girl.

  Before she connected knuckles to wood, he opened the door, fully dressed in a fresh, crisp uniform. If he was surprised to find her standing there, half dressed, he didn’t show it. In fact, his gaze locked on hers, and she got as far as thinking damn, you’re so beautiful, before he yanked her into his arms and kissed her senseless.

  “That’s what I really wanted to do,” he said gruffly. “When you moved away, turned your back. In case you were wondering.”