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Natalie watched the other couple high in the air and now really understood the old saying high as a kite. She might have been out of the air and in the boat for ten minutes or so, but she still felt the adrenaline rush from soaring. Incredible. This was why daredevils did crazy things. Even though she realized parasailing wasn’t really that dangerous, she craved that insane blast of energy again. And she had an idea who could do that for her.
Out of the corner of her eye she studied the man she was holding on to. The muscles in his arms were like stone and when he moved, his forearms became chiseled slabs of hard granite. And his shoulders! Broad and toned and—she mentally grinned—in need of some serious tanning. Brock had the infamous “farmer’s tan” she’d always heard about. Tanned from mid-biceps down. She actually found it cute. Plus she was glad he hadn’t run to a tanning salon to even out his coloring like some men might have done. She loved that he was comfortable in his own skin, even if his legs hadn’t seen any sun in at least four months.
The driver cut the boat into a turn, and they bounced over the wake left by another boat in the area. She bounced on the seat cushion, and her bikini-covered boobs wrapped themselves around Brock’s arm. Gad. She’d have been embarrassed if he hadn’t grinned like the devil when he felt them.
“Please refasten your life jackets,” the boat captain instructed.
As she did, Brock leaned over and said into her ear, “Damn it. I was kind of enjoying that.”
They arrived back at the Sand Castle Resort in the middle of the afternoon. The adrenaline high had worn off. The sun had drained all the energy from her. She needed a shower and a nap, in that order.
Brock jumped from the boat onto the pier and then helped her make that transition. Once on the pier, he kept ahold of her hand, and she really liked how that felt. His hands were large and warm and a little rough from work. She didn’t mind the roughness, and in fact, kind of found it sexy. Her ex-husband had gotten manicures and always made sure his hands were soft and smooth. Sometimes his hands had been more groomed than her own, and that did awful things to her ego. But then, the entire marriage had been a total slap to any self-confidence she might have had about her appearance.
They climbed into Brock’s mini-truck and started across the island to their cabins.
“I’m bushed,” Natalie admitted. “I’m crashing from my high.”
“Ditto.” He glanced over and then back to the road. “But we’re still on for dinner, right?”
“Oh yeah. Seven, right?”
“How about I pick you up?”
Natalie checked the time on her phone. It was only two, so that gave her plenty of time to rest up for tonight.
“That works. Want me to just walk over to your place?”
He looked aghast. “Absolutely not. This is a date. I’m picking you up.”
She chuckled. “Works for me.”
At seven, Brock knocked on Natalie’s door. When she opened it, her heart did a little shudder and fell over in lust. Brock’s hair was still a damp from his shower. He wore a pair of crisp khaki shorts that Natalie suspected were new. A lemon yellow short-sleeve Henley stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. The shirt did wonderful things to highlight the developed muscles of his chest and arms. It was all she could do to not lick her lips in appreciation.
“Hi,” he said, leaning a forearm on the door jamb. “Ready?”
“I am.”
They got into his truck and drove about two-hundred feet, where he pulled into the parking spot for cabin twenty-one.
“We’re here,” he said with a smile.
“Long drive,” she joked. “I’m exhausted.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I had dinner brought in. Breakfast at the restaurant was great, but I wanted to spend a little quiet time with you. Okay?”
Okay? Hell, it was fabulous.
“Sounds like a great plan.”
His terrace was similar to hers in that it wrapped around one side of the cabana and then across the back. His view of the ocean was much the same. However, his terrace sported a cushioned two-person recliner, something hers didn’t. Gentle light from lit candles flickered in the salty breeze coming in off the ocean. The sun had long since set, replaced by a full moon and a full galaxy of stars. Palm fronds and tropical trees swayed in the breeze, making shadows dance on the terrace floor and walls.
“This is lovely, Brock,” Natalie said.
“I didn’t ask what you liked to eat so I had to take a stab at it.”
She smiled. “I’ll eat just about anything but liver.”
“Whew. Thank goodness. Liver was on my list, but I marked it off at the last minute.”
She laughed.
“Would you like a drink? I have bourbon, but also wine if you’d prefer.”
“I’ll stay with what I know.”
“Bourbon it is. I left it in the kitchen.”
She followed him into his cabana and to his kitchen. Like her place, his was professionally decorated with comfortable, tropical-themed furniture. The kitchen was almost identical to hers with its apartment-sized appliances. A tantalizing aroma of spices and herbs filled the air.
“Smells wonderful.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Dinner is in the oven on low. Ready to eat when we are. Are you hungry now?”
Maybe, but not for the food you’re offering.
“I think a drink first might be nice, but I’ll get it. Can I pour you one?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Natalie stepped up to the kitchen island and cracked the top on a new bottle of Maker’s Mark. As she poured, a pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around her from behind. She leaned back against the rock-solid chest pressed up to her back. Brock kissed her neck. She rocked her head to the side to give him better access. His lips caressed the skin below her ear, and a shiver slithered down her spine. When he ran the tip of his tongue down the tendon in her neck and then nibbled his way back up to her chin, her toes curled. This man had a wicked mouth and knew what to do with it.
He put his hands on her waist and turned her until she was surrounded in his arms. Their gazes met and held. Natalie caught his face in the palms of her hands and pulled him down to her. His tongue eased between her lips and filled her mouth. His deep-chested groan ignited a volley of fireworks in her gut.
She slid the palms of her hands to his chest, enthralled by the twitches and jumps of his muscles when she flexed her fingers. Between the peaks and valleys of tendons and sinew she felt not an ounce of excess flesh. She pushed her hands under the tail of his shirt and lifted.
“I want to see what I’m feeling.” She blurted out the words without thinking, but there was no way to suck them back. Her heart gave a rapid and almost painful kick to her sternum. Why had she said that? Would he think she was nuts?
But the smile that slowly spread across his face had her heart jumping for all the right reasons. Brock lifted his arms above his head, and Natalie pushed the Henley up and off. Her knees almost gave out at the sight. Thick muscles bulged on his chest and biceps. His abdomen looked like a snow mogul course, and of course she skied her hands down it. Bump. Dip. Bump. Dip. Her head swam with lust.
“You should model,” she said, continuing to run the palms of her hands over the male perfection in front of her.
He laughed. “Not hardly, but thank you.”
“I’m serious, Brock. You are…” She couldn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she leaned over and placed a kiss over his heart. Even as she did, her fingers played on the mogul course below.
“You’re playing with fire,” he warned in a gravelly voice.
“Maybe I am a secret pyromaniac.” She licked his nipple and watched it harden.
He groaned. “Worst kept secret ever.”
If she licked his nipple again, he was going to throw her over his shoulder, caveman style, and haul her straight to his bed. To heck with finesse. Lust roiled in his gut like a dragon waking up after being asleep for a couple hundred centuries. Once awake, it demanded to be fed.
“I’m feeling a little underdressed,” he said, slipping his hands under her shirt. His fingers flexed against her warm, soft flesh. Her breathing quickened as he glided his hands up her ribcage until the backs of his fingers brushed the underside of her breasts.
He got a glimpse of her dilated eyes before she shut them and gave herself over to his ministrations. The corners of his lips twisted up as the dragon inside shot flames of desire through his veins. He pulled his hands back until he reached the shirt’s hem and began lifting it over her head. He moved slowly, giving her time to protest or object. Instead, she mimicked him and raised her arms over her head to facilitate removal.
There was hardly any blood remaining in his brain for rational thought. It seemed that every drop had collected below his waist. His dick strained at his zipper as though demanding to be released.
Once her shirt was gone, he got his first glimpse of her peach-colored lace bra. His knees went a little unsteady at the vision of this beautiful blonde in front of him with her eyes closed, a Mona Lisa smile on her mouth and her full, luscious breasts moving sensually up and down with each breath. That changed when he covered each breast with a hand. She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long, stuttering sigh.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and lowered his mouth to one lace-covered nipple. He sucked her through the material while he plucked the other breast with his fingertips.
Her heart pounded against his lips. He had to taste her…now. He pushed the bra up, and her fleshy breasts fell into his hands. Caressing and squeezing them had the last ounce of blood in his body racing to his cock. He was so hard it was almost painful.
He lowered his mouth to her flesh and sucked. She groaned and reached out to stroke him through his shorts. There was no way he was going to be able to move slowly, to take his time seducing her. He wanted to be inside her. Wanted to feel her velvet channel surrounding him.
Something vibrated against his groin and interrupted his thoughts.
Ignore it, his penis demanded.
But Natalie gently pushed him away. “I’m sorry. I need to answer that. My parents are on their first cruise, and they promised to call when they made port. Sorry.”
Brock stepped back. Natalie pulled her phone from her shorts and answered without taking her eyes off Brock’s chest.
“Hello?”
Her face solidified into a solemn frown. Her sexy, playful voice took on a no-nonsense, in-control tone.
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said, her back to him. As she spoke, she pulled her bra back into place. “I can’t help it if Bambi found someone younger, richer, and better looking.” She paced across the living room to stare out the windows overlooking the ocean. “Tiffany. Bambi. Whatever. Look, Tim I’m sorry for you. Really I am, but no. No. I’m not sending you any money so you can fly to Memphis.” She laughed, but it wasn’t one of amusement. “I don’t care if she’s jealous of me. I really don’t give a flying fart what you or she thinks or wants.”
Brock found his shirt and slipped it back over his head.
“No, I’m not coming to California either. We’re divorced. We’ve been divorced for two years.” There was a pause in the conversation. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not your lodestar. You need to find someone else to ground you instead of me. No. No. I mean it, Tim. Stop calling.”
Her shoulders sagged, and she blew out a long sigh. “Yes, that’s the way it has to be.”
She clicked off her phone and shoved it back in her pocket.
“Nothing like a bucket of cold water to put out a fire,” she said, still staring out the window. “Sorry to have ruined the evening.” Finally, she turned to face him. “You don’t have to see me home.”
The sexual flush that’d colored her cheeks was gone. The Mona Lisa smile had been replaced with a sad, apologetic one.
His raging erection had sagged to half-mast as he realized this evening had just taken a different turn.
“I’m sorry, Brock. I shouldn’t have answered the call.”
He poured two fingers of bourbon and walked it over to her. “Of course you had to answer it. Drink this, and then we’ll have dinner.”
Her brow furrowed. “You still want to have dinner?”
“Prime rib with all the fixings. And Key Lime Pie for dessert. Take it or leave it.” He kissed her. “Stay. I’d like you to.”
She downed the bourbon. “I’d like to stay. Thank you.”