Thanksgiving
“SO, I’VE BEEN MEANING to ask you, how’d your folks take you not coming home for the holiday weekend?”
Sprawled back in a comfortable, cushy chair in the rec room of her friend Jazz’s parents’ house, Amanda resisted the urge to unsnap her khakis. After the two full plates of Thanksgiving dinner, plus the pumpkin pie and the teensy sliver of pecan that she’d simply had to taste, she should be glad the snap hadn’t just popped on its own.
“Manda? Were they upset?”
Tryptophan kicking in, she yawned and shook her head. “Actually, I think they were relieved.”
Jazz, who supervised the mechanics who kept Clear-Blue Air flying, curled up in her own chair, her head barely reaching the top of it. She was petite, five-foot-four, but you’d never know that by the way she ran her mechanics’ shop or the magic way she coaxed the best performance out of an airplane.
The two of them were hiding down in the converted basement. They’d finished dinner a few hours ago and Jazz’s big family had just begun saying their goodbyes. Neither of them being the air-kisses type, Amanda and Jazz were waiting out the big huggy scene downstairs. Once the coast was clear, they would go back up and let Jazz’s mother make a big fuss out of loading up plates of leftovers for the “single girls” to take home.
It was becoming a tradition. Somehow, hanging out with Jazz’s big, loud, crazy family on holidays was easier than going home and sticking out like a sore thumb in her own small, quiet, proper one.
“Relieved why?”
“You know Abby got engaged?”
Jazz nodded with a big roll of her dark eyes. She’d met Amanda’s younger sister last year when Abby had come to the city for a spring shopping trip.
Abby was okay, at least when their parents weren’t around and she didn’t have to play Miss Perfect. But the stick up her ass only ever came out so far, and Jazz was not the type around whom Abigail Bauer would ever let down her guard.
Jazz was an exotically beautiful, loud-mouthed, crass, wild-child. Abby was a demure, classically beautiful, prodigal one. Oil and water.
Which made Amanda, what … the vinegar to their Good Seasons salad dressing?
Yeah, tart and sour.
She thrust that thought away, preferring to think of herself as flavorful and zesty.
“How do you like her fiancé?”
“He’s a douche.”
Back to tart and sour.
Jazz snorted, sipping from the glass of wine she’d smuggled down from the kitchen. “Figures.”
“He’s as cold as my father and as reserved as my mother. And he comes from a family of people just like him. His parents invited my folks over for a prewedding holiday meal today.”
“Gotcha. No bad girls allowed, huh?”
Amanda lifted a brow, feigning offense. “Look who’s talking.”
Jazz bent her head and smiled into her glass. “I’m not the one flying off tomorrow to have a weekend of illicit sex with a guy I barely know.”
Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, Amanda reached for her glass of water. Because damn it, yes, she was doing exactly that.
She’d left Cleveland absolutely certain she’d never see Reese Campbell again. She’d felt sure she’d gotten him out of her system. They’d had a great time, built some incredible memories. Plus they’d done just about everything two people could do together sexually.
Okay, that was a lie. She could think of about another four or five things she’d like to do with the man. Or five dozen.
The point was, they’d had amazing sexual encounters twice now, and twice was once more than the one-night stand she’d intended. So how crazy was she to go for number three?
Third time’s the charm.
She’d been unable to resist. Hearing his voice on her voice mail the other day, she’d gotten shaky and weak all over again. When he’d asked her if she wanted to meet him in Florida to see if they could get kicked out of a theme park for having hot sex in public, she’d been unable to say anything but yes. She hadn’t even insisted that he promise to put on any mouse ears.
She had something else in mind for the fantasy part of their sensual weekend. Something a little more risqué than a theme park.
“Where are you meeting him?”
“Daytona.”
“Warm. Sounds good. So, uh, when are you going to let me meet this guy?”
“Never.”
Her friend pulled a hurt look. “Come on, I introduce you to all my boy toys.”
“He’s not my boy toy. He’s …”
“He’s what?” Jazz asked, leaning forward and dropping her elbows onto her knees.
Good question. She couldn’t really call Reese a stranger anymore. They not only knew and had explored every inch of each other’s bodies, they’d also spent time together doing nonsexual things. Damn it, she’d gotten roped into pillow talk that last time.
Even worse, they’d actually chatted about his family the morning after. Mainly because his teenage sister had called him at the butt-crack of dawn to ask him to intervene with their mother for permission to go to some party.
Even adorably tousled and sleepy, Reese had been kind and patient with the girl, whose loud voice Amanda could hear from the other side of the bed. She’d watched him during the conversation, seeing the great guy, the caring brother.
He’d told her a little about his family after the call. That his father had died, that he’d taken over as head of the family business. He hadn’t had to tell her he’d taken on his father’s role in his younger siblings’ lives, too. She’d heard it in the tender—and a little overwhelmed—tone when he talked about them.
Those were about a half-dozen more details than she had ever intended to learn about him. Especially because every one of them just made him that much more appealing.
She absolutely should have steered well clear after that. So how dumb was she to have said yes to this weekend’s get-together? Extremely. And yet, she was already almost breathless with excitement when she thought about the fact that she’d be with him again in under twenty-four hours.
“I guess he’s just a pretty big distraction right at the moment,” she finally admitted.
“I’m glad,” Jazz declared. “It’s about damn time.”
“I know. Now I don’t have to give up my membership card to the sexually alive club.”
“I don’t mean that.” Jazz finished off her wine, then got up and crossed to a well-stocked bar, digging around in a fridge for another bottle. She held it up questioningly, but Amanda shook her head. She’d had one glass with dinner. That was her max, considering she was flying the next day.
“So what did you mean?” Amanda asked, once her friend returned to her seat.
“I mean, it’s about time you stop thinking about what that creepazoid Dale said to you when you dumped his sorry ass. You’re not cold, you’re not ruthless and you’re no heartbreaker.”
Amanda couldn’t help humming a few bars of the Pat Benatar song under her breath.
Jazz ignored her. “He was a tool.”
True.
“And that fake-overdose shit also proved he was one taco short of a combination plate.”
Also true. But he wasn’t the only man she’d ever let down. Something her loyal friend was apparently trying to ignore.
“Face it,” Amanda said, “moss doesn’t grow under my feet. In thirty years, I’m going to be like Uncle Frank. I’ll be the one flying off to the Bahamas to hook up with some hot divorcée for the Thanksgiving holiday.”
Hell, she was already like Uncle Frank. Suddenly, she wished she could have that second glass of wine.
“If you’re swinging that way in thirty years, I might just have to be the hot divorcée.”
Amanda snorted with laughter, as Jazz had obviously intended her to. Because the girl was about as flaming a heterosexual as she’d ever known. Jazz often said her favorite color was purple-veined penis.
“Give yourself a chance,” Jazz murmured, her smile fading and her tone turning earnest. “Don’t decide what this is before you have the opportunity to really find out.”
Amanda opened her mouth to respond, but didn’t quite know what to say. So she said nothing and simply nodded.
They fell silent for a minute or two. Then, from upstairs, they heard the tromping of feet and the slam of the back door, which meant that Jazz’s mother was ushering out the rest of her guests. They’d managed to successfully avoid the big so-great-to-see-you-let’s-do-this-more-often goodbye. The two of them lifted their glasses in a silent toast.
To hiding out when the going gets tough, and avoiding emotional entanglements.
She just had to keep reminding herself of that thought for the next couple of days. And not think about the silent promise she’d just made to her best friend.
AS HE DROVE HIS RENTAL CAR closer to the beachfront hotel where Amanda awaited him, Reese had sex on his mind. Wild sex. Steamy sex. Crazy, never-thought-it-could-be-this-good sex.
That had been on his mind for days. Ever since he’d driven away from that Cleveland hotel room, unsure of whether he would ever again see the beautiful woman who’d slept in his arms the night before.
This time, he’d played it a little smarter. He hadn’t called or e-mailed her right away. Despite how much it killed him, he’d let a full of week go by before he’d tried to contact her.
And it had paid off. Amanda had let her guard down enough to admit she missed him and wanted to see him again. She’d agreed that Thanksgiving weekend in Florida sounded like a perfect holiday.
He should have known it wouldn’t stay entirely perfect. Nothing ever did, right?
“Damn it,” he muttered, seeing a blue light come on behind him, and hearing the brief trill of a siren.
He was a good driver. But when it came to these getaways with the most exciting woman he’d ever known, even his foot got excited and pressed down a bit too hard on the gas pedal.
He could see their hotel, an older place with a sign showing a blue dolphin leaping through the waves. The thought that Amanda was waiting behind the door of one of the rooms, while he was going to have to spend the next fifteen or twenty minutes just a few yards away dealing with a ticket was frustrating in the extreme.
He put the car’s emergency flashers on and pulled into the hotel parking lot, praying the cop was in a good holiday mood. Considering it was Black Friday, however, and he’d probably been chasing credit-card-crazy shoppers clamoring to make it from door-buster to door-buster, Reese somehow doubted he’d be that lucky.
The cop who’d pulled him over spoke from a few feet away as Reese lowered the window. “License and registration?”
Reese started at the female voice, glancing over and seeing the shapely woman standing beside the car door. She was dressed in a formfitting uniform, and wore dark sunglasses even though it was just after sunset. She stared down at him, not taking them off.
“Good evening, Officer,” he said slowly. “Is there some kind of problem?”
“You were doing forty in a twenty-five.”
“Really? Are you sure about that?”
She bent down into the open window. “You saying I’m wrong?”
“Not wrong. Just maybe … mistaken?”
“You have a smart mouth. Maybe I should haul you in.”
He offered her his most charming smile. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t. I’ve got a busy night planned.”
She fisted her hands and put them on her shapely hips. “You think your night’s more important than the safety of everyone else on the road?”
He hesitated, giving it some thought.
“Step out of the car,” she snapped.
Reese didn’t argue but did as she ordered. Removing the keys from the ignition, he opened the door and stepped out into the thick Florida night. Despite the fact that it was November, heat assaulted him. Though it was already evening, the air was still heavy and hot, with that not unpleasant smell found only in the south. A mixture of citrus, flowers, paper mills and suntan oil.
And spicy, sultry female cop.
“Don’t you think we could come to some kind of arrangement, Officer? Can’t you get me off … excuse me, I mean, let me off, with a warning or something?”
Her lips tightened. “I don’t think a warning will do.”
He lifted both his hands, palms up. “There must be some kind of arrangement we could reach. Something I could do for you so you’d feel comfortable forgetting about my speeding?”
She rubbed her hand on her slim jaw, her lips pursed. Then, as if she’d come to some decision, she slowly nodded.
“Okay, then. Maybe you can sweet-talk me into not writing you a ticket.”
“Talk?” he asked, moving closer, until the tips of his shoes touched hers and the fabric of their pants brushed. “You sure that’s all you want from me? Conversation?”
She swallowed visibly, her throat moving with the effort. Reese lifted his hand, tracing the tip of his index finger from her full bottom lip, down her chin, then her throat, her neck. All the way to the top button of her blouse.
This time, her hard swallow was preceded by a shaky sigh.
“Which room?” he asked, urgency making his voice weak.
She lifted a shaky hand and pointed to the nearest one, on the end.
“Key?”
Tugging it out of her pocket, she handed the key card to him, then put her hand in his and let him lead her across the parking lot. Just before he opened the door, he glanced back at the car, and the motor scooter—obviously a beachside rental—sitting directly behind it.
Smirking, he said, “Not even a real motorcycle? It’s not terribly intimidating.”
“Maybe not,” she said with a wicked smile. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out something … something metal. Something that jangled. “But these are definitely real.”
Handcuffs. Oh, yeah. They were real. And they were most definitely intimidating.
He just wondered what his sexy-lover-playing-cop was going to say when he got the upper hand and used them on her. She might think she was in charge this time, but she’d played that role in Cleveland. It was his turn.
“Okay, Officer Bauer. I guess I’m your prisoner.”
At least for a few minutes. As soon as he could gain the upper hand, he’d be the one calling the shots, leaving her vulnerable and helpless against every bit of pleasure he could possibly give her.
AMANDA DIDN’T KNOW WHAT happened. One second, Reese was lying on the bed, his shirt off, pants unfastened, arms upstretched toward the headboard. The next, she was flat on her back and wearing one of the sets of handcuffs.
She sputtered. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer at first, too busy double-checking the cuffs that attached her left hand to the headboard. The other set was lying on the bed, but instead of reaching for it, he hesitated. “We don’t have to use both … if you’re not comfortable.”
She had fully intended to use both sets on him, wanting him totally at her mercy. How wonderful Reese was to take it just far enough, but then pause to make sure she was okay with what he was doing.
Not a lot of men would do that. Of course, not a lot of women would say ‘to hell with it’ and offer up her other wrist for restraint, either.
But they weren’t exactly your average couple.
“Go for it,” she said with a sultry smile as she twisted on the sheets, suddenly so aroused she could barely stand it.
He reached across the bed, fastening her other hand, then came back to center, brushing his mouth against hers.
“I’ve wanted you since the last time I saw you,” she told him.
“I know.”
He wasn’t being arrogant, she realized. He knew because he felt the same way.
“Okay, you’ve got me, big guy. Now what are you going to do?”
Reese had been almost undressed when she tried to take over, but Amanda hadn’t removed so much as her shoes. Which would probably present a bit of a problem when it came to her top. But she trusted him—he was a very resourceful kind of guy.
And it buttoned up the front. Thankfully.
“I’ll think of something.” He frowned down at her. “So, madam police officer, are you used to trading sexual favors for legal ones?”
“Only in very special circumstances.”
He rose to his knees, reaching for her waistband, and unfastened her pants. Amanda lifted up a little so he could slide them down over her hips and bottom, feeling the slow glide of his fingertips down to her very bones.
“What circumstances would those be?”
“Well, when I haven’t had a man in a very long time.” She licked her lips. “And I stumble across one who looks like he could satisfy me.”
He tsked. “Didn’t we have this conversation in a beer closet once? Is there any doubt that I can satisfy you?”
Giving him an innocent look, she asked, “A beer closet? Why, I don’t know what you mean.”
He reached for her tiny panties, catching the elastic and pulling them off the way he had her pants. This time, she didn’t help. She let him work them down, liking the way he couldn’t take his eyes off her body as he revealed it.
Those blue eyes darkened as he stared at her hips, her pelvis, the curls at the top of her sex. But he didn’t touch, seeming content to drive her mad with just a stare.
He could set out to be as slow and deliberate as he wanted. Amanda knew, however, that his strength would only last so long.
She’d been there, done that, and brought home the orgasms to prove it.
Bare from the waist down, she casually lifted one leg, letting her thighs fall apart so he could see the glistening effect he’d already had on her.
He hesitated for a second, then, as if unable to resist, he reached for her. Tracing her pelvic bone with his fingertips, he finally slid them down to swirl over her clit.
Amanda jerked, her hips lifting off the bed. He didn’t go any faster, or further, he just continued to toy with her, to pluck her like a fine instrument, until she was gasping. Then he moved his hand away and reached for the bottom button of her blouse. He unfastened it, pressing his mouth to the bare skin of her belly. The next button—and that wicked, wonderful mouth moved higher.
By the time he reached her midriff, his tongue was involved and he was taking tiny tastes of her, as if he was nibbling delicately on some luscious dessert. She twisted beneath him, arching toward that questing mouth and those careful fingers.
For the first time, she got a sense of just how difficult this being restrained was going to be. Because she desperately wanted to twine her hands in his hair, to caress his handsome face, cup his strong jaw.
She also wanted to pull him up a teensy bit faster. Her breasts were throbbing with need, her nipples scraping almost painfully against the rough, starched blouse—part of her phony uniform. And having his mouth on her skin, his breaths blowing hotly against her, all she could think about was how incredible his tongue felt on other parts of her anatomy.
But she could do nothing: couldn’t hurry him, couldn’t touch herself to provide some relief. She could only lie there, silently begging with every quiver of her body.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and there was laughter in his voice.
She faked it. “Not a thing.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
He moved up again. One inch closer to where she needed him to be. Or one inch farther from where she needed him to be. She honestly couldn’t decide.
Well, of course she could. She wanted both. Wanted him sucking her nipples and also giving her the kind of mind-blowing oral sex that she’d had erotic dreams about for weeks.
“Please …”
He moved again, this time his slightly roughened cheek scraping the bottom curve of her breast. His lips followed, kissing away the irritation, and she flinched with the close contact to her sensitized nipples.
Finally the right button. He looked down on her and shook his head. “No bra? Is that standard uniform attire, Officer?”
She twisted, trying to push her nipple toward his mouth, needing him to suck and squeeze and twist.
“Your breasts are a work of art,” he mumbled, dropping his aloof act.
She didn’t totally agree, always feeling at least a cup size less adequate than most women. But they were pretty, nicely shaped and high. Plus her nipples had so many nerve endings it was a wonder she didn’t come when she wore a silk blouse.
“Suck me, Reese,” she begged.
“That an order?” He pulled farther away, deliberately tormenting her.
“Let’s call it a polite request.”
“Well, since you’re being polite.”
He said nothing else, gave her no warning, merely bent to capture the taut tip between his lips. He sucked her once, then deeper, reaching up to catch the other mound in his hand.
She cried out, her hips instinctively jerking toward his jean-covered legs. Twisting her thigh over his, she tugged him closer, gaining satisfaction from the brush of his jeans against her sex.
She was all nerve endings, all sensation, and between the deep, strong pulls of his mouth on her nipple and the rub of his strong, masculine thigh between her legs, she felt herself begin to climax. The wave began, and she let out a hitchy little cry.
Reese moved suddenly, removing all that physical connection. He covered her mouth with his, swallowing down the sound with a kiss. And the orgasm dissipated like morning fog baked away by the rising sun.
“Not yet,” he whispered. “Not just yet.”
Oh, God. She was going to kill him. “Paybacks are hell,” she snapped.
“Yeah, I know.” He moved his mouth to her neck, sucking her skin into his mouth and biting her lightly. “Consider this a payback for November 11th.”
Oh. Yeah. The day she’d kept him on the brink of climax but hadn’t let him go over the edge until she was good and ready.
“Can I just cry uncle, say you win and take my orgasm now, please?”
“Nope.”
Damn. She’d been afraid of that.
Reese was as good as his word. For the next hour, he tormented her, delighted her, toyed with her, thrilled her. There was magic in the man’s hands and heaven in his mouth. And he used those hands and that mouth on every last inch of her.
Her shoulders became sore from twisting around on the bed while her arms were restrained above her head. But, to be honest, Amanda didn’t mind. There was something incredibly freeing about being at the sexual mercy of someone she trusted completely. There was no quid pro quo, no reciprocity. She just had to lie there and let him give her pleasure, just take, take, take and not feel one bit of guilt about it.
It wasn’t until she was sobbing with the need to come that Reese finally decided to grant her an orgasm. He’d been moving his mouth and tongue across her groin, her upper thighs and the outer lips of her sex, but not lingering long enough. Finally, though, perhaps hearing the sobs of pleasure mingled with frustration, he did linger.
Oh, did he linger.
Swirling his tongue over her clit, he flicked and sucked, then upped the intensity by moving a hand to her swollen lips. He wet his finger in her body’s moisture, then slid it into her. Then another, moving slowly, deeply.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “More, please.”
He gave her more. More pressure, more suction, more delicate stabs of his tongue. And he began to withdraw his fingers, then plunge them in again, filling her as best he could until he could use the part of his anatomy she really wanted.
“Oh, God, finally!” she cried as the waves of pleasure erupted. Nothing could have held them back this time. Her body had reached its very peak of sexual arousal and the explosion that rocked her seemed to last for a solid minute. She almost had an out-of-body experience, she was so in its grip.
By the time it finally released her, she realized Reese had moved away long enough to strip out of his clothes. His erection was enormous, looking bigger somehow, as if seeing her so entirely lost had aroused him more than he’d ever been before.
He paused only long enough to pull on a condom, then moved between her splayed thighs. Amanda immediately tilted up to greet him, wrapping her legs around his hips, wanting him as deep as he could possibly get.
They knew each other now. Knew what they wanted, what they liked, what they could take. So there was nothing tentative, no gentle easing like there’d been the first time, when he’d almost seemed worried he might hurt her.
This time, Reese drove into her in one thrust. Though she was dripping wet and took him easily, Amanda let out a little scream of pleasure. He filled her thoroughly, stretching out a place for himself, making her wonder how she withstood the emptiness when he wasn’t inside her.
She wanted her hands free, wanted to wrap them around his neck and hold on tight. But he was too hungry for her to consider asking him to pause to find the keys.
Oh, what the hell.
Amanda didn’t even think about it. She easily slid her hand out of the left cuff, twisted the right and tugged that one free, too. Reese had been so tender and sweet about it, not wanting to hurt her, that he hadn’t fastened the damn things tightly enough.
His eyes flared in surprise when she lifted her hands to his thick, broad shoulders. “Sneaky woman.”
“You don’t have to be gentle,” she told him, not just referring to the cuffs.
“I know.” His eyes glittered as he withdrew, then slammed back into her, hard, deep, almost violent.
Nothing had ever felt so good. Nothing. Not ever.
Amanda raked her nails across his back. Wanting even more, she tilted farther until her legs were so high, he took them and looped them over his shoulders.
“Yes, yes….”
Smiling down at her, Reese bent to catch her mouth in another hungry kiss. His warm tongue thrust deeply against hers, catching the rhythm of his thick member moving in and out of her body. She matched both movements, taking everything, giving it back again. Until finally, in a lot shorter time than he’d allowed for hers, he came close to reaching his own ultimate level of fulfillment. She knew, by his hoarse groans and the strain on his face, that he was almost there.
Not willing to be left behind, yet not wanting to give up one centimeter of that deep possession, she reached down between their bodies, rubbing at her most sensitive spot with her fingertips. Reese looked down, and she followed his stare. It was incredibly erotic, seeing her fingers tangled in her curls, and below, his big, thick cock disappearing into her.
The sights, the sounds, the weight of him, the smell of him, and, oh, the feel of his body joined with hers … all combined to drive her up to that ledge again. And once he saw she was right there with him, Reese brought them both as high as they could possibly go … and then just a little bit further.
THOUGH THEIR PREVIOUS encounters had, literally, been one-nighters, this trip to Daytona was actually going to last two. Amanda had booked the hotel room through Sunday, and Reese wasn’t about to ask her why. She again wanted to change the terms of their … whatever it was. Well, that was just fine with him. Double the pleasure, double the fun.
Problem was, by Saturday afternoon, he could see she was beginning to regret it. Her smiles were forced. She kept averting her gaze during their brief talks. And whenever he began any kind of real conversation, she tried to seduce him.
Not that he minded being seduced. Seriously. But he was only human and while the mind was willing, his dick was just about worn-out after six or seven rounds of cops and robbers.
Amanda had even resisted going out to eat, having filled the small fridge with food before his arrival. He knew without asking that she was remembering their dinner at the Italian place in Cleveland. Her aversion to anything that looked, smelled or sounded anything like a date had come through loud and clear. He didn’t know why she felt that way—how could he?—but the message had definitely been received.
Still, he’d had enough of grapes and cheese. Not to mention enough of her skittishness about doing anything that didn’t involve some part of his anatomy connecting with some part of hers. And that was why, at three o’clock Saturday, he put his foot down, insisting they get out of the hotel room and actually see the ocean they could hear pounding right outside their window.
“I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” she muttered as he nudged her toward the door.
“I didn’t, either. The water’s not exactly swimming temperature, is it?” Though, judging by the clear blue sky and blazing yellow sun he could sort-of see through the tired, smudged windows, he figured it had to be as hot as a typical summer day in Pittsburgh. “A walk on the beach doesn’t require special clothing. And I might be lucky enough to find a hot dog vendor or something. Because if I have to eat nothing but cheddar cheese for the rest of the day, I’m going to fly to Vermont and shoot someone.”
Though a grin pulled at her mouth, she visibly subdued it. With her brow tugged down, she looked like someone trying to get out of some difficult chore. “Fine. We’ll walk.”
“You know, if I hadn’t already seen just how daring you can be, I’d have to conclude you were a total chickenshit.”
Her eyes flared wide in surprise. “What did you call me?”
“You heard me,” he said with a shrug.
“I’m not afraid of the beach,” she insisted.
He’d lay money she intentionally misunderstood. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Putting a hand on her elbow, he led her out the door while she was distracted being all pissed off. “I’m just wondering something. Are you scared that if you take your hands out of my pants for too long, you might actually start to like me?”
Her face flushed, but, as he’d figured, she kept on walking, now challenged more than anything else.
It took a full minute for her to respond. As they crossed the wooden planking over the dunes and stepped down onto the sandy beach, she finally muttered, “I don’t dislike you.”
“Progress.”
She fell silent again while they stopped to kick off their shoes. As he’d suspected, it was blazingly hot out, at least fifty degrees warmer than it had been yesterday in Pittsburgh. While he definitely could appreciate the warmth, he honestly didn’t think he’d ever actually enjoy living someplace like this. Wearing shorts while watching football on Thanksgiving day just sounded wrong on all kinds of levels.
Carrying their shoes, they made their way down toward the water. They skirted the pasty-skinned sun-bathers, on vacation from cold northern cities, who were sprawled on colorful towels and slathered with lotion. Only when the warm ocean surf lapped at their feet did they turn and proceed north.
Heading away from the hotels, the beach grew less and less crowded. Soon the voices of shouting kids, radios and gabby teenagers had disappeared. There was nothing but the churning of the waves, the hiss of the breeze and the squawk of overhead seagulls. And the very loud silence of his companion.
It was probably a good ten minutes before Amanda said a thing. When she did, it was in a whisper he could barely hear above the strong lapping of the surf against his ankles.
“I actually like you a lot, Reese.”
He said nothing, just reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers. He’d touched her in so many ways, but this was, as far as he could recall, the first time he’d simply held her hand.
Amanda had such a strong, confident personality, he sometimes forgot how feminine she was. Her slender hand, delicate fingers and soft palm reminded him that, despite the swagger and the attitude, she was still vulnerable. More than she’d ever want anyone to realize.
“I probably like you too much already.” She sounded as though she’d just admitted to liking tuna-and-peanut-butter sandwiches.
“I wish I could say I understand why that’s such a bad thing.”
“I told you I didn’t want anything serious.”
“Who said liking each other meant we were about to exchange rings?”
She stopped, but didn’t pull her hand away. Tilting her head back to look up at him, she pushed her sunglasses up onto the top of her thick hair, as if wanting to ensure he understood what she was about to say. He did the same, seeing confusion in her green eyes.
“Here’s the thing. I am poison when it comes to men and relationships. My name might as well be Ivy.”
He didn’t laugh, knowing she was dead serious. She really believed what she said. “Why do you think that?”
“Because I’ve been told that. I break hearts and hurt people, Reese.”
“Intentionally?”
Her brow furrowing in confusion, she shook her head slowly. “No, I suppose not. But what difference does that make?”
Leaning down, he pressed his lips onto her forehead, kissing her tenderly. There was nothing sexual in it, just warmth and a bit of consolation for this beautiful woman who seemed to see herself so differently than the way he saw her.
“It makes all the difference in the world,” he murmured.
She remained stiff, unyielding. “Not to the guys whose hearts I’ve broken.”
“Armies of them, I suppose?”
She wasn’t teased out of her dark mood.
“Platoons?” Reese put his arms around her shoulders, tugging her against him, making her take the support and connection she tried so hard to resist. “Squads?”
“I don’t know how big those things are,” she mumbled into his shirt, her voice sounding a little watery.
He didn’t tease her, didn’t pull back to see if those really were tears dampening the front of his shirt or just the misty spray off the ocean.
“I don’t, either. And I honestly don’t care.”
He meant it. He was a grown man, and she’d warned him from the get-go. He could take care of himself.
He only wondered if she was really as tough as she tried to make herself out to be, or if all these protestations and fears were more about protecting her own heart than anyone else’s. Not that he was about to say that out loud. Not when she had, at last, seemed to let down her guard, at least a little bit.
“Let’s just go with this—no more rules, no more walls. And see where it takes us. Okay?”
No answer. Instead, quietly, slowly, she relaxed against him. After a few moments, she even slid her arms around his waist, holding him, if not tightly, at least comfortably.
They stood that way for a long while, on the edge of the water, with the waves splashing against their legs. And in the quiet stillness of the moment, he felt the tension leave her, felt her give up some of the control she’d been trying so very hard to maintain.
And finally she murmured, “Okay.”
He didn’t respond or react in any way, knowing the decision had been a difficult one for her to make. He also knew they’d just agreed to something that could end up not working at all.
Because what was happening between them was unpredictable, as uncontrollable as the currents sending the salty ocean water splashing over their feet. He didn’t know where they were going or how long it would take to get there. Or how long they’d stay.
He was just glad Amanda had finally appeared to decide to continue the journey with him.