It's in His Kiss

  I handed over without giving you shit. Well, not too much shit anyway. And you.” He turned to Cole.

  Cole opened his mouth, but Sam plowed ahead. “Remember the night you were grounded and not supposed to go out? Except you did, and you got drunk, and I had to drag your trashed ass home, and when your mom caught us at the door I let you pretend it was me who was plastered, that it was me who’d needed saving so that you didn’t get grounded for the rest of your life.”

  “Why do you remember this shit?” Cole asked, mystified.

  “For days just like this.”

  Chapter 9

  Becca knelt on the stool beneath the open window, shamelessly eavesdropping on the guys. She’d spent several days now searching for a viable, short-term job that would fit her criteria. One, she wanted to stay in Lucky Harbor for at least the summer. Two, she didn’t want anything too demanding, as after a day of work she’d then be putting in long hours writing her jingles. And three, it had to be something she was good at.

  She was good at being in control, good at being in charge.

  She could really see herself doing this job. What she hadn’t seen was Sam’s reticence, though she should have. Of course he didn’t want to work with the woman he’d so spontaneously boinked almost a week ago.

  Except it’d felt like a lot more than just a quickie.

  And really, there’d been nothing “quick” about it, or Sam. He’d taken his time with her, touching, kissing . . . everything. And she’d responded to him. Fully. That’d been the most shocking. She’d more than merely responded to him. She’d gone up in flames for him.

  But that didn’t mean he wanted a repeat.

  Or that he’d want to hire her to work for him.

  Damn it. She leaned in toward the window, trying to see better. The three of them stood close, and though they looked like laid-back surfers, there was clearly a lot more to them than that. Cole was the most approachable of the bunch, but he wasn’t a pushover. Tanner had a look to him that said he’d been around the block and it hadn’t been an easy ride.

  And then there was the tough, impenetrable, guarded, hard-to-crack Sam.

  At the moment, they were talking, shades locked onto shades. She wasn’t quite close enough to hear what they were saying, but their body language fascinated her. Damn, she wished she could catch their words. She got down, scooted the stool closer to the window, climbed back up, and pressed her ear to the screen.

  “If you’re having trouble hearing, maybe you should just stick your head out the door.”

  At the unbearably familiar voice behind her—Sam’s—she squeaked in surprise and fell off the stool.

  “A peeper to the end,” he said, sounding not surprised at all. His arms easily lifted her up, straightened her out, and released her.

  A little frazzled by the way his hands on her reminded her of their night together, she blinked him into focus and flashed a charming smile.

  He didn’t return it. “You need this job,” he said flatly.

  This wasn’t worded as a question, but she knew he was asking nevertheless. “Yes,” she said.

  He didn’t look happy. “You realize that you’re totally overqualified. Why here?”

  “I like the beach.”

  He stepped closer. “Why else?”

  “I—” It was hard to think now, with him in her space. “I need the money to supplement the jingle income, at least until I get back onto a higher tier of products.”

  “You could play the piano,” he said. “You’re amazing. I bet you could get a job—”

  “Not an option,” she said flatly.

  Sam studied her for a moment, during which she did her best to look like a woman with no secrets.

  He clearly didn’t buy it. “I’ve got a couple of problems,” he said. “You lied to your brother about your job. And you don’t want anyone from your reference list to know where you are.” He stepped into her, his hands cupping her face, tilting it up to him. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Becca? Do you need help?”

  Her throat tightened at the concern in his eyes, but she shook her head. “No.”

  “Then why?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered.

  His thumbs glided over her jaw. “I’m pretty sure I’m missing pieces to your puzzle,” he finally said.

  Yes, he was, but those pieces were for her only. Besides, she couldn’t put herself back together again, so she didn’t expect others to be able to do so. “Look, I’m no big mystery,” she said. “Just a girl who could use a job.”

  When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly gentle, and nearly broke her. “If that’s true, why not tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help.”

  She closed her eyes. He’d already helped and didn’t even know it. “I just want to go back to being successful at something on my own.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “There’s more to this story,” he finally said.

  Fed up, she tossed up her hands. “Well, of course there is. Isn’t there more to you than being a sexy, grumpy surfer? Are you going to tell me why you’re all tough and guarded?”

  “No,” he said. “But I’m not asking you for work, either.”

  She let out a breath. “I’m going to do a great job for you,” she said, the one thing she was utterly confident about. “Isn’t that enough?”

  He just looked at her, and she sighed. “Look, if I suck,” she said, “you can let me go. No hard feelings, I promise.”

  “And what about our other feelings?”

  This stopped her. “Aren’t we done with those feelings?”

  He considered this, and then set her heart to racing when he slowly shook his head. He then stepped even closer and pulled her into him. Their thighs brushed. Other things touched, too, her soft abs to his deliciously concrete ones, for example, as he slowly lifted her to the counter. He splayed his big, callused hands on her thighs and spread them so he could step in close.

  He was hard, deliciously so.

  Her breath caught. Her heart kicked.

  Lowering his head, he ran the tip of his nose along her jaw, and then his mouth was there, too, on the sweet spot beneath her ear.

  Her entire body gave a hard tremble, and she tried to close her legs but he was still between them. His index finger lifted her chin, and their eyes held as he let his lips touch hers. Then he threaded his hand through her hair, tilted her head farther back, and kissed her again, parting her lips, slowly stroking her tongue with his own.

  When he finally released her, she realized she was gripping him tight. She let go and blinked as she struggled to regulate her air intake. “Okay, so we’re not done with those feelings,” she admitted.

  He just looked at her, all dangerous and alluring. “You wouldn’t like working for me,” he said.

  He had no way of knowing that she could handle just about anything. “I can handle you,” she said, “even if you can be a little bit badass and hard.”

  “Sometimes harder than other times,” he said, and she blushed.

  His eyes heated.

  “You know what I think?” she asked. “I think you’re all hard-crusted on the outside, but you don’t scare me because I know the truth.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “That on the inside, you’re soft and gooey,” she said.

  “You’re wrong about the soft.”

  She gave a slow shake of her head. “It’s a compliment. There’s nothing wrong with soft. I’m soft.”

  “On the outside,” he agreed. “And I love it. But you’re pure steel on the inside. I love that, too.”

  “Are you going to hire me?” she asked.

  “The girls are insisting.”

  “The girls?” she asked.

  “Cole and Tanner.”

  She smiled.

  A faint one curved his lips as well, but his eyes remained steady. Solemn. “There are conditions, Becca.”

  “Oh, boy,” she said.

&nbsp
; His smile met his eyes at that, but it faded and she got Serious Sam again. “If we work together,” he said, “we’re not sleeping together.”

  “Because you’ll be my boss?”

  “Because working with someone and sleeping with that same someone is a bad decision.”

  “And . . . you don’t make bad decisions?” she asked. “Ever?”

  “I try very hard not to.”

  Well, good for him. But she didn’t happen to have his self-restraint or discipline. She’d made a lot of bad decisions, and apparently that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. “Are you saying I need to pick between the job and sleeping with you again?”

  “Again?” Cole asked.

  Becca turned to the door where, yep, Cole stood, looking fascinated by their conversation.

  “Shit,” Sam said. He strode to the door and shut it in Cole’s face. Turning back to Becca, he went hands-on-hips, looking ticked off.

  But Becca was annoyed, too. And a little insulted to boot. He thought she couldn’t separate out their physical heat from the job. Or even worse, he was worried she’d get attached to him and yell at him about being dead inside. . .“You know there’s a difference between having sex with someone and having a white picket fence with that someone, right?” she asked.

  He just looked at her.

  Okay, so it wasn’t playtime. And she wasn’t feeling playful anyway. “Seriously, Sam? You want me to choose?” Her lips were still tingling from the kiss he’d laid on her, and if she was being honest, so were other parts of her body—such as every erogenous zone she owned. This was because she now knew exactly what he could do to her. Which was more than any man in far too long. If ever.

  And he, apparently, could take it or leave it.

  Take or leave her.

  “I pick the job,” she said. Look at that, it was an easy decision after all.

  He didn’t react. He just studied her for a long beat. “The hours are five to two,” he finally said, giving her no clue as to how he felt about her decision.

  “Five . . . a.m.?” she asked in disbelief.

  His lips twitched. “You want to change your mind?”

  Oh, hell, no. Even if she loved to sleep.

  “You could get better hours playing at the Love Shack for their dinner crowd,” he said.

  “I want this job.”

  “And your brother,” he said. “Didn’t he offer you a good-paying job?”

  “Not interested.”

  Again she received a long look. And again she got a little tummy quiver. He was good at evoking that.

  “The early start is because we’re almost always booked for an asscrack-of-dawn deep-sea trek or a sunrise scuba tour. We need someone to open up shop, start the coffee, greet the customers, and answer the phones.”

  “What about the later part of the day?” she asked. “Don’t you take people out for sunset or whatever?”

  “Yeah, but it’s the mornings and midday when we get the most traffic. We can handle the evening stuff ourselves for now.”

  Five. In the morning . . .

  “Think about it,” he said.

  She looked out the window. Tanner and Cole were stripping off what looked like scuba gear. They’d both lost their shirts, leaving them in just board shorts.

  Holy hotness, Batman.

  “In New Orleans, my office view was the brick wall of the building right next to me,” she said. “This view is better.”

  She didn’t hear Sam move, but suddenly she felt him at her back, warm and strong and stoic as ever. Her eyes drifted shut as he stroked a finger down the side of her throat, making her body tremble yet again.

  Yeah, he was real good at that.

  He was good at a lot of things, she was discovering.

  “Think about it,” he said again softly.

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter 10

  Becca knocked on Olivia’s door and waited. After a moment, she felt movement behind the peephole and knew she was being studied. She hoisted the bag of sandwiches she’d just bought from the diner. “Hot pastrami on rye,” she said, waving the bag enticingly. “And fries.”

  The door opened. Olivia’s gorgeous dark hair was piled up on top of her head, held there with a fabulous silver-and-pearl clip that Becca knew had to be vintage. Olivia looked her usual beautiful and remote, but there was something new.

  She was covered in paint.

  “What are you doing?” Becca asked.

  “You can’t hear my paintbrush as I paint my bathroom?” Olivia asked. “Because the insulation is so nonexistent, I can hear you breathing when you’re not playing your keyboard.”

  Well, crap. “How do you know it’s not my radio?”

  “The radio doesn’t have the musician swearing Oh shit, that sucks after each song.”

  Good point, Becca thought. She sighed. “I’ll keep it down.”

  “I like it,” Olivia said.

  “You like my playing, but not necessarily me?”

  Olivia shrugged. “I made you pizza,” she said. “Which I don’t do for anyone else. So I must like you a little. What’s with the food?”

  “Funny you should ask. I’m actually trying to bribe you into liking me more.” She waved the food again. “Is it working?”

  “Maybe.” Olivia peered at the bag and inhaled deeply. “Did you say fries?”

  “Yep. And brownies.”

  Olivia narrowed her eyes. “Store-bought brownies?”

  “Yes,” Becca said, “but give me a break here; I need a friend. And trust me, store-bought is way better than my homemade.”

  Olivia didn’t look impressed.

  “They’re from the bakery,” Becca said, which was a little piece of heaven and everyone in town knew it.

  Including, it seemed, Olivia. “Yeah, okay,” she relented, and let Becca in.

  Olivia’s place had been transformed. The open, empty warehouse was now filled with warm, comfy furniture, floor lamps, and throw rugs. “Wow,” Becca said. “It looks like a real home now.”

  “That’s the idea.” Olivia dug into the food like she hadn’t eaten all day.

  “What’s behind there?” Becca asked, gesturing to an antique screen that blocked off a good third of the open space.

  “Overflow stock for my store. Now you. You’re doing the hot surfer.”

  Becca choked on a bite of her sandwich.