“Let’s make love.”
He laughed, a little bit of a growl, a little bit of a sigh, punctuated by a slow, wet kiss. “Yeah. Right now. Right here on this hill, under these stars. Let’s make love.”
He grew hard against her stomach and their hips began to rock in a timeless, natural rhythm. Heat shot between her legs, and she curled one calf around his knees as their kisses turned hotter and wetter and wild.
He touched her everywhere, stripping clothes, licking skin, tasting secret places, suckling her into a state of dizzy, crazy desire.
She tried to think about what this meant. That for the first time in her life she was going to make love with someone who knew the truth about her, who knew what she was made of and where she’d come from.
But she couldn’t really think about anything.
Only the way he felt in her hand, pulsing with need to be inside her. Only the way her body opened to him, taking him willingly, so deep that he touched her womb with the first thrust. Only the way her teeth sank into his shoulder and he whispered her name as pleasure so exquisite it bordered on pain racked her body until she coiled around him, tighter and tighter and tighter.
She couldn’t think of anything as she finally gave in to the quaking fury of an orgasm that started in the center of her body and rolled over her until every single cell was utterly and totally satisfied. A moment later he shuddered with his own release, just as ferocious and complete as hers.
And when he finished, she still couldn’t think. All she could do was hold on to Jack, because she felt like she’d fall right off the edge of the earth if she let go.
As he had every morning for the past five days, Jack woke with the sun on his face, a woman in his arms and a hard-on that had become so commonplace, he could actually ignore it at times.
He shimmied against Lily’s taut backside. This would not be one of those times. She responded by moving exactly as he’d hoped, sliding to the north so he could glide south into the hot, tight envelope of her womanhood.
Without breaking the silky, wet contact, he reached over his shoulder for the condom packet he knew he’d left unopened on the dresser. But before he grabbed it, Lily jerked around, stealing her warmth with a gasp.
“Tomorrow’s our last day.”
“In Nantucket. Not on earth.” He handed her the foil wrapping. “Do that thing with your teeth, Lil.”
She shook her head. “You have to get a haircut. Reggie could call any minute and that’s the one thing we haven’t done.”
“I can pull it back into a ponytail.”
She looked at him as if he’d suggested a pink-tipped Mohawk.
“Listen,” he said, digging for reason in his voice when what his body was feeling was so far from reasonable. “I’ve endured your entire repertoire of professional performance coaching for five solid days. Thanks to you, I can delegate like the commander in chief, communicate with precision, conduct quality meetings, disarm verbal hostility and take the sting out of criticism. In addition, I know how to stand to project authority, which fork to use on my shrimp cocktail, and I can do a one-handed half Windsor knot in my sleep. I own a pair of cuff links, for cryin’ out loud. You’re done. Leave my hair alone.”
She pushed one of the offending strands from his face. “That’s good, Jack. You’re getting so good at responding resourcefully to criticism.”
He took her hand and placed it over his erection. “Criticize this.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened and, like every time she touched him, her lips parted, her breath caught. “Nothing wrong with that.”
He held the condom packet out to her. “Teeth. Open. Use. Now.”
“Haircut. Salon. Ten o’clock. Today.” She flipped over and rolled out of bed. “See? I can speak gorilla, too.”
Narrowing his eyes, he dropped the packet on her empty pillow. If sex as a diversion didn’t work, what would? “I’ll get my hair cut tomorrow. Today we’re going sailing.”
She froze midway between the bed and the bathroom, turning around slowly. “Sailing?”
Her smile was so pretty, it damn near hurt to look at her. But the rest didn’t make him feel much better, either, with all those feminine dips and curves, creamy white skin, a tiny dark tuft between her legs and nipples the color of juicy pink raspberries. Lily was so sexy and sweet and adorable, his whole insides twisted every time he studied her, with or without clothes.
“Later,” he said, patting the bed with a hand that literally itched to touch her. “Come back now and let me love you, Lil.”
He caught the nearly imperceptible flash in her eyes and tamped down a matching spark of guilt. He didn’t mean love that way, of course. But they’d gotten so familiar, so affectionate, so much like lovers in the past week. The sting of her makeover was completely neutralized by the balm of sex that got more familiar and even more exciting every time. Sex that was so much fun, he didn’t even want to think about this week ending. Especially if the grand finale included his hair on some swanky salon floor.
“Didn’t you say it would take four hours?” she asked, still not approaching the bed.
He smoothed the sheets in invitation. “I can go four hours. Can you?”
“I meant to sail to Cape Cod. You said it would take four hours.”
He leaned over to squint through the shutters and gauge the wind in the trees. “There’s probably a light chop. If we get favorable winds and decent weather, yeah. We can leave by ten and be there by three at the latest.”
“And we’d stay there overnight?”
“There’s plenty of room. Deuce built a mansion on the beach.” Again he saw the little flicker of something in her expression. Money. Mansions. Was that envy he saw, or fear that her childhood secret would be revealed? Or maybe she didn’t want to go that next step and meet family? Maybe that was too much for her.
Funny, it wasn’t too much for him. And it ought to be. He wanted her to meet Kendra, and he, man, he wanted Deuce to meet her.
“Do we have to stay there?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t we?” He propped his torso on one elbow. “Think of it as a test of your skills.”
“My skills?”
“Your image consulting skills. If I’ve really changed, if you’ve succeeded in morphing me into the Donald Trump of advertising, then the two people in the world who can confirm that are my best friend and my sister. Let’s go and take a test drive before we try and hoodwink the Brits.”
“We’re not going to hoodwink anyone. You have changed.”
His gut roiled, but it was true. At least she’d helped him see how to blend authority and creativity. And he didn’t hate the way he looked in her power suits—at least not when she took them off him…with her mouth.
“I haven’t really changed.” But even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
The Agent of Change had, to be fair, done her thang. At least on the surface.
Her navy eyes tapered. “Fine. We’ll test you out at your sister’s. Then tomorrow morning we go to Hair Apparent for a cut.”
“A trim.”
“A style.”
He rolled his eyes. He had a day left. And a night. He’d think of some way out of it. Instead of arguing, he just shot off an irreverent salute, then waved the condom packet like a white flag. “Then will you do that trick with your teeth?”
“Of course I will.” She turned, giving him one blissful view of her backside as she trotted off to the bathroom. “At least once more before I go back to Boston.”
He fell back onto the pillow, the condom slipping from his hand. Why did the idea of that kick him in the stomach with the same intensity as the thought of seeing Ad Agency President on his business cards?
Business cards? He didn’t even own them. Although he’d bet his next big idea that they were being printed right this very minute.
He exhaled and waited for the hard-on, and the headache, to subside.
He just didn’t want her to leave, was all.
That had happened to him before, hadn’t it? He’d liked plenty of women over the years. He’d even grown fond enough of a few to date them for more than one phase of the moon.
But then the walls closed in and the demands grew louder and they wanted…an arrangement. They wanted structure and limitations and titles, like Mr. and Mrs. That’s when he lost interest.
But with Lily, he had this bizarre sensation that he hadn’t even hit stride on the interest level. He wanted more. More of her body. More of her laugh. More of her heart.
What was wrong with him? Had he forgotten that her idea of the perfect life matched his general depiction of imprisonment?
Falling for her, caring for her was just so dumb, it defied logic. The woman lived for security, for God’s sake. For a house, permanence and stability. He knew that without a doubt because when they weren’t busy having mind-blowing sex or doing mind-numbing professional coaching, they talked. Constantly.
Over food, along the beach, in the hot tub, at the kitchen counter at three in the morning where they devoured Dot’s leftovers to build stamina for the next round. She had such a great appetite—for everything.
He knew what she wanted out of life. Just as she knew he needed freedom and a life without limits with the same urgency that he needed air, water and sex.
So why, then, did the idea of their interlude ending put a hole in his heart? She hadn’t succeeded in making him over that much, had she?
He stabbed his fingers through his hair and snagged a bunch of morning knots. Swearing softly, he untangled the mess.
This was crazy. He would not cut his hair. Any more than he would buy a house and live in it with the same woman…forever.
Some things could never change.
Eight
L ily’s very first sail was just like everything else she did with Jack: exhilarating. Senses overloaded, she clung to the teakwood trim of Reggie’s twenty-nine-foot sloop, the massive canvas popping with the wind that danced them over Nantucket Sound, a delicious bath of September sun warming her face, the heady smell of salt water and sea clearing every thought from her head.
The visual wasn’t bad either: a brawny, long-haired Viking at the helm, wearing a loose, knit shirt and khaki pants, working the sails with the ease of a man born and raised near the water. His muscles strained as he cut the jib and raised the mainsail, generously sharing the new vocabulary with her and guiding her through the steps as they tacked and shifted into a steady, cool northern wind.
“Would be a lot easier with the wind at our back,” she shouted over a gust that tipped them perilously sideways, taking her stomach and equilibrium with it.
“The path of least resistance,” he said through gritted teeth as he fought a gust, his hair snapped straight back, his eyes hidden by reflective shades, “bores me.” He laughed with the sheer fun of it. “Coming about!”
She dipped low as the boom swung across the deck, rocking the boat as it cut into the new direction.
“Isn’t she a beauty?” Jack asked, tapping the helm of the Lady Sam with affection. “Reggie doesn’t take this thing out enough.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a workaholic. Even when he comes to Nantucket, he’s either running a brainstorm or pitching a client or hauling a mountain of files.”
“That’s going to change,” Lily said, not sure if Jack heard her soft comment in the breeze.
But she knew by the look on his face that he had. Before he responded, ocean spray splashed up the side of the boat, soaking his shoulders and hair. Jack shook his mane like a lion and hooted with delight.
Mesmerized, Lily watched him. He looked like a billboard for a man in the prime of his life, taking on the elements and winning, loving the challenge and laughing in the face of a cold wave of misfortune.
Something tightened in her chest, a foreign, scary and still lovely sensation of awe and wonder and terror.
Jackson Locke, with his disdain for barriers and his love of freedom, with his biting wit and clever mouth, with all his irreverence and talent and creativity and heart and raw, untamed sexuality, was the most attractive human being Lily had ever met.
That’s what tightened in her chest, what had been damn near squeezing the life out of her for the past week. Love.
She could fall in love with him.
The boat rose and fell over a wave, slapping hard against the water and sending a jolt from her spine to her brain.
“Coming about!”
She could fall in love with him. Easily. In fact—
“Lily! Down!”
She blinked at the boom careening toward her so fast she didn’t have time to think or gasp. She dived, missing a slam in the face by a millisecond and actually feeling the buzz of canvas right over her head. Embarrassed and stunned, she stayed bent over, her brain whirring and her blood pumping like the wind-whipped sheets overhead.
What was the matter with her? Love him? Of all the bad choices in the world, that one was without equal.
“Hey.”
She didn’t realize Jack had abandoned the helm, and was kneeling in front of her, his hands on her knees. “Are you okay?”
She managed to nod.
“You almost got creamed.”
“I’m okay.” But still she didn’t lift her head. She couldn’t look at him. He’d know. He’d read it in her eyes. He’d draw another secret from her, plucking truths like flowers from her heart.
“Are you sick, Lil?”
“I’m fine.” Slowly she sat straight. “I just wasn’t listening and…I’m fine.”
He’d pushed his sunglasses back on his head, regarding her with an expert gaze that darted from eye to eye. “You look a little pale. You sure you’re not seasick? ’Cause if you have to blow, just lean over the side.”
She fought a laugh. “I don’t have to blow, Jack.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
The matter? How about she’d just realized she was falling in love with the totally wrong man? A man who had no use for what she wanted, a man who should be issued with an expiration date on relationships? A man who…
“Nothing,” she lied. “Really, it just surprised me. I’ll be more careful.”
He squeezed her legs and winked. “We can drop anchor and go below if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Sex isn’t the answer to everything, Jack.” The wind flipped some hair across his face and she did what she always did, instinctively. She brushed it back, letting her fingers slide through the silk and graze the morning stubble on his cheek, waiting for his inevitable joke about sex most definitely being the answer to whatever ailed her.
But he leaned closer to her face, almost kissing her. “You scared me, Lil. I thought I lost you there.”
He would lose her, eventually. He would lose interest and move on to the next thrill, the next free-form relationship, the next challenge. She’d be nothing but the woman who tried to make him over. And failed.
The boat tipped to an angle and he shot up, righting it with a confident turn of the helm, then a quick look at her.
“You sure you’re okay, sweetheart?”
Her stomach roiled with the next wave. She could hide this from him. He didn’t need to know she’d fallen so hard. He’d never get this secret out of her.
“I’m sure,” she said, a practiced smile firmly in place. “I avoided disaster.”
And she would again.
“All right,” he called over another salt spray. “You ready? Coming about, Lil.”
This time she ducked the swinging boom with ease, and used the opportunity to hide her face while she whispered the words she’d never, ever say to him. Just for the pure thrill of feeling them on her lips.
I love you, Jackson Locke.
“Now, that’s what I call tall, dark and handsome.”
Jack didn’t even have to look up from the line he was tying to see who meandered across the wharf planks in their direction. Only one man he knew elicited that universal re
sponse from the female population.
“Yeah? I call him fast, wild and married to my sister.”
“So that’s Deuce Monroe.”
“The one and only. I told him to meet us down here and drive us into Rockingham.” Jack snapped the line into a tight cleat pitch and straightened to follow Lily’s gaze. “Whoa, look at him.”
“Okay. If I have to.”
He threw her a dirty look. “I mean for a has-been pro ball player, he looks pretty damn…happy.”
Deuce hustled toward them with his usual athletic grace, but there was something else in his step. Something about the way he held his broad shoulders and the beaming smile on his face.
When Deuce had returned to Rockingham two years earlier, kicked off the Las Vegas Snake Eyes baseball team because of a major league mistake, he certainly hadn’t beamed or bounced. But all that had obviously changed, and Jack knew exactly who’d been responsible for the change.
His sister, Kendra.
Deuce’s signature heartbreak smile widened as he approached the sailboat and hoisted himself on board in one smooth move.
“You must be Lily,” he said, reaching out a hand to pull her up from the cushion and greet her at the same time. Another smooth move. “I’m Deuce, the brother-in-law.”
It wasn’t the phrase that surprised Jack; it was the bone-deep pride in Deuce’s voice that caught his attention.
He was used to the fact that Kendra had married his best friend. Hell, she’d crushed on him since the time she could write her name. Even when he broke her heart and ruined her life, she never quite got over him. And then, a decade later, Deuce reappeared in Rockingham, and for a while there it looked as if history was going to repeat itself. But they’d worked it out, Kendra had forgiven Deuce the sins of his past and they’d been married for well over a year.
Lily returned the greeting with her own heartbreaking smile, then Deuce turned to Jack and they gave each other knuckles, then a masculine hug and friendly back pat.