Self-loathing rose up, replacing his fiery blood with ice. “I was going to tell you…that…I…” He closed his eyes, unwilling to look at her when he lied. “I want more than a one-night stand.”
“You told me that.”
“I wanted to emphasize it.”
When she didn’t answer, he opened his eyes and she was staring hard, clearly trying to weigh that statement with the man who’d pushed her up against the wall with his demanding dick and hungry hands.
“Me, too,” she whispered.
“That’s…good.” No, it was bad. Bad, bad, bad.
She smiled, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Look, John, I can do casual sex, honestly, I can. I think I’ve proven that in the last four minutes. I can even handle a little sideline fun with a colleague. But if you want something that lasts more than a few days or weeks, then I need to be sure you remember that…” She struggled for a word, biting her lip. “You remember what’s important to me.”
She wanted a baby. She didn’t have to remind him; he remembered.
He backed away, and she winced ever so slightly. Enough that he saw the vulnerability that he could crush like a roach under his boot. That he
There was no way. No way he would ever dream of creating another child that grew up disconnected to him. And no way he’d—
“That’s fine,” she said quickly, adding some pressure to push him back another inch, his answer obvious by his silence. “Just so we’re clear.”
He dropped one arm and she instantly stepped to the side and let out a soft, wry laugh.
“Is something funny?” he asked.
“No, just that, wow, we made progress tonight, huh? Met the friends, made out, almost had had the baby talk. What’s left?”
He reached for her face, holding her chin and stroking her bottom lip. He shouldn’t have picked her. She was too tender. Too precious. Too real.
All the things he wasn’t.
“There’s plenty left.” Assuming he had the balls to go through with it. Did he?
Time would tell. He hesitated for a minute, then lifted one hand in a halfhearted wave, walking out to the porch. When he reached the driveway, he turned to see her silhouette still in the doorway.
His heart hitched and he looked away, hating that the image was burned into his brain, where he had a feeling it would stay all night long.
Chapter Twelve
Two days later, Tessa lounged on her back porch, angling her laptop screen so the afternoon sun didn’t cause a glare. That way, she had a perfect view of the gorgeous lines of the dreamy, feminine, lace-layered wedding dress on the home page of All Gussied Up, the Web site run by the wedding consultant with pink hair.
She’d meant to spend this quiet Sunday boning up on each of the VIP guests, but for some reason she’d yet to click to Gussie McBain’s bio, staring at the dress instead.
“You’d look amazing in that.”
She jumped a foot and stabbed the Escape key, spinning around at the man’s voice. And not just any man —the man she’d spent the last two days allowing far more of a hold on her thoughts than he should have.
But look at him. And look she did, devouring the white T-shirt molded to substantial muscle, the faded jeans clinging to powerful thighs, his honey hair tangled from the wind and face shadowed with unshaved stubble, his hand clutching—a duffel bag?
“Hey, what’s up?” she asked, going for casual and friendly but getting a nervous hitch in her throat that she cleared away.
“I’m moving in.”
Her eyes widened and he laughed, the sound rolling right through to her toes.
“Next door,” he said, half lifting the bag in the direction of the bungalow that used to be Zoe and Pasha’s. After Pasha died, Zoe and Oliver had moved off the property and the bungalow had been empty. So of course Lacey would offer him the house built for sole purpose of housing Casa Blanca’s top staff.
But why hadn’t Lacey told Tessa?
“Well there goes the neighborhood,” she quipped, repositioning the laptop and sitting up so she wasn’t flat on her back in front of him.
He grinned, climbing up the single stair to her deck as though she’d invited him. There was one other chair, but he dropped the bag and sat down on the chaise next to her, taking his time to check her out from head to toe.
“Nice.” One syllable, one smile, one long look. “To see you,” he finally added.
“You, too.”
“It’s been thirty-eight hours. Did you miss me?”
Her jaw loosened, then she laughed. “You’re counting hours?”
“Mmm.” He leaned forward like he might kiss her but took the laptop instead, turning it to face him, opening and clicking. “Wedding dresses?”
“Research on our important guests,” she shot back.
He studied the Web site but she studied him, counting golden lashes and remembering how his lips felt.
After a second, he closed the computer and carefully put it on the cocktail table next to her. Then he leveled her with his direct attention, placing his hands on either side of her to pin her on the chaise.
“How many times did you think about me?” he asked.
She laughed again, shaking her head. “I lost count after two.”
“I’ve got a big…” He leaned lower and she braced for something sweet and dirty. “Crush.”
She closed her eyes. “That’s not what I thought you were going to say.”
He brushed her cheek with his, chuckling low so she could feel his chest rumble. “Come to the kitchen with me,” he said into her ear.
“I thought you were moving in.”
“I am.” He leaned up, jutting his chin to the duffel bag. “There’s my stuff.”
“That’s it?”
“I travel light.”
Because he had no roots. “Isn’t the kitchen closed after brunch now?”
“Yep, but I have my own research to do. I want to get the lay of the land, try a new recipe, and”—he ran a finger over her arm—“hang out with you.”
There was no way to say no. After she showed him around the bungalow next door, they walked through the gardens toward the resort.
“One thing about living in the employee bungalows,” Tessa said as they rounded the property of the northernmost villa to see the full vista of Barefoot Bay, “the commute doesn’t suck.”
John blew out a low, slow whistle, taking in the glorious horizon, awash with the first tinge of pink and plum, promising a breathtaking sunset later.
“I haven’t been up this far north at this time of day yet. That’s quite a view.” He slowed his step and looked along the gentle curve of the Gulf inlet. “This is a beautiful property. This was in Lacey’s family, I understand?”
“Some of it. Her grandparents were part of the original founders of Mimosa Key, and they claimed much of this inlet when they helped build the island. After they died, she and Ashley lived in an old house her grandparents had built, but it was destroyed by a hurricane a little over two years ago. She bought the adjacent lots for next to
