Barefoot by the Sea

Her heart rose with relief. At least he’d acknowledged the question. “I was wondering,” she said.

“Your friends told me you hate secrets.”

“Generous of them,” she said dryly.

“No, I asked.”

“If I hate secrets?”

He stood slowly. “Zoe wanted me to know your soft spot.”

“She would. And get graphic, too.”

He laughed, taking her hand and pulling her closer. “I can find that spot on my own.” Easing her all the way into him, he lowered his head nearer to her face. “If you’ll give me another chance.”

Relief made room for hope. The girls were right. She’d pushed him too hard, too fast. “I’m giving you a chance right now.”

This close, she could barely focus. Hell, she could barely stand, let alone wait much longer. He smelled like sunshine and sea breeze and a hint of sweet and spicy saffron clinging to his fingertips. He smelled sexy.

“Do you hate surprises as much as secrets?” he asked.

She considered that and lifted a shoulder. “Don’t keep any and we’ll be fine.”

He closed his eyes and brushed her lips.

“John?” she murmured. “Can you make that promise?”

He barely kissed her, but it was enough to send some hot sparks through her and make her want to lean in and kiss more. She could kiss this guy for hours. “Can you?” she breathed into the kiss.

He flicked her lower lip with his tongue, then added some pressure to her lips. “I like kissing you,” he murmured.

“Mutual,” she kissed back, the breath trapped in her lungs.

When he ended the kiss, he placed his lips against her ear. “Tessa?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve missed you.” And when he kissed her again, he stroked her back and she felt every muscle in his body harden against her. Everything felt so good. So right. So absolutely perfectly delicious.

She opened her mouth and kissed him back, long enough that she almost forgot that he didn’t actually make the promise she’d asked for.

Chapter Thirteen

It was the best time in the kitchen. After the resort brunch was served and cleaned up, the restaurant closed for the rest of the weekend, so on Sunday afternoons, the kitchen was dark, deserted, and very, very cozy.

Especially in the cold and dark dry-storage pantry, where two people could find a corner to kiss and whisper—and share secrets.

Except Marcus wasn’t sharing anything right now but tonsil hockey. Of course, they hadn’t been together in two days, so how could they keep their hands off each other?

“Come on.” Marcus tugged at the sleeve of Ashley’s hoodie. “Take your top off, babe.”

“It’s cold, Marc.”

He pulled her higher on his lap, right onto an epic-sized boner. “I’ll keep you warm,” he teased. “I won’t hurt you.”

Ashley laughed softly, repositioning herself into a straddle, enjoying the little fireworks that exploded between her legs as she moved over the firm ridge between his.

“Let’s just do this,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and humping like they did last time. “It’s fun.”

“Fun for you.” He slid a hand under her hoodie, finding his way beneath her T-shirt and heading north to her boob. They’d gone this far already, so it wasn’t like she could say no. They were headed…there. Fast. But she wasn’t sure she wanted her first time to be in the dry-storage pantry.

A different kind of heat slithered through her, making her stomach tighten but not in the way it did when she thought about how much she liked this boy. This was a different tightness. This was an ache. He was definitely the one. It was only a matter of time until she lost her virginity to him.

He got his thumb right over her nipple and pleasure and pain welled up so intensely she wanted to scream. All she wanted was more. And so did he.

After all, he wasn’t some stinking high school junior who’d be happy making out and getting the occasional feel. This was Marcus and he was a man, especially since he’d be twenty in two months.

He started pumping between her legs, his eyes closing, his hands wandering to her other boob. “You’re hot, Ashley.”

She tried to let the compliment warm her, kissing his face. “So are you.”

“Take this stupid thing off,” he murmured, fumbling with her bra, underlining the plea with a hard press of his crotch right into hers. Oh, man, that felt good. “I want to see you, Ashley. I want to see your sexy titties.”

She closed her eyes and tried to decide. She was seventeen, for crying out loud. It wasn’t like it was a huge deal.

“Don’t you like me?” he asked, coming around the back to her bra snap.

She wiggled to stop him. “You know I do. But we can just do this today, okay? Like last time?”

“You came in your jeans last time,” he said, pulling back.

Oh, she had. And it had felt so freaking good she almost cried.

“So we are not even, girl.”

True, she hadn’t returned the favor. Yet. “You can come in your jeans,” she offered, kind of hoping he didn’t want to take her up on that. But what was the alternative? She knew the alternative. Maybe she could just kiss him and not put the whole thing in her mouth.

He took her hand and dragged it down there, making her rub his hard-on over his jeans.

“C’mon, Ash. Touch me. Put your—” He jerked away, pushing her back. “Did you hear that?”

She hadn’t heard anything but the blood pounding in her head and way too many questions that didn’t seem to plague any of her friends who did all kinds of smexy stuff with their boyfriends.

“Listen, Marc, we—”

“Shh!” He held a hand up to her mouth. “Someone’s in the kitchen.”

Her mother! “Shit.” She scrambled off his lap, ice-cold fear replacing red-hot sexy in a blink.

“Quiet!” he demanded. “They might not come in here.”

“They?” she whispered? Her mom and Clay? Shit monkeys! Life was over. She listened for the telltale sound of a baby’s cry, because they wouldn’t go anywhere without Elijah. Not anywhere, including the volleyball parents’ meeting they’d missed and the parent-teachers’ conference they blew off last week. Not that they needed to know she was majorly effing up calculus, but—

“It’s John,” Marcus said. “The new chef.”

She scowled. “He’s moving into his bungalow today. What would he be doing here?”

“Be quiet, Ash. Maybe he’ll leave.”

Ashley stayed right where she was on the pantry floor, staring at the door handle, taking silent breaths of flour and fear. Would the chef come in here? Would she be in trouble? Would he tell her mother what she was doing and who she was with?

Because this new boyfriend was probably not going to go over big.

Ashley brushed her hands over her top and jacket. At least she hadn’t gone any farther.

The door handle moved, then stopped. She heard a voice, but couldn’t make out what he’d said. Who was he with? Aunt Tessa? She’d die if Tessa saw her here. And of course her mom would find out and blow a gasket.

“Go.” She pushed Marcus. “Go tell him you’re working or something and don’t let him see me.”