Barefoot by the Sea

“He’s a guy,” Jocelyn said. “They don’t see the need to spill their guts. It doesn’t mean he’s not getting ready to. He obviously really cares about you.”

Tessa nodded, then looked in the mirror again as Zoe climbed up on the bride’s stage and slipped an arm around her. “He’s got a lot of promise, is all we’re saying.”

She curled her arm around Zoe and, as she pulled her in for a hug, got a nudge from the baby belly. “There is the little matter of how much I want a child.”

“Is he opposed completely to the idea?” Zoe asked. “My God, surely he’d offer up some of his liquid gold when he sees you in that dress, if not before.” She shot a look at Ashley. “I guess you’re old enough to get those jokes now.”

“I know what liquid gold is, Aunt Zoe,” Ashley said quietly and held up a hand to Lacey. “Don’t, Mom.”

Lacey shot her a surprised look, but then turned to Tessa. “Honey, I don’t care what he says. I saw that man hold Elijah and he wants a baby. It was all over his face. He’s probably terrified to admit it, but he couldn’t hide how taken he was with that child. Give him time, Tess.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe they all were. “I’m cautious,” Tessa said. “And I don’t trust easily. I don’t really know if he’s marriage material or daddy material or donor material or a good time in the garden.”

“In the garden?” Zoe spat. “You did it in the garden?”

Ashley’s head shot up, her text forgotten.

“We did not do it,” Tessa said. “We talked, really. And kissed.”

“That tells you so much about him,” Lacey said.

“That he’s made of titanium?” Zoe asked.

“That it’s real for him,” Lacey insisted. “He respects you.”

Tessa fought the urge to underscore the point with Ashley, who was facedown in a text, anyway.

The boutique attendant knocked on the dressing-room door and peeked in. “Do we have a winner?”

“Not yet,” Ashley said.

“Maybe,” Zoe added.

“Working on her,” Lacey chimed in.

They all looked at Tessa, waiting for the final answer. “Possibly” hung on her lips to finish the chorus, but then she turned and looked in the mirror and went a little crazy. “I’ll take it.”

The last dinner customer left the Casa Blanca restaurant at eleven, so Ian texted Tessa that he’d be at work until well after midnight, too late for a rendezvous dinner like they’d had the past few nights. It was actually well after one by the time he finished the kitchen cleanup.

So he wasn’t surprised to see her bungalow shrouded in darkness when he got home. The only thing that surprised him was how disappointed he felt. All he wanted to do was be with her. Kiss her. Make her laugh. Take their constant touching and foreplay one step farther.

Not good, mate. Not good at all.

Swearing softly, he turned off his bike and sat in the circular drive shared by both little houses, staring at her darkened windows. This was probably better.

The more time they spent together—and the hours were adding up—the more he wanted to tell her the truth. Among other things. God, so many other things. He’d touched her, felt her quiver with an orgasm, kissed her breasts, and walked away with a woody the size of Big Ben.

He could feel one growing right now, thinking about her in bed.

Why the hell wasn’t he in there with her?

Because of some trumped-up, fucked-up plan to fool her into signing a piece of paper. He’d talked to Henry once more, and although they weren’t quite sure how it would unfold yet, he was onboard with the wedding plans. It was possible that Tessa would sign a piece of paper thinking it was part of the act, but, in reality, it would be a legitimate wedding certificate.

Then Henry could get the whole thing annulled when Ian disappeared. Tessa quite possibly wouldn’t even know she’d ever been married. The only other plan was to actually convince her to marry him, then claim cold feet and disappear after the wedding.

She’d hate him and be heartbroken, but he’d have Shiloh and Sam and they could start a new life, hopefully while they were so young they wouldn’t even remember the old one.

“John? What are you doing out here?” He hadn’t even heard the front door open.

In the doorway, she was bathed in moonlight that shimmered over a thin tank top, so silky sheer that he could see right through it. Her long legs were exposed all the way up to the top of her thighs, barely covered in black shorts that looked like a very sexy version of men’s boxers.

Holy bloody hell, he wanted her.

“Somehow I imagined you slept in a men’s nightshirt.”

“Nice to know you think about such things.”

“Only constantly.”

She leaned her head against the doorjamb, a sleepy sigh carried on the breeze and giving him chills. “I heard your bike, but not your bungalow door.”

He liked that she listened so carefully. “Can I come in?”

She swallowed and lifted a narrow, toned shoulder, the skin glistening from recently applied lotion. “It’s late.”

He climbed off the bike and walked to her door. “I need…” You. “A shower.”

She lifted a brow in question and pointed one finger toward his bungalow. “You have running water.”

“So do you.”

She crossed her arms as he reached her, the act pure self-defense. “Not sure I can take the torture.”

“Torture?” He got right in front of her, the scent of that body lotion a mix of flowers and fields and female.

“Of having you naked in my shower.”

He lowered his face. “You could join me.”

She lifted her lips and let him brush hers, the contact electric, the need instant. He opened his mouth and she did the same, letting their tongues tangle in an easy familiarity.

She moaned softly in response, taking one step back into the bungalow. Behind her, a few candles flickered on the table next to two glasses of wine, very soft music coming from a sound system.

“You were waiting for me,” he accused, a tease in his voice.

“Maybe.”

He stroked from her shoulder over her breast, palming her, thumbing her, instantly getting rewarded by a puckered nipple. “I like that.” He ground the words into her mouth, his dick already high and mighty and not giving a shit about why and when and what he was doing.

“I thought you might come over.”

He tore his hands from her breasts, placing them on her face to push her hair off and look at how pretty she was. “I might not know too much about these things, but isn’t anything after midnight officially considered a booty call?”

She grinned. “Yeah.”

“So, is this…?”

She shrugged both shoulders playfully. “Could be.”

Before any voice of reason, guilt, or doubt could scream “Stop!” in his head, he kissed her and everything went silent except for the hum in his veins as blood began its journey to the one and only place that didn’t listen to reason, guilt, or doubt.

“Tessa,” he whispered, inching her back into the house, kicking the door closed behind him. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She responded with an equally hot kiss, pulling him deeper into the bungalow, pressed completely against him.

“Then don’t,” she said. “I was just thinking about you, as a matter of fact. I was…” She grunted softly into the kiss. “Thinking really hard.”

He half laughed, half moaned at the sexy, sexy way she said that, guiding her into the living room. “What