Barefoot by the Sea

“No, you listen to me for a change. I am going to marry this woman in a matter of days. And when I say those vows and put that ring on her finger, it is not going to be some fake charade that we dreamed up.”

What? She clutched the wood of the door frame, closing her eyes, swamped by emotions.

“Well, he better be a genuine official and he sure as hell better have a legit marriage certificate, because this is going to be real.”

For however long it took for him to listen to the other person, Tessa didn’t breathe. She didn’t move or think or feel or reason. She let the words cloak her.

This is going to be—

“I didn’t expect to fall in…” A second passed. Then another.

Love. Love. Say it, John!

But apparently the person on the other end was talking. Tessa waited, eyes closed, willing the words to come her way.

“Of course that hasn’t changed,” he said, the sound of his footsteps accompanying the statement as he stepped into the kitchen directly into view.

She had to slam her mouth closed to keep from gasping at the sight of him in nothing but a towel, a droplet of water meandering from shower-soaked hair over one granite-carved shoulder.

“…kids mean everything to me, damn it. Everything.”

Kids do? Had she heard that right?

“She doesn’t know that. How could she? I have to tell her, Henry. I have to, but it’s…” His voice grew as tight as the air trapped in her lungs. “I’ve never wanted to before this. I never thought this could happen.”

Before he saw her or heard the soft cry aching to get out of her, she dipped back, away from the door. She didn’t hear any more—she didn’t have to—because of the blood rushing through her ears, pounding in triple time to match her pulse, the deafening sound of—happiness.

Yes, he was keeping something from her. How he felt about her.

But he couldn’t know that she’d overheard his confession. Something told her he wouldn’t like it, and she’d be cheated out of the moment he told her directly.

She darted over the deck and across the space that separated their bungalows, reaching her own back door in two seconds flat, already digging into her pocket for the key. She dropped her shoes, turned the lock, and—

“Tessa!”

Damn it. He’d caught her. All the options bounced through her head: Lie. Play dumb. Act as if she’d just arrived home. Or she could…

Drink in every inch of his incredible body as he followed the same path she’d taken, marching toward her bungalow, undeterred by the fact that he wore only a towel. A towel that could fall with any step.

Her whole body melted a little, a blast of heat and desire holding her perfectly still as she appreciated every muscle, every move…and the fact that it was all part of a man who truly cared for her. And the feeling was mutual.

By the time he reached her, her pulse had accelerated, her breathing was rapid, and her breasts and belly ached with the need to be pressed against him.

“Did you hear that conversation?”

“I…I…” Lying to him was impossible. Why would she even consider it? “Yes, I did.”

She could have sworn he paled.

“I mean I heard enough.”

“Enough?” There was a low-grade panic in that question. “Enough to…what?”

“Enough to ask one question.” She reached out to his face, the rough beard he’d yet to shave after his shower tickling her palm. “Why does this terrify you so much?”

He didn’t answer, his eyes rich with that same emotion she’d seen the very first night, the one that darkened his expression from time to time.

“You know what I think?” she finally whispered.

He shook his head.

“I think that you’re ready to move on and that scares the life out of you. I think you’re petrified that loving someone else means you didn’t really love the wife that you lost.”

His eyes shuttered with the direct hit. “That’s part of it.”

“And wanting children is also terrifying to you.”

“Tessa, listen to me. Listen really carefully.” He took a slow, deep breath. “I really do want children.”

She smiled. “I know.”

“I want two.” He sounded so sure of that number.

Her heart rocketed right into her throat, choking her up. “Oh, John. I’d be lucky to have one,” she whispered.

“Two, Tessa.” He reached for her, putting his hands on her shoulders, the overpowering smell of clean, fresh soap making her dizzy. Or maybe that was the look in his eyes. Or the impact of his words. Or that wave of hope she’d been riding since she saw the potatoes.

“I don’t—”

“You could have two,” he said, forcefully, coming closer. “Anything could happen, Tess.”

Yes, yes anything could. Intoxicated with optimism and the power of his certainty and his arms, she closed the space between them, rising up to kiss him.

Anything could happen. Anything could happen.

Right then, she believed those three words with her heart, soul, and body. The same heart, soul, and body she was about to give to John Brown.

Chapter Twenty-five

Ian could taste her hope and optimism, as savory as wine and sweet as honey. The flavors fired through him, heating his blood and sharpening his nerves, and jolting his cock into a painful erection.

What she’d heard, what she’d hadn’t, what he’d told her, what he hadn’t…it all evaporated from his brain as his hands covered her skin and his mouth inhaled her tongue.

They both wanted this. They needed this. They should have this—at least once before he slammed her with everything Henry warned him not to tell her. But his decision was made.

“Anything could happen,” she murmured, melting into him as they made their way down the hall.

“I think it’s about to.”

She flipped off his towel in the hall as he easily unbuttoned and stripped her blouse right outside the bedroom. He unzipped her skirt, helped her step out of it, and had her at the edge of the bed in nothing but a bra and panties in seconds flat.

She clutched his biceps and squeezed, moaning her appreciation as he reached around to unsnap her bra, his palms itching to close over her delicate breasts and lay her down on the bed.

As he did, she fisted his hard-on, pumping the tip until he let out a helpless groan of pleasure. The sensation was so intense it effectively wiped his brain clean.

Should he tell her first? Should he stop this?

No. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t have control over this, and right that moment, with her hands all over him and her mouth open and kissing and her sweet, sweet body rising and falling and ready for him, he couldn’t stop.

After, he’d tell her after. Sweet pillow talk laced with love.

“Tessa,” he sighed her name, a pathetic attempt at conversation that might derail this.

“Don’t talk.” She stroked him harder, desperate, in tune with his thoughts. “Don’t…stop.”

And, God help him, he didn’t. Instead, he trailed kisses down her body, licking her belly, spreading her legs, making her quiver and rise and clutch the sheets helplessly.