Love At Last Page 8

  “Deacon…”

  He left her mouth and moved lower—and true to his word, he moved so slowly that she wanted to scream—over her stomach and her hips. She hadn’t known her body could burn like this, hadn’t known all the places he found on her body to exploit.

  He pressed a warm damp kiss on the inside of her right leg. He cupped her over the thin barrier of silk, teased one finger under the edge of lace between her legs, then a second. He drew her to the edge until she was panting. Then the silk and lace were gone.

  He groaned, kissed the smooth, bare skin of her mound, and her hips jerked off the bed. “So soft.”

  Barely able to think, she said the first thing that came to her mind. “Jess—my Jessica—made me do it.”

  Warm breath blew over her, and his low laugh vibrated through her. “Thank you, Jess.”

  Yes. As painful as the waxing event had been, she was also feeling grateful to Jess.

  The sensation of Deacon’s warm, damp lips barely brushing over her was almost too much. Almost.

  He plunged, stroked, added his mouth, and drove her mercilessly over the edge. Tidal waves of pleasure tore a choked cry from her throat.

  “Deacon.” His name came on a gasping sob.

  Gulping for air, she watched him undress and fumble in his wallet.

  Continued to watch, fascinated, as he slid a condom over his hard length, then he was back.

  Then the nerves came.

  “You’re shaking,” he said, holding himself completely still above her.

  “Am I?”

  He took her hand and, keeping his eyes on hers, laid it over his heart. “Feel that?”

  She did. And with the rapid beat of his own heart under her palm, nerves gave way to calm.

  On a shaky breath, she clutched at him, reveling in his weight pinning her. She opened her legs, and as he settled between them, his eyes locked on hers. Without another word, he eased inside. Their bodies joined, as close as two people could possibly get. Yet as she stared up at Deacon’s face, it still wasn’t close enough.

  He dipped his head to kiss her, curling his fingers around hers at either side of her face. Then he began to move.

  She gave herself over to him, poured herself into it, taking everything he had to offer. Matching his pace, trusting him and wanting nothing more than this, she drew her legs up around his hips, bringing them even closer, bringing him deeper.

  Together, they rocked faster, Deacon driving them both with long, hard strokes, until she rose up to meet him. The air seemed to shimmer, and she hung on until every breath was only the two of them. Wave after wave of pleasure took her flying until her body was not her own. She saw nothing but his face and felt nothing but the glide of bodies joined, building to a glorious ache until, in a shocking burst, they both crashed over the edge and fell.

  * * *

  CLARE’S BREATH SAWED IN and out as the fan circled above, blowing cool air over her skin. She was pleased to hear Deacon gasping for breath as well.

  “Wow,” she said when she could speak.

  “Yeah. Wow. You okay?”

  “I can’t feel my legs,” she answered with a soft laugh. “Is that good?”

  “Yeah. That’s pretty good.” He shifted so that their bodies were facing, their legs tangled. The last whispers of sunset danced over the white sheets twisted around their bodies.

  “I think my shoes are still on.”

  “My personal fantasy finally realized,” he said, making her laugh again.

  He pulled her leg up over his thigh, bringing them even closer. She stared at his face, surprised and not surprised at the ease and comfort she felt. The light was softer. It must be after seven o’clock, maybe eight. She’d lost track of time. It didn’t really matter. “Would it be stupid to say I’ve never felt like that before? That it’s never been like that?”

  “No.” Deacon smiled and traced a finger over her brow, heat turning to tenderness. “In fact, you could say it again if you want.” His palm trailed over her bare hip, then up and down her back in slow, lazy strokes. “I didn’t take you to dinner.”

  “No. You didn’t.” Languid and loose, she laid a hand on his smooth cheek. “Do you still want to go?”

  “Maybe, but I’m happy where I am.”

  Her cell rang, interrupting the moment with a funky dance beat.

  “It’s Jess. I’ve been ignoring her. If I don’t answer, she’ll be on a plane down here.”

  “Then by all means. Answer it.”

  She rolled toward the nightstand. She felt bad. Jess had called her several times, but she kept texting that she couldn’t talk, that she’d call her later. She hadn’t wanted to talk. She didn’t want to spill her guts about Deacon, which she would do as soon as Jess started asking questions.

  She wanted to keep whatever this thing with Deacon was a secret. Wanted to keep the fantasy bubble from bursting for a little longer. She would talk about it when it was over. And that would be really soon. “Hey, Jess.”

  “Did you forget you promised to call me every day so I’d know you hadn’t been kidnapped and sold to the cartel?”

  Clare sighed and relaxed into Deacon’s body curled around her from behind. “You’ve been watching too much Dateline, and I’m not in Mexico.”

  “Okay, maybe. But what have you been doing that you’re too busy to answer your phone?”

  “Oh, you know. This and that.”

  Deacon’s chest vibrated with laughter.

  “What happened with the sexy vet? Did you see him again?”

  “Um…we had dinner.”

  Deacon kissed her shoulder, and she felt his smile against her skin.

  “And?”

  “And we…” Clare bit her lip and stifled a groan as Deacon’s palm cruised up her bare thigh then higher.

  “Is this the Jess I should thank for the—”

  With a gasp, Clare swung around in time to slap a hand over his mouth, but not before Jess screamed in her ear.

  “Oh, my gosh! He’s there? Now?”

  “Yes, he is,” Deacon answered in his low, sexy voice.

  Jess screamed in her ear again. “Call me back! Call me later! Tomorrow. Whenever. Oh, my gosh!”

  Clare clicked off her phone and laid it on the bedside table, then turned to face a grinning, sex-rumpled Deacon. “You just shattered my reputation as the good girl.”

  “Did I?” He caught her bottom, pulled her in tight until she felt the hard length between her legs. “Well, I’ll consider myself lucky.”

  She laughed when Deacon rolled and pinned her beneath him. “I’ll consider myself lucky, too.”

  Chapter 9

  THEY DIDN’T LEAVE THE room for another hour, finding other, more interesting things to do. But when both their stomachs protested, they dressed and ventured out for food. They chose Mexican, laughing and talking over tacos and carnitas, chips and margaritas. They lingered and laughed over fried ice cream and held hands.

  Hours later, they strode lazily down the beach, much as they had the previous night, but they were both quieter this time. A silent intimacy that said more than words. Her body still hummed in places, and when she shivered at the thought, Deacon put his arm around her.

  The moon was full and bright. A row of tiki torches burned to their left, marking a private party. From the sound of it, the gathering was a wedding reception and had been going for some time.

  “Have you ever crashed a wedding?” Deacon asked.

  “No!” She reared back. “Have you?”

  “No.” He tugged her back close to his side. “But I’ve always wanted to. Just kind of a bucket list thing.”

  “You shock me, Dr. Montgomery.”

  “Do I?” He pulled her around in front of him, slipping one arm around her back. “We could just use their music.”

  “And dance?” she asked, laying one hand on his shoulder. “Brave man.”

  “Mmm.” He took her other hand, curled his fingers around hers, and held it again
st his chest.

  Their bare feet shuffled in the sand in a slow, circling dance to the tune of an eighties rock ballad. She moved in closer, nestling her head on his chest, amazed at how natural it felt to be held by him. Neither spoke, maybe because nothing needed to be said. Or maybe because neither of them knew what to say. But it was perfect.

  The song ended, and they might have stayed that way for another, might have stayed there in each other’s arms without any music at all, but the opening blast of the Macarena had them moving on with a laugh.

  When they got far enough away that the crash of waves overtook the music, they found a place and sat in the sand.

  Deacon wrapped his arms around her from behind, and she covered them with her own. Letting her head drop back against his chest, she gazed up at the star-filled sky, listening to the gentle surf rolling in and out.

  “Did you know I always thought when people talked about the man on the moon, they were talking about a tiny person they could see. I can’t tell you how many hours I spent looking for him.”

  Deacon laughed, and she elbowed him. “Well, it would have helped if someone had said it was just the face.”

  “I guess it would have.” He brushed a kiss across her temple, then rested his cheek against hers.

  They sat that way for several moments, the sounds of the edge of the world cocooning them and the heat from Deacon’s body surrounding hers. If she let herself, she might sink into thoughts that it would soon end. The fact that it felt more real than anything she’d ever felt before was both confusing and sad.

  “You want to hear something else funny?” she asked before she got too bogged down in feelings. “I used to cry in my crib every night because I was scared it would rain on me.”

  “You remember being in your crib?”

  “I do, but I wasn’t a baby.” She laughed. “Being the youngest, I stayed in the crib longer than most. I was nearly three before they got me to sleep in a bed.”

  “And you remember being three?”

  “A few things.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “Mmm. I have good long-term memory. Not so good with the short-term. What’s your earliest memory?”

  He thought for a minute.

  “It doesn’t have to be your earliest,” she said when he didn’t answer. “Anything.”

  Another moment passed before he finally spoke. “I was with my grandfather when he died.”

  “Deacon.” She tried to turn to face him, but he held her. “I’m sorry,” she said looking back over her shoulder as much as she could.

  “It’s okay. I don’t even know what made me think of that.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Five. We were fishing on the edge of a pond, and he just…fell over. He dropped his pole, and I remember it sliding slowly down the bank. It’s weird, but I wasn’t terrified, you know? Maybe I was too young to really understand or right on the edge of understanding.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again softly.

  “No. I’m sorry,” he said with a dry laugh. “That was too much.”

  “No,” she said, turning to face him. She straddled his thighs, her knees in the cool sand, her hands on his smooth cheeks. “It wasn’t too much.”

  * * *

  DEACON STARED INTO CLARE’S dark eyes shining bright in the moonlight. “God, I could eat you alive.” He traced a finger up her exposed thigh. The feel of her firm, satin skin nearly undid him. It reminded him of how Clare felt beneath him and over him. It made his hands itch to caress her entire body, explore every curve, and rediscover every touch. And he would. For two more days and two more nights, and then…

  And then would come later.

  They barely made it to the room before he had to have her again. He closed the door behind them then caught her from behind. He couldn’t help himself. She drew in a quick gasp when he slid his hands lower, smoothing his palms over the waterfall of cloth covering her thighs. When he brought his palms back up to her waist in a torturous glide, she leaned back, moaning.

  “I love this dress.”

  She tipped her head back on his shoulder. “I’m glad.”

  “I need to get you out of it.”

  Her eyes fluttered closed, and her lips curved up in a teasing smile. “I’m glad.”

  He’d wanted to get her out of the dress hours ago, since he’d watched her put it back on. He breathed slowly, deliberately. She was so perfect, so soft, so small compared to him, and yet she fit against him perfectly.

  “I love your skin,” he said, drawing the dress off her shoulders and down her arms. His lips followed the flesh he’d bared. “It’s like silk.” He scraped his teeth along the column of her throat while his hands drew the dress to her waist. “Delicious silk.”

  The moon that had shone on the beach illuminated the room like a spotlight. Deacon turned her to face him. Then with an arm around her lower back, he jerked her up and against him. He couldn’t go slow. Not this time. His mouth crashed against hers, hot, lusty, and possessive. He nipped at her lips. His tongue slid over hers, tasting coffee, wine, and chocolate. The catch of her breath at his touch only added to the need and the urgency.

  With his mouth on hers, he spun her toward the bed. Pressed her back until she was laid out before him, her dark hair fanned out against the white.

  In a frenzy, they rid themselves of clothes and barely managed a condom before she slid her hand between them. She wrapped him in a tight fist, bringing a moan from deep in his throat. He’d wanted fast, but he didn’t want it to be over before it began.

  He took her hand, brought it up and over her head, then the other and held them there while he had his own fun. Gently, he ran a hand over her damp flesh, shoulder to thigh. He licked at her salty skin, nipped at the delicate column of her throat. He drew out the pleasure for both of them until he could wait no more.

  Then with his gaze locked on hers, he pushed inside slowly, so slowly, clenching his jaw at the pleasure. His heart beat like a wild drum. Clare took him, inch by inch, and his breath left him again.

  He needed to get closer, and closer still. His world narrowed to the reality of being connected to Clare and the two of them moving together. She drew her legs up and around his hips, pulling him even closer and deeper.

  He watched her face and the rise and fall of her chest. The heat built, and he watched her pleasure peak. Deacon didn’t think he’d ever seen anything as beautiful as Clare’s face when she came. Shock, quick and rippling, followed by surrender.

  He buried his face in her hair, felt her tremble under him. And unable to hear anything over the blood pounding in his ears, he followed.

  After, he lay still, absorbing the shocks and mini quakes of his body. When he was finally able to lift his head, he gazed down into Clare’s flushed face. Her eyes were closed, and he swept his thumb gently over her cheek. With their bodies pressed skin to skin, still joined, he brushed his lips over her shoulder.

  He started to move his weight, but she held on, stroking her hand lightly down his back until he let his head fall to her neck. As he lay there against her soft body, inhaling her scent, his racing heart did an odd little bounce.

  He gave them both another minute then rolled to his side, taking her with him. He wondered if he should go or offer to go, but not with Clare’s warm body nestled against his, her breasts soft against his side. Did she feel the same? “I don’t want to leave this room. Is that okay?”

  She reached up and touched his cheek. “Yes. Very okay.”

  His heart swelled at that simple, sweet touch.

  He traced the delicate lines of her face just visible in the moonlight sliding in between the open curtains. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

  “Mmm.” She sighed and snuggled deeper into the shelter of his arms, her naked body pressed into his side. “I don’t know.”

  He felt her soft breath on his shoulder and chest. “I have some ideas.”

  “Oh, really?”


  “Yes.” He kissed her throat then angled over her and kept going until she was under him. “I’m going to start like this, kissing every inch of you.”

  “Mmm. I like that. Then what?”

  “Then I’m going to open those shades…”

  She groaned at that, and he laughed, as she’d already told him she wasn’t an early-morning kind of person.

  “Then I’ll open the doors and make love to you with the sun streaming over your skin and the sound of the waves crashing. We’ll hit the breakfast buffet at eight.”

  “Eight!”

  He smiled against her lips. “Okay. Nine, but not a minute later. I have plans.”

  “More plans? Like what? Does it involve piña coladas and you in my bed?”

  “It could. But I also thought we could go parasailing.”

  “Mmm.”

  “What?” He slid his fingers through the hair on either side of her face. “Scared of heights?”

  “Not exactly. It’s just the whole water-versus-ground thing. I mean, I figure if I fell off a building or something, I’d just splat on the sidewalk. The end. But over water… I don’t know. I could break a lot of things and then linger there in pain, unable to swim until I drowned.”

  “That’s incredibly morbid.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay, we’ll revisit that. I also thought we could get some bikes I see sitting around everywhere, ride around, see what we see.”

  “We could.”

  “What?” He laughed softly at the pout on her beautiful lips. “You don’t like that idea, either?”

  “I do. I’m just… I’m not that great on a bike.” She threw her arm over her eyes, and he laughed again, lying beside her. “It’s humiliating. My brother tortured me my entire life.”

  He gently pulled her arm down so he could see her eyes. “Maybe we could see about training wheels.”

  “You’re not even trying not to laugh,” she said, giving him a narrow-eyed stare.

  “I am. Trying, that is. So you’re not big on sports?”

  “I like sports okay. I played softball when I was a kid. I was pretty good, too.”