Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2) (32 page)

“That is.” She began to move against his mouth, her fingers stabbing his scalp. “Too good. Too…good.” She tasted exactly as he’d imagined—too many times—tangy and salty. “It can’t last. Can’t.”

He lifted his head and looked at her face in the dark shadows. “Don’t think about that now, okay? We have tonight. All night.”

They held each other’s gazes for a long moment, then she closed her eyes on a long, jagged exhale. “Okay. Then do that some more.”

He found his way south again. “I could”—he kissed her inner thigh—“do this”—and the other one—“for hours.” He licked her quickly, teasing another moan out of her. Looking up, he caught her head lolling from side to side.

Skin flushed, eyes closed, hair tousled, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. Her nipples protruded, wet from his mouth, pink and juicy and inviting. Her abdomen squeezed tight, her arms extended to him.

“You’re lucky I don’t have a camera, ’cause this angle? Insane.”

Her eyes popped open. “You wouldn’t dare. I’d kill you.”

“But I’d die happy.” He crawled back up to her, planting kisses on all those beautiful places he’d just admired and ending up at her mouth. “I’m content to take that picture with my mind. It’s one I won’t forget.”

He nestled close to her, lining up their warm bodies and sliding a leg over her thighs. He grazed the rise of her breasts, appreciating the feminine undulation and round shapes. Chill bumps blossomed on her skin, and her nipples budded like cherries.

He kissed one, then leaned back to caress her some more.

Blood thrummed and sweat tingled and something deep and low inside him threatened to splinter from the sheer goodness of Gussie. Maybe not so low…since that fractured feeling was more in his chest.

In the vicinity of his heart, damn it.

She wet her lips and gave a single nod, the order all he needed to get where he wanted. He grabbed the condom he’d left on the nightstand and opened it to sheath himself, resenting even that moment of letting her go.

Finally, he dropped down to the bed, held her gaze for a long moment, and eased himself into her. Both of them hissed at first contact, but then they moved in concert, each breath in syncopation as he moved inside her, slow and easy, before sliding into fast and hard.

His brain flatlined when he fit all the way, her wet, warm womanhood stretched around him, too intoxicating for him to think.

“This is good, Gussie. So good.”

“Shh.” She quieted him with a kiss.

“No talking?”

“No talking about how good it is.”

He tried to scowl at her, but that took too much effort away from the achy pleasure of each thrust into her.

“’Cause good always ends,” she whispered.

He slowed, then stopped, throbbing in her but determined not to plunge into her one more time until she was completely quiet on the subject of
ending
. “Stop talking about the end,” he ground out. “In fact, stop talking, period.”

She looked up at him, and for the first time, he saw sadness in her eyes. Moonlight made them glimmer, but a deep, deep darkness stole the smile from her eyes.

No, Gussie. Don’t feel. Don’t think. Don’t take that chance
.

He squeezed his eyes closed and wiped his brain of every word, strictly
feeling
. Feeling pressure grow into a scorching need for release, feeling his pulse pounding in his veins, feeling the heavy, savage punch when he lost the battle to last one second longer.

But she lost it first, biting her lip to hold back a scream, digging her nails into his skin, and bucking hard into his hips.

He came watching Gussie lose all control, a hazy, hot spill that made him tremble and groan and, finally, fall onto her to smash his mouth against her mouth and helplessly kiss her. And kiss her. And kiss her some more.

And that cracking feeling in his chest started again, and this time, he knew why. Oh, man, he knew exactly why he felt that way, and it wasn’t good.

“Shit.”

She snorted softly. “Is that postcoital poetry?”

He hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud. “Sorry.”

She pushed him away enough to look in his eyes. “You are not apologizing for that.”

“Not for what we just did.”

She pushed harder. “Then what are you sorry for?”

For a long time, as long as it took both of their heartbeats to get to anything that resembled normal and their breathing to turn smooth and steady, he looked into Gussie’s eyes and thought of all the different ways he could answer that question, settling on light and easy instead of the truth.

“I’m sorry I dragged you caveman-style and threw you on the bed.”

“Are you kidding? Best move ever. I may tell all my friends. Hell, I might blog about it.”

He laughed, hoping he’d deflected questions.

“Now tell me what you’re really sorry for, Tom.”

He hadn’t deflected anything. He looked away. “I could have, you know, asked first.”

“I’d have said yes. I was fully prepared to say yes.” She turned his face, forcing him to look at her. “
Yes
.” She smiled. “But you do have some explaining to do.”

“Really? I don’t want to talk now. I want to sleep.” He took a moment to clean them up, then settled under the covers, curling his whole body around her.

“You think I’m going to fall asleep and not ask for an explanation?”

“What’s to explain, Gus? I’m crazy about you. I’ve had a hard-on since I met you. You’re adorable, amazing, loving, funny, and…and…”

“Don’t stop now.”

But he had to before he said too much. Way too much. Because now that the urgency had faded and his body was sated, now that they were done, shouldn’t he suggest she go to her own bed? He had a perfect excuse—Alex could wake up at any moment.

Yet, he didn’t say a word. He held her and let every inch of their bodies touch, their heartbeats right next to each other, their mouths a kiss apart. Seconds drifted into minutes and minutes into a half hour of nothing but matching breaths.

He stroked her hair and repositioned them to a classic spoon, wrapping his arm around her stomach and a sliding a leg over hers, locking her down.

He kissed the back of her head, purposely letting his lips touch her scar, adding pressure, trying to communicate how he felt about her, no matter what scars and flaws she had.

“Okay, Pink, what kind of explanation were you looking for?”

She didn’t answer, just breathed her next, even breath, sound asleep in his arms.

For the first time in five years, four months, and nine days, Tom didn’t sleep alone. Maybe he should start keeping track of time differently now, no matter how scary that was.

Maybe this should be night number one…of many.

* * *

In the recesses of her mind, Gussie heard a noise, a footfall, a door creak. But sleep so totally owned her right then, she didn’t move. Sleep and the weight of a masculine leg wrapped around her, not to mention a strong man’s hand on her stomach and the delicious pressure of an urgent erection nestled against her rear end. Add to that the heaviness that comes with a contented heart, the feeling that all is right—or will be—with the world.

She wrapped her hand around Tom’s, entwining their fingers before she brought his knuckles to her lips to kiss, trailing her mouth over his forearm to his tattoo.

Panta monos.

Why was she doing this to herself? Why was she falling so hard and completely into this man who did not want the kind of forever connection she craved? And why did it have to feel so good, even though she knew that when it was over, it would hurt like a bitch on wheels.

Warm, soft lips pressed against the back of her head, directly on the mottled skin that used to make her cry in her bed every night. She could cry in this bed, too. Of joy.

Instead, she reached behind her and got her hand around Tom’s morning erection, sighing as he pulsed and grew in her hand.

He let out a low, slow groan of pleasure, immediately fondling her breasts as he rocked against her.

“I think Alex might be awake,” she whispered. “Was my bedroom door closed?”

“You expect me to remember that?” He tweaked her nipple and slowly turned her onto her back.

“I have to brush my teeth before I kiss you,” she said.

“We won’t kiss on the mouth.” He proved that by taking his morning kiss of her already protruding nipple, his fingers walking south to search and destroy whatever he could find there.

“I’m not quite awake yet.”

“You will be in about one minute.” He slipped one finger inside of her, making her eyes pop with surprise. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

Why should she fight this? How? Instead, she held on to his head, guided him all over her body, took another fifteen minutes doing the same to him, and finally, she gave up on the no-kissing rule while he made love to her again, this time much slower and sweeter than last night, but every bit as satisfying.

When they lay still, breath caught, hearts slowed, skin chilled, slivers of orange stabbed through the blinds, lighting the room.

“It’s a
portokali
sky,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Want to look at it?”

He didn’t answer, except some muscles tensed and his pulse jumped a little.

“It reminds you of Sophia,” she guessed.

“It reminds me of Greece in general,” he replied.

“You should go back.”

He didn’t answer, but swallowed loud enough for her to hear.

“Why don’t you?” she asked.

“I can’t face some memories. That sky, that place…”

The answer didn’t tweak any sense of jealousy in her, but plenty of sympathy.

She slid out of bed.

“Hey.” He grabbed for her arm. “Where are you going?”

“To make a new memory. Come on.” She managed to get him out of bed, dragging the sheet with her. His French doors opened to another, smaller balcony, private, but with the same view they had from the living room.

She spread the doors wide open to let the golden-orange light of sunrise pour over both of them. Wrapping the sheet around herself, she stepped outside.

But Tom stayed in the doorway, magnificently naked, his around-the-world tattoos—including a blackbird’s head and jaguar paw below the waist—stark against his skin, his manly form like a sculpture in perfect artist’s light. His hair was tousled, his cheeks shadowed by morning stubble, his lips a little swollen from all the kissing.

She stared at him, bathed in orange, the singularly most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

“Wait a second,” she whispered. “Don’t move.”

“What are you doing?”

She grinned. “I want to take a picture.”

The irony of that made him laugh. She swept by in her sheet, grabbing his phone off the dresser. Back on the balcony, she faced him and clicked.

“I can’t believe you’re taking nudes.”

“And you’re going to send them to me.”

He rolled his eyes and reached for her hand. “C’mere. Let’s get one together.” He turned them around so the sunrise was behind them, wrapping them both in her sheet before tapping the camera to take a selfie together.

They put their heads close, smiled, and he took the picture.

“One more,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

When she did, he kissed her, and snapped the camera again and again and again.

Laughing, he set it down, and Gussie wrapped them both in the sheet cocoon. They stayed like that, naked bodies pressed together, facing the
portokali
sky, silent until footsteps, loud and determined now, pounded down the hall, followed by a hard tap on the door.

“Gussie? Are you in there?”

Alex. They both looked at each other, too stunned to laugh or gasp at how totally busted they were.

“Gussie!” Alex’s voice rose to a slight level of panic. “Your parents are almost here!”

“What?” She spun the sheet off Tom and flew to the door, opening it a crack so Alex couldn’t see in. “They’re not supposed to be here until this afternoon.”

Alex inched back, looking up and down at Gussie in her sheet.

Shit. “I…uh…I…um…”
Shit shit shit!

“You slept in here,” Alex supplied. “Which is why I’m telling you that your brother called my phone because he couldn’t get an answer on yours and wanted to be sure you were ready for your parents since they got on a much-earlier connecting flight out of Paris and will be here soon.”

Bless that boy. And Alex for not judging, at least not openly. And, oh, God! The reunion of her dreams was minutes away.

“Yikes!” She opened the door and slipped out, leaving Tom behind. “I gotta get dressed!”

As she ran down the hall, all she could hear was Alex laughing.

For a moment, one silly, crazy moment, Gussie couldn’t imagine being any happier.

And that was never a good sign.

Chapter Twenty-six

At some point in the afternoon, Tom realized he was sitting in the same Promenade deck chair where he’d spent the other night. Only, he wasn’t sleeping as a refugee now. He was reclining in the sun, surrounded by tourists and locals, watching the beach scene unfold from under his lashes.

“You asleep, Uncle Tommy?”

Next to him, Alex curled into her chair with a giant plastic cup of gelato and berries, her gaze fixed on the same scene.

“Mmm. Awake.”

“So what do you think?”

He turned to her, the vast open-endedness of the question a little overwhelming. What did he think of Gussie’s parents and the tearful reunion he’d witnessed? What did he think of how tangled up he’d gotten with a woman who wanted everything he wanted to run away from? What did he think of how the McBain family of four somehow walked the beach as one unit, despite the years and heartache that had broken them all up? ’Cause he thought that was nothing less than a miracle.

“What do I think of what?”

“Didn’t Gussie tell you?”

He frowned, thinking of all Gussie had told him, much of it unrepeatable to a twelve-year-old who was already a tad smug since she knew what they were doing behind closed doors.

He played along. “Didn’t Gussie tell me what?”