Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides) (28 page)

She was wide-awake now.

“Did you read what I wrote?” he asked in between peppering kisses over her breastbone, his hands gripping her ribs and waist so tight it was almost as if he didn’t trust where they’d go if he relaxed.

“Every word. Some five times.”

He stopped kissing her, leaning up to look into her eyes. “Seriously?”

“Oh, why do I tell you things that make you think about something other than this?” She pulled his head back to her, getting his mouth right back on hers where she wanted it.

He obliged with a long, wet, sensuous kiss that melted her and did the absolute opposite to him. As his erection grew against her, Willow couldn’t stop herself from reaching down, dying, aching to touch him.

She closed her hand over the tent in his pants, pressing hard against the ridge, both of them sucking in loud and simultaneous inhales of surprise and pleasure.

“Willow…” Her name was ragged on his lips.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “If you say you haven’t written enough for this to happen, I will push that laptop off the bed, break it, and tell you how wrong you are.”

He chuckled into the next kiss, but that faded into a groan as she stroked the length of him again, vaguely aware that the fabric of his pants felt nicer than his usual worn camo shorts.

“Why are you all dressed up?” she asked.

This time, he responded with a long kiss and put his hand over hers, adding pressure on his hard-on. “I went…oh, God, Willow.”

“Out to dinner?”

“Mmmm. Yes.” With an effort so strong she could actually feel him fighting his desires, he pulled away from the kiss and lifted her hand off him. “We’re going too fast.”

Frustration zinged. “I hate to be old school, but isn’t the girl supposed to say that?”

“You know why.” He settled into a position that separated their hips, but kept one hand on her face to talk to her. “I didn’t write enough for us to go to the next step.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Hey, we had a deal.”

“I think what you wrote must have taken a lot of effort, so it counts as more pages.”

He studied her for a minute, then asked, “You read the Gannon Tells All scene?”

She nodded. “It was powerful, Nick.”

He didn’t answer, but she could read the truth in his eyes.

“Did—does—it bother you that your parents had such a crappy marriage?” she asked.

He blew out a breath, puffing his cheeks and falling back on the pillow. “About as much as it does Gannon.”

Which was a lot. “Gannon says it made him determined not to fall into the same ‘pit of despair.’”

This time he rolled his eyes. “Maybe that phrase was too melodramatic.”

“No maybe about it, but it was telling.”

“What does it tell?”

“That you hide a lot of pain.”

He shrugged. “Everybody hides pain, Willow. You do and I do. I try not to let it own me.”

But did he succeed? She wanted to know more, but with Nick, it was always easier to talk about the character than the real man behind that character. “So Christina takes that to mean he won’t settle for anything less than a perfect, fairy-tale, impossible-to-achieve marriage. Is she right?”

“No. I think what he’s trying to tell her is that the key word there is
impossible
.”

She sat up a little, surprised at how much that admission bothered her. “What makes you think a happy marriage is impossible? I saw one every day of my life.”

His eyes shuttered closed for a second, as if that hurt or bothered him.

“Don’t be jealous. You know there were other problems,” she added.

“You could fix those,” he said.

She gave a soft snort. “That would require giving my mother a lobotomy and personality transplant. Never going to happen. I’ve learned to deal quite well with my childhood issues, but it doesn’t seem like you have. Surely you’re not going to give up on the idea of marriage because of your parents?”

He turned away, denying her the chance to read the truth in his eyes. “Your mother’s getting older, and people change. Why don’t you give her a chance?”

It was so obvious why he was changing the subject. This was too painful for him to talk about. “Because nobody changes that much, and I gave her a chance for twenty-six years,” she said. “She’s out of chances.” She reached for his chin, turning his face to force him to look at her. “So which is it, Gannon? You won’t settle for less than perfection or you won’t try on the chance you’ll miss?”

“I’m not Gannon,” he mumbled.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response. Answer my question.”

But he didn’t, holding her gaze. “I don’t think you really have learned to deal with your own childhood issues.”

“That wasn’t my question,” she fired back, burning for a different reason now. “Leave my damn stupid mother out of this conversation. In fact, leave her out of any and every conversation we ever have. Why are you being so evasive?”

“Why do I have to leave your mother out of every conversation?”

“Because the very thought of her sucks every drop of happiness out of my heart. Is that reason enough?”

For a long time, he looked at her, scrutinizing her expression. She didn’t flinch. Let him see that she meant that, and maybe it would be enough to drop the topic of Ona Zatarain, once and for all.

“You should give her a chance.”

Or not. She pushed up, hard and fast. “You should give marriage a chance.”

“With you?”

She gasped, swinging around to face him. “Holy hell, is that why you’re acting so strangely? You think I want to…” Embarrassment burned her cheeks. “I want sex, Nick. Just a good old-fashioned deflowering. Nothing more. You’re the one who keeps trying to load it down with some kind of
significance
.”

He pulled her back down next to him. “I want you to be happy.”

“Then let’s stop all this chattering and forget your six stages of foreplay and…” She leaned over him and kissed him, dragging her hand back down to his crotch, which clearly hadn’t gotten the message that they were arguing.

He agreed silently, intensifying the kiss and slowly sliding his hands over her back and ass, pulling her hips against his. “Willow,” he whispered into the kiss. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

She closed her eyes and let those words slide over her, as warm and welcome as his touch. Did he really think she’d hate him because he didn’t believe in marriage and probably wouldn’t ever commit to a woman? Did he really think the loss of her virginity meant that much?

“You’re sweet,” she said. “And I could never hate you.”

“But you will.” He sounded so damn sure. “When…this is…over.”

When this is over.

Well, at least she knew exactly what she was getting into and that this was a fling. She tried to be comforted by that knowledge, to let her body take over at this point, to think about nothing except the way his large, strong hands felt as he caressed her backside and dug into the fabric of her dress, inching it higher and higher.

But way in the back of her mind, she wished Christina was right, and that he was a man who wouldn’t settle for less than perfect…and not a man who would run fast and hard when things got serious.

Because, deep inside, she knew this wasn’t
just sex
.

Except, he was already thinking about…
when this is over.

* * *

Nick knew Willow would hate him. She would despise him for staying silent. She would scream at him when she found out he’d known her parents’ plan. He was playing with emotional fire, and he himself was the kindling.

Damn it. His body betrayed him by not caring a bit about that. His dick slammed against his pants, engorged with need, and his hands found their way right under her dress and up her thighs. Sweet, smooth, silky thighs that he wanted wrapped around him until he screamed for mercy.

Would taking her virginity make the whole explosion that much deadlier when the time came? Because there would be an explosion, he had no doubt.

“Stop
thinking
,” she demanded with a laugh.

“How do you know I’m thinking?”

“Your hands go still.” She kissed his neck and put her mouth over his ear. “Considering how difficult it must have been to write some of those pages and, really, how good they are, you’ve earned—we’ve earned—another step on the pleasure ladder.”

He laughed. “The pleasure ladder?”

She gave him the eye. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Pit of Despair.”

“That was pretty bad,” he agreed.

“But this…” She put her hand over his and guided him up her thigh. “Is so, so good.”

How could he fight this? Which made him more of a complete shit? Denying what she wanted—hell, what they both wanted—on principle because he was keeping something from her? Or letting this go its natural course and then letting her find out what he’d done?

So who has more at stake? A young man trying to get laid with the least amount of white water before he ships off to his next assignment and has nothing but a memory of a nice month on the beach, or a family that desperately needs and wants old heartaches to disappear?

“You’re thinking again.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, just…touch me.” She led his hand between her legs. “I want you to touch me.”

And he wanted to. Every single burning, frying, electrified cell in his body wanted to. He stroked her thigh, making her sigh and moan. “You like that,” he whispered.

“Stating the obvious.”

“I like it, too.” He let his fingers go higher, reaching a silky, lacy, tiny piece of lingerie that barely covered her. Kissing her, sucking her tongue into his mouth, he stroked the wet silk.

“Isn’t it your turn?” she asked, reaching down to grip his erection again. “I want to give you pleasure, Nick.” She started to push down, kissing his chest, trying to turn so she could get her head lower.

He couldn’t let her do that. He couldn’t let her put him in her mouth when he’d just gone against everything she wanted and now he had this secret.

“No, not yet. Not…that,” he said. She looked disappointed, and it twisted his heart. “This is still for you.”

“Why do you get to make all the rules?”

He shushed her with a kiss and another stroke of her panties then easily slid inside to touch her soft, wet center. “Because I can do this to you.”

She gasped, shuddering against him. “Oh, yes, you can.”

“And this.” He stroked a circle, gratified by her response. “And this.” As her hands dug into his shoulders, he slid one of his fingers into her.

“Yes, that.”

She was so tight, he moved carefully and slowly, but with every stroke, she rocked harder against him, each breath tangled and tight, the sweet smell of her sex intoxicating him. It was like he lit a match, and she sparked fast and furious, clinging to him.

“I want you inside me,” she murmured.

“I am inside you.”

“Not the right part.”

He slipped another finger into her. “How’s that?”

She inhaled sharply. “A tease, but divine.”

“I’m not teasing you, Willow.” He rubbed lightly, then found the place that made her throat catch, and took advantage of the knowledge that gave him. He intensified the pressure and pace and then started kissing her again, cupping her breast with his other hand. That was all it took, making her let out a soft whimper, then a cry, then a low, long moan of surrender.

He knew better than to think—and risk slowing his fingers. Instead, he let himself feel everything, every sweet, sexy, sensual second of intimacy, holding her while she shattered with an orgasm brought on by only his touch.

Damn, sex with her was going to be amazing.

Followed by…her finding out that he was a lying, secret-keeping douchebag.

She would hate him. She would hate him.

The words echoed with the same rhythm as her panting breaths, finally slowing to something resembling normal.

“Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry we had that little argument.” She stroked his face, her eyes still partially closed, as if it took too much effort to open them all the way.

“It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to jump down your throat about my mother.”

He inched back. “I thought you wanted no mention of her, especially here in bed.”

Her fingers rested on his cheek. “Please understand that the only way I can deal with the future is by knowing I am completely finished with the past, and that means her.”

But she wasn’t finished. He could see it in her eyes. There was so much unfinished business and pain. And if his job—the one he’d taken on—was to give her pleasure, then didn’t that include the kind of pleasure she’d get when she finally resolved her issues and got to know her new, changed mother who, in some weird way, had actually
had
a personality transplant?

If he told her, she’d find an excuse not to be here. He knew that, as well as her father did.