Body Double (22 page)

“Oh baby,” he murmured.

She tugged his underwear down, easing him out of his shorts. He moaned in pleasure and relief and eagerness. His sopping wet underwear dropped with a splat to his ankles, and he was free.

“I love how you touch me,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

“I love touching you.” She soaped his butt and he turned back around. Slowly and lovingly, she washed his balls and penis.

He moaned as her hands caressed him, one moving easily back and forth along his hard, slippery shaft, the other cupping and squeezing his nuts. “Take it slow. I want it to last.”

She smiled. “Baby, we have all night.”

He reached past her to turn off her shower, and another heat lamp flicked on overhead. “My turn,” he said, taking the soap from her. He started with her shoulders and arms, caressing her with care and attention. When he moved to her breasts, her breath stopped and then began to pulse with her heartbeat. His thumbs stirred her nipples to hard peaks while his hands squeezed and fondled her. Her breasts were perfect and sexy, just the right size, and he couldn’t wait to feel them with his mouth. “Your breasts are perfect,” he whispered, gazing at them with lust and admiration while he caressed her with the soap.

“And clean,” she said with a teasing smile.

He chuckled and moved the soap down her belly, around her waist to her hips and butt, remembering when he felt the elastic that he hadn’t taken off her panties yet. “Off with these.” He slid his thumbs under the elastic top and pulled them down. They landed on the pile of cloth at her feet.

He pulled her against him, naked body against naked body, both slippery and aroused, and kissed her while he continued to soap her back and butt, cupping her cheeks with the dwindling soap bar in one hand. He turned her around so that he could wrap his arms around her from behind and moved the hand with the soap around to her belly and down across her pubic mound, sliding between her legs to gently caress the tender flesh there. The anticipation of tasting her, of having her, of making her his made his thoughts sluggish.

The automatic timer on his showerhead turned the heating lamp off and the water back on.

“Oh!” Andrea giggled. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Let’s get out of here.” He turned her shower back on, and they quickly rinsed the soap off. He turned off his shower and then reached behind her to turn off hers while Andrea opened the shower door just enough to reach a towel. Instead of handing him one, she began to dry him.

“You’re such a caring person,” he said. “I continue to be amazed at the things you do for others. For me.”

“I like it. Doing things like this gives me pleasure. Turn around, let me get your back.” She lovingly wiped and blotted his shoulders, neck, back, butt, and legs, squatting to reach his calves and ankles. When she rose to her feet again, she cupped his dick and balls in her terrycloth-covered hand to blot the last few drops of water.

“Let’s get you dry too,” he said, reaching past her for another towel on the rack.

She tossed the damp towel onto the floor outside the shower and stood still while he dried her. He was a bit clumsier than she was, but he went about the task with care and attention. Without the warm water on her, the cooler air stirred her damp skin to goosebumps.

He draped the towel around her back and shoulders and pulled her body against his own to warm her up while he finished drying her. “I think that got it.”

Once they stepped out of the shower stall, he kissed her again, then bent down, scooped her up into his arms, and carried her to the bed, never breaking the kiss. He set her down and eased himself over her to lie beside her, drawing her close.

They spent half the night making love and the other half sleeping comfortably in each other’s arms. Blake dreamed of marrying the sweetest, most beautiful woman in the world, and when he stirred to wakefulness, he found that woman naked and sleeping in his arms.

After the first four days in Hawaii spent doing little besides ordering room service and moving between the bed, the shower, and the hot tub or swimming pool, the honeymooning couple put on their bathing suits, bought a pair of beach towels at the hotel gift shop, rented wood-framed beach chairs, and headed to the beach. The temperature was a pleasant eighty-four degrees, and the ocean was cool but not uncomfortably so—refreshing enough for a dip before lying under the warm sun to dry off.

Andrea uncapped the sunscreen bottle and poured some into her palm before handing the bottle to Blake. She rubbed her hands together and began to smooth lotion over her arms, rubbing it in until it was no longer visible. Blake poured some into his hands and began to rub it onto her legs, starting with her feet and working up her calves to her knees, all the while holding eye contact with her.

“We have an audience,” she said with a grin. Dozens of other people were on the beach—families with children and older couples.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll behave myself.”

They lay under the sun for a while, holding hands, each with gleaming skin and sunglasses, though Andrea also wore a wide-brimmed, straw hat tied under her chin to shade her face, claiming she didn’t want to return with freckles. Blake wouldn’t have minded freckles. He loved everything about her pretty face, the way the bridge of her nose wrinkled when she laughed, her cheekbones and the shape of her jaw, her cute little chin, and the way her expressive eyebrows rose and dipped while she talked.

She opened her eyes and caught him watching her, and she smiled. One tooth was slightly crooked in front, and though he hadn’t noticed it at first, he found it charming now. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just admiring my beautiful bride. Objectively speaking, you’re a very pretty woman, you know.”

“Is that so? Objectively speaking?”

“Completely objective. Your kindness, compassion, and intelligence aside.” He squeezed her hand and ran his thumb across the back of it. “Are you thirsty?” He glanced at the row of shops behind them. “I’ll go grab us some drinks.”

“Thanks. That would be great. If they have pearl milk tea, I’ll have that. Otherwise, a regular iced tea is fine.”

“Pearl milk tea, coming up.” He leaned over and kissed her, and then kissed her again. “One more to hold me until I get back.” He grabbed his wallet from the back pocket of his shorts, kissed her once more, and stood.

“Being without you is slightly painful, so hurry.”

He slid his feet into his flip-flops and smiled down at her. What a darling woman. No wonder he was falling for her. Sarah had never made him feel so desired. “Be right back.” He jogged across the uneven sand to the first of several concession stands and shops along the street. Their menu board listed soft drinks, water, and regular tea, but not pearl milk tea. He asked if they had it, and the tanned surfer guy behind the counter directed him to a shop four doors down.

Blake headed down the street, and sure enough, the Tiki Hut had the drink Andrea had asked for. He bought her a large one and a bottled water for himself and headed back.

Even from a distance, he could see how beautiful she was. Her shapely legs were slightly bent, one more so than the other, and her arms draped across the armrests of the beach chair, delicate hands dangling over the ends. Her head was tipped back and the hat pulled forward, casting a shadow over her face. He glanced around to see how many men were checking her out because he knew they would be, though she seemed to have no idea how much attention she attracted from the opposite sex.

One man looked familiar. Recognition bloomed. The asshole on the plane who wouldn’t trade seats with him. Jerk. Blake started to look away and then noticed the man wasn’t simply relaxing on the beach or reading like most other people. He had a camera on a tripod, and it was pointed down the beach. Blake adjusted his course and approached the guy from the side. As he neared, he saw the zoomed image on the camera’s view screen.

It was Andrea.

He heard the camera’s distinctive whir and click as he neared.
What the—No. You are not photographing my wife, asshole.

Blake stormed over there and set the drinks down on the sand. He picked up the camera, the tripod’s legs splayed from its bottom. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“Hey!” the man shouted, climbing to his feet. “Leave that alone.”

Blake started pressing buttons on the camera, hunting for the function to delete the photos of Andrea. He scrolled through picture after picture of her and of the two of them, some taken at the airport, some in the hotel lobby when they were checking in, and the rest on the beach. “What the hell, man?”

“Give me that.” The man tried reaching for the camera, but Blake turned his back to him and held the camera away from his body, out of the guy’s reach. “Give me the damned camera.”

Blake found the hinged door containing the memory card, popped it open, and pulled out the card. He shoved the camera into the guy’s eager hands, but held onto the memory card. “You’ve been stalking my wife? What the hell?”

The man held his hand out, palm up. “The memory card belongs to me too. Give it to me before I yell for the police.”

“She did not give you permission to photograph her.” He snapped the card in two and dropped the broken pieces into the man’s hand. “Don’t do it again or I’ll break more than your memory card.”

“You bastard,” the man spat. “You’ve got to pay for that.”

“Fine.” Blake pulled two twenties out of his wallet and threw them at the guy. They fluttered to the sand. “If I see you taking pictures of her again, you’d better run.” He squatted down to pick up the two drinks and started back toward Andrea, feeling the adrenaline fueling his muscles. Who the hell did that jackasshole think he was? Some psychopath who was insulted by the incident on the plane and now sought some kind of sick retribution using her photos?

Something heavy hit Blake from behind. He fell to his belly on the sand, losing his grip on the bottle and plastic cup in his hands. The guy was on top of him, pummeling his head. Blake stuck one arm out to the side, braced himself as well as he could on the shifting sand, and pushed himself over, dislodging his attacker. He rolled onto his knees and gripped the man by the throat, easily gaining the upper hand by his greater size and strength and the training he’d had both on the wrestling mat and in the Army.

The man tried reaching for Blake’s face with clawed hands, but his reach was shorter. Blake wrestled one arm down and pinned it with his knee, while he used his shoulder and body angle to keep the other hand from reaching him.

“You seriously want to rethink this,” he said.

The man’s face reddened from lack of oxygen. “Okay,” he choked. “Surrender.”

“You’ll leave us alone,” Blake said.

“Yes,” the man said, his voice strained.

Blake let off the pressure a bit, and when he was sure the man wouldn’t renew his attack, he rocked back onto his feet and stood. People nearby were staring and murmuring to each other, probably wondering whether to call for help. “I’d better not see you again,” he said. One of his flip-flops had come off, and he turned it over with his toe and shoved his foot into it, then shook the sand off. His water bottle was covered with wet, sticky sand, and about a third of Andrea’s tea had spilled out, but the plastic lid had stayed on, keeping most of her drink in the cup. He swiped the sand off with one finger and flung it onto the beach as he returned to where she lay, oblivious to what had happened.

“Sorry it took so long,” he said, kneeling onto his beach towel.

She opened her eyes and tipped her hat so she could see him, then took the offered cup. “You found some?”

“Yeah, a little got spilled. Sorry about that.”

“Thank you, sweetie. What happened to your face?”

It wasn’t until then that he felt the subtle sting of a scratch across his face near his ear. One of the plane guy’s fingers must have scratched him. “Oh, nothing. Just a scratch.”

She looked past him, her brow furrowed. “Did something happen?”

He sat down and reached over to stroke her forearm, then slid his hand to hers. He gave her a brief account of what had happened and assured her it was handled. The jerk had packed up his camera gear and other belongings and left. “If I see him again, he’ll be sorry.”

“If you see him again, let’s call the police. Some guy taking pictures of me is creepy and disturbing. He could be mentally unstable.”

Of that, Blake had no doubt. He was determined to enjoy his honeymoon, but he would be vigilant.