He's the One (18 page)

The toys were bagged and in her car by the time Lydia returned from the bathroom.
She didn’t look sick, Vi noted, as she strolled down the hallway, a smirk on her face.

“See you, sweetie,” she said, patting Violet on the cheek. She appeared far more carefree
than when she’d arrived. Vi winced. Something was off.

Lydia had nearly reached the door when Brad caught her by the arm. She looked up,
curled her lip.
“Now what?”
she demanded, ticked that he’d stopped her.

“You know what, Lydia,” he accused her.

“I didn’t take the last roll of toilet paper,” she protested, “if that’s what you’re
thinking.”

His gaze lowered to her breasts. “The money,” he stated, a sharp edge to his voice.
“You’re not walking out with Violet’s tips.”

Color rose in Lydia’s cheeks. “You’re checking out my boobs?” Her tone was harsh.
“Careful, Vi, Brad’s got a wandering eye.”

Violet now noticed what Brad had already seen. Her sister’s breasts were lopsided,
as if she’d padded her bra, one side with Kleenex, one side with a rolled-up sock.

Disappointment stung, sharp and bitter. Lydia’s padding came from cold, hard cash.
She’d pilfered the pockets of Violet’s khaki skirt and stolen her tips. Vi wouldn’t
be surprised if Lydia had also located her crisis stash in the shampoo bottle under
the sink.

“Hand it over, Lydia,” Violet said, her voice soft, yet stern. “Right now.”

Lydia swore a blue streak that left no doubt she was guilty. Stealing didn’t seem
to bother her, but getting caught did. She reached inside her tank top to the cup
of her bra and removed a handful of bills. She slapped them on Vi’s palm. “Happy now?”
she growled.

“Not happy enough,” came from Brad. “Take off your left high heel.”

“What the hell?” Lydia’s anger rose. “A strip search?”

Brad came back with, “I saw Benjamin Franklin’s face peeking out the back of your
shoe.”

Begrudgingly, Lydia took off her left pump. Fifties and hundreds were stuffed inside.
“You rob a bank?” she asked Brad, passing him the rest of the cash. “Your wallet was
loaded. You’ve got more credit cards than God.”

Violet blinked.
Where had Brad gotten so much money?
Surely her sister was mistaken. She looked his way, confused and at a loss for words.
He avoided her gaze, but she didn’t take that as anything to worry about. His life
was his own. She had no right to question his finances.

Silence hung between them like a well-kept secret. Brad took a step back, then swung
the door wide. Lydia tottered out, one shoe on, one shoe off. Halfway down the steps,
she flipped them the bird. Vi rolled her eyes at her sister’s brazenness.

Brad closed the door behind her. He leaned back against the frame. “Your sister is
sneaky.”

“It’s who she is,” Vi said on a sigh. “I’m glad you caught her.”

“You’d better count your money,” he said. “Make sure it’s all there.”

Vi fingered through the bills. Her tips and crisis stash were accounted for. “I’m
good, how about you?”

He clutched his fifties and Franklins tightly. “I’m fine,” he said without counting.
“Lydia found my travel money. I was carrying enough cash to rent an apartment and
get settled.”

He didn’t mention the credit cards, and Vi let it pass. Probably maxed out, just like
her own. “I meant what I said, Brad,” she offered. “You’re welcome to stay here as
long as you like.”

He came toward her then, all hot eyes and flashing dimple. “I like a lot.”

He drew her close, and showed her how much.

Chapter Four

B
rad woke up with a sexual hangover.

He was wrung dry and needed hydration.

His night with Violet had been the best of his life. He’d loved every minute. Sex
had been a roll and tumble, on the bed, on the floor, on the overstuffed corner chair.
They’d made up for lost time. He’d had the energy of a wild-eyed, horny kid. Vi had
let herself go completely. She wasn’t afraid to show her feelings.

He had rug burns on his knees and he was certain Vi had her fair share of bruises.
His stubble had sandpapered her chin.

He sprawled on his back on her bed, naked, a white cotton sheet drawn over his hips.
Violet lay beside him, her arms and legs all over him. She reached for him in sleep,
twining their bodies tightly together. He couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without
holding her. He’d burned for this day, to have her sweet warmth all his again.

He gently brushed her bangs off her forehead and pressed a light kiss to her brow.
He couldn’t stop looking at her. Her face was free of makeup; soft and vulnerable,
beautiful. Her lips were slightly parted and her breath warmed his chest, right over
his heart. Her knee was bent, a fraction from his balls. He shifted just enough that
if she jerked awake, she wouldn’t take out his boys.

He was a man who enjoyed morning sex with his woman. Today was no exception. He’d
known five years ago that Violet belonged to him. They had yet to discuss love or
their future, but that would happen soon enough. He was still working on
how
to tell her his whole story. There were truths to be told and surprises to unfold.
He wanted the best for Violet Cates, but would she agree that his best was right for
her?

She blinked awake now. Her smile was slow, lazy, and sexy as hell. Her body was soft
and curvy, her silky hair crossing over one eye, giving a peekaboo look that promised
more fun to come. She trailed her fingers down his chest, dipped them beneath the
sheet, and stroked him lightly. “We have today off from work,” she said on a sigh.
“I’ll cook you breakfast.”

He circled her nipple with one finger. The tip beaded for him. “I’ll have two legs
over easy.” He rolled her onto her back.

She grinned up at him. “I’m hungry for you, too.”

She wanted him. Again. Arousal pulsed and heated the air. Sparks flew. He felt he
was breathing steam. His erection thickened. He couldn’t wait any longer. He snagged
a condom off the bedside table, fit it in seconds.

He seduced her mouth with sensual kisses, soft, yet deep, as if he had all the time
in the world. Their hands strayed, drawing out each touch. An erotic mating dance,
primal and seductive, their naked bodies touching, exploring. Passion glazed their
eyes, and their need for each other became a power all its own.

He spread her thighs with his knee, and took her slow and easy. He didn’t need long
to find his rhythm, exciting her even more. Her fingers curled into his hair, stroked
his scalp. Her lips nuzzled his neck. His shoulders bunched beneath her hands. She
bit his bicep, marked him hers. Her gesture touched him, made him so ready for her,
he was surprised he didn’t come now.

Thinking of her pleasure and not his own, he gave great attention to her breasts.
Sucking the tips and grazing each with his tongue.

She ran her hands down his back. Tautness strained his spine. He was dying, losing
his mind.

He slid his hands under her buttocks, cupped and clasped her even closer. She felt
so good.

She grew restless. Her ragged moans told him she wanted him in her deeper, harder.
Her need braised his skin.

His hair was damp against his brow; his breathing labored. A muscle ticked in his
jaw.

She lifted her hips, reaching for her climax.

He could hold back any longer.

His thrusts went from rhythmic and unhurried to a pulsing rush. His dick throbbed
hotly inside her.

She braced against coming too soon, but it was no use. Her passion for him was strong
and her climax overtook her. Pleasure and emotion surged, flooding her.

His chest heaved and his breathing caught. He lost control a moment after her. He
growled her name, a lusty rumble that rose with his orgasm. It went on and on, and
he knew he could never again be near her without wanting her in his arms, in his bed.

Spent, he hefted his weight off her.

She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling until she caught her breath. She looked
stunned, but happy. He reached for her hand, tugged her to him. A satisfied grin curled
over her lips, and then she rested her head on his shoulder. Her breasts and hips
hugged his side.

He traced a finger down her nose, tapped her on the chin, and said, “You wore me out,
babe.”

“I feel boneless,” she admitted, stretching lazily.

“Can you make it to the shower?” he asked.

She nodded. “Let’s clean up and have breakfast.” She scrubbed his back and he worked
his magic with the bath mitt. Soon, almond steam filled the bathroom. The mirror fogged.
And their moans mingled with the shower spray.

Afterward, they toweled dry and dressed for the day. They cooked breakfast together.
It was a simple meal: coffee, eggs, and toast. Violet didn’t keep many groceries on
hand since she took most meals at the diner.

Seated across from her at the kitchen table, Brad asked, “Plans for our day?”

She took a sip of her coffee, then said, “I want to take you shopping. I owe you a
pair of jeans.”

He raised a brow. “You want to replace the ones you ripped off me last night?”

Her cheeks heated. “I got carried away.”

“It was only a pocket,” he said, finishing off his slice of buttered toast.

“The denim’s worn near your groin,” she said in that cute way of hers that made his
balls tighten. “I don’t want people seeing too much of you with the pocket missing.”

“I don’t want you spending money on me, Vi,” he insisted, knowing she lived from paycheck
to paycheck. “I really don’t need—”

“I insist.” Her tone was firm.

He held up his hands, palms out, gave in to her. “How about a pair of board shorts
instead of the jeans?” he asked. “I haven’t swum in the Gulf for five years. It’s
time to skimboard again.”

He loved the rush of standing on the shoreline, skimboard in hand while waiting for
a wave. A good-size swell, and he’d run toward it, drop the board, and jump on. He’d
glide out into the ocean toward the upcoming wave and bank off it, riding the swell
back to the beach.

“You can skimboard and I’ll sunbathe.”

He stood, gathered their dishes, and set them in the sink. Vi came up behind him and
put her hand over his. “Give me five minutes to load the dishwasher and we’re off.”

Perfect. He needed to make a quick phone call; one he should’ve made yesterday. He
headed for the living room. There, he removed his BlackBerry from the pocket of his
athletic shorts and scrolled for the number. He dialed, then spoke briefly with the
man in charge. “Put the parking charge on my Visa,” he finalized the transaction.

Disconnecting, he turned, and nearly bumped into Violet. She’d quietly approached,
and was staring at him now. A hesitant smile tipped her lips and uncertainty darkened
her green eyes. She was curious, but didn’t pry. He wondered how much she’d heard.

She waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t give an explanation, she didn’t
push him further. She allowed him his personal space. He loved and appreciated her
all the more.

Shouldering a small beach bag, she moved toward the door. “Let’s hit the boardwalk,”
she said.

He followed her out. He liked watching her walk. The lady had a great body. She was
slender, fluid, and graceful. Her hair curled about her shoulders, free of its usual
scrunchie. Her tank top was a faded blue, and her navy shorts fit loosely. The leather
on her sandals appeared worn.

That bothered him. She had insisted on buying him a pair of board shorts when she
was in need of new clothes herself. He hated her spending money on him. Her generosity
was humbling. The moment would stay with him. Always.

He took her hand, and together they strolled down Seashell, then cut the corner at
Center Street. They headed toward the beach and boardwalk. The day was young, yet
the Gulf would be as warm as bathwater. Brad couldn’t wait to hit the waves.

The Barefoot William boardwalk welcomed tourists with sunshine, specialty shops, and
a promise of fun. All the stores had adjoining walls and multicolored doors. A crowd
gathered at Brews Brothers as coffee drinkers waited in line for their favorite eye-opener.
The scent of oven-fresh doughnuts wafted from the cracked door of The Bakehouse.

Seagulls swooped overhead. A few gulls seeking a handout tottered after tourists eating
breakfast sandwiches. They squawked over crumbs, then scooted out of the way for the
pedicab traffic. The covered, three-wheeled rickshaws carried summer visitors up and
down the boardwalk. The friendly drivers pointed out landmarks and entertained tourists
with local lore.

“Three Shirts to the Wind,” Violet said, stopping before a bright tangerine door.
“The best selection of tees and board shorts on the boardwalk.”

He entered the shop behind her. Strange, him being here. He’d been in the store several
times when he was younger, but only to browse. He’d never been able to afford a polo
or designer shorts. The items were too pricey and out of his league. Yet this was
where Violet chose to shop. For him. He looked around, hoping to find a pair of shorts
on sale.

“Hello, Vi,” said Jenna Cates-James, Violet’s recently married cousin and owner of
the shop. She stood beside a circular rack, hanging up tank tops. “Brad, welcome home.
I heard you were in town.”

Smiling, Brad acknowledged her greeting. No surprise actually. The Cateses were a
grapevine for news. They were a close-knit family and kept each other apprised as
to everything that happened on their boardwalk.

“We’re here for a pair of board shorts,” Violet told Jen.

“Feel free to look around,” said Jenna. “Holler if you need help with size or color.”

Brad spotted a
SALE
sign, and he headed toward the back of the store. Violet caught his arm before he
reached the rack. She shook her head and gave him a small smile. “Let’s check out
Dune’s designer line,” she said. “There are lots of cool board shorts on the shelves
over by the mirror.”

Dune Cates was another of Vi’s many cousins. He’d recently retired from professional
beach volleyball, but continued in retail. The popularity of his signature beachwear
collection was making him a very rich man.

“Vi, listen—” he began, but he was quickly silenced by the press of her fingertips
to his lips.

“Let me do something nice for you,” she said. Her eyes sparkled with delight. “You’re
home and my heart is happy.”

He was damn happy, too. He drew her close and kissed her lightly. She sighed against
his mouth.

No words needed to be said. They both knew what the other was thinking. Sweet kisses
and roving hands would incite gossip. Best to cool their heat. For now.

Releasing her slowly, he led her between the round racks until they reached the far
wall. “Trust me to pick something out for you?” she asked, skimming her fingers over
the shelves.

“No metallic pink or yellow,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “I don’t want to shine like
a fishing lure in the water.”

She eyed him, bit her lip, then guessed, “Size large?”

He nodded, and she took her sweet time making a selection. She went through the whole
rack, mumbling and shaking her head. The lady was picky. That made him feel good.
She’d chosen him, hadn’t she? Her final choice made him smile. She held up a pair
of navy board shorts decorated with tan surfboards.

“I like,” he said.

“Me, too,” she agreed, handing them to him to try on.

“Dressing rooms are open,” Jenna called from the front counter.

He was in and out of the changing room in five minutes flat. He never looked in the
mirror. Didn’t have to. They fit, and that was all that mattered. Violet folded his
athletic shorts and added them to her beach bag. They headed toward the register.

Scissors in hand, Jenna cut the price tag from Brad’s board shorts. “Forty-six dollars
with the Cates family discount.” She rang up the sale.

Violet unzipped a side pocket on her beach bag and removed a stack of one-dollar bills.
Her waitress tips, Brad thought. She counted out the exact amount.

“I’ll toss in two towels and a bottle of suntan oil,” Jenna said, collecting each
one from under the counter. She put the items in a plastic bag with the Three Shirts
logo. “No charge. Enjoy your day.”

“Appreciated, Jen,” Violet said. She hugged her cousin, turned, and took Brad’s hand.
“C’mon, we’ll rent you a skimboard.”

He grabbed the bag off the counter. “Thanks, Jenna,” he said. The Cateses were a generous
family. He felt a part of them today.

They cut across the boardwalk and walked down the wooden ramp to the beach. Footprints
patterned the sugar sand. Beachgoers strolled the shoreline, collected shells, and
sunbathed. It was summertime. Barefoot William lived easy.

The water sport shack was near the pier. Steve Cates rented everything from surfboards
to snorkel gear, air mattresses to paddleboats. Brad had sold his skimboard when he’d
left town. He hoped to buy another one shortly. He was a man of motion; he liked to
be active. However pleasurable, he couldn’t have sex with Vi 24/7. He needed another
outlet for physical activity. Skimboarding was his sport of choice. Surfing came in
second.