Low Tide Bikini (A Pleasure Island Romance) (31 page)

The poorly wrapped ring box sat in the palm of her hand. Her mouth twisted. “No name tag? Anyone want to fess up?”

Not a peep came from the crowd, and he wasn’t about to say anything.

Picking at the tape, while searching the eyes of all who’d gathered around her, she finally removed the shiny red paper and gasped at the black velvet ring box.
 

All eyes focused on him.
 

He nodded for her to open the gift.

She lifted the lid and gasped then cocked her head. With a pinching motion, she reached into the box and pulled out the post it note he’d folded into a square the size of a dime. She unfolded the paper and read the note aloud. “Would you do me the honor of wearing this mood ring? At all times. I mean, never take it off. Ever. Sincerely, Brock.”

The crowd burst into laughter, including Sam.
 

She slipped the ring onto her middle finger and flipped everyone in the room off as she modeled her new piece of jewelry.
 

The large center stone in the sterling silver setting went from grayish white to blue within seconds of being on her finger. Playful and lovable. Yes, she was definitely lovable. He couldn’t wait to see the stone turn lavender. Lovestruck and passionate.

After a morning of making love, Brock sat on the balcony writing some poetry while Sam packed. He lifted his head from the love poem he’d just written and noticed a crowd gathered by his back deck. "What in the...."He sat the notebook aside and went downstairs to see what was going on.

Sam parted the crowd like a traffic cop, wearing bright yellow rubber gloves and matching yellow bikini. So much for packing. Two rows of people faced one another, Sam knelt and disappeared behind a dune. Everyone flanking the pathway she’d cleared smiled, watching whatever she was doing behind the dune.

He quickened his pace as he walked down the sandy path, his feet slipping in the silt-like earth. As he neared the gathering, he spotted tiny, waddling hatchlings scurrying between the rows of people. The dark-bodied, tealight-sized creatures bobbled and scuttled toward the waves. The turtle nest Sam had marked off with stakes and colored ribbon had hatched at last.
 

"Amazing," he mumbled to himself, referring to both Sam and the hatchlings.

When he reached the gathering of onlookers, Sam was lecturing them on the importance of protecting the nests and what to do and what not to do when the turtles hatched. She retrieved the broken shells from the hole by her knees and counted. The crowd chimed in with her. "97, 98, 99." One hundred thirty seven turtles had hatched, all had made it safely to the water. The crowd cheered and Sam rose to her feet with her fists in the air like a champion.

"We did it," Sam said, victory written all over her face. Brock loved that she included everyone in her triumph.

As the people sauntered back to their individual pallets of beach towels and blankets dotted along the shore, Brock approached Sam.
 

She tore her gloves off and hopped into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist. "That was amazing."

His hands immediately cupped her bum. "You're amazing." He kissed her repeatedly. The passion of each kiss intensified as he carried her into the water, past the breakers. The calm waves that rose to his shoulders caused him to slowly bounce as his feet buoyed off the ocean floor then returned to the soft surface. She was light as air in his arms, just like the reflection of his smile that floated in her ocean-blue eyes.
 

"You're beautiful, Sam.”

These were the last moments he’d spend with her before she boarded the tour bus in the morning. He wanted to savor each second, memorize every sight, sound, scent, and touch. He wanted to fill the day with love and joy. So much love he had in his heart for her. Did she know? Had he shown her? Would he ever be able to convey the enormity of his devotion to her without saying the words “I love you” aloud? He wanted to tell her, but feared those three small words would become an anchor that would keep her rooted to him instead of following her dream.
 

Her sweet words echoed in his mind, "To keep them would be cruel. You must allow them to be free to become what they were intended to be.” All the tiny turtles had found the water and were swept away in the current, moving toward their destiny. The strong ones would travel the world in migratory patterns. Some of the female turtles would return to the island and lay eggs here. And Sam would be swept away in her own musical current as she traveled the world many times over. One day she’d return to the island, perhaps raise a family here, but her destiny didn’t include him.
 

"What are you thinking?" Sam cut into his thoughts. "You look as if you're a million miles away."

"Nothing. I'm right here. Exactly where I want to be. Enjoying every second with you," he said. He wouldn't spoil the moment with his doubts and uncertainties.

He couldn’t sit by and stew about what she was or wasn’t doing with Tox on tour, and he certainly couldn’t stand on the sidelines and quietly witness the way the paparazzi would trample all over her life, deny her any privacy, and give her little respect. He knew himself all too well. He’d rage and whine, turn into a bully, say hurtful things to anyone he viewed as a threat. Worst of all, he’d resent her for leaving him, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her ever resenting him for overreacting or behaving inappropriately and embarrassing her like he had done on the day of her interview.

He had a handful of moments left to turn into gold. For the rest of her life, when she thought of him—and he knew she would think of him—he hoped she’d remember his kindness, generosity, affection, passion, and love. This was the man worth remembering, worth loving. When she left in the morning, this man would no longer exist. A sad, lonely, grumpy sod would replace him. He never wanted her to see that man. God, he would miss her. He'd even miss the cat.

SAM HELD ONTO Brock’s neck and buried her face in his massive chest. The smell of saltwater and sunscreen mixed with his own unique scent, a scent she found both soothing and arousing simultaneously. She’d packed the pillowcase he’d slept on the past two nights and the shirt he’d worn the day before. She’d spritzed some of his cologne on the letter he’d written her after their first night of making love and sealed it in a ziplock bag, tucking it safely away in a zippered pocket inside her carryon luggage.
 

Her phone was loaded with candid photos of him in various stages of undress with an array of expressions on his face. Her favorite was the picture of him sleeping in the hammock with Princess curled up on his chest, his hand on her furry gray back. He’d befriended Princess by feeding her from his hand until he was brave enough to pet her. It had gotten to the point now that anytime Brock sat for more than two minutes anywhere in the house, Princess would jump up in his lap to be petted. Sam understood her cat’s obsession with the man. She felt the same way about him.

The kisses and gazes they shared spoke for them as they silently clung to each other in the water.
 

Storm clouds darkened the sky.

"Did you feel that?" Sam asked.

"Oh, yes, I felt it." He squeezed her bottom. "It feels damn good."

She swatted him playfully. "Not that. That. Rain."

"No."

Moments later, a sprinkling of rain fell, creating small splashes across the ocean’s calm surface. Inside her heart, Sam rained too, but she tried to hide that from Brock. She didn’t want their last day together to be filled with sorrow.
 

Thunder rumbled in the distance and they ran back to the house, holding hands. They grabbed a couple of towels that were folded on the wrought iron table and dried off.
 

Brock pulled her towel around her shoulders and drew her to him. "I love when you're all wet."

As he wrapped his warm arms around her waist, she nestled against him and closed her eyes. "And I love y--" She stopped abruptly, realizing what she was about to confess. "I love you making me wet."

He whispered hoarsely, “I’m going to heat up some of that chicken curry for us.”

He stepped away from her and went inside without looking in her eyes. She could sense he’d become emotional. Sam sat in a rocking chair and watched the storm as the encroaching goodbye between her and Brock caused thunder inside her heart.
 

She wanted him to ask her to stay. That’s all it would take for her to change her mind about the tour. But he’d encouraged her to go and even commented about how the tour would keep her from having to secure a new place to live. Having her leave would certainly make it easy on him, if he wanted to end things. He had never given her the impression he wanted anything serious. He’d never said I love you. This was probably just a summer fling for him and she couldn’t blame him for treating it that way. She’d never asked for it to be more. In fact, she was the one leaving, not him. But the way she felt toward him was far from “fling” material. Sure they had awesome sex and fun in bed, but she loved him, and had nearly confessed this.

She wanted him to be the one to say it first, to let her know she wasn’t all alone out there being hopelessly in love. Talk about standing on the ledge. If he didn’t love her back and she said those words—man, that’d hurt like hell.

If he loved her, really loved her, he wouldn’t let her go so easily. That was a fact she couldn’t deny, no matter how hard she wanted to convince herself otherwise.

BROCK WATCHED SAM nap in the hammock. He doubted she’d slept the night before, judging by the way she tossed and turned.

She was a beautiful sight, asleep on her tummy with her yellow bikini bottoms barely covering her round bum and her long blonde hair spilling onto the floor.

The rain had driven away all the beach goers. Since his house was closer to the water than either of his neighbor's, his deck wasn't visible from their vantage point. The idea of taking Sam right there was too tempting to resist.

He grabbed a couple of cushions from the wrought iron chairs and slid them under the hammock. Slowly, he untied the strings of her bikini, starting with the string in the center of her back, moving to each bow on her hip. Carefully brushing her hair from her neck, he untied the last string. She flinched but didn’t wake up.

From under the hammock with his head on a cushion, he tugged one triangle of her bikini top to the side and exposed a breast. Her nipple jutted out from between the weave of the hammock ropes. With his tongue, he swirled over her nipple until it hardened then he sucked it into his mouth. She moaned. He looked up and locked eyes with her, keeping his mouth on her nipple. As she arched and pushed her breasts toward him, she used her fingers to slide the other triangle portion of her bikini top to the side. Both breasts protruded through the spaces in the hammock. He moved from one nipple to the other, nibbling and suckling.
 

"You're devilish," she whispered in a sleepy, sensual tone.

He agreed with only a hum.
 

Letting her go wasn’t something he was ready to face. He didn’t want her to think of that right now either. He wanted to make her feel like she was flying, that his love brought her pleasure not heart-ache.

He studied her face, the way her mouth opened, the furrow of her brow. Slipping his fingers through a diamond-shaped opening near her hips, he pinched the edge of the scrap shielding her mound and pulled the fabric through the diamond area.
There
was the treasure he wanted. Right there under his fingers. Stroking her delicate folds while he laved her breasts, he whispered, “Open for me, love.”

As she spread her thighs, he repositioned himself to give his mouth access to her sweetness. He ran his tongue up and down her slit, and she moaned loudly. One of her knees slipped off the edge of the hammock. He grabbed her foot, his palm against her arch. She pushed herself into an upright position and dangled her other foot from the opposite side of the hammock so she was straddling it. He grabbed that foot as well so she could grind against his mouth with ease. She was no longer shy with him, instead she gave herself without the slightest inhibition. It drove him wild. Her unbridled movements made him grow harder, until he was aching with need.

Her juices coated his lips and tongue. He couldn’t get enough. Hovering above his mouth, she writhed. He couldn’t stop. He had to have more, so hungry for her. Gripping her toes, he flicked his tongue quickly and lightly against her swollen and hardened pearl.

She quivered and whispered, “Brock, please. I need you inside me.”
 

Something in his chest fluttered at the sound of her voice.

He stood and flipped her onto her back so her hips were at the edge of the hammock, her head hanging off the other edge. Securing a condom in place, he said, “What do you want, love?”

She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes glazed with passion, but there was something else within their blue depths, sorrow. He understood. He felt the same way.
 

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he stroked his shaft as she watched. “You want this?”

She nodded and hissed, “I want you, you.” Her voice broke on the last syllable, and he stole that word from her mouth with a kiss that left them both trembling in each other’s arms.
 

Pressing his lips against her forehead, he stepped back and lifted her ankles onto his shoulders. He slowly pushed himself inside her, his eyes never leaving hers. She grasped the ropes and bit her lower lip. He thrust again, this time harder and faster. Her bottom bounced off his thighs, and the hammock began to swing.
 

Lightning lit up the sky. Thunder rumbled. The rain fell hard onto the sand, drowning out the sound of the nearby waves.
 

Tears trickled from the outer corners of Sam’s eyes.
 

He placed a palm over her heart. “I know, baby. I know.”