Chapter Ten
DEAN HAD THOUGHT covering up that skimpy bikini he’d been fantasizing about stripping off Emery all day would make it easier to concentrate on teaching her to surf. But it turned out that helping Emery into a wet suit was even more of a lesson in self-control than the bikini had been. She wiggled her ass, shimmied her shoulders, arched and stretched, all of which caused her luscious curves to appear even more pronounced and tempting. When she was finally zipped in tight, her gorgeous body encased in black neoprene, she looked absofuckinglutely scorching hot.
Emery was back to being her sassy self, complaining about being shown how to wax her board and about having to practice the various stages of surfing—paddling, popping up to her feet, proper stance—on the sand before getting in the water. She was a spitfire of rebellion, and she tried his patience at every turn. While that was a great boner-killer, coming from Emery, it was also strangely a huge turn-on. He prayed he could control himself long enough to get into the water, because there was no hiding being fully cocked and loaded in a wet suit.
He left his board on the shore, wanting to be right there if she needed him. “Remember, you want to cut through the waves head-on, not at a glancing angle, or you’ll lose your momentum.”
Emery dropped her board in thigh-high water. One hand on the board, the other shading her eyes, she scanned the water. “What if I see a shark?”
“Don’t try to pet it.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He looked her dead in the eyes, recognizing the fear lingering there. “It’s an ocean, and there are sharks. We have a high seal population. But the chance of you encountering one is slim.”
“Not helpful. The chances that I’d end up living in your house and getting all hot and bothered because of you were less than slim when I arrived.”
He chuckled. “Duly noted. If you see a shark, keep it in sight as you head for shore.”
“And when it chomps my leg off?” she asked.
“Hope it doesn’t like the way you taste and get the hell out of there.”
Her jaw gaped.
“Emery,” he said in his most reassuring tone, “I will be nearby. If there’s a shark, my priority will be to get you out of the water, even if that means taking a hit myself.”
She sighed nervously. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Want to skip surfing?”
She shook her head.
“Want to paddle out and see how you feel? Find your sweet spot on the board?” As he said the words sweet spot his body heated up again. Fuck. He walked into deeper water, submerging his lower half, and said, “If you’re too frightened, you’re not going to get up on the board. You’ll just get frustrated.”
She gazed out at the sea. “I’m not too scared.” In the next breath, she was on her board, plowing through the waves head-on, just as he’d advised.
Dean swam after her, impressed with her resilience. When she began drifting sideways, he grabbed her ass, redirecting her.
She glowered.
He laughed and patted her ass. “Move a little lower on the board, so the nose is slightly above the water.”
“Got it, Mr. Handsy.” She shifted lower and paddled with long, deep strokes, with Dean swimming beside her. “This feels good. I think I found my sweet spot.”
He felt himself grinning. “I’d like to find your sweet spot. I can guarantee you’ll feel good.”
“There you go, bragging again,” she said with a sexy smile. “I think I’ve got this.”
He motioned toward the oncoming waves. “You know what to do, doll. Pick your spot, paddle like a bat outta hell, and keep looking forward.”
He swam away, watching her like a hawk as she sat up on the board, used her hands and feet to turn toward the shore, and looked over her shoulder with the confidence of a lifelong surfer. She was stunning with the late-afternoon sun glistening over her damp skin.
As the wave swelled she paddled forward. Every muscle in Dean’s body tensed as the momentum of the wave built and she tried to stand on shaky legs. The board tipped, sending her flying backward, into the crashing wave. His heart lurched as he quickly swam toward her. She broke the surface as his arm circled her.
Swiping at her eyes and gasping, she yelled, “Stupid wave!” and reached for her board.
“You’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m okay! I’m pissed. I slipped right off the stupid board.”
“It takes time. You did great. It’s really hard to find your footing when the world’s moving out from under you. You looked amazing out there.”
She faced the waves again and climbed onto her board. “I looked like shit, but not for long.”
She paddled away, and after four more failed attempts, each one bringing more frustration than the last, he held her trembling body, both of them bouncing with the force of the water.
“You gave it a good shot. Let’s call it a day and try again—”
“Hell no. If you can do this, so can I. I have balance. I’m the queen of balance. Watch.” She pushed away from him and paddled past the waves to calmer waters.
He swam after her, stunned when she unhooked the leash from her ankle and stood on the board, fluidly arching backward into a backbend. How the hell…? He swam closer, careful not to create waves, and when she kicked her feet up into a perfect handstand and then lowered them perpendicular to the board in an even more precise handstand split, he saw her not as the sexual temptress he lusted after, but for the experienced, intense, determined yogi she was.
A wide smile graced her beautiful face as her legs moved fluidly toward the board, and swiftly beneath her, until she was doing splits along the length of the board.
“See?” she said, a little out of breath. “Balance isn’t my issue.”
She straddled the board and reached for his hand. He climbed on, mimicking her position, her knees tucked against his inner thighs. She pressed her hands to her thighs, her brows knitted in concentration.
“It takes a different type of balance when the board is cruising along a wave. It takes time, but you’ll get it,” he reassured her.
“Will you help me learn?”
He moved closer, her request touching him deeply. Emery wasn’t the type of woman who asked for help. Earning another level of her trust meant the world to him. “I’d love to.”
EMERY LAY ON the surfboard with Dean perched above. His strength radiated in the small gap between their bodies, making her feel safe and excited at once as the swell of a wave propelled them forward. Her heart thundered as adrenaline and something even more thrilling, sexier, and unexpected coursed through her veins. He’d gone over what she was supposed to do so many times it ran through her mind like a mantra.
I’ll stand, then you push up. Concentrate on your stance, knees bent, arms loose and extended, torso forward. Look straight ahead and know I’ve got you.
Suddenly Dean’s hands disappeared, and the board tilted with his weight as he rose to his feet. It happened so fast, Emery didn’t have time to think. She gripped the edges of the board, pushing her chest up as her feet moved beneath her. Dean clutched her hips, strong and stable, helping her pop to her feet. One of his arms circled her waist, holding her back against his chest as they rode the wave.
As they surfed along the shores of the Cape, the sounds of the rushing waves, distant voices in the wind, and the pounding of blood in her ears gave Emery a sense of freedom, euphoria, and at the same time, disbelief. The overwhelming sensations should bowl her over, or at least give her pause, but instead they gave her a sense of clarity.
Dean held her until the very end of their ride, when he lowered her to a sitting position and hopped off the board.
She was delirious with happiness and adrenaline, and her words tumbled out too fast. “That was amazing. Incredible. Life changing. Like the first time I did yoga. It felt like taking the clearest, deepest, soul-reaching breath, only the breath was inside and outside my body.”
She swung her legs over the side, and Dean moved between them, his strong arms circling her hips. Her thighs pressed against his chest. The depth of emotions swimming in his blue eyes sent pulses of something warm and electric straight to her heart. She didn’t think, didn’t contemplate what it all meant or why her heart felt like it was trying to climb out of her body to reach him. She let it guide her and lowered her lips to Dean’s. Her head spun with the first touch of his warm, soft lips. In an instant, he took control. His hands flattened on her back, his arms squeezed her hips, tugging her closer, and his mouth—his gloriously hot, heavenly eager mouth—consumed her. The kiss turned rough and unstoppable. Amid sensual sighs and thrusting tongues, he hauled her forward, while simultaneously lifting himself higher on the board, as if he couldn’t get enough of her and might not ever have another chance. Her body slid into him. Hard. She clung to him with her arms and legs, never breaking their connection.
His arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her to his hard frame. His other hand moved along her back, into her hair, tangling and tugging demandingly, angling her face so he could intensify the kiss. His beard scratched her skin erotically, giving her bursts of slight pain with insurmountable pleasure. She knew her face would be abraded, and she didn’t care. She kissed him harder, digging her fingers into his wet suit. A purely masculine sound erupted within him. It was the hottest thing she’d ever heard. Fireworks ignited inside her, sparking and exploding in rapid succession, shattering her ability to think of anything but Dean. He squeezed her tighter, and she could barely breathe.
She didn’t want to breathe.
Never in her life had a kiss made her feel so alive, so intimately bound to a man. She wanted more. More electric kisses. More of his chest heaving against her, because of her. More of him.
Lord help her, because she wanted all of him.
When he eased his efforts, kissing her softer and somehow more deeply, too, her body vibrated like a live wire. Their bodies swayed with the force of the waves. They weren’t in danger of the waves breaking on them, but she wouldn’t care if the tide took them out to sea. She clung to his shoulders, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, feeling his strength, his corded muscles, his resistance.
Sweet baby Jesus. If this was Dean holding back, what would it be like when he gave her his all? When he kissed her with reckless abandon? Oh, how she wanted to find out!
He explored every inch of her mouth, slow and steady, like she was a fine dessert and he didn’t want to miss a single taste. Even while she was lost in his decadence, her overactive mind wondered why he was holding back. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her hair, taking her in a rougher, more controlling kiss, and her curiosity fell away.
Oh yeah, big guy. That’s what I want.
She surrendered herself to his demands, meeting every stroke of his tongue with one of her own, grinding against him. A guttural groan escaped him as he tore his mouth away, leaving her panting and bereft.
“Emery,” he ground out.
His fingers clenched tighter in her hair, stinging her scalp, and their surroundings slowly came into focus. The surfboard bobbed by the shore. The beach was nearly empty, the sun barely visible over the horizon. How long had they been making out?
“Sorry” came tumbling out, though the reasons for the apology escaped her. She wasn’t sorry. Not one bit.
“What the fuck, Emery? Sorry?”
“I’m not,” she said quickly. “I’m not sorry. I didn’t know what to say.”
His hand pushed into her hair again and he recaptured her mouth, taking her in another wet-suit-melting kiss. This time, he didn’t hold back, kissing her forcefully, holding her with the strength of ten men, his entire being demanding more, until she was a writhing, boneless, horny mess, clinging to him for dear life, because if she tried to stand, tried to use her legs at all, she was sure she’d sink to the bottom of the ocean.
When they finally drew apart, it was a slow separation. Dean brushed tender kisses over her lips, whispering in between each sensual touch. “That was a taste of how much I want you.” Kiss, kiss. “No regrets.” Kiss, kiss. “Don’t deny us.” Kiss, kiss. “Tell me you want us, Emery. Let’s stop playing games.”
When his words weren’t followed up with another kiss, she opened her eyes, and found him watching her intently, his gaze a demand. And she fucking loved it.
“I’m not playing games.” She wanted their friendship, and she was still supposed to work with him. But he was right. Their friendship was already in jeopardy, regardless of what they did next. She swallowed hard, trying to calm her frenzied swirling thoughts, and said, “I’m tendering my resignation from your company.”
His hearty laughter smothered against her lips as he crashed his mouth to hers again, alighting her every nerve anew. “I already fired you.”
“I didn’t accept your dismissal. I quit.”
He laughed again, gracing her with several more tantalizing kisses. “You’re a rebellious, beautiful, funny pain in the ass.”
She smiled into their kisses. “I gave you fair warning. I’ll drive you crazy.”
“You already are. In the very best way possible.”