Macayla moved so quickly, Oliver thought she might get away before he could stop her. He didn’t know what had panicked her, but he’d seen that wide-eyed contracted-pupils stare often enough on the job to know that kind of reaction couldn’t be faked. Something had spooked her. Frightened her to the core.
He found her across the hallway, pumping the elevator button as if she were giving it CPR. “Macayla!”
She swung around at the sound of his voice, her gaze still startled, moving past him as if she expected to be followed.
He moved in close to her so that she couldn’t see past him, demanding her full attention. “What just happened back there?”
“It’s nothing. A stupid mistake.” She shook her head, refusing to meet his gaze. “I just need to get some air.” She turned at the sound of the elevator and pushed through the doors before they’d fully opened.
As he went after her, she moved to the back of the space, head lowered.
Not about to let it go—he’d seen that wary expression before she could mask it—he moved in again, enough to make it impossible for her to ignore his presence, not enough to worry her.
“It’s okay, whatever it is.” He kept his voice low, not wanting to add energy to the situation. “Macayla?” His hands settled on her shoulders to turn her to face him. Then with a finger he lifted her chin. “You need to talk to me.”
“Not here.” She gazed up from beneath lowered brows as several other guests from the banquet joined them on the elevator, all talking at once.
“I thought that would never be over.”
“Amen to that. Where’s the bar?”
“Going down.”
“By the way, great job, Kelly.”
“Great performance from both of you.”
One of the men sporting an NYC SAR logo stepped almost between Oliver and Macayla, grinning crookedly. “You’re coming down to the bar, of course, Kelly. Beers are on me.”
A woman on his right threaded her arm through Oliver’s as she gave Macayla a sorry smile. “You don’t mind, do you? He promised us, ‘Waltzing Matilda.’”
Macayla glanced up at him. What he saw in her expression stopped his inclination to accept the invitation, for both of them. “Ta. I need to walk my dog, Jackeroo. He’s been cooped up in my room all evening.”
“Then after.” The woman squeezed his arm. “You promise?”
Oliver nodded vaguely as the crowd walked off the elevator onto the main floor, where the bar was located.
“We’ll be waiting.” The woman reluctantly let go of Oliver’s arm, the last to leave.
When the elevator closed, only Macayla and Oliver remained. He smiled at her. “Alone at last. Can you talk to me now?”
She lifted her head and let out a shaky breath. “It was nothing. Adrenaline overload being up in front of that crowd.” She tried to smile at him. “I freaked.”
“You don’t freak. I’ve seen you in action. You run toward trouble. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
He moved to put his arm around her, but she shied away. “Look, it’s been nice. But you have things to do. So do I. Thanks for a nice time.”
He frowned. “I thought the nice time was just beginning.”
She looked up, eyes flashing. “Am I on your list of things to do? Walk the dog. Screw the girl. Then spend the night belching in the bar with your adoring fans?”
Oliver frowned. Macayla had run through several touchy moods in the short time he’d known her: preoccupied, annoyed, introverted, even snarky. But bitchy didn’t sound right coming from her.
The elevator came to an abrupt stop, again at the ballroom level. As the doors opened on a waiting crowd Oliver stepped into the breach and held up a hand toward those who surged forward. “Sorry. Illness on board. Take the next car.”
He pushed the CLOSE DOORS button and the LOBBY button before turning back to Macayla. “What’s going on, Macayla? And don’t make it about us. I saw your face at the table. Something happened that scared the shit out of you.”
She glanced up at the camera mounted in the corner. “I can’t talk here.”
“Okay.” Oliver was all too aware of security in the modern world. If she was worried about being overheard then something important was going on.
When the elevator opened on the main floor, he saw her hesitate. “Thanks for wanting to help. But I’m really tired. Can we talk tomorrow?”
Oliver stuck a booted foot in opening to keep the doors from closing. “You don’t need to be alone right now.”
She made the little frown face that pursed her lips and drew tiny lines between her brows. He’d seen that before, and thought it made her look like an annoyed kitten. One with sharp claws. “Fine.”
Macayla ducked under his arm into the hallway to the lobby. She heard a roar of greeting from the bar but turned and walked quickly in the opposite direction.
Now that she was over the shock, embarrassment was overtaking every other emotion. She couldn’t adequately explain to herself what had occurred in the banquet hall. She knew how it would sound if she tried to explain it to Oliver.
Jarvis Henley pointed a finger at me and that reminded me of the gun pointed at me three weeks ago when I thought I was going to die. Or maybe it was the previous time. You see, I’ve been shot at before.
That explanation sounded bat shit crazy even to her. That couldn’t be what happened. But it was.
And now her nerves were ruining her chances of spending the night with a man she wanted very much to be with.
She almost glanced back, wanting to see Oliver’s confident smile, but not quite ready. He was elated by the evening’s outcome. And had every right to be. He had conquered a huge fear. How could she spoil his triumph with her crazy stories?
No, better not to involve him. After all, he would be leaving shortly.
That brought her up sharply at the hotel’s main doors with a strange little stab of pain in her middle. He was here for a conference that ended tonight.
She turned to find him right behind her. “When do you leave town?”
Something came and went in his expression. “I have a flight tomorrow. But that can easily be changed. I made the arrangements before we met.”
“A day or two isn’t going to make any difference. Will it?”
He scowled. “What are you asking me?”
What was she asking? “Nothing. I’m asking nothing of you.”
He took a beat during which he took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “Macayla. We made a good team tonight, yeah?”
“Yes. You were great.” His happiness was infectious. “I knew you would be.”
“We were great. Because you had faith in me.” His smile had a new, softer edge to the cocky self-assuredness. “I think we should celebrate. Just you and me.”
The way he said those final words spun her world gently. She couldn’t lie that she had been waiting for a chance to get back in his arms but now that it was here, she was caught between it and the jangle of nerves stilling revving her anxiety. When he looked at her the way he did now, her insides heated up. He wanted her. She wanted him. Simple. Easy. All she had to do was say … “Yes.”
She thought he would lead her back to the elevators so that they could go to his room but he bypassed them and headed down a hallway toward the back of the hotel. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can be alone.”
He led her out across the back patio and down the shallow stairs onto the beach. Nearby tiki torches lit up an area with firepots and Adirondack chairs where hotel guests sat drinking and making s’mores. She was surprised to see that the beach beyond was not shrouded in darkness. The banquet had seemed to last forever. However, nightfall had not quite claimed the view.
The sun was already a memory. Yet a thin wash of colors lit the horizon in palest shades of orange, yellow, and aqua before abruptly turning sapphire. In that darkness hung a sliver of moon. Above it Venus glinted liked a diamond solitaire.
“Hold up.” He stopped and pointed to his boots. “Bare feet from here.”
He rolled up his pant legs to the knee before unlacing and shucking off his boots; he stuffed each with a peeled-off sock. Then he tied the laces together and slung them over a shoulder.
Meanwhile Macayla unbuckled and slipped out of her sandals. The sand was still warm from the sun. But as her feet sank down into the shifting surface, the soles of her feet found cooler layers beneath.
“Come on.”
They moved onto the smoothed sand, emptied of beach chairs and canopies, to where the surf curled silver at the edge of an ink-dark sea. He took her hand and they wandered off toward the darker end of the beach, away from the cluster of hotels. Neither of them said anything. It wasn’t necessary.
As the night closed in around them, Oliver’s hand on hers was warm and strong, something solid to hold on to. Macayla lifted her face to the sky, feeling the foreboding easing away from her. The wind ruffled her hair as the gentle lapping sounds of water against the sand consumed her. She’d always loved the sea best at night, or after a storm, when sky and water merged and the sands were nearly empty but for a few brave souls.
After a few minutes more, the back-and-forth slide of surf seemed to feed a different kind of restlessness. She was on a beach with a man she was very much attracted to. It felt like more than that. He’d shared things about himself few other people knew, none in his present life. He’d trusted her with what he saw as his greatest vulnerability. Not that she saw it that way. She thought he’d done a remarkable job of making a place for himself in the world, against the odds of family expectations. And perhaps his own. She was proud of him, and very touched that he felt safe with her. And now she wanted to share more, in a very personal and intimate way.
There’d be plenty of time tomorrow and the day after that to drive herself crazy with nightmares and useless speculation. They might only have tonight.
She glanced sideways at Oliver and wondered if he knew what was happening.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, Oliver paused and turned to her.
She felt a pang of regret as he saw the solemn lines of his face outlined in the dark. He wasn’t smiling. It must be time to turn around. She searched her mind for something to say, how to be okay with regret.
“Macayla.” He said her name in a silky rough whisper, and then he kissed her. And it was just that simple. No words needed after all.
He kissed her. And then he kissed her some more, until she was sighing and lifting her hands to find his shoulders as he stroked her libido to life with his tongue. It’s what she wanted, so very badly. Just this. Now.
When he lifted his head they were both breathing hard. His hands, having found their way into her clothes, rested warmly on her bare back.
“We should go back to your room.” Her voice sounded as breathless and eager as she was.
Like the disappearing Cheshire Cat, the gleam of his teeth in the dark was the only indication of his smile. “Why waste the time?”
She glanced right and left along the quiet stretch of beach as his intention dawned on her. “We can’t do that here.”
“Don’t tell me. There are rules against it. Haven’t you ever wanted to say, Screw the rules?”
“Sure. But—”
He lay a finger against her mouth. “Shh. I’ve got better uses for your beautiful mouth.”
When he finally moved back from her again it was to pull his shirt over his head and drop it by his boots in the sand. He looked up when she didn’t follow suit. “It’ll be more fun with your clothes off.”
She began to laugh, caught up in the naughtiness of his suggestion. “Seriously. What if someone comes by?” She looked around for a secluded spot but found nothing, not even the shelter of sea grape vines. Nor were the dunes plumed with sea oats in the distance sufficiently tall. “We can’t just lie down in the sand.”
“No. We’re going out there.” He pointed at the gently rolling swells. “The tide turned recently. It will be calm for a while yet.”
“You want to have sex in the surf.”
He looked at her, one leg out of his pants, one leg still in. “Have you never?”
She took a breath. So many things, she’d never. But that wasn’t the problem. “I have my purse, and my phone. What if someone steals them while we’re in the water?”
“What’s an adventure worth to you?” He stepped out of his pants. That left him in a pair of dark-blue boxer shorts that fit him in a way that revealed as much as they concealed. Was sex with him worth losing her purse? Maybe. Definitely, the possibilities revealed by his shorts were worth exploring.
“What if we get arrested?”
“I get deported and you get a fine. Okay?”
She stared at him a moment longer. Then shrugged off her jacket. “You’re a bad influence, Oliver Kelly.”
“Ta.”
He ran toward the surf as she wriggled out of her dress. The feel of the wind against her body drew goose bumps.
Farther along the shore, fishermen sat on a jetty night fishing. The glow from their gas lantern was the only spot of light on the dark pier. Though they were more than half a mile away, their friendly voices carried clearly over the water.
As she stepped out of her dress more stars winked into being, and a meteor streaked overhead. A long-legged heron croaked from some unmapped quadrant of the dark sky.
The water lapped cool against her body but his hands were warm as he drew her in. His mouth was cool lips and warm tongue. She clung to him, letting the waves ride over and around them.
They were standing in what was waist-high water for him. Chest-high for her.
He pushed his shorts to his knees. “Climb on board.”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure about this.”
“You’re right.” He hooked a finger in her panties and tugged at them as though she hadn’t spoken. “These have to come off first.”
His laughter was so infectious she felt her anxieties ebbing. “You’re dangerous.”
He ducked under the water and stripped her panties down her legs. She lifted one foot and then the other, palms on his back to keep her balance. The cool currents of water felt chill against her overheated flesh.
When he came up, he had her lacy boy shorts hooked around one finger. She reached for them but he took them and pulled them, waist first, down over her head until it looked like she wore a lace cap.
He chuckled. “Now you won’t lose them.”
One big callused hand slid over her bare butt and she shivered. The fingers of his other hand trailed down her belly. And then he was diving underneath the waves again.
She gasped as the rasp of his beard followed his path of his fingers and then the hot length of his tongue slid over her skin and in between her thighs. He nudged her legs apart until she stood wide-legged in the sand. And then with his hand on her bare bottom, his lifted her off the seafloor.
“Float, Macayla.”
She stretched out her arms in the water, feeling the bounce and roll of the water beneath her.
“Breathe. You can’t float if you aren’t breathing.”
Macayla nodded though it didn’t translate to a response when she was on her back in the night sea. After a heartbeat or two, she opened her eyes. Far above her dozens of stars seemed to have caught fire as sharp pinpricks of light. And then she forgot about everything.
Oliver wedged his head between her thighs and drew her to his mouth. The touch of his tongue, hot after the cool touch of the sea, made her gasp and flail a bit.
His hands tightened on her backside, holding her steady.
“Relax,” he said in a whisper that came from between her thighs. “I’ve got you.”
Macayla smiled. He had her. Understatement of the year.
He rubbed his chin along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as he kissed his way back to the apex. Then once again, the heat of his breath made her shudder as he drew her bud into his mouth and gently sucked.
“Oh. My. God.”
Macayla’s world careened away. She was floating, drifting, about to fly away until his hands found her waist and pressed her back into the bottom.
She grabbed him, dug her nails into his shoulders as she scrambled to hang on to the one solid thing in this liquid world.
When she was steady, he released her and ducked under for a second. When he surfaced, he was halfway back to the beach. She watched in confusion as he climbed the sand and picked up his trousers. And then she smiled in understanding as his hand went to his pocket, his wallet.
Even so, she gasped as he shucked out of his boxers. His audacity took her breath away. And then he was stalking back toward the water. Naked.
He dived into the water like a dolphin. He was a much stronger swimmer than she was. Obviously, he spent a lot more time at the beach than she did. When he emerged from the dark water beside her, his muscular torso gleamed wetly in the moonlight. He tossed his head, salt water flying from the ends of his hair as if he were the ancient god of the oceans, Poseidon himself.
He pulled her to him, one arm across her back, and other lower down to fit her body so snugly to his that there could be no doubt about how engaged he was in the moment.
“Had enough?”
She blinked water out of her eyes. “Not nearly.”
“Good.” He smiled at her, though she could only surmise that smile because it was tucked into the darkness of his beard. He leaned in, his cool wet lips against her ear. “I’m going to fuck you right here, in front of the whole world. If that’s what you want.”
“I do.”
“The magic words.”
She shivered again and it wasn’t the Gulf or the breeze or the temperature. It was the overwhelming sensations pouring through her as his erection nudged her cleft, inches from where she longed for him to be.
He began working her bra. “Wait.” She reached up and felt for her panties. They were still on her head. “I don’t think I can manage any more garment accessories.”
“Can’t have everything, I guess.” He sounded regretful. That didn’t keep him from exploring. He lifted her up by the waist, easy to do in buoyant water, and pulled her to him to tongue her nipples through the lace of her bra, then gently bit each hardened bud. The sensation was too much. It buckled her knees. But he seemed to anticipate that, and held her upright.
Finally he ran a finger round one swollen nipple. “Save something for next time.”
Macayla felt something being pressed into her palm. “You do the honors?”
She nodded, feeling her cheeks heat. Why was she embarrassed by a condom when he’d just been giving her the ride of her life on the tip of his tongue? She took open the packet and carefully extracted the contents.
Frowning, she looked up. “How do I?”
He released her and lay back in the water, his lower body floating up as his legs framed her shoulders.
She smiled. Had to admire his lack of modesty. Bobbing just inches from her eyes was a very impressive hard-on, a tent pole in the moonlight. Fingers trembling, she rolled on the condom, taking a moment to enjoy the length and heat of him.
“Playing with fire.” He wrapped his hand over hers and stood upright again. “You hold this, I’ll do the rest.”
And then he was lifting her, hands on the back of her thighs to part and pull her legs around him. She quivered as his erection touched between her thighs. He groaned low in answer and adjusted the angle of her hips. And then, with his hot gusty breath on her chilled face, he thrust into her, going to the hilt in one sure stroke.
She clung to him, a little tired of fighting the gentle push–pull of the currents. But he began to move, pulling out only to push in again in sure hard strokes that took possession of her in a way she could only smile about. She wanted to help, but in this situation he had total control of the delicious sensation of their union. The feel of him moving beneath her hands, the bunch and glide of his muscles as he arched into her, his hands hauling her in and down to meet his thrusts.
Everything in her tightened, the tension building until she was breathing openmouthed, her head thrown back to the sky. But her eyes were squeezed shut to better feel the exquisite friction of their connection.
It happened so quickly. One moment she was a coiled spring. The next she was spinning apart. She thought she saw a shooting star arch above them, or maybe it was just those exploding contractions felt behind closed lids.
“Damn, Macayla. You’re killing me.”
He pulled her close, one hand coming up to press her upper body against his as the other dug into her butt cheeks while he thrust into her with an urgency beyond gentle or kind, just primitive and orgasmic.