Chapter Nine
DEAN WASN’T SURE how to take Emery’s sudden all-in attitude. He wasn’t sure if she was talking about deciding on materials for the landscape plans or moving forward with the two of them. Because of that, he played it cool, which was next to impossible. Over the course of the next hour, Emery went from barely breathing, emanating body heat like the Sahara and clearly struggling to focus on Dean’s explanations of Ashlar patterns, cobblestones, and flagstone, to being drawn in to the beauty of the plans. She’d become so swept up in ideas for the garden and patio, she was mesmerizing.
Her eyes sparkled with possibilities as she described her ideas for the project. “Can’t you see it?” She waved her finger over the designs as she spoke. “A free-form flagstone patio here, instead of making those edges sharp. Sharp isn’t warm. Sharp says, ‘Don’t come over here,’ while rounded edges say, ‘I’m easy, come over and relax.’ Oh! Can you use recycled flagstones? The ones that are all different sizes and colors?”
He loved the way she thought. “Definitely. I use recycled materials whenever I can.”
“A man after my own heart.” She paused, her gaze finding his. Then quickly, nervously, she pointed to the plans again. “And what’s over here?”
“A view of the water.”
“That makes it even more beautiful. And this?” She put her finger on the center of the patio where he’d marked the tree he was going to build the patio around.
“A gorgeous oak tree.”
“I love that,” she said dreamily. “Such a wonderful patio should be surrounded by flowers. What are those tall orange flowers I love so much?”
She scrunched her nose, looking so adorable he couldn’t resist slipping his arm around her waist and tugging her closer. “Tiger lilies. They’re all over the Cape.”
“Yes! I adore them. What were those yellow flowers you just showed me a picture of?” Her hand dove into his back pocket and retrieved his phone. She navigated to the browser.
Maybe he should be bothered by her breaching his privacy like that, but how could he be bothered by Emery being Emery?
“Yellow flag blossoms,” they said in unison.
“Yes! And Queen Anne’s lace, and”—she studied his phone, flipping through the pictures he’d shown her—“purple lace cap. This will be so pretty. The perfect meditation spot. Can you see it? All billowy with color and life with the sounds of the bay beckoning your inner calm?”
He felt himself falling for her a little more with each excited word she uttered. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he’d already planted most of the gardens. Luckily, they were quite similar to what she’d described. “I can see it perfectly.”
She slid his phone into his back pocket, leaving her fingers tucked there as she gazed up at him a little nervously. “Me too,” fell breathlessly from her lips.
The showroom and the people in it fell away as his arms circled her. One hand came to rest at the top of her spine, the other on her lower back, pressing her closer. Her heart beat rapidly against his, and her breathing shallowed. Her fingers dug into him through the thick denim of his pocket. Finally, she was right there with him.
“Emery—”
“Did you get it all worked out?” Blaine’s voice broke through their connection but didn’t sever it completely.
Emery’s gaze never left Dean’s. He expected her to pull away at any second, but her fingers pressed harder. Oh, how he wished they were someplace private.
“We did,” he finally said to Blaine, unwilling to look away from Emery.
In the next moment, her gaze dropped to his mouth, hovering long enough for him to weave a quick and dirty fantasy about what he’d like to do with said mouth. Dean cleared his throat to try to erase the image he’d conjured of Emery propped up on the edge of the worktable, moaning his name as he devoured her sweetness, but the image had burned into his mind. She was looking at him like she could read his mind—and liked it. Getting turned on in front of Blaine was not on his agenda.
Emery bit her lower lip, her eyes dancing with devilish mischief. She stepped sideways, her fingers slipping from his pocket, leaving him to bear the brunt of his fantasy in front of his buddy. He scrubbed a hand down his face and quickly glanced down, relieved to find his shirt was long enough to hide his arousal.
“Yeah,” Dean uttered, trying not to sound as sexually frustrated as he was. He gathered and rolled the plans, holding them in one hand as he took Emery’s arm in the other. “We’re good. I’ll email you the order.”
She giggled as he hurried her toward the door.
Outside, he said, “You think that’s funny?”
He turned her in his arms, backing her up against the side of the truck, and boxed her in with his body.
“Seeing your bad self out of control?” she asked with another sweet, infuriating laugh. “Heck, yes, it’s funny.”
He grabbed her wrists and pinned them beside her head. The plans sailed to the pavement. He sank down and arched forward, pressing against her, and her eyes took on that hazy, sensual look he was earning so often today. Her skin flushed, and her lips parted. For all her sass, and self-pronounced strength and resilience, she looked anything but in control.
He dipped his head, touching his lips to her neck, and dragged his tongue along her heated flesh until he reached her earlobe, which he took between his teeth, biting just hard enough for her to inhale sharply. She struggled against his grip, but her head tilted away, exposing more of her neck for him to devour. But he had something else in mind. A little lesson.
Using his fingers, he stretched her hand flat against the truck, and he lowered his mouth to the tender skin of her palm, lavishing it with a long, hot, openmouthed kiss. She sighed wantonly, her back bowing off the truck, and she rubbed her body against him like a cat in heat. He grazed his teeth along her wrist and followed the sleek lines of her smooth skin all the way up her arm to her shoulder.
Needy, sinful sounds escaped her, and when he brushed his lips over her cheek, his name sailed from her lungs like a plea—“Dean—” Her fingers stretched to touch him. “Please,” she begged.
“Oh yeah, doll,” he practically growled into her ear, before sliding his tongue along the shell, earning another lustful sound. He lifted her hands higher, grasping them both within one of his, and ran his fingers lightly down her side, making her shiver. “That’s it, sweetness.”
He flattened his hand over her hip and slipped it around her, bringing her even tighter against him. “Don’t even try to tell me you don’t want me. You don’t want this.” He accentuated his words with a pulse of his body against hers. “Friends or not, I’m the man you crave.”
She was breathing fast, her eyes narrowing. His hand slid to her butt and she held her breath, her eyes pleading for more.
“I’d bet my life, if I were to touch you, I’d find you ready for me.”
Her cheeks flamed.
“Tell me I’m wrong, doll.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “You can see my arousal. I can sense yours.”
Her mouth clamped shut.
Still holding her wrists in one hand, he cupped her jaw with the other and brushed his thumb over her lips. Her tongue slid across her lower lip, and it took all of his control not to seal his mouth over hers. He laced his fingers with hers, moving both hands beside her head, and nibbled on her neck again, until she was panting, eyes closed, skin flushed. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen, and she’d had him wanting her since the very day they’d met, but as badly as he wanted her, he reminded himself this was a lesson in control.
He touched his forehead to hers, soaking in the rising and falling of her chest with every needful breath. He released her hands and bent to retrieve the plans. As his face neared the juncture of her thighs, he looked up at her, and the air rushed from her lungs. Plans in hand, he pressed the unlock button on his key fob and headed for the driver’s side, leaving her trembling, panting, and, he knew, beyond needy, as he ground out, “Not so funny now, is it, doll?”
BY MIDAFTERNOON, EMERY had accepted that the idea of not getting hot and bothered every time Dean looked at her was hopeless, much less when he put his hand on her lower back as they ordered lunch at Mac’s Seafood by the Wellfleet Pier. Her body had become a ticking time bomb. She had no idea how she made it through lunch. She needed relief, but there was no relief in sight. Every glance, every joke, every brush of Dean’s hot skin against hers stoked the needy woman inside her.
After lunch, as they drove around town leaving flyers for her yoga classes at local businesses, her traitorous body remembered the weight of him pressed against her, the feel of his breath on her cheek, his tongue on her neck, hand, wrist, and the hungry look in his eyes as he shredded her walls, one touch, one word, one look at a time. Who knew Dean was such a master seducer?
Holy cow. She had definitely met her match.
By late afternoon, when they stopped at Dean’s place so he could put on his swim trunks and pick up two of his surfboards, she finally felt a modicum of control.
“We’ll get a wet suit for you at my buddy Jonny’s shop,” he said as he came out of the house carrying his wet suit and headed for a shed in the backyard.
“A wet suit? No thanks. Too confining.”
“Em, you’ll freeze without one.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve swam in an ocean before.”
“Yeah, in the South.” He opened the shed, but before he stepped inside, he closed the gap between them, staring down at her with a serious expression. “Why do you fight everything I say?”
“I don—” She realized she was doing exactly that and swallowed her words. “Knee-jerk reaction. I hate being told what to do.”
His brows knitted. “You take the long way around everything you do. Just this once, trust me enough to do as I ask, okay?”
She huffed out a breath. “I hate being confined.”
After a beat of silence, she said, “The wet suit.”
He cocked his head, as if he didn’t quite believe her. Planting her hands on her hips, she opened her mouth to refute his thoughts, but she knew Dean would never buy it. They may not have been face-to-face all these months, but she’d been honest with him about everything. She’d even shared her dream of one day becoming a yoga back-care specialist, primarily for the elderly, on a full-time basis.
She closed her mouth, warmed by the realization of how seriously he’d taken her dream. Seriously enough to have built me up to the one person who has the connections to open doors.
“Not you, specifically,” she explained. “But…I’ll try a wet suit if you really think I should.”
He stepped closer. He was good at this space-invader thing he did. Her heart skipped as he tipped her chin up with one finger and said, “And a real date? Think you can trust me enough for that?”
Her lungs constricted. “Our friendship…?”
“Is already on the line, regardless of what happens next.”
“You’re going to be my boss.”
“You’re fired,” he said with an impish grin.
She laughed. “I can’t let down Drake and Rick like that. I said I’d offer yoga to your customers.”
“We’ll send them to your classes at the inn.”
“Dean, I can’t just back out on commitments because you want me to. What would that make me?”
“Smart,” he said, tugging her closer again, softening her to his plight. “You’d have one less reason to pull away. One less excuse to keep your distance. One less reason to fight your own happiness.”
She inhaled deeply, trying to weed through right and wrong. Am I clinging to the best excuse I’ve got to keep my heart intact? She didn’t know why she was suddenly worried about her heart.
My heart?
Her hand drifted absently to her chest, her heart kicking against her palm. She’d never given that particular organ much thought beyond remaining healthy. It was their friendship and her career she’d worried about. She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of Dean watching her intently. Her heart beat faster.
“What do you say, Em?”
She wanted to accept the challenge. Or was it an offer? Suggestion? No, she realized, this wasn’t any of those things. This was a gift. He was offering her an olive branch, giving her a way to set aside one of her worries and give them a chance. No one had ever given her the gift of happiness.
Except sometimes they did. Her father had done it when he’d paid for her back-care specialist courses, and hadn’t Desiree given her a gift when she’d offered a space at the inn for Emery and her business?
Okay, sometimes people who really care about me, really know me and love me, despite my faults, have done that for me.
Dean cocked a brow, and she opened her mouth to accept, but “Can I think about it?” came out before she could stop it. The hope in Dean’s eyes faded. Oh my gosh. I really do stand in my own way.
“Sure,” he said, looking at her for a long moment before breaking their connection and heading into the shed to retrieve the surfboards.
She watched his muscles flex as he carried the boards out of the shed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s actually good that you’re giving this some thought. I think it means something.”
There it was again, a glaring difference between what she usually did and what she did with Dean. “Maybe,” she said noncommittally.
As he loaded the boards into the truck, he didn’t push, didn’t make her feel guilty. He smiled and patted her butt, joking around like they always did, until she was breathing normally again.
“Hey,” she asked as he locked up the shed. “Why is your board so big?”
He chuckled. “You noticed?”
The dark look in his eyes revved her up again. “Your surfboard, big guy.”
“Like I said…”
How would she ever make it through the next few hours? Everything he said brought her right back to the dark desires she’d been trying to outrun. “You’re impossible.”
“Trust me, doll. I’m very possible.” He backed her up against the truck again, leering like a hungry wolf. “With you, I’m a sure thing. Although that longboard is meant for you, as a beginner. It’s easier to balance on a longboard.” He pressed his hips against her again and said, “But this longboard’s got your name on it.”
Drawing all her wits about her, which at the moment weren’t much, she knew she had to try to ignore that comment and cling to the one that would keep her from jumping into bed with Dean. “I know how to balance. I don’t need a special board. Maybe I should ride the shortboard.”
“Not happening, doll,” he said as he pulled the keys from his pocket. “You want to get up on the board, not fall off it.”
She wanted to get up on something all right, but it wasn’t the surfboard.
Not helping.
“So, you’re riding the shortboard because you think you have better balance than me?”
“I’m riding the shortboard because I know how to surf.” He opened the passenger door of the truck, laughing under his breath. “Riding the shortboard,” he mumbled as he helped her in. “That’s not the thing I’m hoping to ride, shortcake.” He smacked her butt and strutted around the truck, climbing into the driver’s seat.
“Get over here where you belong.” He hauled her beside him, and she didn’t even try to complain as he hooked her seat belt.
She didn’t want to.
He draped one arm around her, holding her against him, and drove out to the main road.
“I didn’t even accept a real date yet,” she pointed out.
“You take the long way around things. I know this about you. But maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do. I tend to find the most efficient route.”
“So that’s what this is? Efficiency? I’m living in your house. Kill two birds with one stone?”
He shook his head. “That smart-alec bull might work on other guys to goad them into a senseless debate and throw them off-track, but not me. You’re living in my house because it was a better place for you. You’re living there because you want to be living there.”
She opened her mouth to rebut him again, but before she could get a word out he said, “You could have stayed at Violet’s, but you made a big show out of the whole naked-dude thing. I think you wanted me to offer my place.”
“Right,” she said sarcastically. “Delusional much?”
“Did you fight it?”
“No, but—”
“I rest my case. Like I said, denial looks cute on you.” Dean parked the truck in front of Surf Magnet, which she assumed was his friend Jonny’s surf shop. He cut the engine and said, “But I have a feeling clarity will look smoking hot.”
He stepped from the truck and came around to help her out. She knew a thing or two about clarity. She found it as she greeted each morning with yoga and meditation. Wasn’t she always preaching the benefits of centering oneself to her clients? Praising mindfulness, the coming together of mind, body, and soul? But where Dean was concerned, clarity was shrouded in worry.
She stewed on those thoughts as she was measured and fitted for a wet suit, which she assumed they’d rent, but Dean insisted on buying. You’re a Cape girl now. You’ll need it.
By the time they reached Newcomb Hollow Beach, the sun had dipped low in the sky and the waves looked enticing. Emery was excited and nervous about learning to surf, and she was glad that Dean was going to teach her instead of Brody. She was equally aware and excited by her newly discovered—accepted?—feelings toward Dean.
Brisk ocean air swept up the dune, bringing a world of freeing sensations with it. Emery had forgotten how different it felt to be at the ocean than the bay. The bay was calming, while the ocean seemed to rejuvenate her entire being. She reveled in the way the salty air made her skin feel tacky as they kicked off their flip-flops and stepped into the warm sand. She carried the towels and wet suits down the steep walkway toward the beach. Dean had a surfboard under each arm. She walked behind him, trying not to stare at his perfect butt beneath his swim trunks, but what else was there to look at? A beach full of swimmers? No one compared to him. Not in looks, or as much as he’d hate hearing it, not in sweetness, either. His heart was as tender as his muscles were strong.
There went her heart again, quickening, making it hard to breathe. That organ she’d never paid much attention to wasn’t fading back into the background anytime soon.
Dean set the boards on the shore and took the wet suits and towels from her, setting them down, too. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the sand, exposing another of his most dangerous weapons—his powerful physique. She was dying to know the meaning behind the ink covering his shoulder, biceps, and pecs, but each time she’d brought it up over the last few months he’d changed the subject. Now that her true emotions had not just surfaced, but crashed into her like rolling waves against the shore, she was more curious than ever.
Dean stretched his arms over his head, then out to the sides, twisting and stretching. His muscles pulsed as he flaunted every angle of his deliciousness. Suddenly Emery was very hungry. Ravenous.
He laced his long, thick fingers together and extended his arms forward with another deep stretch. Her spine tingled with the memory of how those adept fingers felt on her skin as they trailed down her ribs and beneath the hem of her shorts.
Dean stepped closer, his blue eyes boring into her. She must have been dipped in ice for all these months to have kept her distance, because his eyes, his very presence…She could catch fire from the heat of this man.
“You ready to get wet, doll?” he asked with a haughty look.
Oh boy…