Mixing Temptation (10 page)

 

Chapter 10

T
HE WAVES RUSHED
over the grey-­white sand, teasing the three steps leading up to the porch. From her perch on one of the four all-­weather metal chairs beside the table, Caroline studied the water as it slipped back. She imagined the tides washing away the lingering effects of the past few years. The beach beneath the water had been disturbed, shifted by the waves' movement, but the sand remained a solid surface.

She cocked her head and turned her gaze to the sun slipping below the horizon. If she was comparing her life to the ocean's movements she'd probably had too much wine. One high tide wouldn't strip her past and leave her with a fresh new start.

But Josh offered living, breathing proof that trouble could slip away. He'd regained his footing and then some after his accident. He smiled and appeared so comfortable in his own skin. And tonight, he'd laughed freely while they debated just how much ‘reality' went into their favorite shows over steaming bowls of chowder.

“Josh.” She tore her gaze away from the orange-­gold sky and looked at her date. “When did you start watching reality shows?”

“Would you believe me if I told you it was a life-­long passion?”

“No.”

He grinned. “The nurses at the rehab center liked them. The ones on the night shift always wanted to watch dating shows. I enjoyed their company. Hell, some days it felt like the only thing that kept me sane.”

“How did you know?”

“One of them gave me a journal during my first week and told me to write everything down. I still have it. Minus the pages Chad took back.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“He stopped by to pour his heart out when he and Lena hit a hiccup in their relationship. I honestly can't tell you more than that because he tore out the pages.”

“Did it help?” she asked. “Keeping the journal?”

“Yeah. It's weird waking up in what feels like a strange new place every day, not knowing the ­people around you, only to learn that you've been there for weeks.”

“I can't imagine,” she murmured.

“I don't think anyone ever really understands what another person is going through. The nurses tried. But most nights, even after their stupid memory game therapies, I didn't want to sleep. I felt lost in my own life with no way out. So I started watching whatever the nurses wanted to see. Of course, I forgot about it the next day. But months later, when my memory came back and I'd moved into the apartment over the barn, I started tuning in again.”

“Out of habit?” she asked.

“Nah, I wanted to know why I'd written about roses and hot tubs in my journal.” He set down his wine and looked her straight in the eyes. “Now I need you to promise you won't tell my older siblings. They probably think I'm watching porn up there and we should keep it that way.”

“Promise,” she said solemnly. “But I get to pick the drive-­thru for tomorrow's lunch. Or I'll call up your sister and tell her—­”

“Deal,” he said quickly. He held her gaze as he reclaimed his glass and took a long sip. “Now how about you? Did you sit around at the base and watch TV?”

“No.” She shook her head and looked away, staring out at the sand. “My sister is a reality show junkie. She had it on all day. From pregnant teenagers to ­people willing to eat bugs for money, she liked it all.”

“I've never seen the appeal of eating bugs on national television,” he murmured.

“Me neither,” she said with a laugh. But it sounded forced, even to her ears.

Why can't I have a normal conversation with this man?
she wondered. But given her situation, maybe this was normal—­the best she could hope for anyway.

“But your sister liked those shows,” he prompted.

“Yeah,” she said, mentally tossing normal out into the surf as she added: “And when I was staying with her, I couldn't leave the house. I knew it was only a matter of time before the police came to her door and demanded to know if she'd seen me. So I stayed inside and watched with her. I waited for the inevitable . . .”

But it doesn
't feel so inevitable right now.

She closed her eyes. Witnessing the sunset, following the water's ebb and flow, and sitting beside a man that infused her life with wanting, she'd felt as if possibility hung in the air—­as if her new version of normal was within arm's reach. She'd set out to face her past. To see for herself if Dustin was interested in hunting her down. If he wanted to seek revenge for a career he'd lost most than a year ago.

Damn it, I wish I could take out my past with a single shot. One well-­aimed bullet and the reasons I ran, even the fact that I decided to go AWOL instead of serving with those bastards again—­I could blow it all away.

“Look at me, Caroline,” he said softly. “Please.”

She opened her eyes. Her date looked downright serious. And yes, that was on her. Josh laughed openly and freely. He seemed happy just about all the time. Except for when she started unpacking the baggage from her past.

“Even at my lowest point,” he said, “when depression clouded my life and I thought my short-­term memory was gone, I didn't stop hoping. And that I remember clear as day. You haven't hit a dead end. Trust me on this. I know you. Not who you were before or all the details about your family. But I know that if someone as strong and brave as you gives up, the rest of us don't stand a chance.”

“I don't know what to wish for anymore.” She rolled her shoulders up toward her ears and then down. “Every time I think about the future, this tension seeps in. I feel it lodge between my shoulder blades like a physical reminder that I'm tethered to my past actions.”

Josh rubbed his hands together. “Now, this is going to sound like a come-­on designed to advance tonight into the tried and true third date parameters. You'll just have to take me at my word that my motives are sixty percent pure.”

“Only sixty?” she said with a laugh.

“Yeah. Now, here it goes.” He cleared his throat. “Sweetheart, I can ease that tension right here, right now with a little back massage,” he said in a deep voice that sounded like a cross between used car salesman and Magic Mike.

She laughed again. And he waggled his red-­gold brows.

“What about the other forty?” she asked.

“Sinful.” He shook his head as if ashamed to admit part of him leaned toward ulterior motives. “But I think I can keep those impulses in line long enough to relieve that ache in your back, honey.”

“All right.” She plucked a cushion off one of the empty chairs as she stood. As she walked around the table, he pushed back and created a space for her at his feet. She dropped the pillow to the wooden boards and sat with her back to him and her gaze fixed on the horizon.

His hands rested on her shoulders. The wide neckline of her knit sweater offered access to her bare skin and he took advantage. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric and his thumbs ran down alongside her spine. Then, without a word of warning, he began to massage her tight and tired shoulders.

The pure pleasure of welcoming another's touch rippled through her. And thank you, angels in heaven, he didn't break the moment by asking if she was all right, or if he made her uncomfortable. Josh trusted her to speak up and tell him if she needed him to stop. But still, it probably wouldn't hurt to add a little encouragement.

“Please don't stop,” she murmured.

“Wasn't planning on it,” he said.

He used his knuckles to target the pockets of pure tightness underneath her shoulder blades and she moaned.

“I'd forgotten how good this feels.” She didn't give a damn if her voice bordered on low and throaty. The pleasure had clearly migrated south, drawing her attention to the parts of her body that no longer wished to be ignored.

“Keep reminding me,” he said. “Or my imagination might talk my hands into wandering.”

“Where?” she teased.

His fingers slipped over her shoulder and ran down the front of her shirt. He stopped below her collarbone. Tracing gentle circles over her skin, his touch gliding back and forth under her bra strap, he said, “I'd start here and work my way lower.”

She arched her back, offering access and encouragement. “Then?”

“My hands would slip under your bra and cup your breasts.”

“Hmm,” she moaned. But his actions didn't mimic his words. He continued to massage her pectoral muscles.

“And then I'd face this inner struggle,” he continued. “Do I lift your breasts and press them together or tease your nipples first? If I run the pad of my thumb over your nipples, I could gauge how you like to be touched and learn if your breasts are sensitive. And I should probably start there. Because if I draw your tits together first, well hell, I'd be tempted to dip my tongue between them and lick my way to your nipples.”

His words painted an X-­rated picture in her mind of a scene that belonged inside the cottage—­bedroom, love seat, or sleeping loft, it didn't matter as long as they slipped behind a closed door. Just in case someone walked down the beach. She had a list of her own unexplored fantasies, but they didn't involving attracting outside attention.

“I can tell you've lost sleep over this debate,” she said.

“Caroline, you don't want to know how much I've fantasized about your cleavage.” He added a serving of sincerity to his tone as his finger dipped lower, grazing the top edge of her breasts.

“Tell me.”

“But then you'll think I'm only concerned with your breasts. And that's just not true.”

“Right now, I'm just interested in how my breasts play into your wildest daydreams.” She ground out the words as she arched further. She cocked her head to the right and rested it on his knee. “Please, Josh.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Are you sure about that? Because once I finish licking a path between your tits, I'd kiss my way over that taut little belly down to your panties. And this time there's no debate. I'd touch you first, testing to see if you're wet, before running my tongue over you until you came.”

She drew a sharp inhale as her body responded to his words. See if she was wet? If he kept talking, she'd be tempted to slip her own hand into her underwear. It wouldn't take much before her cries left anyone out for a sunset beach walk wondering if the cottage offered a different kind of view.

“All this time and I had no idea you had such a dirty mouth,” she said, her voice different, but not unfamiliar—­at least not to her ears. But it had been a long time since she'd been this turned on.

“That's that forty percent of pure sin.” His hands stilled on her shoulders. “Sorry—­”

“I like it.”

And he wasn't the only one with a sixty/forty split. Although right now, the balance was tipped in favor of her naughty side.

“But I think it's your turn.” She lifted her head off his knee and pulled away from the hands that had begun kneading her shoulders again. She pushed off the porch floor and turned to face him. “Sit down, Josh.”

“You're going to give me a massage?” he asked, raising one beautiful eyebrow.

“Don't sound so surprised.” She waited for him to shift from the chair to the cushion on the floorboards. “You spend all day wielding a chainsaw and hauling big heavy logs out of the forest.”

He laughed as he settled on the pillow and stretched his long, jean-­clad legs in front of him. “Here I've been baking for you, trying to win you over with sugar and whipped cream, and I could have taken you out to a job site and revved up my chainsaw.”

“Well, if you want to talk about fantasies . . .”

She let the words linger on the crisp night air. One glance at the ocean suggested the sun would disappear below the horizon any minute. Darkness would follow along with a reason to move inside.

She glanced down and tried to focus on the tan skin dipping below the neckline of his T-­shirt. Under or over his shirt she wondered. Or . . .

“Would you mind slipping off your shirt?” she asked. “I don't want to stretch out the neckline.”

He laughed again as he reached for the fabric at the base of his neck and drew the shirt over his head. “You know if I tried that line, it would sound dirty.”

She placed her hands on his naked shoulders. “I'm just getting started.”

A long time had passed since she'd looked at Josh and thought
imposing.
That first night, in the clearing, his broad shoulders and tall, muscular form had appeared threatening. But now the formidable expanse of pure muscle beneath her hands impressed without frightening her.

Probably because he's sitting at my feet. And I've seen him perform a striptease.

Her fingers dug into the taut, hard plane of pure male perfection. The man beneath her touch moaned.

“Too hard?” she asked.

“No,” he growled. “Go deeper.”

Her hands ached as she kneaded his back, winning another low groan. By the time she worked her thumbs lower, pressing against the outline of his spine, he was practically purring. And for the first time in years, she felt a ripple of power threaded with desire.

She trailed her fingertips over his skin and she felt him shiver. Placing her palms on his shoulders, she ran her hands down his biceps. The muscles flexed beneath her touch.

“I've daydreamed about your arms.” She spoke in a low voice, but kept her tone matter-­of-­fact. She wasn't trying to seduce him beyond this moment. She simply wanted to explore the body she'd admired for months. “Even before your little
Magic Mike
dance.”

“Tell me,” he murmured.

“But how will you ever manage to share a brownie with me in Big Buck's back room if you know I've imagined what it would feel like to run my hand over your chest?” Her fingers followed her words, gliding up over his shoulders and down his chest. Red-­gold chest hair greeted her hands.