Page 38 of Sweet Passions at Bayside
She didn’twantto breathe.
Never in her life had a kiss made her feel so alive, so intimately bound to a man. She wantedmore. More electric kisses. More of his chest heaving against her,becauseof her. More ofhim.
Heaven help her, because she wantedallof 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, hisresistance.
Oh, mama.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 wonderedwhyhe 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 heck, 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 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 atasteof 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 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. Iquit.”
He laughed again, gracing her with several more tantalizing kisses. “You’re a rebellious, beautiful, funny pain in the neck.”
She smiled into their kisses. “I gave you fair warning. I’ll drive you crazy.”
“You already are. In the very best way possible.”
Chapter Eleven
AFTER THEIR IMPROMPTU make-out session and herresignation, Emery had pulled back a little, as if she wasn’t sure how close she should allow herself to get to Dean. While Dean respected her need for space, their smoking-hot connection made him surer than ever that they belonged together. He wasn’t about to back down.
They had dinner at PJ’s Restaurant, and when Emery sat across the table from him, he moved beside her, earning a slightly uneasy look that was so opposite of what he was used to, it took all his resolve not to take a step back. Instead, he put his arm around her and said, “Stop fighting it, Emery. This is exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
She was stunned into silence, but he’d broken the ice, and they recovered quickly, falling into the comfortable, fun friendship they’d enjoyed for the last few months—with underlying promises of much more.
Emery insisted she didn’t want fries with her lobster roll, and she ended up eating most of Dean’s. His quirky girl was nothing like the women he was used to. She ate like she didn’t care if she gained an ounce of weight and seemed to prefer to eat everything as if it were a finger food, licking the salt from her fingertips. She looked so hot, he’d been aroused most of the evening. She also cursed often, laughed too loud, and fought him on everything—and for whatever reason, each of those things made him fall harder for her.
When they arrived back at his place, she headed outside to showerbeneath the moonlight. Being the gentleman he was, Dean had offered to join her, to help her wash her back, of course. But she’d gotten that uneasy expression of not knowing if she should cross that line…yet. He relented, showering alone inside the house, thinking about his naked beauty beneath the warm shower spray. Even turning the shower to Nordic temperatures didn’t help.
Showered and dressed, he carried a blanket outside and tossed it on a lounger. Emery’s melodic voice sailed into his ears. “What if…I might hurt you.”Hum, hum, hum.“…or leave you…”Hum, hum, hum.“Find someone else…or don’t need you…”
His chest constricted. Was it a coincidence, or was she giving him a message? He knew the song by Kane Brown, and the tune was right, but she had the lyrics wrong. He, Rick, and Drake had played in a band together when they were growing up. Drake now owned a chain of East Coast music stores, and they all still played from time to time. “What Ifs” had become one of his favorite songs over the winter. Now, as Emery sang about the sky falling and if the sun stopped burning, he finally understood why. The lyrics were Emery’s deepest fears.
