Page 77 of Sweet Passions at Bayside
“Since I became an expert on all things Emery Andrews.”
Her tongue slid across her lower lip, and a flush rose on her cheeks. “I think you like me taking control.” He was aware of every breath she took, the seductive darkness settling in her eyes, and the quickening of her breathing. He brushed his beard along her cheek and whispered, “Don’t you?”
“Yes.”
She watched him intently as he stripped off his sport coat and tossed it onto the chair, sending the cats scampering out the door. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar, stepping closer, mere inches from her, and stood, unmoving and silent, letting the thrum of desire drown out the hurt of the evening. He waited a full minute, maybe more, every silent second heightening the anticipation. When she reached for him, he caught her wrist. Her eyes flamed as he lowered her hand again.
“Patience, beautiful.”
He skimmed his fingers from wrist to shoulder, feeling goose bumps rise on her flesh. He did the same with his other hand as he lowered his mouth to her shoulder, tasting his way across her warm skin to the hollow of her neck. She was panting now, her chest rising against his.
“I can taste the lust in your breath,” he whispered, and put his hands on her waist as he moved around her. His fingers grazed her stomach, feeling her quick inhalations as they slid over her waist to the backs of her hips. He kissed her shoulder. “I’m going to love all your hurt away.”
He unzipped her dress slowly, stopping to kiss her toned, beautiful back as it was exposed. She reached behind herself, searching for him, and he grabbed her wrist again. Tighter.
He leaned forward, putting his mouth beside her ear, and said, “Uh-uh, sweetheart. You’re not in charge right now.”
Her fingers curled into a fist as he guided her hand back to her side.
He followed her gaze to the leather necklace wrapped around his wrist, the two charms dangling just above his palm.
“You’re wearing it,” she said with awe.
“I wanted a piece of you with me. Do you mind?”
She shook her head as a smile appeared, and love rose in her eyes. Dean’s heart squeezed at the emotions looking back at him. He kissed her softly. Her fingers curled around his.
“I’ve got you, doll. Always.”
Sometime later—an hour or three, he wasn’t sure—as Emery lay sleeping in his arms, he tossed a hopeful prayer into the universe, asking for answers. Because if he knew his beautiful doll, she would carry the weight of his trouble with his father like a penance. And he wasn’t sure how to help his spiritual, bigheartedwhirlwindlet it go.
Chapter Twenty-Four
IF EVER THERE was a time Emery needed clarity, it was now. Dean had distracted her with his intense lovemaking last night, and she’d even managed to fall asleep afterward. But she’d woken up to pee, and her mind hadn’t settled down since. Unable to lie still a second longer, she climbed out of bed before sunrise Saturday morning, found one of Dean’s sweatshirts hanging in his closet, and pulled it over her head. It hung down to her knees. She glanced at Dean, sleeping soundly on his stomach with Tango and Cash curled up beside him. The sheet was bunched up around his hips. One muscular leg was bent at the knee, his arms tucked beneath the pillow. She loved him so much. She never would have imagined that she could fall in love, much less with the man who had become one of her best friends. She had to be the luckiest woman on earth.And the unluckiest, she thought sadly. If she’d been like Ethan and gone to college, studied hard, and become a businessperson, would Dean’s father have respected her more? Or did he only respect women who were seen and not heard? She still couldn’t make sense of the man she’d met last night being Rose’s son or Sherry’s husband. She didn’t know how either of them put up with him.
That was something she might never understand, but there were things she could understand, like the realization that it was more than being surrounded by death that had turned Dean away from medicine. It was clear that he needed to be surrounded by life. He was a nurturer at heart, and he’d tried to use that to heal, which Emery thought must have been ten times harder than he’d ever let on. But after meeting his father, she knew Dean’s decision to leave medicine also had to do with not wanting to end up like his father.
He’d made the right choice, but she doubted Dean could ever turn his back on those he loved. And that was why she needed to get her mind centered, so she could wrap her head around what had happened with his father last night and put it into perspective. Maybe even figure out a way to make it better.
She gathered her dress and heels and searched high and low for her underwear, but she couldn’t find it anywhere. His house really was turning into the Bermuda Triangle. As she headed out of the bedroom, Dean’s voice whispered through her mind, and she stopped short.You are not going out there without underwear.
She reached into his underwear drawer and pulled on a pair of his boxer briefs.For you, big guy.Something red caught her eye in the back of the drawer. She reached in and pulled it out. Like a magician with his never-ending handkerchief, a long, wide, four-foot piece of red ribbon spooled out of the drawer. She couldn’t stop smiling as she reached the end of the ribbon she’d had tied around her body the night they’d met, and saw that the heart she’d drawn for him, and her phone number, were still legible. Her heart beat to a happier rhythm, knowing he’d kept it for all those months. She walked over to the side of the bed where he slept soundly, worn out from loving her so thoroughly all night long.
She didn’t want to wake him, so she blew him a kiss, and as she hoisted up his briefs to keep them from falling off, she corrected her earlier thought. She didn’t put them on forhimafter all.It was for us.
She carefully rolled up the ribbon and put it back where she found it, and tiptoed out of the bedroom. She saw two unmatched flip-flops from pairs she’d left there and searched the living room for their companions. She finally gave up and slipped her feet into them, and quietly left the house. She ran the whole way to the inn, determined to figure things out before Dean got up.
When she reached the inn, her lungs stung from the brisk air, and her dew-drenched feet were mucky with sand. She sat on the back porch and brushed them off. Back home, the grass was as thick and plush as a carpet. Here, grass and sand came hand in hand, but she didn’t mind. It was part of the bayside town’s charm. She tipped her chin up toward the sky, watching the sun’s glow edging the dim predawn haze out over the bay. The peacefulness was completely at odds with her inner turmoil. She closed her eyes, soaking in the serenity of the morning, concentrating on the air filling her lungs as she inhaled, and tried to visualize the anxiety and heartache leaving her body with a long exhalation. She did this two, three,fourtimes, and still she felt as if she were drowning in a sea of something she couldn’t break through or push away.
She carried her things inside and went through the motions of washing her face and brushing her teeth, but she was too distracted and brushed well past the time the toothbrush stopped talking. It was time to pull out the big guns.
Donning her favorite yoga outfit and gathering her supplies, she headed back to Dean’s house. He was still sleeping, which didn’t surprise her, since they’d been up until nearly three o’clock in the morning fooling around. A shiver rippled through her with the memory of the way he’d taken control.
Okay, Emery. Stop thinking about that. That isn’t going to fix your problems.
She grabbed a pot from beneath the sink and headed outside hoping for a miracle. Because while she might be able to clear her mind, the sea she was drowning in, the thing she couldn’t escape, which Dean’s father was using to pull them down, was herself.
DEAN AWOKE TO an empty bed and the smell of…weed? What the heck?He bolted upright. “Emery?” he called out.
