All I Want Is You Page 20

  After that, she told him more about her day. He said he hadn’t made it to Sunnymeade for lunch, but had instead ended up hanging out with Fletcher, the tightrope walker. Then he suggested they pick up the chicken salad sandwich for Grandpa Charlie, along with something for themselves as well, and go there for dinner instead. “Thought maybe we could take him out to one of the tables on the grounds, make kind of a picnic out of it.”

  Christy smiled at his thoughtfulness, and despite trying to be cool-­headed about her change in attitude, it made her fall even a little more deeply in love with him. “I’m sure he would love that,” she said. “And so would I.”

  “And after that,” he went on, “maybe I can show you the beach I found today. It’s near the one you like, but it’s beyond where the shoreline twists away from the road. It’s private and kind of . . . romantic. I thought we could take a sunset walk there. If you want.”

  Okay, wow. Jack was suddenly using words like romantic? As if romance weren’t something to be feared and avoided at all costs lest someone get attached? Maybe things had changed even more than she knew. And . . . well, maybe she should even, realistically, be a little afraid of that herself now, afraid to trust in it, afraid he’d pull back on it again in the end.

  But at the moment, it was hard to look into those beautiful blue eyes and do anything but . . . believe. She was learning to have courage, right?

  And so, that easily, one more time, she did it—­she chose to be brave and have faith. She took a deep breath and stepped out onto her own personal tightrope as she said, softly, “Yeah. I want.”

  “A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk.

  Along the briny beach . . .”

  Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

  Chapter 15

  THE SKY over Coral Cove Beach blazed orange and pink with streaks of purple shot through like threads in a brightly colored fabric. Christy and Jack had walked from the Happy Crab, both in upbeat moods after a pleasant dinner with Grandpa Charlie and the short drive back to the motel. And Christy felt better than she had in a long time. Trusting in her talent, and in her boldness, was making her dreams start to come true—­she could feel it in her heart. And maybe trusting in Jack would pay off in the same way.

  He truly seemed different tonight—­more like the relaxed Jack she’d first met, but also . . . new in a way. The man who walked up the beach beside her now seemed . . . unafraid to let his affection for her show. And it shone in his eyes every time their gazes met—­something sweet and wonderful that hadn’t ever been there before, or at least not in such an open way.

  They walked barefoot at the water’s edge, letting the cool gulf surf wash up over their toes before it rushed back out again. They both carried their shoes, and with the same hand that held her beaded sandals, Christy bunched the gauzy fabric of her long skirt to keep the breeze from blowing it too high.

  When they came upon the nightly celebration at the pier, they wordlessly bypassed it, staying near the water, walking beneath the wooden structure to continue on their way. Though in the distance Christy spotted a silhouette of Fletcher McCloud balanced atop his tightrope and Tom Petty could be heard singing “Learning to Fly” from a radio somewhere.

  “I think you’d like Fletcher’s house,” Jack said as they ventured onto the more windswept stretch of sand beyond the pier. Christy had always liked walking this part of the beach when she was younger—­but with Jack, she already loved it even more. They’d left the small Coral Cove crowds behind that fast and this stretch of sand instantly felt like their own private little piece of the coastline.

  “I’m sure I would,” she said, peering out over the serene view before her. “His little cottage sounds perfect.” Jack had already described it to her earlier.

  “I can’t decide what I think about Fletcher, though,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember when he bought that bracelet for his wife?”

  “Of course,” she answered.

  “Well, today at his house I found out she left him two years ago.”

  Christy pulled up short in the sand, stunned. “What?”

  “I know—­crazy, right?” he said. “And there’s a whole pile of things he’s bought for her since she’s been gone. Because he’s absolutely sure she’s coming back. And . . . not, like, just hoping she is. But he’s positive. In this calm way that almost made me think she was, too.”

  Christy tried to wrap her head around this new information. Indeed, there was a quiet sense of insight about the man—­it seemed to vibrate out of him. In her brief encounters with him, he’d struck her as someone who had life all figured out and she’d almost envied him. And when he’d bought the bracelet, she’d envisioned him and his wife sharing an easy, fulfilling existence together.

  “What do you think?” Jack asked. “Could a guy who seems so . . . at peace with everything around him be wrong about this? Is he just deluding himself?”

  “I don’t know,” Christy replied, “but it makes me sad. That even a guy like him, who seemed so together, has such big problems.”

  “Guess everybody does,” Jack said with a shrug. “Or they’ve at least come through some.”

  And Christy turned to look at him. “Have you ever . . . had anyone leave you?” she asked. She knew she was prying, but surely they knew each other well enough by now that she could pry a little.

  Though he hesitated, kept his eyes ahead as they walked. They’d just passed an old boat that had been pulled high up on the sand, and in the distance a small pier that had seen better days stretched out over the water.

  “Yeah,” he finally replied. Then added, “Well, in a manner of speaking.”

  Her next glance over at him revealed a troubled expression, a knit brow. And she didn’t want to make that worse, but his answer begged the question. “A manner of speaking?”

  His voice came out quieter than usual. “Well . . . she cheated on me. And so we split up. But it felt like being left.”

  Christy nodded, absorbing the hurt in Jack’s voice, the gravelly tone that let it leak through. She’d shared painful things with him before, but it struck her that this was the first truly personal thing he’d told her. She’d trusted him enough all along to let some personal things out—­but now she felt him trusting her in return. Finally.

  And good Lord—­what woman in her right mind would cheat on Jack? Without weighing the move, she followed the instinct to reach out her empty hand and clasp his. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That sounds awful.”

  He simply nodded, said nothing more—­but she could still feel the pain he clearly wasn’t comfortable with.

  And maybe that explained a lot about his actions with her. And made her feel even more forgiving. Jack just always seemed like such an easygoing guy. She’d never stopped to imagine that anything horrible had ever happened to him.

  But maybe everybody went through bad things. And some ­people just wore their scars more invisibly than others.

  “It’s in the past,” he said, implying that he’d left it there. And of course she wanted to know more about what had happened—­but if he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, that was okay. For now, she was touched that he’d shared even this much.

  And she was holding his hand now. And he was holding hers back. She hadn’t planned that but couldn’t help thinking it was a happy by-product of their conversation. Especially since neither of them seemed to be letting go.

  “Anybody ever leave you, Alice?” he asked.

  “My parents,” she said—­then flinched, gasped, almost unable to believe the words had fallen from her lips. Guilt coursed through her veins as she rushed to explain. “I mean, I know they didn’t leave me on purpose and it’s not the same thing as being left in a romantic sense like with Fletcher’s wife, but for some reason that just popped into my head. I shouldn’t have
said it, though,” she concluded quietly.

  Yet he replied, just as softly, “It’s okay.”

  The beach had curved completely away from the road now, leaving Christy to feel all the more isolated with Jack. But in a safe way. And that was when it hit her. He makes me feel safe. And it seemed important. Because she’d felt that way so seldom since the death of her parents.

  “Is it?” she asked. The surf was calmer here, the bend of the land creating a small bay, and the water lapped more gently over their feet as they walked. Then she stopped and looked over at him. “Is it okay to feel abandoned by someone who never meant to? Who never would have if they could have helped it?” She swallowed back her fears and voiced thoughts that had perhaps hung in the back of her mind for a long while now. “I mean, I know they loved me more than anything. I know it wasn’t their fault. But it’s hard to suddenly be left so alone in the world, and with nothing. No money to bury them with. No pictures to remember them by. No answers about why it had to happen this way.”

  Oh crap. She’d just spilled her guts, big time. She’d said things she didn’t even know she felt until now. She’d completely bared herself to him, only in a different way this time—­one that was possibly even more revealing.

  But that was when Jack whispered, “Come here,” and she realized his arms were closing around her, pulling her into a warm, intoxicating embrace. And it felt so good that she simply let herself be swept up in it, let her arms close around his waist, let her face rest against his chest where she could hear the steady beat of his heart. “I don’t want you to feel alone, honey.”

  Though after a moment of comfort wrapped in Jack’s arms, she still felt compelled to lift her head, look up at him, and admit, “It was still an awful thing to say, though.”

  But Jack simply told her, “No. Just no. It really is okay.”

  And then his eyes dropped from her eyes to her lips, and a familiar heat soared through her just before he lowered his mouth onto hers.

  Christy succumbed to the kiss immediately, with her whole heart. No kiss in her life had ever been more welcome. It was at once a sweet escape from life’s troubles and a perfect celebration of the things that had been going right lately. So much passion lay stored up inside her that there was no fighting it, only giving in to it and relishing it. She kissed him back with everything inside her, so thankful to be with him in this way again—­and yearning for more.

  Jack’s strong hands roamed her back, the curve of her waist, her hips, caressing and molding her flesh within his fingers. When Jack touched her, she somehow became every inch a hot, desirable woman—­no self-­doubt, no shyness—­and she followed the impulse to press her palms to his broad chest, digging the tips of her nails in just slightly through his T-­shirt as their kisses deepened, the want stretching hotly between them.

  When Jack’s palms curved over her ass and pulled that part of her closer to him, his erection connected with the juncture of her thighs and a small whimper escaped her. It broke the kiss at last, but she couldn’t even begin to think about stopping—­she looped her arms around his neck and followed her body’s urge to grind her hips against his. His grip on her bottom tightened and he hauled her against him harder and she heard them both panting as she sank deeper and deeper into her sexiest cravings.

  His breath warmed her cheek and she found herself nibbling at his earlobe. He let out a short groan in response. After another round of fevered kisses, Jack’s hands drifted upward, onto her breasts.

  A soft sea breeze wafted over them just then, lifting her hair, and she could almost feel it further hardening her nipples, along with his touch. He stroked at the peaks through her tank top with his thumbs, eliciting soft moans each time he brushed across them.

  “I want to kiss these,” he murmured against her hair.

  Every molecule of her body tingled with excitement and lush need. “I want that, too,” she breathed. “Please.”

  The sun had long since set, the sky fading from deepest purple to black, with the moon rising above. And as Jack removed her top over her head, she took in details about the moment: the sound of the rushing tide somewhere behind her, the salty breeze kissing her skin, the sense of blessed seclusion. Her feet sank into soft, dry sand—­at some point during all the kissing, they’d moved higher up onto the beach, away from the water.

  And then, mmm, Jack’s hands came back to her body—­one curving around the side of her breast through her lacy bra, the fingers of the other slipping beneath the bra strap on her opposite shoulder. She wanted to give herself to him more than she wanted to breathe.

  But then—­oh God—­something inside her flashed back on the last time she’d gotten this heated up with Jack . . . and she pulled her palms away from where they lightly played at his chest, closing them firmly over both his hands where they touched her. “Jack,” she said, her voice coming out ragged.

  “What, baby? What is it?” He sounded just as ready as she did. But she still had to be sure. She couldn’t put herself at that kind of risk again.

  “If . . . if we’re . . .” Crap, she couldn’t think how to say it. “Just please don’t stop this time,” she breathed desperately.

  “Oh Christy, baby—­I’m not. I won’t. I swear it. Stopping’s the last thing on my mind.”

  “Because . . . because . . . I just can’t take that again. And we don’t have to . . . define this. We don’t have to put some kind of label on it. We can just see how things go, take it as it comes. The main thing right now is that . . . I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to be with you, Jack. I want to know what you feel like inside me.”

  She heard his low intake of breath, felt his grip tighten slightly on her breast beneath her hand. “Aw honey,” he murmured, low and hot. “You’re gonna find out. We’re both gonna find out.”

  And that was all the assurance Christy needed to let go with Jack one more time. Everything had truly changed now—­she could feel that with every beat of her heart. He was with her in this now, not pulling back. And it was an amazing feeling, an amazing place to be with another person.

  Jack bent to kiss her again, even as he pushed the bra straps from both of her shoulders. And she wordlessly reached up behind her to undo the hook—­this time letting it fall away from her with no hesitation, dropping to the sand at their bare feet.

  His eyes caressed her breasts, as potent as any touch, and they practically pulsed with pleasure and desire. “Aw damn, honey—­you’re beautiful,” he said—­and no words had ever made her feel more vibrant and alive. Who needed money when you could have this instead? This man, this moment, this feeling.

  She tried to form a response, but she was simply too turned on. So only one word echoed from her lips in a soft whimper. “Please.” Please touch. Please kiss.

  And he seemed to know exactly what that one word meant without her saying more because after a scintillatingly hot look into her eyes, he reached both hands up to cup her breasts. A jagged sound of pleasure left her throat as she surged with moisture in her panties.

  As he bent to rake his tongue over one beaded pink tip, a moan erupted from her throat and a shiver ran the length of her body. And when his mouth closed fully over her hardened nipple, beginning to suck, her desire soared, expanding outward from her breasts like long, lush fingers, reaching, stretching all through her. The juncture of her thighs ached—­heavy, hungry, desperate to be filled. And when he pulled back, the sea breeze wafted over the moisture he’d left on her flesh, making her feel kissed by the wind, as well.

  “I want to lay you down,” he rasped, and she liked that idea, too. And as his hands closed over her waist, they sank to their knees together in the sand.

  She pushed at his T-­shirt, whispering, “Take this off.” And together they removed the soft fabric over his head, Christy tossing it aside and pressing her palms back into his now gloriously bare chest. She’d been fal
ling in love with that sexy chest and stomach of his every single day she’d been on the beach with him wearing only swim trunks, and to now get to touch it, explore it, felt like finally getting to play with a long-­wanted—­and very sexy—­toy.

  When he finally lay her all the way back onto the bed of sand, she went willingly, ever-­so-­ready for more. And what followed was the closest she’d ever come to heaven.

  Jack kissed his way down her neck, onto her chest—­and then he kissed his way thoroughly across both breasts even while he sensually kneaded them. His tongue swirled around one nipple and then the other, until finally his mouth closed fully back over her breast and he began to suckle once more, the sensation shooting straight into her panties.

  “Oh God,” she breathed. “Oh Jack. You make me feel so, so good.”

  As he sucked and nibbled at her nipples, his hands slid up under her skirt, his touch skimming across her thighs—­until he began to tug at her panties. She lifted without hesitation and soon felt the delicious slide of elastic and fabric down over her hips and lower. Even with her skirt still on, having his hands beneath it and her panties gone made her feel gloriously naked with him, for him.

  Once the panties had been kicked off into the sand, his warm hands returned, this time more playfully, leisurely grazing her outer thighs, hips. She shivered in his grasp and wanted to be bold enough to reach up, undo his shorts—­but somehow, in that way, she still felt a little shy. It was easier to just let him take charge and guide her through this. Despite being undeniably aware of her lack of her experience, putting Jack in control made her feel comfortable, and safe.

  He was kissing her again, his tongue pressing between her lips as his fingers sank into her wetness below. A sharp cry of pleasure left her, and then she relaxed into it, beginning to move instinctively against his sure touch.