All I Want Is You Read online

  So he walked into the older man’s room carrying the paper plate full of fried dough that Christy had covered with napkins—­and as soon as Charlie looked up, Jack used his free hand to whisk the napkins away and quietly say, “Surprise. One funnel cake, just like you ordered.”

  As Jack expected, a smile lit up Charlie’s whole face. “Holy Toledo,” he murmured, “bring that here to me.”

  It was late—­after ten—­and he sat in bed watching TV, so Jack drew closer and passed him the plate, its contents laden with powdered sugar.

  “Mercy, forgot how messy these are,” Charlie said, tearing off the first bite and putting it in his mouth, just before letting out an “Mmm, mmm, mmm.” Then he laughed. “I’ll have to be sure I don’t have any of this sugar on my face before Angie makes her next rounds.”

  Jack gave Christy’s grandpa a grin. The fact was, he had a lot on his mind at the moment, but Charlie usually put him at ease. So he tried to forget his worries and asked, “As good as you remember?”

  “Maybe better,” he replied. Then he leaned slightly forward, looking past Jack. “Where’s my grandgirl? You lose her?” Another good-­natured chuckle left him.

  And Jack pointed vaguely over his shoulder, down the hall. “She got a phone call right as we were walking in.” Though the mere mention of Christy brought back Jack’s discomfort. It had been with him all day, despite repeated attempts to shake it off. Because it was silly—­it wasn’t like he was committing a crime here. He just hadn’t found the right time to tell her a few things, that was all.

  But maybe having had her actually ask—­again—­had left him feeling different. Like what before had mostly seemed like self-­preservation now felt . . . a little more like keeping a secret.

  “Why do you look so antsy?” Charlie asked then, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  Aw hell. Jack tried to blow it off. “Well, I just smuggled contraband food into this place—­how do you expect me to look?” He even ended with a short laugh—­which sounded wooden to him.

  Charlie didn’t smile. “There’s not trouble with Christy?” he asked.

  “No, Christy’s great,” Jack promised.

  “Then . . . trouble at home—­with family? Friends?”

  Damn, since when was Charlie so nosy? “Nope—­everything’s fine,” Jack insisted.

  And Charlie said nothing—­but he continued casting a critical glare Jack’s way even as he shoved another bite of funnel cake into his mouth. And his look was so pointed that . . . hell, even without saying another word, the old man had Jack feeling like he was being interrogated under a bright light. Or . . . maybe that was guilt setting in.

  He just wasn’t convinced he had anything to feel guilty about. Exactly. Because he had every intention of telling her about his divorce. He just hadn’t done it yet.

  Still, that imaginary bright light and Charlie’s probing gaze compelled Jack to speak, almost against his will. “Let’s just say I like it when life is nice and easy, like things have been here, with Christy, lately. And I’d rather forget the complicated parts.” He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his khaki shorts, trying to look like he had the situation completely under control. Since he did. More or less.

  Yet Charlie’s critical expression didn’t fade. “There isn’t . . . some reason you can’t be with her?”

  “No. No, nothing like that,” Jack replied quickly. Though he flinched slightly—­and he didn’t even know why.

  “But you’re holdin’ somethin’ back from her, aren’t ya?”

  Shit—­did the old guy have ESP or something? Now it was Jack who narrowed his gaze on Charlie. “You’re a little too insightful tonight.”

  Charlie swallowed another bite of sugary funnel cake, appearing to carefully consider his next words. “It’s none of my business,” he finally began, “but . . . relationships are about a lot of things, and honesty is one of ’em. So I’d advise you to come clean with her. Not much can’t be fixed with honesty. And faith.”

  For some reason, the last part threw Jack off. Charlie had talked about Christy having faith in herself when they’d first arrived here, but this was different. And God knew Jack didn’t want to prolong this conversation, but . . . “Faith?”

  “In her. In you. In the truth makin’ everything right. You ask me, most everything in life is about havin’ faith.”

  It was like a conversation with Fletcher, he realized—­all this talk about faith and believing. And yet . . . Jack wasn’t sure why, but it was actually the word truth that rang out to him right now, and that he suddenly felt hanging over his head. The truth is . . . this isn’t just about wanting to enjoy this time with her. The truth is that you’re worried she won’t understand, worried she’ll see you differently, worried you’ll ruin everything with her by revealing the secrets you’ve kept.

  But maybe you’re making way too much of this. And Charlie was right. Maybe if he was just honest with her, it would be okay.

  Before Jack could conjure a reply, though, Christy came whisking into the room, her pretty face fraught with distress. Charlie tuned into it immediately, too. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

  She let out a sigh, her hazel eyes downcast. “My boss called. Someone quit at the store this week and she needs me back by Monday.”

  No one said anything for a moment, absorbing the news. And then Christy went on. “Silly, I guess, to be so bummed. I mean, it’s a vacation, and most ­people aren’t lucky enough to have one as long and open-­ended as this one has turned out. But I guess somehow it had started to seem . . . like something that didn’t have to end. So now that it suddenly does, I’m just caught off guard. And sad that it has to be over.”

  Christy had just echoed Jack’s feelings about the trip perfectly—­and he had a feeling Charlie probably felt the same. With no clear conclusion to their stay in sight, it had been all too easy to feel almost like it could go on forever.

  Jack watched as Christy stepped forward toward Charlie’s bed. “It’s been so nice spending time with you. I . . . don’t like leaving you alone here.”

  Jack saw the sorrow etched in Charlie’s eyes—­but the old man forced a smile to say, “I’m not alone, sweetheart. I have lots of friends here. Ron, Angie, Mrs. Waters down the hall . . . and lots of other ­people, too.”

  “But it’s not the same as with me and you know it.”

  Charlie let out a small laugh. “You’re right, it’s not. But I was fine before and I’ll still be fine. And I’m thankful we’ve had such a good, long visit—­and I’m more grateful than I can say to Jack here for helpin’ to make it possible.”

  Jack barely knew how to respond. He’d long since forgotten that he had, in fact, done that. And he couldn’t help thinking about how if he’d known then what he knew now how he’d have handled everything differently—­how he’d have happily insisted on paying for the whole trip, and offered Christy her choice of the resorts up the road.

  And the idea of that didn’t appeal so much because of the level of luxury he could have offered her—­since he thought they’d both enjoyed the Happy Crab more in some ways than some big, upscale hotel—­but it appealed to him, he realized, because . . . honesty was just easier. And because—­hell—­maybe dishonesty had taken more of a toll on him with Christy than he’d understood until this moment.

  “Well,” he finally said, “it turned out to be a great trip for me, too, in lots of ways.” First he made eye contact with Charlie, and then Christy, to whom he also gave a loving smile.

  When she smiled back, his heart expanded in his chest.

  And shit—­he needed to tell her the truth.

  And he would.

  And everything would be better then. Much, much better.

  UPON returning to the room that night, they made love. Christy thought of it that way now. It sounded dorky to her in a way—­so old-�
�fashioned—­but there was no other term for it that encapsulated what she felt when she and Jack had sex. And it wasn’t that it was all quiet and serene—­it wasn’t. Sometimes it was wild, and letting Jack guide her in that direction, as well as opening up to him that much further, made her feel all the more intimately tied to him.

  In fact, after round one in bed, she’d taken a quick shower while Jack fell asleep and she’d been standing at the sink outside the bathroom, naked, running a cool cloth over her face, when she glanced into the mirror to see him behind her, his eyes warm and sexy and overflowing with fresh desire.

  And when his hands closed over her waist, then glided smoothly down over her ass, she sensed what was coming. She bit her lip, sucked in her breath, met his gaze in the glass. And their eyes stayed locked as he eased his magnificently stiff erection inside her. Now that was openness. That was intimacy. And Jack somehow made that easier and more natural than she ever could have imagined.

  She let out a little cry at the entry—­and moaned as he slid deeper, deeper. She’d never had sex standing up before and it sent a startling sensation down her legs while delivering a fullness that stretched far beyond the spot between her thighs. “Oh God,” she whispered. “I feel you so much.”

  He lowered a kiss to her shoulder, and then followed it with a little nibble of his teeth that—­when added to everything else—­nearly shattered her.

  I think I love you more every minute. But she couldn’t say that. Maybe she should be able to say anything to him now—­that was what this kind of closeness was about, after all—­but they were leaving soon, and she didn’t know how that would change things and it was scary. What if she’d gotten too comfortable in Coral Cove? Jack had turned this into her own personal paradise, and she wasn’t sure what life would be like after this—­when they weren’t in paradise anymore.

  But when he began to move in her, to thrust, she let go of the thoughts—­because the pleasure was too consuming. There was nothing to do but surrender to it. Cease thinking, cease worrying. It filled her completely and left room for nothing else.

  Each drive he delivered extracted a hot cry from her throat. Behind her, Jack groaned, gripped her hips tighter.

  And suddenly . . . she needed to show him. How much she loved him. That there was nothing ordinary about this. That it wasn’t a vacation fling. That she wasn’t afraid to open herself to him all the way.

  And it wasn’t about fear, or the uncertainty of leaving. It was about . . . giving. And growing. And being brave enough to let herself get even closer to him—­even if she didn’t know exactly what returning home would bring.

  And so when he stopped, pulled out of her, turned her around, ready for a new position, she pressed her palms to his chest and pushed him backward, toward the bed.

  He pointed vaguely over her shoulder. “Um, I wasn’t done with you in there,” he said, his voice deep with lust.

  “But I want . . .” she began—­then shoved him again so that he fell back to sit on the mattress.

  “You want what?” he asked, peering up at her.

  And she wasn’t sure how to answer. She was ready for it, but maybe not good at putting it into words just yet. So instead of saying anything more, she simply dropped to her knees before him. Let her eyes fall to the prominent column of flesh between his legs. Then raised her gaze to his.

  “Oh,” he murmured.

  And then, unexpectedly, she founds words. “I want to make you feel good. With my mouth.” The last part came out in a whisper.

  “Aw baby,” he rasped.

  And it was with a surprising amount of comfort and total trust that Christy calmly reached out, ran her fingers over the smooth silkiness of him, then wrapped her hand full around him. She’d touched him there before, of course, but not with this intent. And then she bent and tenderly kissed the tip of his erection, pleased by her boldness and fueled by the low moan that left him.

  The rest was easy, too. Parting her lips, sliding them down over him, was easy. Taking in the unexpected pleasure of the way he filled her mouth was easy. Being bold enough to begin moving slowly up and down on him was easy.

  More than easy. It was . . . amazing. To listen to the sounds that echoed from above, to know how good it felt to him. To feel his hands in her hair, grazing her scalp. To make herself that vulnerable to him, to be that fully trusting, to want to be that close to the powerful part of him that brought her such pleasure. To feel his very maleness moving between her lips.

  There came a time, though, when she needed even more, when she needed to kiss him, and to feel him everywhere. And so she finally released him from her mouth, enthusiastically climbed up to straddle him on the bed, and kissed him for all she was worth.

  And then he was grabbing her hips, pushing his way up inside her again, and she was whimpering her pleasure, and riding him, and soon coming in a blazing climax more powerful than she’d ever experienced.

  After he came in her, too, they lay side by side, kissing softly—­tired but still wanting to kiss—­and Christy rolled to her back afterward with a heady sigh.

  Only . . . then she remembered. That they were leaving. That everything was still uncertain.

  Even if it changes, even if he doesn’t want things to keep on this way, at least you have this. She would never regret opening herself to him this way, ever.

  Still, a lamp burned low across the room, and Jack must have glanced over and caught her pensive expression. “Um, what we just did is supposed to make you happy,” he said. “And you look anything but. This is bad for my confidence.”

  She laughed softly—­oh God, she loved him.

  And as much as she didn’t want to be some needy, worried chick, she decided to be honest. After all, what was the point of letting herself feel this close to him if she couldn’t say what she was thinking. “I guess I was just wondering how things will be when we get home. Because life isn’t a permanent vacation. And we kinda went into this with a no-­strings-­attached agreement. Only then things changed and seemed more serious. But I don’t want to assume anything, and if you still want to leave things . . . casual or whatever, I understand. I just—­”

  “Christy, stop,” he said, shutting her up. And she realized she’d started rambling like . . . well, like a girl scared to death she was about to lose this good thing she’d found. Which was exactly what she was.

  She drew in a deep breath, met his gaze beside her in bed, then drew it away again, suddenly nervous. She’d tipped her hand. He knew she was emotional about this now. Ugh.

  “I’m hoping things will stay . . . like they are now,” he told her. “If . . . if you’re up for that.”

  She blinked. Stunned, relieved. If she was up for that? Was he kidding?

  She replied by pretty much lunging on him, twining her arms around his neck, and kissing him wildly.

  And when finally she stopped, relaxing into his loose, comfortable embrace, he let just the hint of a grin sneak out as he said, “I take it you’re up for that.”

  THEY’D returned to that quiet, secluded area of the beach where they’d first had sex. Jack supposed it had become their favorite place to be together. When he’d suggested another sunset walk tonight, twenty-­four hours since Christy had gotten that phone call from her boss, they’d wandered in this direction, hand in hand, without ever discussing their destination.

  Now the last vestiges of a neon pink sunset turned deep purple on the horizon and they’d stopped at the old green rowboat on the shore to sit and look out over the water. They kissed for a few minutes—­damn, it had gotten hard to be near her without kissing her—­and afterward Jack watched as she exited the boat, found a stick, and proceeded to draw a big heart in the sand. Then she wrote JD+CK inside it.

  Afterward, she looked up at him, a playful yet slightly self-­deprecating expression painted on her gorgeous face. “Does this make
me seem like I’m about twelve?”

  And he laughed. “No, I like it. I think it’s cute as hell.”

  “I guess we have to head home Saturday,” she said, sounding sad. Jack knew neither of them had really wanted to start talking about leaving all this behind, but it was Thursday night and she needed to be at work on Monday morning, so he supposed it was time to make those plans.

  “Guess so,” he said. “I’ll let Reece know we’ll be checking out.”

  She nodded. “Maybe we can spend part of the day at the beach tomorrow and part of it with Grandpa Charlie,” she suggested.

  “Sounds good,” he told her. “And maybe one last dinner at the Fisherman?”

  She smiled, tilted her head. “Is it weird that I’m gonna miss that place?”

  He laughed and made a confession of his own. “Probably not nearly as weird as it is that I’m actually gonna miss Abner and his hats. Did you see him in that full length Native American headdress the other day? It went all the way to the floor!”

  When discussion died down about Abner—­and the fact that they were also going to miss Fletcher, Polly, Reece, and maybe even Fifi in some strange way—­they both went silent for a few minutes, wordlessly lamenting leaving Coral Cove behind as the darkness gathered around them.

  Then it hit Jack. “I should have taken a picture of your heart.”

  She raised her eyebrows, clearly not understanding.

  “In the sand. For your ‘new adventure’ pictures.” Together, they’d both done a pretty good job, Jack thought, of taking enough photos on the trip to give Christy lots of brand new good memories to look back on through pictures later. “It’s too dark now.” He could still see the heart with his eyes but he knew his phone’s camera wouldn’t be able to capture it. And a moonless night made it darker on the beach than usual.

  “Maybe we can come back sometime tomorrow,” she suggested. “After our Hungry Fisherman dinner—­one last sunset walk up the beach?”

  He smiled, winked. “You got it, Alice.” Then he decided this conversation had become too much about saying goodbye to the place, too much about endings. “And it’s not like we can’t ever come back. We can. We will. And next time it’ll be nicer.”