His head bent, his mouth finding hers with searing pressure. She gasped, and he went after the hushed sound as if he could taste it, his mouth stroking over hers. Kisses easy and slow, melting heat wrapped in coolness.
He stroked a wisp of hair that had slipped from her ponytail, gently tucking it behind her ear, and his mouth went to her exposed neck. So gentle, as if her skin were as delicate as jasmine petals. He found a tender pulse point, and she shivered and arched against him. Pleasure pooled low in her stomach and the tips of her breasts and between her thighs.
Shaking too hard to support her own weight, Justine leaned against him. His arm braced her back, reinforcing her balance. His lips shaped hers, pressing them apart. He tasted like oranges, sweetness on his tongue. Some of her breaths broke into moans, and she tried to swallow them back, tried to make herself be quiet.
Harder, deeper kisses, slowly ravishing until she couldn’t breathe or think, all she could do was feel, her body absorbing sensation, brimming with it. She didn’t know how many aching minutes had passed before Jason eased back. His mouth was slow to leave hers, stealing back for another brief nudge of a kiss, then grazing her cheek as if he couldn’t stop tasting her.
The night had cooled, darkness falling like midnight flowers. Removing his coat, Jason settled it over her shoulders. Gratefully Justine pushed her arms through the silk-lined sleeves, his warmth and scent wrapped around her. He took her hand.
There was very little conversation as they walked back to the inn. So much had been said in the past few hours, so much privacy had been willingly discarded. Except that Justine couldn’t think of what she would choose to take back. She tried to figure out the moment when the line had been crossed, when she had revealed too much. But there had been no line. There still wasn’t a line.
As they followed a stone path that led around the back of the inn to her cottage, Justine felt her stomach lift and suspend, as if she were on a plummeting hot-air balloon. Everything was too acute, too sensitive.
Was this how it was supposed to feel, this wrenching attraction that stunned and scared and thrilled all at once? Maybe this was other people’s normal.
God, how do they stand it?
As they approached the cottage, light from an inside lamp shone through a window and scattered in lemon rectangles on the ground. Justine turned to face him at the front threshold. Nervousness had turned her insides into a pinball machine, all rattles and bells and springs.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked.
“I’ll be up early for a boat checkout with a charter rep.”
“What kind of boat are you leasing?”
“A twenty-two-foot Bayliner. I’m going to take a couple of the guys out for some fishing and touring.”
“There’s not a lot of fishing space on a boat that size.”
“The way we fish,” he said dryly, “it won’t matter.”
“There are some tricky shallows and rocks around here.”
“I can read a chart.”
“That’s good.” She wondered if she should say something about the kiss … kisses … outside the restaurant. Jason remained quiet. Fumbling for the doorknob, she opened the door a few inches and faced him again. “Thanks for dinner. I enjoyed it more than I expected to. That is … I had no expectations. I mean … I didn’t think that you and I—”
“I understand,” Jason said with a slight smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He wasn’t going to make a move on her, then. Justine expected to feel relief. But there was only the deflating sense that she was facing yet another long empty night. “I’ll be gone most of tomorrow,” she told him. “I’m visiting a couple of friends on Cauldron Island. A pair of women who live in the old lighthouse.”
“Are you taking a water taxi?”
“No, I have a kayak.”
Jason’s face changed, the amusement fading. “You’re going alone?”
“It’s not far. A couple of miles at most. And it’s a familiar route. I can make it in an hour or less.”
“You have a signaling kit?”
“And a repair kit.”
“You still shouldn’t go alone. I’ll take you on the Bayliner.”
She gave him a skeptical glance. “And then how would I get home?”
“I’ll pick you up later. Or if you’d prefer, I’ll send a water taxi.”
“Thanks, but I don’t like waiting to be picked up, or making someone else wait. Really, there’s no need to worry. I like paddling to Cauldron Island. I’ve done it a lot, and I’ve never had any problems.”
“Where are you launching from?”
“Roche Harbor.”
“You’ll be wearing a wet suit?”
His concern over her safety was both flattering and vaguely irritating. She wasn’t used to answering to anyone for her decisions. “No, no one does for a short trip like this. Kayakers around here dress for the air temperature, unless they know they’re going to be facing challenging conditions.”
“You can’t know for certain whether you’re going to face challenging conditions or not. And you could capsize regardless. Wear a wet suit.”
“Wear a wet suit?” Justine repeated. “We’re back to giving orders again?”
Although she could tell that Jason wanted to argue further, he kept his mouth shut. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned to leave.
He was going to walk off without another word?
“I’ll bring up your vodka in a few minutes,” she said.
Jason paused. “Thanks, but I don’t want it tonight,” he said without turning around.
“It’s no problem. And I’m not going to risk being bitch-slapped by Priscilla tomorrow for skipping her instructions.”
Jason returned to her, looking annoyed. “You can skip the vodka if I tell you to skip it.”
“I’ll leave a tray outside your door. You can take it or leave it, but it’s going to be there.”
He gave her a cold stare. “Why would you insist on doing something I’ve just told you not to do? Especially when it’s unnecessary work for you.”
“You’re not refusing the vodka to spare me unnecessary work,” she shot back. “You’re refusing it because you’re pissed at me for taking my kayak out alone tomorrow.”
Jason shouldered his way into the cottage, taking her with him. The jacket slid from her shoulders to the floor. He took her upper arms and hauled her upward until she was forced to stand on her toes. She was pressed all along him, the feel of him electrifying.
He bent over her so that she couldn’t see his face. The low rasp of his voice raised every hair on her body.
“The reason I don’t want you to bring anything to my room, Justine, is because there’s only so much temptation I can handle. In case you haven’t figured it out yet”—a hard, intimate nudge caused her to gasp—“I want you. Every time I looked at you in that damned dress tonight, I imagined you naked. I want to—” He broke off, holding her tightly, trying to regulate his breathing. “Do not come to me tonight,” he said eventually, “or you’ll end up in my bed, and I’ll screw you to the Stone Age and back. That clear enough for you?”
Justine nodded in a daze. The thin layers of their clothing did nothing to conceal the shape of his aroused flesh, the aggressive hardness and heat. It felt so good, being caught tightly against him, that she was paralyzed. She could smell his skin, salt and amber and night air.
After a sweltering pause, Jason’s chest rose and fell unsteadily. “I have to let go of you,” he said, seeming to speak more to himself than to her.
Justine clung to him. “You could stay,” she managed to whisper.
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“You’re not ready.”
“Make me ready.”
His breath caught. His hand moved in a restless stroke up and down her spine. “Justine … have you ever had sex on the first date?”
“Yes,” she said instantly.
Ja
son took her chin and forced her to look up at him. After trying to hold his gaze for a few seconds, Justine flushed. “No. But stay with me anyway.”
He continued to stare into her eyes. The strong angles of his features were thrown into sharp relief by the lamplight, one side cast in shadow. “It’s too soon,” he said flatly. “Some people can hook up without feeling bad about it the morning after. You’re not one of them. No matter how good it was, you would regret it tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t,” she protested.
“It’s written all over you. So we’re going to take it slow.” As she opened her mouth to argue, he said, “Not for my sake. For yours.”
Her body was a collection of hungering aches. She could hardly think past the desire that had turned her insides molten. A lifetime’s worth of desire, leading to this man, this moment. “But I want you,” she said, appalled by the plaintive note in her voice.
Something in his face gentled. He approached her slowly, reaching for her. His hands slid over her body, feeling her through the silky knit fabric, gently gripping the high curves of her hips. She lifted her face blindly as his mouth descended, her thoughts scattering in a rush of excitement. A moan stirred in her throat, and he licked deep as if he could taste the sound. His hand traveled from her midriff to her breast, cupping the firm curve while his thumb moved over the tip in teasing swirls. Perspiration bloomed on the surface of her skin until the synthetic fabric of her dress clung uncomfortably, and all she could think about was how much she wanted to strip it off.
Jason reached low behind her hips, grasping through the back of her skirt to curl his fingertips beneath the elastic strap of her thong. He exerted just enough light tension to pull the tiny crotch of the underwear taut between her thighs. Justine quivered as the scrap of silk cradled a hard, urgent throb.
“I can take care of you,” Jason whispered.
“You … you changed your mind?” she asked, her lips feeling swollen.
Letting go of the thong strap, he tugged her skirt higher and slid his hand beneath. He caressed the sensitive curve of her hip. “No. But I’ll make you feel good. Right here and now.” His thumb slipped beneath the elastic strap of the thong. “All you have to do is hold on to me. Tell me you want it. Just tell me…”
As his hand slid over her bottom, Justine reached back and caught at his wrist. “Wait. We’re not going to have sex, but you want to … go to casual third base?”
The phrase caused his lips to twitch. “I can’t remember the specifics of casual third base,” he said dryly. “But that sounds about right.”
“But I would be the only one getting off?”
“Yes.”
“No.” Scowling, Justine stepped back from him. “Condescending jerk. You turn me down for sex because you’ve decided that I’m too immature to—”
“Inexperienced.”
“Same thing.”
“No it’s not.”
“Too immature,” she continued heatedly, “to be able to make decisions about what I want to do with my own body.”
“It’s not an insult when a man wants to take it slow with you.”
“Then what is it?”
“A compliment.”
“It doesn’t feel like one.” Somewhere inside she knew she should give him credit for trying to be a gentleman, but at the moment she was too sexually frustrated to care. Scowling, she went to the door and opened it. “Go. And don’t bother asking me out again. I don’t give second chances.”
Jason grinned and obliged her, bending to pick up his jacket from the floor. Before leaving, he paused at the threshold and said, “You shouldn’t rule out second chances. Sometimes they come with interesting bonus features.”
* * *
After a broken night’s sleep, Justine woke up early and began the day as usual, filling and starting the commercial coffee machine in the kitchen, setting the tables in the dining area, and preheating the ovens for Zoë.
When Zoë arrived, looking as fresh as sunshine and daisies, she took one look at Justine and asked, “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Justine grumbled. She was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a mug of coffee with both hands. She lifted the mug to her lips and drained its contents without stopping.
After stirring cream and sugar into a fresh mug of coffee, Zoë brought it to her. “The date didn’t go well?”
“The date was fantastic. Incredible food and wine, great conversation, with the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever met. By the end of dinner, I was ready to have sex with him on the hood of the nearest car.”
“Then why…?”
“He didn’t want to. Something about ‘too soon’ and ‘for my own good,’ which everyone knows is guy-speak for ‘you’re not bangable.’ And then he took off like he was heading out of the forest covered in bees.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Zoë said, a tremor of laughter in her voice. “Is it possible that he respects you enough not to want to rush into anything?”
“Guys don’t think like that. Their idea of a great first date is not, ‘Wow, I’d really love to watch that woman eat and then go home by myself.’” She shook her head morosely. “It’s all for the best. He’s too rich. Too controlling. Too everything.”
“What can I do?” Zoë asked, her eyes soft with concern.
“If you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on Annette and Nita while they work today?… I’m going to paddle out to Cauldron Island and visit Rosemary and Sage.”
“Of course. I’m glad you’re going to see them. It always seems to do you good.”
* * *
It was nearly impossible to dress for a combination of seventy-five-degree air and fifty-degree water temperature. Kayak outfitting that provided a decent amount of warmth in the water would be unbearably hot and restrictive while paddling. Given such a choice, most kayakers decided to forgo wet suits and take their chances. Justine decided to compromise by wearing a short-sleeved Gore-Tex dry top, and neoprene knee-length pants. It wouldn’t be as comfortable as a simple base layer tee and shorts, but if she capsized, she would need the extra protection.
Sudden immersion in cold water was dangerous even for experienced swimmers and kayakers. Justine had experienced it a couple of times in the past while taking a kayaking class. Even being prepared for it, the cold shock was nasty and overwhelming. It forced an involuntary gasping response, which was big trouble if your face was underwater. And even if your head was above water, your larynx could close up your airway, a form of death known as “dry drowning.”
The day was overcast, the wind brisk, a light chop to the water. A low-pressure system was moving in, which might result in light rain and stronger winds. Having managed those conditions easily in the past, Justine wasn’t worried.
“I wouldn’t stay out for long, if I was you,” a boater at the Roche Harbor dock said, while Justine folded up her kayak dolly and stowed it. The elderly man was standing with a cup of coffee in one hand and a doughnut in the other. “Front’s coming in.”
Justine gestured with her phone before zipping it into a dry bag. “My weather app says it’s going to be okay.”
“App,” he scoffed, and ate another bite of his doughnut. “Clouds yesterday looked like mackerel scales. That means a storm’s coming. See those gulls coming in, flying low? See all the smelt feeding at the surface? All signs. Mother Nature’s the app I’ve used for fifty years, and she’s never wrong.”
“Those smelt haven’t checked the local Doppler,” Justine said with a grin. “The forecast is fine.”
He shook his head in the manner of a seasoned mariner who was rarely heeded by impudent youngsters. “Forecasts and dead fish: Both of ’em go bad quick.”
After fastening her life jacket, Justine set out with efficient forward strokes of her paddle, pacing herself for the hour-long trip. The wind cut through the warmth of the day and kept her comfortable. Gripping her paddle, she concentrated on planting the blades behind each successive oncoming wave.
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The wind changed, forcing Justine to zigzag from her original heading. Bending low to lessen the wind resistance, she grabbed and pulled water with the paddle. It was a high-intensity workout. Her momentum was broken by the constant bracing necessary to keep the kayak from broaching and turning parallel to the waves.
The wind gusts, now needled with rain, hit with escalating force. Quartering winds pushed her in one direction while the water pushed her in another. The fetch of the waves lengthened, energy rising in foamy liquid hills. Squinting at the sky, Justine was startled by how dark and thick the cloud cover had become, the leading edge thick and abnormally tall.
It was happening too fast. It didn’t make sense.
This isn’t natural, she thought with a stab of fear.
“Don’t try to bluff fate,” Rosemary had once warned her.
She had been paddling for at least an hour—she should have reached Cauldron Island by now. As she tried to get a fix on her position, she was stunned to realize that the fifty-foot bluff of Cauldron Island was still at least a mile away, and the current had pushed her well off course. If she didn’t make headway fast, she was going to find herself tossed like a child’s toy in the rough-and-tumble of Haro Strait.
Waves broke hard over the bow, knocking out items she had tucked beneath the elastic deck line … a bottle of Gatorade, her signal kit.
Her heart was slamming with effort. If she’d had a free hand, she would have shaken a fist at the sky. Attacking the water with renewed fury, she muscled her way through roller-coaster swells. In a couple of minutes, better sense prevailed and she tried to spare her aching arms by keeping the paddle strokes low and using her trunk muscles. The only thoughts left were those connected to survival.
The entire world was water. Rain and ocean, above and below, spraying and roiling, pushing and tossing.
Billows shoved the kayak parallel and broadsided her. She leaned into each oncoming surge to keep from capsizing, and paddled to turn the bow of the kayak into the whitecaps. Another wave hit, but she couldn’t react fast enough.