Sweet Escape at Bayside (Sweet with Heat: Bayside Summers Book 4) Read online

  “I think the word you’re looking for is broken.”

  Gabe brought their meals, and Andre kept his eyes on Violet until Gabe walked away. Then he said, “We’re all broken. So what? None of us get through this life without bumps, bruises, and a few shattered dreams. What matters is what we do with the unshattered ones.”

  His words had always soothed her roughest spots, but now they stirred the guilt and loneliness she’d been burying for a very long time. “I’m sorry I shattered your dreams for us, and I want to help us both heal from my mistakes. I was an idiot, Andre.”

  “Then what does that make me? I’m the fool who proposed to you three months after meeting you.”

  Her heart was beating so fast, she needed a distraction before she climbed into his lap and kissed him like she was dying to. She picked up her fish taco and said, “Yeah, you’re right. You are a fool. Not because you proposed, but because of who you proposed to. Didn’t you know I’d freak out?”

  She took a bite as he picked up his sandwich and said, “Of course not. You were the toughest woman I had ever met.”

  She arched a brow. “That’s not why you called me Daisy.”

  “True,” he said. “That’s the dichotomy of loving you. You are the strongest and the softest, sweetest, most alluring woman I have ever known.”

  “Stop it. No sappy stuff.”

  “Okay, but we were amazing together, and you know it. I probably knew in the back of my head that you couldn’t fall seamlessly into my Boston lifestyle. But I was crazy in love, and I didn’t think through any of that. All I knew was that I wanted a life with you.”

  She took another bite, trying to concentrate on Rod setting down his guitar instead of her sprinting pulse or the way Andre was watching her longingly. Cory stepped up to the mic and said, “I…uh…I wrote a little something for my mom. Many of you know she’s been gone for a long time, and for those who don’t, well, she was the one who taught me to blow glass and to kick butt if anyone got in my way.”

  A rumble of low laughter and murmurs rolled through the patio.

  “This is for you, Mom,” Cory said. “You sat on the edge of my bed when you thought I was asleep, and that’s when I got to know you best. In those dusky hours, when your voice was craggy and your fingers moved softly over my back or my forehead…”

  Cory’s voice blurred in Violet’s head, drowned out by her own thoughts. He had such loving memories of his mother, and Violet could count on one hand the number of similar memories she had of her own. More plentiful were the memories of Andre’s whispered words, his touch as he walked past her in the clinic or the yard in Ghana. The feel of his breath on her cheek as he taught her to sculpt. Her heart was full of memories of lying beneath the stars talking about why he’d gone into pediatrics—To help those who are too little to help themselves—and why he enjoyed sculpting people—Because people are shaped by love, hatred, choices, strengths, and insecurities, and capturing their essence is a beautiful thing.

  A round of applause pulled her from her thoughts.

  “One day I’d like to see you up there,” Andre said, still holding her hand. “I want to hear what you share with others.”

  She wanted to share that with him, too, but a new reality was dawning on her, and it brought another wave of trepidation. She was used to facing unsettling things with fierce determination, but when it came to Andre, she wasn’t quite as brave.

  “We’re at opposite ends of the spectrum again,” she said hurriedly. “My life is here, with Desiree, and you’re…Where are you living?”

  He shrugged and said, “‘Wherever the wind takes me.’”

  She smiled. “Smart aleck. That’s what I said to you when we first met, and you asked me how I decided where to go next.”

  “I wish I’d known it had blown you here.”

  “Well, you know now. Doesn’t this—where we are right now in our lives—scare you? What happens in a month?”

  “I don’t know what’ll happen tonight or tomorrow, much less a month from now. But even if this is all we’ll ever have, it’s already more than I ever thought possible.” He leaned closer and said, “I learned my lesson with that proposal. From now on it’s one step at a time.”

  One step at a time. How was she going to manage that?

  Steph and Dwayne moved to the mic, and Steph began strumming Rod’s guitar. Dwayne pulled out his harmonica and joined in.

  Andre pushed to his feet and hauled Violet up against him. “Except right now,” he said as he pressed one hand to her lower back. His other slid hot and heavy beneath her hair, keeping their bodies flush from her hips to her chest. “Right now I want dance steps,” he said seductively. “Lots of hip-swaying, body-rubbing dance steps…”

  THE EVENING SLIPPED effortlessly by as Violet and Andre danced, talked with her friends, held hands, and stole kisses. When Steph asked how they’d met and reconnected, Violet was glad Andre took the burden of answering off her plate by saying, We met overseas when I was volunteering at a clinic in a village where Violet had been staying, and fate recently dropped me on her doorstep.

  How could a man who made things easier be the same person who pushed her into revealing her truest self? He was as good at pushing her out of her comfort zone as he was at finessing her into doing things she’d avoided forever, like dancing. Before they’d met, she’d never danced with any guys. She hadn’t attended a regular school since she was seven. After that she’d been homeschooled by Lizza until her mother had lost interest and Violet had been forced to take charge of her own education, turning to online information when she could. There were no high school parties or proms to attend, or other means by which a typical teenager might have attended dances. But one evening Andre had taken her into his arms and suddenly she was slow dancing. There had been no music, no couples around them to watch or learn from. There was only the two of them and the desire in his eyes. She’d never known she could feel so close to a man, but that night had sparked a love of dancing with Andre.

  “Ready, babe?” Andre asked.

  She realized everyone else was preparing to leave. She wasn’t ready for their evening to end. As she said goodbye to her friends, she was glad to see them embracing Andre, giving him warm pats on the back, and hearing them say they hoped to see him again. On their way out the door, Elliott gave Andre a high five, and her chest felt full.

  “I like your friends,” Andre said as they walked to her bike hand in hand.

  “I’m glad.” She pulled her keys from her pocket and inhaled a deep breath before holding them out to him—and it wasn’t because he’d driven her crazy on the way up. She’d never trusted anyone to drive her bike before, but she trusted Andre, and this was the best way she knew to show him how much.

  “What’s wrong? Afraid you can’t handle my roving hands?”

  “Something like that,” she said, because some things were too hard to admit.

  Chapter Seven

  ANDRE WAS GOING to lose his mind. Violet’s warm body pressed against his on the way home. She wasn’t groping him or trying to make him want her, but she’d never had to rely on tactics other women used like bait. Just the feel of her had always done him in, and after spending hours holding her hand, kissing her beautiful lips, and hearing the voice he’d missed so much, being apart was the last thing he wanted. As he pulled into the driveway and parked in front of their cottages, he thought up a million excuses to extend their evening. A walk on the beach, stargazing, hearing more about her life. He’d take any excuse he could find. But he’d screwed up by going too fast once, and he wasn’t going to make her feel boxed in now.

  He parked the bike and helped her off. “She rides like a charm.” He knew how big a deal it was for her to trust him with her bike, and that made saying good night even more difficult, because he knew trust didn’t come easily to her.

  As they carried their helmets toward her cottage, she said, “I’ve never let anyone drive her before.”

  “T
hank you for trusting me.”

  He set his helmet on the stoop, and then he placed hers beside it and gathered her in his arms. This time he didn’t have to guide her hands around his waist. She gazed up at him with a mix of longing and trepidation, bringing a rush of memories. Even after three months, she’d still been nervous when they’d finally made love. He’d never forget the sounds of her breathless whispers, the feel of her hot hands on his flesh, or the intensity of making love to her and feeling like his whole life had led up to that very moment—all of which only made him want to be that close again.

  “I had a great time tonight.” And I don’t want it to end here. “Think we can spend some time together tomorrow? I’d love to see your pottery studio.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”

  He touched his lips to hers, taking her in a slow, deep kiss, reveling in her soft curves pressed against his hard frame. Kissing her was heaven; having to stop was torture. He brushed his lips over hers and whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

  “Me too.” Her fingers pressed into his back, as if she was having trouble saying good night, too.

  He traced the bow of her lips with his tongue and she pressed for more, as hungry for him as he was for her. Her mouth was warm and sweet, and as he intensified the kiss, her hands pushed beneath his leather jacket and up his back, and she moaned. That sensuous, needy sound wound through him, taunting, drawing him deeper into her. He threaded his fingers into her hair, his kisses rougher, painfully more intense, as he made love to her mouth the way he wanted to make love to her body. It was torture not being able to claim her the way he wanted to, but the thought of going too fast and losing her again was too much for him to handle.

  He reluctantly eased his efforts.

  “Tomorrow?” he said between kisses.

  She made a noise that sounded like a whimper and an affirmation, and he couldn’t help devouring her again. Their tongues tangled, and he ground his body against her. She made another wicked sound, sending heat coursing through him. His thoughts spun as he explored the recesses of her mouth in deep, penetrating kisses, exactly the wrong way to kiss her after promising to go slow.

  Reality slammed into him, and he tore his mouth away. “Tomorrow” came out like a command.

  Her cheeks were flushed and scratched from his scruff, her eyes glassy. “Tomorrow,” she said with a seductive smile that told him she knew she’d sent him into a tailspin—and she freaking loved it.

  He pressed a quick kiss to her lips before picking up his helmet and taking a step back. She arched a brow and held her hand out. Only then did he realize he still had her keys. He pulled them from his pocket and set them in her hand, feeling like a lovesick, horny teenager.

  She unlocked her door, and then she glanced over her shoulder and those gorgeous eyes slid down his body like a caress, causing him to become aroused.

  “Night,” she said. She picked up her helmet and slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

  His head fell back with a groan and he closed his eyes, letting the cool air wash over him. How was he going to make it through the night, much less through several weeks?

  When he stepped inside his cottage, he swore he could still smell her perfume. He leaned back against the door and debated throwing caution to the wind and marching right back over to her place. What was the worst that could happen?

  She could be gone in the morning.

  That reality sent him away from the door. He stepped around the boxes containing his art supplies, set his helmet on one of them, and shrugged off his jacket. As he tossed it on the chair by his laptop, he was surprised by a knock at the door. When he pulled it open, Violet launched herself into his arms, and their mouths crashed together. After a second of confounded shock, relief and desire soared through him.

  “I just need this,” she panted out between urgent kisses. “To be in your arms.”

  “That’s where you’ve always belonged.”

  He pushed off her jacket while they made out with reckless abandon, as if they might never get another chance, groping and nipping. She pulled at his shirt, and he tore it over his head. Then he made quick work of stripping off hers. All that colorful ink against her creamy skin took his breath away. He wanted to make her his. To touch and love every inch of her body the way he’d fantasized, the way he craved. But he forced himself to slow down, gripping her hand instead.

  “Daisy, you’re killing me,” he said on a long exhalation. “I thought we said one step at a time. I can’t lose you again.”

  “I just want to lie in your arms like I used to. Just kissing.”

  They’d slept together naked for months without making love. But now that he knew how good they were together, how right their bodies and hearts fit as one, it would be ten times as difficult to hold back. He had no idea how he’d manage, but he wanted her in his arms more than he wanted his next breath, and he would figure it out.

  He kissed her again languidly, deliciously sinking into her mouth, until those sounds he loved so much slithered into his own lungs, and then he led her toward the bedroom, weaving around the boxes.

  “What is all this?” she asked breathlessly. “It looks like you’ve moved in for good.”

  “Art supplies,” he said as they entered the bedroom, but boxes were the last thing on his mind. He’d walk through a minefield to be with her.

  Moonlight spilled over her beautiful body, and he took a second just to drink in her softness, the neediness in her eyes, and the slight tremble of her hands. He stepped closer. She was so gorgeous, so his. This time he wasn’t going to mess up. He cradled her face in his hands, kissing her deeply. How long had he wished for this moment? For a chance to see her, touch her, kiss her again? To love her the way she deserved to be loved? He should be terrified that she’d bolt, and maybe he was, but he was too greedy for her, too in love with her, to let it push past his elation.

  He took his time, kissing the graceful length of her neck, slowing to gently suck the tender skin at the curve of her shoulder as he unhooked her bra. He felt her shudder against him, and as he slid the straps from her arms, the air rushed from her lungs. He traced the ink that stopped just short of the swell of her breast and pressed a single kiss there. If all they had was kissing, he was going to kiss her to the moon and back. He blazed a path of kisses down her belly and along the ink covering her ribs. She touched his shoulders with trembling fingers, and when he glanced up, her eyes were closed and a blissful expression curved her lips. She smelled like his favorite memory. He finished undressing her, took her hand, and lowered her to the edge of the bed.

  Her keen, catlike eyes locked on him as he stripped down to his briefs. She went up on her knees on the mattress, reaching for him as he reached for her. He bent to kiss her, and she leaned slightly to the side, pressing her lips to his cheek, his neck, and finally to the faith in love tattoo on his shoulder. Heat slithered down his chest.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I know,” he said, and took her in another smoldering kiss. “I never meant to scare you,” he said against her lips.

  He eased her to the mattress and slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her painfully slowly and diabolically deeply. Her fingers played over the scar on his left flank, which he’d gotten three years earlier on another volunteer mission. He’d awoken to a woman’s shrieks and flames shooting out of a hut. He’d sprinted into the fire, and though he’d saved the woman and her four-year-old boy, the boy had hidden from the flames beneath a table. When Andre was down on all fours reaching for the child, a piece of the burning roof had fallen, catching his flank. In the months before he and Violet had finally made love, when they’d lay together naked, doing everything except allowing their hearts and bodies to truly become one, she used to touch him just like she was now.

  Her hips rose, rubbing all her softness against him. He gazed into her lustful eyes and said, “Just kissing?”

 
She nodded with the sexiest grin he’d ever seen.

  “I must be a glutton for punishment.”

  He kissed his way down her body, and slicked his tongue along her belly.

  “Andre—”

  “It’s a French kiss,” he said with a grin.

  “Stop talking and get to it,” she said with a soft laugh. “Why was it so much easier to stop at this before we had sex?”

  “Fear. You were afraid of the emotions having sex with me would unleash.”

  He kissed her belly, knowing just how to make her lose her mind, but he couldn’t let go of the fear of waking up to an empty bed. It was that unsettled monster inside him that made him stop kissing, and touched his forehead to her sternum with a sigh.

  “Why’d you stop?” she panted out.

  “Because I’ve never forgotten the taste of you, and I’ve missed it. But if we go further, if I fall asleep with you in my arms, how do I know you won’t be gone in the morning?”

  “Because this time I know the consequences of loving you.” Her brow wrinkled and she said, “I’m a nervous wreck, but only because I know how I’ll lose myself in you, and I don’t want to slow down.”

  His head fell forward with her confession, and her name slipped from his lips like a prayer. “Daisy…”

  “That’s normal, right? To be nervous about that?” She looked away and said, “Oh, geez. Did I just ruin this?”

  He turned her face so he could see her eyes and said, “No. You just made it even better.”

  “I thought I messed up. Maybe you should love me until I’m too tired to move.”

  He laughed and kissed her deeply. “You know how I love a challenge.”

  “But I need you to do me a favor first.”

  “Break your kissing-only rule? Done.”

  She shook her head and pushed at his chest. “On your back, big boy.”