Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) Read online

  He inched up closer. “So neither one of us is getting what we wanted.”

  She reached up and closed her hands over his shoulders, pulling him down. “Right now, this is exactly what I want.”

  “Me, too.” He eased himself onto her, making her aware that her heart was pounding so hard it drowned out the music. Her leg wrapped around his again, and she brought him closer.

  “I’ve got a room here tonight, you know,” he said, just before kissing her.

  “Maybe we’ll go there later,” she murmured into his neck. “But not yet, not now. Now you should…” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his hard muscles against her body. “Do this.”

  “You…want the essence of it again?” he asked as his hands moved to cover her breast.

  “I want all of it,” she admitted.

  He slowed his touch and lifted his head. “You really are forgiving me,” he said, in a tone of humor mixed with relief.

  She answered by kissing his mouth and jaw, bowing her back again so his hands slid down her waist, over her backside, finding his way to her thighs.

  “These legs,” he murmured, stroking her skin. “They’ve set the standard for legs on all women everywhere for the rest of my life.”

  She laughed, but it turned into a whisper of his name as his fingers slipped deeper between her legs. She caressed his back and dug her fingers into his shoulders, moaning in appreciation as she did her own exploring.

  All the while, his hard-on grew against her, and they started a slow, rhythmic rub as their hips rocked against each other.

  Some things really never changed.

  “We’re acting like teenagers,” he joked, lifting his head to carefully check her expression. “Again.”

  “I don’t feel like a teenager,” she said. She ran her hands over his arms, giving his hard, sizable biceps a squeeze. “And neither do you. You feel…amazing. This is amazing.”

  He kissed her mouth and slipped his hand back under her skirt. “You are amazing, sweet Beth.”

  “Ken.” She clutched his shirt, tugging it higher to get her hands on his skin and muscles. It was Ken, but different. Better. Bigger. Older and so much sexier than her teenage memories.

  His hand roamed higher, into her panties, making her gasp when he touched her most tender spot, wet and ready for him. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think about anything but how intense and insane that felt.

  His erection pulsed against her as she dragged her hand down to his waist, lower. With shaking fingers, she tried to unbuckle his belt.

  “Help me,” she pleaded, hearing the desperation in her voice.

  He unbuckled the belt and flipped open the button on his dress pants, too, but she pushed his hand away, a whimper in her throat because she couldn’t stand one more second without touching him. Dipping her hand in, she captured him, pulling a low groan from his chest as pleasure swamped them both.

  Instantly, he returned his hand to the heat between her legs, each caress and stroke matching the beat of her fingers sliding up and down his shaft. Their breath labored, their moans soft, he slipped a finger inside her, and both of them shuddered as need rocked them.

  “Hello, second base,” he teased, his voice as sexy as that finger. “Is it as good as the night on the goat farm?”

  “Better,” she whispered, her trembling hands attempting to slide down his zipper. “Because this time…we don’t have to stop.”

  He groaned, then dragged her panties over her hips, and she eased one leg out so she could spread herself for him.

  “Beth, babe. This is crazy.”

  Utterly insane but too wonderful for words. “And long overdue,” she whispered.

  He agreed with a moan, rocking against her.

  “Inside me, Kenny. Fill me up.” She’d unzipped his pants and pushed them over his hips, freeing him.

  “Beth…Beth.”

  Sensing he was stopping things she did not want to stop, she quieted him with a kiss, sucking his tongue into her mouth to show him exactly what she wanted.

  “Beth,” he insisted, pulling away. “Condom. Condom.” It was like he couldn’t form a sentence. “I don’t have one.”

  “You don’t need it.”

  He stilled against her. “Gotta have one, honey.”

  She slowed her touch, realizing she had to explain. Well, maybe not everything. Not now. “I can’t get pregnant,” she said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “I get tested,” he replied. “Every few months. Regulation.”

  That was enough for her, knowing how lackluster her sex life was. “So our bases are covered,” she murmured into the kiss.

  “Then let’s go to the next one.”

  Her skirt was around her waist now, her legs open so that their bare bodies were rubbing, the friction almost enough to make her come.

  Music screamed from fifty feet away, laughter and conversation faded in the buzz of blood in her head. Sweat trickled on her skin, and every muscle battled for control as she clung to him and let go of common sense.

  This was just so damn good…why not?

  He eased the tip into her, making her back bow in another invitation. Kissing her, sliding his hand under her top to caress her breast, he penetrated further…deeper…hotter…harder.

  Drunk on pleasure, she gave up on coherent thought and moved. In and out, he plunged and thrust, and she met every stroke with matching fury. Every sensation was heightened, the sweet, spicy scent of sex filling the tiny space, the distant noises, the echo of her breathless pleas.

  She was finally making love to Ken Cavanaugh under the moon on Barefoot Bay.

  Everything was perfect. The pressure of him filling her, the primal rhythm of their bodies, her nails in his back, sweat on his brow, and the sight of Ken in the throes of raw, real passion.

  She came first, furious and frantic, and then he lost control with her.

  She held her hips high to prevent him from doing anything except let the last ebbs of pleasure rock his body. He spilled and spilled and filled her completely.

  So…damn…perfect.

  It took five full minutes to get their breath and wits back. Then he snuggled her closer, folding her body into his powerful chest. “So, how do we get up to my room without being seen or stopped?”

  “Your room?”

  “You’re not going home tonight, Beth. You’re sleeping in my bed, in my arms, all night.”

  The order, sexy as it was, made her bristle a little. After finally gaining hard-won independence, she didn’t relish being told what to do. Even if it was exactly what she wanted to do.

  “Beth.” He kissed her hair, and the tenderness in the way he said her name erased her initial reaction. “I’ve waited twenty-five years for this, and it isn’t going to be over after we smashed in a cabana on the beach.”

  She felt the arguments rise and fall. Screw control and independence. She didn’t want this night to end any more than he did.

  “Okay.” Two syllables, barely a breath, laden with surrender and anticipation. “I guess we do have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Chapter Three

  The week had sucked, no doubt about it, but the night was one of the best he could remember. Relieved that Beth had agreed to spend the night, Ken timed their escape perfectly, managed to get her shoes, slip her through a back entrance that only a firefighter would know, and used a secluded stairwell in the back of Casa Blanca’s hotel building to sneak her into his room without encountering another person.

  The sumptuous surroundings that the resort owner had provided gratis to anyone on the planning committee who wanted to stay the night seemed like overkill this afternoon when he’d checked in. Now?

  A damn love nest and he was about to settle down with the most beautiful woman he’d been with in years.

  As she looked around and made small talk, Ken poured her a healthy glass of wine and grabbed a cold brew, then guided her on
to the king-size bed. There, with the balcony doors wide open and the sound of the surf and tropical air floating over them, they nestled next to each other, still dressed, and finally started to talk.

  Really talk.

  Not mindless chatter with the sole purpose of giving them time to recover for round two, and not the kind of “let me impress you with my life” conversations they’d both been having all week.

  She asked him about being a firefighter and sipped the wine while he told her snippets of his life at the station. He noticed she skipped over his marriage, but dug back a little further to get him to talk about his years enlisted in the Navy, how drawn he’d been to firefighting and emergency situations even then, and how he’d worked for years on and off a submarine as a Damage Controlman.

  “Sounds like a person I could use on the job site,” she joked when she heard the title.

  He thought about her job again, and even though she’d said she had her own company, it seemed impossible that it didn’t have anything to do with her father’s business. Endicott Development Corporation had started many years ago, long before Ken had been born, when Beth’s father inherited a good twenty percent of the island from her grandfather, one of the Mimosa Key founders. The company was responsible for building up all of Pleasure Pointe and for making Ray Endicott a millionaire many, many times over. And it was at the expense of at least one life, Ken thought bitterly.

  If she was tied to that company in any way other than sharing the same name, he had to know. “I know it’s your business, but is it, like, a spin-off from what your dad does?”

  “Not at all,” she assured him. “Most people assume that, and I did work for him for a while, but a few years ago I went fully on my own.”

  He wanted to believe her, but some part of his brain still wasn’t convinced. “Surprising, considering how the name Endicott is synonymous with real estate on Mimosa Key.”

  She didn’t answer right away, eyeing him. “How many times do I have to say it?”

  Many. He didn’t answer, though, waiting.

  “Believe me when I say that my business is completely separate from EDC. I love my dad, but I spent the better part of my life doing exactly what he said to do. And the way he shows love is to control things, so it’s best if I’m autonomous from him.”

  Good, because the farther she was from that guy, the better. “So you really are the poster girl for independence,” he said, purposely lightening the exchange. He’d talked about her dad enough tonight, and every time he pushed her on the subject, he could feel her slip away.

  “The poster girl for independence? Who called me that?”

  “Law Monroe. Some version of that anyway.”

  “Ahh.” She nodded. “The poster boy for sarcasm and wry observations. I noticed you’ve been hanging around with him this week.”

  “Hey, there were three guys on the whole planning committee. Mark, Law, and I had to unite.”

  “The silver fox trio. Did you know that’s what Libby Chesterfield and a few others started calling you?”

  He choked softly. “And the Mimosa High tradition of stupid nicknames continues even for the gray-haired set.”

  “You’re so defensive about that hair.” She laughed and leaned a playful shoulder into his chest, getting closer again. “I shouldn’t joke, though. Your job is a lot more stressful than flipping houses.”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “You must have some tense moments when you’ve invested a ton and don’t have an offer in hand.”

  She smiled up at him. “Nice of you to understand that. It can be a little nerve-racking, but mostly it’s fun for me. I just moved into a flip a few weeks ago, and the plans are almost finished. I’ll start the demo in the next month or so, and live in dust and hell until it’s finished.”

  He drew back, surprised. “You live alone, on a construction site?”

  “Yes, I’ve done it a few times. I know how to live with a makeshift kitchen, and I never buy a house with fewer than two bathrooms. It’s so satisfying when a house is done and I know I did so much of it with my own two hands.”

  His jaw dropped. “You do the work yourself?”

  “I use some subs if I have to, but mostly I do what I can. Especially demo.” She grinned. “Demo is my favorite part.”

  He laughed, a mix of amusement and admiration welling up. “I gotta say…you clobbering the shit out of drywall is pretty hot. But so is calling the shots and not letting Daddy and his millions rule you. I like it. A lot.”

  “It hasn’t been easy,” she told him. “But I actually have never enjoyed a better relationship with my dad than we have right now. I have his respect, I think, for the first time in my life.”

  And there they were, back on Ray Endicott. “How about your stepmother?” he asked. “Is he still married to the same woman?”

  “Josie? Oh, yes. And, honestly, she takes good care of him.”

  That guy? “He needs to be taken care of?”

  “Actually, he had some heart issues last year. He had to have a stent put in, and he’s been ordered to take it easy. Well, easier. Of course, Josie wants him to retire and travel and rest, but there is the question of what to do with Endicott Development.”

  How about burn it to the ground? Ken tamped the thought down with a swig of beer.

  “My guess is he’ll give it to my stepbrother, Landon,” she said.

  “Oh, your gnarled family tree.” He peeled at the beer label, trying to remember the family he’d worked so hard to forget. “Landon is the older one, right? The other one was the pest.”

  She laughed. “Yes, Landon is older than I am, from Josie’s first marriage. The pest is RJ, my little brother.”

  “But Josie’s not his mother, right? Sorry, I don’t remember those details.” He did remember that Beth’s real mom died very young, in childbirth having Beth. It had been a shock to learn that when they’d dated, and not something she talked much about at all.

  “RJ is my dad’s son from Nadine, the woman he married when I was two,” she reminded him. “They divorced when RJ was a baby, and she took off without her son but with a pile of alimony, which is RJ’s little cross to bear and probably the reason he’s a pest.”

  “Still? He’s, what, thirty-six now?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he’s taking his sweet time getting his life together. But he’s my baby brother, and I love him and try to understand him. He drives my dad nuts, though.”

  She took another deep drink of the wine and studied him. “What about your family?” she asked, enough sympathy in her voice for him to know the question made her uncomfortable, too.

  “My mom moved to Texas after…” He cleared his throat. “After my dad died. She’s still there, living really close to my sister and her husband, a cop in Dallas. And my brother is a painter in LA.”

  “A painter?”

  “Houses. Not canvas. Our collars are still pretty blue in the Cavanaugh clan.”

  She studied him for a long moment. “That always bothered you, I remember. Your family being from Twin Palms and mine…not.”

  He snorted at the way she’d handled that. “It doesn’t bother me anymore.” He had way more important reasons to hate Ray Endicott than the fact that he was wealthy. “I yam what I yam, as the cartoon guy says.”

  “Captain of the firefighters.”

  He chuckled. “You make it sound way more impressive than it is. There are three captains, it’s not a huge station, and at forty-three, I should be a captain. I moved around a lot, and that slowed my career.”

  Finishing the wine, she dropped her head back on Ken’s shoulder, sighing. “Hard to believe how much life has passed since we last saw each other and you said, ‘This is it.’”

  “This is it? That’s what I said?” He had no recollection.

  “Those were your final words to me.” Her voice cracked a little, and she covered it by reaching over him to place her wine glass on the nightstand next to him. “It was after
the big explosion of how much you hated the name Endicott.”

  He closed his eyes, knowing he still hated the name. Ray Endicott, not Beth.

  He put his bottle on the nightstand, too, and turned to readjust them both on the bed, lining them up and wrapping his arms around her. “And here I thought we got past that chapter.”

  “We did. I’m sorry I brought it up. It’s just that I remember those words. Three little words. And yet they stayed with me all those years. This is—”

  He silenced her with a kiss, taking the last of those three words in his mouth and replacing it with affection. They kissed long enough for her to melt and him to grow hard again.

  “Last time I’m going to say this,” he murmured into her mouth. “I’m sorry. I should never have put you, or us, in the middle of something you had no part in.”

  “Last time I’m going to say this,” she replied. “I forgive you.”

  But as he kissed her and started the slow act of undressing her for the night, the words echoed.

  This is it.

  This is it.

  But this time, twenty-five years later, they meant something completely different. Because, damn it all, there was something about Beth Endicott. This could be it.

  Holding that thought, he proceeded to show her with everything he had in him.

  * * *

  Beth opened one eye, enough to see the first hint of sunrise spread over a masculine chest as it rose and fell with deep slumber. The morning light even highlighted a strand or two of gray against well-developed muscles and smooth, dark nipples.

  No tattoos on his lean, angular torso, though she’d seen one on his back when he had gotten up once to go the bathroom. The sheet was low, over his hips, and tented by a morning erection that made her mouth water.

  Ken was an amazing lover.

  Under the covers, they were both still naked, the way they’d been since making love, talking for a few more hours and finally crashing. With her head on his shoulder, she closed her eyes and remembered certain moments, like the way he patiently brought her to each orgasm and how tenderly he used his mouth to taste every bit of her.