Beach Glass (14 page)

He freezes. “Oh my God. You’re married.”

“No, no. Definitely not married, and nothing as easy as that.”

His eyes widen. “It’s worse?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I take a deep breath. “Carson, I’m not a yoga instructor who came here on vacation. I’m a writer. I was assigned to do a story on Emerald Cove by a website that told me I had to travel incognito to get completely impartial treatment. I’m not brave or impulsive or spontaneous. I’m not anything you think I am. And,” I finish, “I’m not nearly as pretty as you are.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” he says offhandedly. “Wow, Kate. That’s kind of a lot.”

“I know.” I sigh, bracing myself for the worst. “Carson, I’m sorry. I didn’t think one small lie would matter. But it snowballed, and now it’s like you’re talking to someone else, asking a completely different woman to stay here with you.”

He takes this in for a moment. “I get why you had to cover up about being a writer, but was it part of your assignment to make one of the surf instructors crazy about you?”

He’s crazy about me? My heart jumps for joy even as the rest of me goes all shaky about the outcome of this revelation. “No. That was definitely not part of the assignment. I had no intention of making anyone crazy. I didn’t even think I had that skill.”

“You do,” Carson says, nodding. “You’re very good at making me crazy. Even better than you are at surfing.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not saying much. I can’t believe I even managed to stay on the board. Surfing terrifies me.”

“I’d never have known.” He’s scrutinizing me, but he’s still holding me, just a few inches away from his body, which is making me feel dizzy as well as nervous about telling the truth. “Were you pretending to like surfing, all this time?” he asks.

“No. It turns out I really did like it. I’m glad I had to do it for the story. And I’m glad I had to stay in a tentalow in the middle of a field.” I look up at him, trying to be as brave with my feelings as he is. “And I can’t tell you how happy I am to be here, right now, with you. But I can’t let you think I’m all these great things when I’m so not any of them.”

Carson continues to look at me, but his gaze softens. “So you’re not a yoga teacher. But you taught a yoga class.” I nod at him. “Then you were a yoga teacher, at least once, so you weren’t lying completely,” he reasons. “And you said you were afraid to surf, but you did surf, even after you had a bad experience. So, you are brave.”

“Well, if you want to bend my lie into the truth,” I say, though being this close to him would make me agree to almost anything.

“Call it truth yoga.” I feel his arms slide around me, pulling me closer. “And you said you were happy to be here,” he says, nuzzling my nose with his. “With me.”

My arms move easily around his shoulders as I succumb to his magnetic pull. “Very.”

He comes so close his lips brush mine as he speaks. “So you’re not lying about that.”

“No,” I whisper. “That’s more true than anything.”

“Then stay with me,” he murmurs, before touching his mouth to mine.

My first kiss with Carson. Our first kiss. Two weeks ago, I never wanted to have another first kiss. If I’d known what this kiss would feel like, how it burns away all my fears and everything I think I am or I’m not with white-hot brilliance, I would have been almost as stunned as I am now. I couldn’t have imagined the power that this slow, lingering kiss could have. Carson’s mouth is as persuasive as his words. He presses softly, then deeply into our kiss at the same time he pulls my body against his. His lips take their time leading mine apart so we can enjoy each stage of this. He tastes sweet, of sugared tropical drinks and thrilling promise. His tongue beckons mine to come play, but when we meet, play turns into a romantic dance.

I feel cool waves rushing past my ankles, and the breeze that brought them, and I hear hushed music in the palm trees, and it all seems part of Carson’s magic. Feelings and sensations grow and spread. Passion, eagerness, tenderness, and all the wonders our bodies are telling us. His fingers weave through my hair, giving me tingles. My hands are both greedy and adoring as they move slowly over his back and up to the warm, bare skin of his neck. He holds me with desire and gentle sweetness, as though I’m precious to him. It feels like so much more than a first kiss. It feels like a beginning.

Slowly, he pulls away, saying things with his eyes that, before this, I could only have believed if I’d dared.

I do.

CARSON TELLS ME to wait outside the bar while he trots in. I watch him take Evan by the arm and lean close to say something as “I Gotta Feeling” by The Blackeyed Peas blares over the sound system. Our group, a little drunk, is dancing happily, some of them sassily grinding against each other. Considering what Carson might be saying to Evan about why we’re not going back with them, I expect Evan to give him a high-five or a back slap, some sign of guy conquest. But he merely nods and says goodnight as Carson walks quickly out to meet me.

“I told him you weren’t feeling well and that we’d catch a cab back to Emerald Cove,” Carson explains as we go to the front of the bar to get one of the waiting taxis. Everything he is, and a gentleman, too. I am one smitten kitten. When we get in the backseat of the cab, Carson pulls me close to him. I lean into his neck, wanting every breath I draw to be scented with him.

The driver takes us down the dirt road, speeding us toward whatever is going to happen. I don’t know where this is going. I only know that I feel like I’ve taken another leap, the biggest one yet. All this week, I’ve done things I never would have considered, from the small challenge of camping in a field to surfing, and even getting back on the surfboard after a frightening experience. To a cautious, risk-averse girl like me who just had her heart broken and handed back to her, getting caught in a rogue wave doesn’t feel nearly as intimidating as the idea of staying with a near stranger in an exotic location.

I look up at Carson, who smiles at me like this bumpy cab ride in each other’s arms is the best thing that could be happening right now. And it is. I’ve made the right decision.

We don’t say anything on the way back to my tent, both of us giddy with anticipation. And, for me, nerves. I never did figure out whether or not I should make love with Carson tonight. I want to be with him, but everything is going so fast. Would it be weird for me to hit the brakes now after I’ve agreed to stay, the first impulsive decision I’ve ever made in my life? It’s like being on a roller coaster and, just as the car reaches the top, saying Excuse me, changed my mind, please let me off.

Carson holds the tent flap open for me. I step into my little faux bungalow. It’s very dark. I wish I had a candle. All I have is a flashlight. I turn it on and place it on my nightstand, aiming it at the ceiling. This gives just enough illumination to see Carson’s handsome face, now partly shadowed, gazing at me. His smile is playful. He reaches up to frame my face with his fingertips, each point of contact creating a shimmer on my skin. “Kate the Great,” he whispers. “All mine.”

That’s all it takes. One minute we’re a foot apart, the next minute we’re glued together, locked in each other’s arms, mouths passionate, impatient. Carson maneuvers us onto the bed, which gives a squeak of welcome.

Our limbs become a tangle of physical hunger, though my body is a knot of conflict. My legs wrap around his, but my heart is thudding with nervousness. I’ve been with the same person for five years. I forgot what it is to be with someone new. I barely know how to make love to anyone but Daniel, and oh God why did I have to think about him now? And Carson and I just had the conversation about not being vacation flings, but isn’t that what I’ll be to him if we jump right into sex?

“Are you okay?” Carson says, breathless as I break our kiss.

“I don’t have any condoms,” I say, thinking this will stop us and my sudden panic.

But Carson just smiles and pats his back pocket. “I do. I scored the last box at the gift shop.” He happily resumes kissing me, romancing my mouth, pulling me into a sensual undertow. There’s no swimming against this tide, and I can’t help but respond to his deep, seductive kisses. The weight of him on top of me has me pleasantly pinned to the soft mattress. With a shift that’s a caress in itself, Carson’s hips move between my legs, settling there as if to show what a perfect fit we’ll be. And if the sensation of him pressing against me isn’t enough to make me moan out loud, and it is, now he’s cleverly figured out a way under my dress and has deftly performed the one-handed bra unhooking maneuver. Damn, he’s good.

“Pretty dress,” Carson whispers before outlining my ear with the tip of his tongue. “But I think it has to go now, my beautiful Kate.”

Kate. Just because I confessed about Kate being my cover story doesn’t mean that my experiment about incorporating some of her qualities is over, too. Yes, she’s impulsive, and I’m not. But what would
we
do in a situation where she wanted to be with someone, but I felt it was too soon? We could compromise.

“Carson.” My voice, raspy with passion, actually sounds sexy. “I want to take this slowly.”

He moves up from where he was kissing, licking, and expertly noshing on my neck so that we’re face to face, and his smile has a hint of chagrin. “I know. I’m probably going too fast. I really want you, Kate. I’ve been thinking about you all week, ever since we met.”

“And I’ve been thinking about you,” I say honestly. “But I’m not leaving tomorrow. We have time to savor this.”

“I like that idea,” Carson agrees. He gives me a sweet kiss on the lips. “Should I go?”

Channeling Kate’s honesty, I tell him what I want. “No. I mean, I don’t want to be a tease about this, but I’d like you to stay.” Ooh. That not only sounded good, it felt good.

“I’d like that too.” He kisses the tip of my nose and then climbs off me. “And you’re right, let’s go slow, enjoy this.” He stands up, and while I wonder what he’s doing, he peels off his shirt. My mouth hangs open at the sight of his tanned, sculpted chest and abs, and the sloping muscles on his arms as he says, “But I can’t sleep in my clothes.” He unzips his jeans, pushes them down, and steps out of them, leaving him in a pair of snug white cotton boxer briefs that are like gift-wrapping on what my hungry gaze tells me is a spectacular package. Then he grins down at me, still splayed in mid-make out position. “Scoot over, lady, you’re hogging the bed.”

As he reclines in all his lean magnificence, one arm behind his head, the innocent look he gives me makes me laugh out loud. “And
I
was worried about being a tease?” I ask.

“Listen, you just keep your hands to yourself, and we’ll be fine,” he says with a smirk. Then he looks me up and down. “Do you usually sleep in your clothes?”

Two can play this game, meaning me and Kate. I get off the bed and turn my back to Carson. With a flirty peek over my shoulder, I reach behind me for the zipper on my dress, pulling it down inch by suggestive inch. Then, slowly, I gather up the dress and pull it over my head, leaving me in my pink lace thong and bra, still undone by handy Carson. I let the bra drop to the floor. Then I turn around, still holding the dress in front of me. Carson laughs and groans as he flops over on his belly, clutching a pillow to his chest. “Tease!” he calls.

I drop the dress, and then I quickly jump into bed, under the covers. Carson dives after me, and the pair of us become a giggling, entangled mess.

TODAY I’M AWAKE even before the howler monkeys, and I could wake them up with my own hoots of joy if it wouldn’t rouse Carson, too. And I don’t want him to wake up yet. I want to keep staring at him, as I have been for a while. I want to keep admiring the sleepy tousle of his golden brown hair, wisps of it falling past the thick line of his brows, and the way his dark lashes fan out from his closed eyelids. My gaze follows his straight, fine nose to the shape of his full lips, thinking about the way those lips kissed me until we both eased from the heights of passion to sleeping in each other’s arms. I take in his long body, toned with muscles, still clad in his underwear because he honored my request to wait to make love. It only made me adore him more.

There’s a gentle knock on the tree outside my tent. “Katy? It’s Brigitte. Are you awake?”

Carson murmurs and shifts slightly. I tear myself away from him, grabbing my dress from the floor where I left it after our mutual striptease and pulling it over my head. It’s on inside out and backwards, but I don’t care. In my current mood, I feel ready for a Parisian catwalk.

“Katy,” Brigitte says as she takes me in, probably seeing a rumpled mess rather than a runway model. “It’s almost time to leave for the airport. Are you ready to go?”

“Shhh.” I hold my finger to my lips, my eyes flicking toward the tent. Brigitte’s jaw drops before she mouths
Carson?
I mouth back
Yes!
and the two of us are grinning like mad and jumping up and down as quietly as we can, which isn’t very. I hear sleepy movement inside the tent. “Come with me,” I whisper, grabbing her hand and practically skipping to the bathroom pavilion.

When we get there, I see the state of me with bedhead, smeared makeup, and a giddy expression. I think I look amazing. “Katy, what’s going on?” Brigitte asks excitedly.

“I’m staying! With him!” I shriek, doing a ridiculously girly happy dance. “Carson asked me not to leave, and for the first time in my life, I’m doing something impulsive. Brigitte, you were totally right about me being Kate!”

She’s still smiling but more soberly. “Well, I didn’t tell you to be Kate, just to be Katy with a little Kate thrown in,” she says. “How much longer are you going to stay?”

“Only a week,” I say, looking in the mirror and wiping some of last night’s mascara from under my eyes. “Or a month. Or a year, or forever.” My grin is so wide it hurts, until I see the reflection of Brigitte’s concerned expression. I turn around. “What?”

She shrugs, not wanting to be the joy-killing voice of reason. “I know this is all really exciting, and Carson’s quite a guy. But you just went through a painful breakup after a long-term relationship. You’re in a vulnerable state, Katy. This is fun, but it’s a fling, you know?”

“Oh, it’s not a fling,” I say, shaking my head emphatically, making my hair even messier. “No, you should hear him talk, like I’m what’s at the end of his rainbow. Like I’m the knee of the bee, the pajamas of the cat.”

Brigitte nods at me as carefully, as she might if I were not wearing a backwards sundress but a straitjacket. “Katy, I’m sure it all sounds very good, and it’s making you feel better after Daniel.”

“Daniel who?” I say, trying to get her back on my happy team again.

But Brigitte only sighs. “Just be careful, Katy.”

“Oh, we haven’t gone that far yet. And he’s got condoms,” I say, feeling the need to vouch for Carson. For us.

“That’s not what I meant,” Brigitte says.

HUGGING ME goodbye, Brigitte pulls herself away, and then she gives me one last lingering, worried look. Ugh, what’s up with that? She should be happy for me. I feel as pouty as her two-year-old as she walks back to her husband and her son. My dream of a family.

I start stomping back toward my tent. Who is Brigitte to rain on my proverbial parade? If she’d heard the way Carson was talking to me last night, and seen the way he was looking at me, she wouldn’t have implied that we were a mere vacation fling. I hate that she said that, and I’m surprised at how angry I am about it. Because, I know, she was talking sense.

I want to hold on to the heady feeling I had last night with Carson and this morning when I was gazing at him with no thought of the plane I’m going to miss or any return date to go home and back to my life. This is totally unrealistic. I’ve known Carson for a week. He’s probably not taking this nearly as seriously as I am. Kate would enjoy this extended vacation. Katy wants to make this permanent.

Oh, I’m pathetic
, I think as I smooth out my wrinkled, inside-out dress and pat down my passion-rumpled hair. Marriage mad and baby crazed, I’m trying to make a home out of a flimsy tentalow. I have to get something through my messy head: Either I enjoy my time with Carson, understanding that it’s temporary, or I might as well go home right now.

I step back into the tent, expecting to see Carson still asleep, but he’s awake, leaning against the headboard of the bed, arms folded across his bare chest. He has a serious expression on his face. “You lied to me about something else.”

My belly goes cold. “What now?”

“Brigitte called you Katy not Kate.” He tries to suppress a smile, knowing he got me.

Relief whooshes out of me in a sigh. “Everybody calls me Katy.”

Carson pushes aside the bed sheet draped over his body, and he crawls over to me, kneeling in front of me. “I don’t want to be ‘everybody’ to you,” he says, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me back on to the bed.

A KISS-FILLED while later, after brunch for two, we go to the front desk. Carson tells Juan I’ll be staying another week, a time period I chose because it injected a small dose of sanity into this situation and because it’s all I can financially justify, since I can’t ask
Bon Voyage
to pay for the extra time. No one could argue with an extra week in paradise, not even the most sensible people in the world. Two of whom I’m writing to now.

I sit down at the guest computer, remembering my vivid fantasy from when I first met Carson, when I had a vision of us spending our lives together. Just like a scene from that fantasy, I compose an email:
Dear Mom and Bethy, I’m not coming home just yet.

I can’t stop myself from adding,
I think I’m in love.