He's the One (19 page)

“Fifteen dollars an hour or forty for a half day,” Steve relayed the cost of the rental.

“One hour,” Brad was quick to say. While he hadn’t skimboarded for five years, he’d
once been good at the sport. He hoped to regain his rhythm. More importantly, he didn’t
want to leave Violet on the beach alone sunbathing for too long.

Vi counted out fifteen ones. Brad noticed her stack of money was getting smaller.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was used to paying his own way.
While he appreciated Vi’s gesture, it tied him up inside.

“Return the board when you’re done,” Steve said as he handed Brad a top-of-the-line
skimboard, one polished a glossy black with a dark green stripe down the center.

They walked the shoreline until they found a secluded spot on the sand. She shook
out their beach towels, and then removed her tank top, shorts, and sandals. She’d
worn a turquoise bikini beneath her clothes. She was slender but curvy. Brad stared
at her for a good long time. He could look at this woman for the rest of his life.

Vi settled on her towel, looked up at him. “You’re frowning,” she noted. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re too hot to leave here alone,” he said. “Guys will be all over you.” Several
surfers stood at the tide line, nudging each other and looking her way.

“I’m not interested in anyone but you.” Her words stroked his ego. And his dick. As
surely as if she’d taken him in her hand. She reached into the plastic shopping bag
and held up the bottle of suntan oil. “Do my back before you leave?” she requested,
stretching out on the towel.

He wouldn’t mind doing her front, too, inside her swimsuit and out. A private beach
for nude sunbathing appealed to him suddenly. Violet would look amazing with a full-body
tan.

He poured the oil in his palm and rubbed it on her shoulders and down her back, along
her legs. His fingers dipped between the shadows of her inner thighs. Touching her
turned him on. He looked down to see a familiar bulge tenting his new board shorts.
He capped the bottle and calmed himself before he stood.

He purposely left his size twelve Nikes sitting near the bottom border of her towel.
Anyone approaching her would see she was with a man and do an about-face. After picking
up his board, he jogged to the water’s edge.

“Be careful,” she called over her shoulder.

He signaled he’d heard her. He liked the fact that she looked out for him. Something
he hadn’t known often enough in his life. His mother always had a little one underfoot
when he was growing up. She never had the time for him. He didn’t blame her, but it
sure felt good to have a woman care about him. Make that two. Violet and her aunt
Molly had shown him great kindness, which he would never forget.

With the first decent swell he tossed his board. He banked off the wave and rode it
in to shore. His adrenaline pumped. It seemed he’d never left the sport. His body
felt loose and fluid and up to the challenge. He spent what he assumed was an hour
in the water. Then decided it was time to return to Violet.

He headed in, just as she swam out to him. She was a strong freestyle swimmer, sleek
in her strokes.

“I missed you,” she said when she reached him.

“I was on my way back,” he told her.

He hooked his board under one arm and hugged her close. She snuggled up to him, letting
him know with a sexy squeeze to his butt how much she’d missed him. The ocean splashed
around them like a playful child. Tucked against him, her body was slick and slippery.
Shimmering in the sunshine. Her hair had a life of its own. Her nose and the arc of
her cheekbones were slightly pink. He didn’t want her sunburned. It was time to seek
shade.

“Let’s set up under the pier,” he suggested.

She agreed. They came ashore, collected their towels and clothes, and sought the shadowed
canopy of a cement piling. “Popsicle?” she asked as they passed one of many refreshment
stands. “Grape, banana, or cherry?”

“Grape, and I’ll buy,” he said, reaching for her beach bag. His wallet was in the
pocket of his athletic shorts, folded inside.

She twisted away from him, shook her head adamantly. “Today’s all about you, Brad
Davis. Save your money for another time.”

She scooped out a handful of change from the side zipper enclosure, counted out two
dollars. “Back in a flash.”

He stared after her, admiring her walk across the sugar sand. Her steps were light;
her energy was high. Her bikini rode up her bottom, revealing her tan lines and the
tight curve of her ass. His hands itched to cup her. To draw her so close that he
could trace the crease of her thighs with his thumbs. Then tease her beneath the elastic
at her crotch until she was wet and wanting him.

Damn, he was about to have a heatstroke. And not from the sun. Violet Cates was one
hot woman. It would take more than a frozen treat to cool him off.

She was quick to return. Her lips were already red and moist from her cherry Popsicle.
Her tongue flicked the rounded tip before she sucked it into her mouth. Deep.

His dick twitched. “You’re doing that on purpose,” he accused, groaning.

“You think?” she teased.

“I know.” He took the Popsicle she offered. Ate it in three bites. His mouth went
from icy cold to dry as sand as he watched her finish off her treat. Her sensual licks,
the erotic slide into her mouth, made him as stiff as his skimboard. He was thankful
that his board shorts were baggy enough to hide his boner.

The sun spiked its zenith, and shade was minimal. They walked to the water sport shack
and returned his rental, then captured a square of privacy beneath the wooden planks
of the pier. They sat on their towels, their shoulders touching, as they held hands.

Brad looked out over the Gulf, letting their past return with the incoming tide. “In
all the time I’ve known you, Vi,” he said, “we’ve kissed three hundred and forty-eight
times on this beach.”

“You kept count?” She appeared surprised, yet pleased. Tilting her head, she took
his mouth. “Three hundred forty-nine,” she breathed against his lips.

“Three-fifty.” He upped the count once more.

Her smile was soft. “Midnight was our make-out hour. We spent equal time between the
storeroom at the diner and under the pier. The Gulf stole your shoes and socks and
my scrunchies.”

“I carried the beach home with me,” said Brad.

“There was always sand between my toes and in the crack of my ass.”

“Your butt more than mine,” Vi recalled. “You let me be on top.”

“I was a gentleman,” he said, tongue in cheek.

She laughed at him. “You were a bad boy with sex on your brain.”

“My mind was always on you.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Mine was on you, too.”

He brushed her bangs off her forehead, grew serious. “Where are we at, Vi?” he asked.
He needed to come to grips with where their relationship was headed and braced himself
for her answer. Everything was happening so fast, but he wanted to get serious with
her, have a life together. On the other hand, he’d just returned home. Maybe it was
too soon for her to know where they stood.

She scooped up a handful of sand, let it filter through her fingers, like time slowing
down. “Where do you want us to be?” She waited quietly for his answer, but he could
see her hand was shaking. He imagined her heart was thumping in her chest. His was,
for sure.

“In my perfect world, we’d work together and achieve our goals,” he slowly said. That
much was true. Here came the hard part. He reached for her hand, held it tight. He
needed to know her true feelings. She believed he was the same man he’d been when
he’d left town. He’d yet to tell her otherwise.

“I haven’t changed much since the last time I saw you, Vi.” He paused, then let go
with the big question. “Are you willing to start where we left off?”

She sighed heavily, as if releasing the weight of the world. “I’ve struggled financially
all my life,” she said honestly. “It would be nice to have someone to support my dreams
and believe in our future. You’re the one, Brad. You always have been, always will
be.”

“Life partners, I like that.” His chest warmed. He liked being
her one
. He had every plan to marry this woman.

He squeezed her hand, smiled. “How shall we celebrate our partnership in business
and pleasure?”

“It’s our day off from work, so no shop talk.” She nuzzled his jaw, worked her way
up to his ear. Flicked her tongue to his lobe. “How about talking dirty in bed?”

His agreement came with his erection.

The sun was hot on his back as they left the beach.

His groin burned even hotter.

Chapter Five

L
ife partners?
Violet Cates hashed the words over and over again in her mind as she changed the
sheets on her bed. Brad wanted to spend his life with her, they’d become business
associates, but he had yet to mention marriage. That worried her, she realized. More
than a little. She loved this man. She wanted commitment and a ring on her finger.
She tried not to dwell on the matter.

Another issue weighed far more heavily in her heart.

Three weeks had passed. Joe had returned from his Las Vegas vacation, far richer than
when he’d left. He’d hit big at the roulette table. He’d put his trailer up for sale
and purchased a house several miles inland. Molly was his interior decorator. By the
twinkle in her eye, Vi suspected Lady Luck had dealt the two of them a winning hand.

She figured her aunt was fixing up his home to fit her own specifications. She and
Joe were often seen together after work, taking a walk on the boardwalk or at the
movies. They’d been caught kissing under the pier, which made Violet smile. A person
was never too old for a moonlight kiss. Molly had worked hard all her life. She and
Joe needed to capture those special moments together and make their own memories.

Violet dropped down on the foot of her bed; her shoulders slumped. She dipped her
head, clasped her hands on her lap. Joe had hinted to Molly that he’d like to travel,
to see Europe and Asia before age crept up and kept them home.

Vi wondered what would happen to the diner if the two of them took off on their world
tour. It was Cates policy to pass down the family businesses from generation to generation.
Molly’s father was a Malone who’d married a Cates. Molly had been their only child.
Her dad had opened the corner diner when she was born. It had been named in her honor.
Molly had never married. Chances were good one of her cousins would take over running
the diner, or, Vi’s worst fear, the boardwalk landmark would go on the market. Violet
hoped that would never happen. Although she had a gut feeling it could.

The thought of Molly Malone’s being sold chilled her to the bone. Tears pressed her
eyelids. She wished with all her heart she had the money to invest in the diner. What
if the new owner wanted to change things? The menu, the décor, even her uniform? She
never considered for a moment that she and Brad could lose their jobs. That wasn’t
how things were done on the boardwalk.

A new owner might not see it that way, she realized. Then where would they be? Especially
now when Brad was getting back on his feet. It wasn’t fair, but what could she do?

Unfortunately, her finances were still tight. Even if she and Brad combined earnings
and opened a joint savings account, it wouldn’t be enough. Her debt and doubts seeped
into their future. She hated feeling so vulnerable.

The sound of footsteps made her look up. She saw Brad leaning against the door frame.
Tall and handsome and looking very much like a man happy to see his woman. “Everything
okay?” he asked, concerned.

She shrugged, forced a smile. “Just thinking.”

“Too hard, from what I see,” he said, crossing to her. He lowered himself beside her.
He was dressed casually in a navy shirt and khaki pants. “Share?” He curved his arm
over her shoulders, offering to listen to whatever might be bothering her. She liked
that about him. He didn’t pass judgment, didn’t pry, but he was there for her when
she needed him.

She appreciated his strength and support, but she didn’t want to lay her concerns
on him. Why spoil everything? Brad was the best part of her day. They’d worked the
early shift at the diner, come home, and picked up around the cottage. Then fooled
around in bed. Cuddled up together afterward. Went on to take a shower. She breathed
him in now. His skin still smelled of almond soap. His body was warm and wonderfully
male.

“I was debating taking a walk,” she said, wanting to clear her head. “Breathe some
fresh air and catch the sunset.”

“Want company or would you rather go alone?” he asked, offering her space.

His consideration warmed her heart. She kissed him on the cheek. “My life is better
with you.”

They rose from sitting on the bed; love and understanding stood with them. Their feelings
only strengthened as they left the cottage holding hands and headed toward the boardwalk.
Their silence held the familiarity of two people comfortable with each other.

They soon reached the corner where Center Street came to a dead end. Barefoot William
stretched to the right, Saunders Shores to the left. Friday night and the Barefoot
William boardwalk was alive with music and amusements. Sunburned tourists came off
the beach and wandered into the shops, seeking souvenirs. Everyone wanted to take
home a memory. T-shirts, sand globes, posters and postcards, tote bags, and bumper
stickers were at the top of their lists.

Boxes of homemade fudge from Fudgin’ It and bags of penny candy from Goody Gumdrops
satisfied those with a sweet tooth. Florida Sunshine sold citrus. Old Tyme Portraits
allowed customers to stand behind life-sized cardboard cutouts, their smiling faces
showing above vintage swimwear. The framed black-and-white photographs were a popular
keepsake.

“Which way?” Brad asked, allowing her to decide.

She was in the mood for peace and quiet. “The Shores,” she said. “Let’s window-shop
with the rich and famous. Then sit on a bench and watch the sun set. Maybe stop at
Lavender’s for sorbet, if it’s within our budget.”

“Even if it wasn’t, Vi, there are times we need to splurge,” he said, squeezing her
hand. “We can’t stop living just because we’re saving for our business.”

She liked his way of thinking. Cool, honest, and practical.

He tucked her to his side, and they turned left. He gave her a sense of security.
No matter what happened in her life, she and Brad were a team. They were business
associates and partners in the bedroom, and, hopefully someday, they’d be husband
and wife.
And
working together at Molly Malone’s. Brad could work his way up to manager and she
could learn to do the books.

Before them now, Saunders Shores bore the stamp of great wealth. It differed greatly
from Barefoot William. The walkway shifted from cracked cement to cocoa-brown brick.
Here, there were no in-line skaters, unicyclists, street singers, portrait painters,
magicians, or vendors hawking hot dogs and churros.

There were no rickshaw pedicabs. No one wore swimsuits or walked around barefoot.
The patrons shopping the main city blocks were dignified and well dressed. No one
browsed; everyone bought. Customers carried designer boxes and bags. The boutique
and café owners flourished.

Bronze-tinted storefront windows shone gold as twilight tugged down the sun. The sky
became a spectacular finger painting of red, yellow, and orange. Purple smeared the
horizon.

They stopped before a formal dress shop and admired the fancy dresses and proper tuxedos,
then inhaled deeply as they passed an outdoor Italian bistro. A jewelry store caught
her eye and Violet couldn’t help staring through the window. Diamond rings of every
cut, clarity, and carat were displayed on glass tiers. She sighed over a pink basket-set
diamond on a platinum band. The ring radiated love.

Brad lifted her hand and gently kissed her palm. Her heart beat faster. Did he know
what she was thinking? If so, he wasn’t going to tell her. Without a word, he led
her toward a polished wooden bench so lacquered it looked slippery.

They sat together, drawn into the darkness. Outside lights soon flickered on. The
lantern-styled lampposts stretched the length of the boardwalk. Tall pole lighting
lit the sugar sand for late-night walks. Cabana boys raked footprints from the sand
at all hours, keeping the beach pristine. The ocean was as calm and glistening as
a mirror.

Violet relaxed her body against Brad’s. They seemed to sift together in a slow and
easy rhythm. “Being superrich would be nice,” she softly said, “but it would make
me uncomfortable.”

“How so?” he asked, interested in hearing what she had to say.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself,” she said. She had her own lifestyle. It
would seem unnatural to her not to have bills to worry about or to buy retail and
not off the sales racks.

“You could travel, or perhaps take part in charitable or philanthropic projects,”
he suggested, giving her alternatives.

“That’s not me, Brad,” she said, being open and honest with him. “The diner is my
life, the customers are my family. I wish Molly and Joe well, but I’m afraid of change.
Afraid of what it could mean for us.”

“We don’t know that she will sell,” he said, his voice taking on a serious tone.

“We don’t know that she won’t.” Her heart sank. “Has Molly said anything to you, one
way or the other?”

He was slow to answer her. She took that as a bad sign. “I overheard her tell Joe
that a potential investor would be stopping by tomorrow afternoon. Someone with a
background in food service.”

Violet could barely breathe. “I’d hate to see the diner turned into a restaurant chain.
Molly Malone’s has been the cornerstone diner on the boardwalk for eighty years. The
thought of a new owner makes my stomach hurt.”

“Speculation is pointless, Vi, until we have the facts,” he said, attempting to allay
her fears. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me.” She was trembling inside, but she tried not to show
it. She felt better talking it out with him.

“So am I.” He pushed off the bench and pulled her up beside him. “Sorbet?” he invited.

“Dessert is good,” she agreed, “although one scoop of sorbet here costs more than
a tub of ice cream at our local grocery store.”

“You’re worth it, babe.” He kissed her then, a kiss as light as a breath of air. Violet
sighed against his mouth.

They entered Lavender’s through frameless glass doors etched with the letter
L
. The gourmet shop catered to the discriminating palate. The specialty flavors included
coconut-caramel, burnt-sugar plum, cranberry pear, and raspberry truffle.

Violet noticed that each dessert came in a frosted cut-glass bowl. The portions were
no bigger than a Parisian scoop, no more than two bites. The spoons were sterling
silver and tinier than a teaspoon.

The lighting was soft, and the French Mediterranean blue shutters were drawn against
the darkness. Intimacy was served with the sorbet.

The hostess seated them at a linen-covered café table. The chairs were an intricate
white wrought iron. A server soon arrived. “I’m Alyssa, your water sommelier,” she
said. Violet looked at Brad, who was trying hard not to grin. “I’ll bring your sparkling
water and Marissa will take your order. Do you prefer San Pellegrino or Perrier?”
she asked.

“Tap,” Brad said from the corner of his mouth.

Violet held back her smile. “Perrier, please.”

“A good choice,” Alyssa complimented. “Perrier has nice fat bubbles.” She went for
their drinks.

“A server to taste water,” Vi said, amazed. “This place is elegant.”

Brad took her hand, twined their fingers. Met her gaze across the table. “I like the
way you say server,” he said. “Very sexy.”

She flicked her tongue to her upper lip. “Maitre’d, wine steward,” she said in her
most sultry voice.

“You’re making me horny.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Naming restaurant staff is hardly sex talk,” she teased
him.

“It’s your tone, babe. The words come from deep in your throat, warm, low, and breathy.”
He shifted on his chair, then gave her a hungry look that curled her toes. “You turn
me on.”

Violet stopped talking when Alyssa returned with their tall, fluted glasses of sparkling
water. No ice. The crystal made the water sparkle twice as bright. Vi took a sip.

Shortly thereafter, Marissa arrived. She set a sheet of lavender parchment paper before
each of them. The menu curled slightly, and was as thin and delicate as tissue paper.
Vi and Brad looked at each other with a skeptical eye. They were both afraid to touch
it. Ever so gently, Violet ran her finger along the edge and read the selections.

“We have two specialty flavors on our list this evening,” Marissa pointed out. “Limoncello-mint
and Bittersweet Chocolate-cherry.”

Violet decided on the burnt-sugar plum sorbet and Brad selected coconut-caramel. Alyssa
was quick to bring their orders. She set the cut-glass bowls on a lacy ecru doily.

“These are too pretty to eat,” Violet said, reluctant to spoil such a lovely arrangement.
Her scoop of sorbet was artfully topped with a sprinkle of lavender-colored sugar.
Thin slices of plum framed the scoop of sorbet.

She watched as Brad picked up his spoon, a utensil so small he was forced to hold
it with his fingertips. He scooped up a small portion, mindful to include flakes of
coconut and shredded caramel.

She planned to eat slowly and savor every bite. Her body heated as the sorbet melted
in her mouth. She had the urge to kiss Brad, to mix the sweet, sensually smooth flavors
of their desserts on her tongue.

She shook herself. Lavender’s was not the place for deep kisses, yet it was always
fun to fantasize. She stretched out the two-bite dessert, turning it into four.

She fell in love with Brad all over again when he switched their sorbets, giving her
the last bite from his bowl. Pure decadence, and nearly as good as having sex.

She took a slow sip of her Perrier, then said, “I’m feeling very appreciative toward
you at this moment.”

“How grateful?”

“Naked grateful.”

He motioned to Alyssa, who brought their bill. Their desserts were an extravagance
made sweeter by the man at her side. Violet noticed he left a large tip. He was generous.