Moonshell Beach: A Shelter Bay Novel (28 page)

Although she had several women friends, in truth, compared with the sisterhood these women seemed to share, hers were more business associates. And in her business, the unmentioned elephant in the room was very often colored the green of envy. Quinn had warned her that the more successful she became, the fewer close personal friends she’d have.

At the time, because she’d had so many friends at university, even after she’d first begun winning awards, she’d thought that his view was merely jaded. Unfortunately, she’d found that, like everything
else he’d warned her about, it had turned out to be true.

“Something wrong?” J.T. asked.

“No.” She shook off the slight depression. This was, after all, a time for celebration. “I was just thinking about work.” Which was mostly true.

“Not tonight.” He took the fluted champagne glass out of her hand and placed it on the tray of a passing waiter, whom Kara recognized as one of the film students from that first day’s questioning. “We’ve never danced.”

“We’ve only known each other four days,” she pointed out.

“True,” he said as he drew her into his arms. “So why does it feel like forever?”

“I hear they say that about swine flu, too,” she said, trying to make light of his question.

“And here I thought I was the negative one.” When his lips brushed her temple, the uncharacteristic public display caused hope to flutter in her heart.

“All I was saying was that this was a fling. A lovely one, but I’m leaving the day after tomorrow.” She waited for him to tell her not to go.

“Yeah, you keep telling me that. But you know what you said about Tara?”

Because his breath fanning her hair was proving seductively distracting, it took her a moment. “That I was going to think about what I was going to do about my career tomorrow?”

“Exactly.” He drew her even closer. “That’s what I’ve decided to do about you going back to Tinseltown.”

Although his tone was far lighter than that first
day when it had been obvious that he hadn’t wanted to be stuck with her, Mary felt something different about him tonight. Something edgy. Almost…dangerous.

As they swayed to his mother’s husky rendition of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy,” which Mary thought probably suited hers and J.T.’s situation, his hands moved down her back, cupping her bottom, lifting her.…

“J.T.,” she hissed as he held her against an erection he didn’t attempt to conceal, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“Dancing?”

He might call it that, but it was rapidly becoming the closest Mary had ever come to making love in a vertical position. When he nipped at the lobe of her ear with his teeth, she felt her knees weaken and dug her nails into his shoulders.

“How much have you had to drink?” she asked suspiciously.

“Only half a glass of champagne.” He buried his face in her neck. And…licked? “But I gotta tell you, sweetheart, I don’t need alcohol when you’re around. Because you’re intoxicating enough all by yourself.”

Oh, God. Even as Mary told herself that she should back away from a potentially embarrassing situation, the swelling virility between his legs was making her ache in a way that had her own sexual senses suddenly, vividly alive.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you?” His voice was deep and dark with edgy passion that made even breathing an effort.

“I have a fairly good idea.” She reached up and traced his lips with a fingernail, which caused memories
of what the man was capable of doing with that sensual mouth to come crashing down on her.

“What would you say to getting out of here?”

Yes!
her body shouted.

It wouldn’t be polite,
her more rational head argued.

“We should wait until the brides and grooms leave.”

“Look at them.” He pulled her closer still. When he rubbed against her, she was amazed the friction hadn’t created sparks hot enough to burn the farmhouse down. “They’re lost in such a lovey-dovey world, they’re not even aware that anyone else is here.”

She followed his gaze to where Sax and Kara were swaying in much the same way she and J.T. were. The difference was that Kara had several levels of crinolines keeping the dance from becoming indecent. Nearby, Faith and John seemed equally enthralled with each other.

“You know,” she said, “champagne always gives me a headache.”

“Really?”

“It’s true. I believe I feel a migraine coming on.”

“Well, then.” Despite their closeness, he deftly twirled her past the two twins from the boutique, who were dancing with their twin husbands. “Perhaps we’d better get you to bed.” He was, Mary noticed, headed toward the door.

And she had absolutely no intention of stopping him.

J.T. pulled her to him, heat to heat, the moment they’d entered the suite, kicking the door closed behind them. Then took her mouth in a hard, claiming kiss, his tongue sweeping deep, mating with hers with a primal power that made her head swim. Clinging to him, Mary kissed him back, her avid mouth as hungry as his.

Outside the inn, the night rain, which had finally blown in from the sea, beat a hard percussion on the roof.

Inside, a storm swirled.

Unlike the other times they’d made love over the past two days, there were no words, no soft lovers’ sighs. Only blurred movement, drugged sensations, blinding passion.

His hands, his mouth, were rough as they filled themselves with her and plundered. Mary heard the sound of silk ripping, and welcomed it.

Baring her to the waist, he tore away the lacy bra and tossed it across the room, where it landed on a wingback chair. Then he took her breasts, his thumbs creating havoc on her nipples, which were straining
to a point just this side of pain. When his teeth closed on one of those aching peaks, then tugged, desire shot through her like a whip: sharp, stinging, and oh, so very hot.

Desperate, needy, wanting to touch him as he was touching her, she reached for the zipper of his suit pants.

“Not yet.”

His long fingers braceleted both her wrists, lifting her arms above her head as he used his superior strength to press her back against the door.

“Do you have any idea what I want from you?” he rasped as his free hand dove beneath the scrap of a dress that was now hanging low on her hips.

“What?” she managed to answer as he cupped her. Though she had a very good idea.

His eyes were hot, his smile carnal, as he whipped away the triangle of damp lace between her legs.

“Everything.”

Freeing himself, he revealed admirable dexterity by managing to deal with the condom with one hand, then lifted her up. “Wrap those long sexy legs around me,
chère
,” he growled against her mouth. “And hold on tight.”

They made love without undressing, against the door, Mary’s hands, finally freed, gripping his dark hair as they raced over that ragged edge together.

Somehow they made it to the bed, where this time the pace was slow, tender, and so beautiful that Mary nearly wept. Colors, fading from the red of a bursting star of orgasm, to rose, to a cool, pinkish blue, were floating peacefully in her mind as she drifted off to sleep, her head on J.T.’s broad chest, her legs entwined with his.

The dream returned. But this time, instead of her warrior claiming her while a battle raged behind them, he was making glorious love to her in a meadow beside a lake she recognized all too well. Wasn’t it the very same lake she’d grown up visiting? The one where Quinn had filmed
The Lady of the Lake
?

And then, as dreams have a tendency to do, it morphed, and she was walking on the cliff above a roiling, stormy sea, awaiting her sailor’s return. Unsurprisingly, when the scene shifted out to the boat, it was J.T. fighting the sails being blown about by the wind.

Mary wasn’t the only one who’d been dreaming. Waking up wanting her, J.T. rolled over, only to find her side of the bed empty. He waited a few minutes for her to return, then went looking for her.

She was curled up in a chair, wearing a silk robe, her feet tucked beneath her, madly scribbling on a notepad. When she didn’t so much as look up when he entered the living room of the suite, he realized she was a million miles away.

He was about to leave her to go take a shower when she emerged from wherever she’d been.

“Good morning.” Her smile warmed those lovely mermaid eyes that had cast such a spell over him in his hot dream.

“Morning.” He crossed over to her, bent down, and kissed her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t.” She put the pad down on the coffee table. “I just woke up with this scene in my head and I wanted to get it written down so I wouldn’t forget it.”

“The selkie and the fisherman?”

“The very one.”

“So, you’re going to write it.”

“Yes. I’ve decided that it’ll be my next project.” She sighed. But it wasn’t a sad sound, more resigned. And, he thought, perhaps somewhat relieved.

“I’ll admit to being upset, and angry, at how Aaron handled things,” she said. “But, in truth, we were never a good partnership. He’ll find someone else to write his vampire selkie movie and if he doesn’t miss the timing on the trend, it’ll undoubtedly make the studio a lot of money. Which is, after all, the point. As he sees it.”

“But you’ve never been about the money.”

J.T. thought about his mother, turning down that Hollywood contract and never looking back, seemingly far more content performing with her family at Bon Temps. He wouldn’t have expected a big-name movie star to have so much in common with his mother, but they were both strong, talented women who knew their own minds.

“No. As I told you when you took me on that lovely boat ride, it’s always been about the storytelling. Going independent allows me to tell the stories I want. And if the audience is smaller, well, won’t the pleasure of greater creative freedom make up for that?”

“Speaking of pleasure…”

He sat on the arm of the chair, and ran a hand down her hair, over her shoulder, then lower, to cup her breast beneath the ivory silk robe. “We still have time before you’re due at the theater. What would you say to coming back to bed?”

She took his hand, lifted it to her lips even as her eyes warmed to sapphire, giving him her answer. “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.”

How could she want him again? Mary asked herself with a lingering sense of wonder. After last night? She’d lost track of the number of times they’d turned to each other, each time proving more satisfying than the last.

And this time was no different. But in one way it was, she considered as she sat across the room service table from him, eating the breakfast they’d ordered. A breakfast far more hearty than she usually ate, but as he’d pointed out, with a wicked wag of his dark brows, she needed to keep her strength up. Because he had plans for her.

Just those words, brimming with sensual promise, had her body warming all over again.

She took a long drink of ice water, willing it to cool the desire that had risen up like that sea storm in her story. Today was the last day of the festival and she needed to keep her mind on her duties. But after that…

“I have to fly to New York tomorrow,” she said. “I’m booked on Letterman. To promote
Selkie Bride
.”

He lowered his fork, which was loaded with hash
and on the way to his mouth, to the white plate edged with a lighthouse design border. “You’re still going to do that? After what Pressler did to you?”

“The studio’s releasing the movie. But this one, at least, is still my story, so I’m willing to do my part to fill seats because I believe people will enjoy it. Besides, I gave my word.”

“And it’ll also give you a chance to set the record straight about what happened.”

Except for Quinn, there’d never been anyone in her life who truly understood the strange business she’d chosen. Nora, the rest of the family, and Kate had always been supportive. But they didn’t entirely get it. J.T. did.

“There is that,” she agreed. Then brought up the topic she’d been leading up to. “I thought that after I do the show, I might come back here.”

“To Shelter Bay?” He did not seem as surprised as he might have been. Mary took that as a positive sign.

“It’s a lovely town. I’d enjoy a chance to explore it. And”—she glanced over at the nearly filled pad on the table—“it definitely seems to appeal to my muse. It’s been a while since I had such a burst of creativity.”

“It’s the sex,” J.T. decided. “It loosens everything up.”

“Do you think so?”

“It’s a well-known scientific fact.”

“Well, then.” She gave him her best smile. The one the selkie queen had used to seduce her human scientist for the first time. “Perhaps I could hire you…as a creative consultant.”

“A gigolo.” J.T. nodded. “My brothers and Kara
have been after me to find a new occupation. That sounds like something I could handle.”

“You’d be getting no argument from me on that score. In fact, though I’d be having no actual experience in that matter, I’d say you set the standard.”

Just as she hadn’t had anyone to talk about her business with, Mary was unaccustomed to enjoying sexual bantering during breakfast. In fact—she gave it a bit more thought—even sharing a meal after a night of sex was a rare thing in the life she’d been living. Even before moving to the States.

Since she’d first appeared in Quinn’s movie, all her attention had been directed toward becoming an actress. Then, even after her goals had shifted a bit toward writing, her main focus—her entire focus, if she was to be perfectly honest with herself—had been her career.

Men, and sex, had been merely something on the side. Until J.T. Who, in these few short days, had landed directly in the center of her life.

“Then you wouldn’t have a problem with that?” she asked.

“Having sex with you? Hell, no.”

She laughed, although on one level her question had been entirely serious. “I was actually referring to my staying in town for a while.”

He reached across the table, took her hand in his, and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. Although he’d touched her everywhere, both during their lovemaking on the beach and again last night, for some reason this simple gesture seemed even more intimate.