Sea Kissed, A Crane Series Romance: Crane Series (7 page)

She was bent over, her upper body sprawled on the couch, her blouse pulling out of the waistband of her skirt from the thrusting movements of her hips. Her hair tangled in disarray and her hands clutched and unclutched against the upholstery as she pushed herself back against him; but there was a space where her hair had parted away from the nape of her neck. The skin looked so white and silky against her dark hair and he could see the bump of a vertebrae. Something about the sight of that patch of skin filled him with tenderness, even as his body rutted with animal need.

Her lower body was pushing and squirming against him, her mouth open and panting. He felt hot, slick walls begin to close in on him, a hot squeeze with every thrust. He slipped a hand to the front of her body beneath her skirt and found her hot button, slick with oil and her own juices. The minute he touched it she started to shudder and the pleasant squeezing increased in intensity.

He was only human. He’d fantasized about this moment while he’d been propped and bent and photographed and ordered into some new and equally ridiculous position and photographed again. Now here she was, gyrating madly against him, her body hotly milking him, those crazy sounds coming from her throat and that sweet, vulnerable skin at the back of her neck shining up at him. He felt the wave build somewhere beneath his feet, felt it pick him up, while he battled to stay on the crest, battled to hold her with him, until the wave seemed to break between them, tossing them out into the ocean before bringing them softly into shore.

Anyone who didn’t believe surfing and sex were related was crazy.

“What would you have done if you hadn’t had to leave school when you were sixteen?” Lise asked Steve.

They were in bed, having crawled from the living room straight to the shower and spent so long together under the pounding water that she felt cleaner than she ever had in her life, and more satiated. There was nothing like good sex for making her loquacious, and while Steve wasn’t a big post-coital chatterbox, at least he didn’t go from orgasm to REM in under ten seconds like her last boyfriend. His chest rose and fell with his steady breathing and under her hand she felt the regular beat of his heart as he pondered her question.

“I wanted to go to university,” he said at last. “I was interested in engineering.”

“You still could. You’re young enough.”

“Dunno. I’ve got my life now.” He waved a hand around the elegant hotel suite. “It’s not like this. This was just a bit of fun.” He rolled over until he was heavily on top of her and stared down into her eyes, as serious as she’d ever seen him. “It doesn’t feel like a bit of fun, though, does it?”

Unable to speak for the lump in her throat, she shook her head.

He kissed her softly. “Come home with me.”

“Pardon me?”

“When I go home, come with me.”

Her heart jerked and stuttered painfully in her chest. “What are you saying?”

He glanced off to a spot on the pillow. “You must be due for a holiday, you work hard enough. Take a few weeks off and come back to Oz with me. I’ll show you ’round a bit. Take you for some proper surfing. I won’t be going back to work for a few more weeks.”

“And then what?” she asked, her voice as hollow as the feeling in her chest.

He shrugged, but she could see from the frown pulling his brows together that he was as confused as she. She tried to smile, but it wasn’t easy. “Or you could stay.” She could see he was going to refuse so she rushed on, heedless of the fact that she was probably making the hugest fool of herself ever. “There are wonderful universities here, and you could organize your schedule so you could still do some work for Crane.”

Lise’s instincts were pretty good, and when she’d seen the photo shoot, she’d known, just as she had from the commercial shoot, that they had a winner on their hands. When Steve found his focus, he had the most amazing ability to project both a rugged manliness and a mouth-watering sexiness. He was that Hugh Jackman type, a rare man who could appeal to both the male and female consumer. Sure, Jennifer Talbot had discovered him, but Lise knew she’d groomed and shaped him. She understood him well enough to help him through the inevitable awkwardness of changing from a steelworker to a product spokesman.

She could also help him realize his dreams. With her love and support, he could do anything. Even as she accepted that she loved him, had fallen into love with him far quicker than was good for her, she also accepted that she might lose him. He had family, a completely different career, and another life on the other side of the world. She’d even follow him there if he asked more of her than a few weeks’ holiday. She’d give up her job and her life here in California to be a steelworker’s wife in Australia. She knew she would. But for one problem. He hadn’t asked her. His wedding ring phobia didn’t seem to be any closer to being cured than when she’d first slept with him. She tried to smile, but it went pretty crooked at the corners.

“I don’t think a holiday in Australia is a good idea for me right now,” she said. “This campaign is really important to my career.” And if a career was all she was going to have—damn it—she was going to have a stellar one.

“Once we finish all the nonsense that’s in my contract next week, I’m going home,” he told her softly, running a hand down her cheek as though memorizing its texture.

She nodded, unable to speak. How had she let this happen? She was a sensible woman in control of her life; how on earth had she fallen so completely for this man in a matter of weeks? Why couldn’t she be like Sonia and change men like she’d change a dress? Why did she have to fall so heavily for a man she couldn’t have?

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling her to him almost fiercely.

“Me, too,” she mumbled into his chest.

The rest of the week was a blur. It wasn’t so bad during the day when they were working, but at night she could hardly bear it. They were together every second, making love like two people doomed to be eternally parted. But the week passed, probably at about the same rate most weeks passed; it was only to Lise that time felt like a trick rug being pulled out from under her feet. His plane was booked. She’d seen the ticket. Everything they needed him for here in California was done. The rest could be tweaked in Sydney. Of course she knew there would be calls for his services when those ads started running, but he’d be sweating on a bridge somewhere thousands of miles away, his hair gilded by the sun, his body bronzed by it. And she’d be nothing but a memory.

“I can’t take you to the airport tomorrow,” she said the last night they were together.

She’d made enough of a fool of herself when she’d met him there when he arrived. She’d top her own record if she wailed and clung to his knees trying to stop him from leaving her. No, if she wanted to hang on to any scrap of pride, she was going to say goodbye in private. He nodded, looking so sad and lost she wanted to cry.

“I wish you could come with me,” he said. She shook her head slowly.

“I can’t, I—”

“I know you’re busy now, but later, when the campaign’s all done, couldn’t you—”

“No, Steve, I couldn’t.”

“I love you,” he said, almost breaking her heart.

“I know. I love you, too. But I think I must be an old-fashioned girl at heart. I want all of you. Forever.” Her voice sounded husky and old.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know. You couldn’t help it.”

So he made love to her one last time, and she made love to him, and when she woke in the morning, he was gone. She got to the office, determined to carry on with the rest of her life just as though half of her wasn’t missing. And within a couple of hours of her return to the office she almost did feel like her old self. Her head ached and her belly burned.

“I thought you’d kicked that habit,” Sonia said, walking in as she was in the middle of chugging a couple of pain pills down with antacid.

She screwed the white plastic cap back on and shoved the stuff into its accustomed place in her top drawer. “Nope. Just took a holiday.” She sighed deeply. “But the holiday’s over now.”

She pulled up the ad layout that had put the burn in her stomach and the pain in her head. Of all the possible jobs for her to be stuck with, did it have to be the advertising campaign that featured all Steve all the time? His wonderful, strong, decent face that she’d kissed so many times. His gorgeous green eyes that had twinkled at her so often, and looked at her so sadly at the end, the body that had brought hers so much pleasure. The man she loved in all his parts. How was she going to get over the man when she had to work with his image and his voice for weeks yet?

She grit her teeth and got on with it, knowing that this was still one of the most important clients she’d ever worked for and that this campaign was going to be the best work she’d ever done. A couple of hours went by, and she refused to acknowledge that his plane must have taken off by now. He was on his way home to his steel and his family and those
sheilas
that would soon make him forget about her. A knock sounded on her open door, and she turned to find Anton from the art department standing there.

“I’ve got the mock-up of the Crane magazine ad,” he said. Anton was the best she had—intense, focused, and hip to the max from his spiky hair to his shoes.

“Come on in,” she said, feigning excitement. Until she looked at the mock-up and then the excitement turned real. “Oh, Anton, this is fabulous,” she said.

There he was. Steve, her Steve, balanced on a Crane surfboard, his glorious body bent forward into the wind, his eyes squinting right at her, fiercely focused. Anton had put him into the curl of a wave the likes of which she’d never seen, but she knew better. That man had been thinking of her, not the ocean. A small smile played over her lips as she recalled the aftermath of that photo shoot. Her desk phone rang, and because she was wandering, blissed out, down memory lane and had forgotten she was in a meeting with Anton, she picked it up.

“Lise,” he said. Just that one word.

“Steve?” Her heart banged painfully against her ribs. She calculated rapidly, he must be halfway to Hawaii by now. Was he phoning her from the plane?

“I need someone to pick me up from the airport. I was wondering if you were free.” Her head was spinning.

Airport? “Which airport?”

“San Francisco,” he said with the ghost of a laugh.

“What happened? Was your plane cancelled? Delayed?”

“No. It took off all right, but I wasn’t on it.”

She swallowed hard. With a mutter of protest, Anton removed the mock-up from her hands before her clutching, sweating fingers could destroy it.

“I’ll come back later,” he said and left, closing her office door behind him.

“Why weren’t you on the plane?”

“You know, I’m not entirely sure. I’d like to take some time to work that out.”

“How—how much time were you thinking of?”

“As long as it takes.”

Forever. She was thinking a question like that could take at least a lifetime to work out. In that time, so much could happen. There was Crane, acting if he wanted it, university if he still dreamed of being an engineer. They could spend time here and time in Australia. If they loved each other enough, anything was possible.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes. Sorry. You took me by surprise.” Why could she only find one shoe? She’d slipped them off earlier and now her questing toes could only reach one.

“So, you’ll come to the airport and pick me up?”

“Yes, if I can ever find my other shoe.”

He chuckled. “Borrow Sonia’s. And maybe you can borrow her dress again while you’re at it.”

“I can’t believe you—”

But she was cut off by a chuckle. “I love you,” he said.

And really, what else was there to say?

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You might like to try some more fun, sexy stories by Nancy:

The Crane Series

 
Sun Kissed

Sea Kissed

Star Kissed

Take a Chance Series:

Kiss a Girl in the Rain, Take a Chance Book 1

Iris in Bloom, Take a Chance, Book 2

Chance Encounter, a Prequel to the Take a Chance series

The Changing Gears series:

Fast Ride

Wild Ride

Crazy Ride

Rich Bitch, Everything’s Going to the Dogs

The Christmas Grandma Ran Away from Home

Steamy Southern Nights

Let it Snow

Unwrapping Santa

The 12 Dates of Christmas

Border Collie Christmas

The Toni Diamond Mysteries Series:

Frosted Shadow

Ultimate Concealer

Nancy Warren is the USA Today bestselling author of more than fifty novels. She’s known for writing funny, sexy and suspenseful tales. She calls Vancouver, Canada home though she tends to wander. Her travels in Australia inspired the Crane Series, of course. She’s an avid hiker, animal lover, wine drinker and chocolate fiend. Favorite moments in her career include being featured on the front page of the New York Times when she launched Harlequin’s NASCAR series with Speed Dating. She was also the answer to a crossword puzzle clue in Canada’s National Post newspaper. She’s been a double finalist in the Rita awards and has won the Reviewer’s Choice Award from Romantic Times magazine. She spills secrets in her newsletter and you can sign up at
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“Flat white, please,” Bronwyn Spencer said to the young guy at the coffee stand at Sydney Airport.

Trying to organize coffee and smother a yawn at the same time was using all the energy she possessed this early in the morning. A Saturday morning, too, her prime laying-in time sacrificed for some stiff-arsed Yank she had to babysit. Honestly, if it were anyone but Cam who’d asked her to give up a Saturday for a boring suit she’d have laughed right in his face. But Cameron Crane was her big half-brother and, in spite of the fact that he drove her crazy, bossed her about, lectured her about her extravagance and poor taste in men, and generally interfered in matters he should leave well enough alone, she adored him.

Nothing else would bring her here at this time of the morning. Not after the party last night. Bron was young, healthy, and attractive, and she firmly believed that youth was a time to party. Which she’d done heartily until hunger drove her out for a pie at Harry’s Café de Wheels in the wee hours, and then reluctantly she’d gone home, deciding on a few hours of sleep before her babysitting assignment.

She dragged out the photo of the man she’d be looking after for the next fortnight. Mark Forsythe. Even his name sounded wet. He was some sort of finance type, coming over to sort out Crane’s financial system and explain how all the taxes worked in the American market. She knew this was important, but she couldn’t imagine anything more boring. She’d tried to balance her checkbook once and found it so futile she’d given up. She’d discovered instead a wonderful thing called overdraft protection. And after that ran out, in extreme emergencies there was always Cam.

Except that he wasn’t here. Off with his new lovey dove right when she most needed him. Why did her overdraft have to run out right when the week’s rent was due? Oh, well. Luckily she was a resourceful woman and had allowed Cam to bail her out of a jam once more, even though he’d done it without his knowledge. Which wasn’t her fault. He hadn’t been around to ask.

She wasn’t going to stand around like a dickhead holding a sign with Mark Forsythe’s name on it, so she was going to have to recognize the man. She studied his corporate photo while she drank the coffee. Mark Forsythe gazed back at her from a corporate head shot, earnest and dull. Black hair that would look better if it was a little longer and not so neat, serious blue eyes in a serious, narrow face. Firm lips that looked as though they never smiled at a joke, never mind told one. Her lip curled. It was going to be a long two weeks. Already she was irritated with the man since she was on time and his flight wasn’t. She could have snatched a bit more sleep.

Her feet ached from all the dancing last night, and she stretched them out, noticing the coral polish on her nails was already chipped. With a quiet chuckle she remembered that Fiona had outlasted her at the party, and seemed pretty keen on a blond surfie from Brisbane wearing a shirt of so hideous a green that it ought to be burned. She wondered how Fi was faring and pulled out her mobile. She hesitated, and then decided that if she had to be up and functioning at nine in the morning on a Saturday, her best mate ought to as well. She punched in the number and after a few rings, Fiona answered.

“This better be life or death.”

“Did you go home with your surfie?”

A great groan met her ears. “What the bloody hell are you doing ringing me at this hour?”

“Well, did you?”

A few passengers began drifting out from the California flight. Idly she watched them blinking with tiredness, or stretching after more hours than she cared to contemplate stuffed in a tin can thirty thousand feet above earth. Bron shook her head; she firmly believed that if God had meant man to fly, he’d have given surfboards wings. She glanced down at the black-haired, serious and controlled-looking man in the photo and kept her eyes open while Fiona yawned and groaned.

“No,” her friend said, finally. “I didn’t go home with him. Now would you piss off?”

A man came through the glass doors alone. Right general age and he had black hair, but he was nothing like the photograph. His hair was a mess. He must have fallen asleep against something that had pushed his hair up one side. His face was shadowy with stubble, giving him a disreputable look. He wore a navy short-sleeved shirt that had wrinkled badly and tan chinos. He moved slowly, but she liked the way he walked, with a kind of rolling gait, as though he were getting off a boat rather than a plane.

He stood as though he were about to fall asleep on his feet, his gaze searching out someone. Then their gazes connected and she felt her heart flop over. No photograph could have captured the blue of his eyes. They were the dark, smoky blue of a wailing sax at some bar at three in the morning, with a half-drunk whiskey and a smoldering cigarette. They were so tired, and so lonely in a cynical way that she wanted to fix everything for him and kiss his hurts better. It was an odd reaction for her to have for a stranger, but he didn’t even look like a stranger she thought with a spurt of recognition. He held a briefcase in one hand and a black suitcase in the other. She glanced at the photo and back at him, every hormone in her body doing a victory dance.

“Oh, my God,” she said into the phone. “He’s gorgeous.”