Summer at Seaside Cove (47 page)

“In a hurry?” she asked in a prim voice—as if she wasn't.

“Yeah.” He paused at the bottom of the stairs and treated her to a deep, fierce, tongue-mating kiss that made steam pump from her pores. When he raised his head, he looked into her eyes and said, “We only have about two weeks left, so I'm not inclined to waste any time. That okay with you?”

Since his kiss had stolen her ability to speak, she merely nodded.
Two weeks left. Two weeks left.
And as he climbed the stairs with her cradled in his arms, she shoved those words right down into the Cross That Bridge When I Get There abyss to reside with the depressing thought of saying good-bye to him.

“
W
hat's all this?” Nick asked, looking at the array of ingredients and cookware set out on his countertop.

“We're ready for your cooking lesson.”

“What are we making?”

“Three things—first are frosted sugar cookies.”

Nick nodded his approval. “Excellent. I love cookies.” To prove it he stepped in behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, then lowered his head to nibble on her neck. “Yum.”

She laughed and wriggled out of his reach. When he reached for her again, she snatched a wooden spoon from the counter and brandished it like a sword. “Back off, big boy. Cooking is serious business. Don't make me get rough with you.”

Nick grinned. “Rough? Oooooh, baby. This gets better and better.” He made a rolling motion with his hand. “Carry on. What else?”

“While the cookies are baking, I'll teach you the other basics I promised—how to boil water for pasta, and how to cook eggs.”

“How long do the cookies need to bake?”

“Eight minutes. This recipe makes three batches, so we'd better get—hey! Where are you going?”

“Be right back,” he said over his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen. He returned less than a minute later. “You forgot an ingredient.” He set his contribution on the counter.

Jamie glanced down, then cocked a brow. “Condoms?”

“We have to do
something
for those eight minutes while the cookies bake.”

He watched color bloom on her skin and couldn't resist smoothing his fingertips over her velvety smooth cheek. Damn but he loved that blush. And was amazed she still could do so after the countless hours they'd spent naked together.

“And since it's only eight minutes,” he continued, “we'll need a head start.” He flicked open the button on her denim shorts, pulled down the zipper, and with a single tug, they landed around her ankles, leaving her dressed only in her white tank top and black lace panties. “Now
that's
what a cooking teacher should wear.”

Her lips twitched. “I'll remember when I give my next lesson at the senior center.”

The subtle reference to her life in New York knotted Nick's insides. With the same effort he'd put forth every day of these last two weeks, he ruthlessly shoved aside all thoughts of her leaving and forced himself to concentrate on the present. On this special moment. Because they were nearly out of moments.

She eyeballed his jeans. “So how come I'm the only one in my underwear?”

In the blink of an eye, he'd rid himself of his jeans—and his T-shirt as well. And had snatched her into his arms. “Now we're cookin',” he said, nuzzling her neck.

She laughed and pushed back against his chest. “I can see that baking cookies with you is going to take all day.”

He palmed her breast. “I sure hope so.”

She laughed again—damn, he loved that husky sound—then adopted her schoolmarm voice—another sound he loved. “Behave yourself or there'll be no cookies for you.”

He heaved an exaggerated sigh and let her go. “Fine. Show me what to do so we can get these suckers in the oven. I have plans for those eight minutes.”

Amidst much laughing and kissing and leaving floury fingerprints on each other, she taught him how to preheat the oven—which worked like a charm now that the operating manual wasn't inside—how to cream together butter and sugar, operate a hand mixer, roll out dough, and use a cookie cutter. It was fun—but only because she was there. He sure as hell couldn't imagine himself baking cookies without her. Which made this but one more in a very long list of things that were special because of her. Things, moments, he'd never forget.

After they slid the cookie sheet into the oven, she showed him how to set the timer. The instant she was done, he yanked down her panties, jerked her tank top over her head, swooped her into his arms, and carried her to the nearest chair—snagging a condom on the way.

All amusement, all playfulness vanished as the need to be inside her, to feel her wrapped around him, nearly strangled him. He set her down long enough to shuck off his underwear and roll on the condom, then sat, pulling her down so she straddled him. With her gaze on his, she lowered herself, engulfing him in her tight, wet heat. When he was fully, deeply inside her, they both stilled.

With her beautiful caramel-colored eyes looking deeply into his, he reached up to frame her face and realized his hands weren't steady. Emotions collided in him, a jumble of feelings he'd been trying for these last two weeks to figure out how to express. A thousand words that needed to be said, yet in the end they all boiled down to just one word. The word that had drummed through his brain for the past eight weeks, gathering speed as the days zoomed by, careening forward until now . . . when they had only this day, then one more. And then there would be no more days.

“Jamie.”

Her name passed his lips in a fervent whisper that ended in a groan when she rocked against him.

With her gaze still on his, she captured his hand and pressed a lingering kiss against his palm. “Nick.”

Gazes locked, they moved together, slowly at first, each stroke pushing him toward a climax he didn't want to reach. He wanted to prolong this day, this moment, never let it end. But need, desire built and soon, much too soon, they climaxed, shuddering against each other, holding tight. He'd barely caught his breath when the timer beeped. Still joined, their gazes met. The sight of her—tousled and flushed, her lips moist and swollen from his kisses—touched something inside him that he hadn't even known was there until she proved its existence.

With the incessant beep piercing the silence, she whispered, “We're out of time.”

And his heart ached with the knowledge that she was right—and it had nothing to do with cookies.

 

 

T
he morning after their lesson, Jamie awoke in Nick's bed. Lying on her side, she felt his warmth pressed against her back and took a moment to simply drink in the feel of him. God, she loved waking up in his arms. Falling asleep with his naked body pressed against hers. The sensation of his skin on hers. She glanced down and her heart constricted at the sight of his large hand splayed against her abdomen. It looked so right there. Felt so right.

And it was about to end.

Because today was her last day in Seaside Cove.

Stifling a sigh, she opened her eyes and looked at the small bedside clock. Seven A.M. Time to get up and start getting ready for the Clam Festival. Then, after the festival, she'd spend her final night with Nick. Then wake up early to catch her morning flight back to New York. To the hectic pace of the city. To everything that was familiar, that she'd known her entire life. To her family and Kate and all her other friends. To her apartment and her job and the restaurant her father had built. To her life.

Where she belonged.

Her insides ached with the knowledge that there were so many things she'd miss about Seaside Cove. The neighbors who'd become friends. The cats that wandered the neighborhood and cleaned out the food bowl she filled twice a day. The gorgeous sunrises. Walks on the beach. Buying shrimp on the side of the road. But what she'd miss most of all was Nick. How was it possible that her time here had passed so quickly? Especially the last two weeks since her family had departed. Two blissful weeks spent with Nick.

Nick . . . She'd spent every day with him and each day, each hour, had proven more magical than the one before it. Lounging on the beach, splashing in the waves, playing with Godiva, walking hand in hand along the shore, talking, laughing, kissing. She'd accompanied him to Kevin and Liz's house twice on day trips, and both times she'd loved spending time with the couple and Emily.

She and Nick had enjoyed several meals at Oy Vey Mama Mia, and one night Jamie cooked a big spaghetti dinner for Megan and Grace, and their families and Dorothy Ernst. She'd also invited Melvin, who, to her surprise, had brought her a small bouquet of flowers as a hostess gift. “Don't get many dinner invitations, Newman,” he'd said gruffly as he'd shoved the blooms toward her.

They'd spent hours exploring the quaint beach towns surrounding Seaside Cove, discovering one particular store called Seas the Moment that was like the Home Depot for beach-themed items. Nick asked her for help in choosing some lamps and wall prints for both Southern Comfort and Paradise Lost, and they'd laughed as they staggered out to his truck with his numerous purchases.

They'd devoted several days with the other volunteers to finishing the float, and when it was finally done, the entire committee headed to Oy Vey Mama Mia for the lunch special of bagels and lox with a side of melon-wrapped prosciutto. Jamie completed her paperwork for the vendor submissions and layout and felt a real sense of accomplishment and pride when, during the final clam meeting, everyone applauded her efforts. The camaraderie and team atmosphere of the committee reminded her very much of Newman's—except without the stress of turning out thousands of meals a week.

Evenings were spent enjoying the nightly bonfire. Several times she and Nick rented movies and they'd snuggle on the sofa with Godiva and Cupcake and a huge bowl of popcorn. They rarely managed to make it to the end of a movie, however, as Nick had wandering hands and lips and Jamie found him far more interesting than anything on the screen.

And the nights . . . they'd spent every night together. Exploring. Learning. Laughing. Making love. The way he touched her left her breathless. Sated, yet aching for more. Never in her life had she felt so in sync with anyone.

Especially yesterday during their cooking lesson.

The way he'd made love to her while the cookies baked had lodged a lump in her throat. There'd been so many things she'd wanted to say, to express how much their time together had meant to her, but the only word she'd been able to manage was his name. Just . . . Nick. Yet somehow, that had said it all.

And now it was about to end.

Nick stirred behind her and she briefly squeezed her eyes closed as the words that had haunted her for the last several days once again drifted through her mind.

How was she going to say good-bye to him?

God help her, she didn't know.

Any more than she knew how she'd ended up sleeping with a guy she hadn't even liked when she first met him. Or when what was supposed to be nothing more than a light, no-strings fling had started to feel so very . . . not light.

Slowly, so as not to awaken Nick, she sat up in the bed. Turned to look at him over her shoulder. And found him regarding her with an indecipherable expression.

“Hi,” she said softly. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't. I've been awake for a while.” He took her hand and gently tugged. “Come here.”

The teasing warmth she was accustomed to seeing in his eyes in the morning was gone, replaced by a solemn intensity that heated her right to her core. She snagged a condom from the supply on the bedside table. He wordlessly took the packet from her, sheathed himself, then settled his body between her splayed thighs. With her gaze locked on his, she glided her hands over his torso, his back, memorizing again every inch of the skin she'd endlessly explored these past few weeks. Her orgasm overtook her, and with a cry, she absorbed every shudder. Nick's strong hands gripped her hips, and with a final deep thrust, he found his release.

Aftershocks still rippled through her when she pressed a kiss against his neck. His pulse thumped hard and fast beneath her lips and for several seconds she savored the sensation. Until reality returned, along with those depressing words.

How was she going to say good-bye to him?

 

 

F
or Nick the Clam Festival passed by in a blur. With Jamie's palm snug against his and Godiva's leash in his other hand, they'd visited every one of the dozens of craft booths. She'd done a great job arranging the layout, and he lost count of how many times they were stopped by Seaside Cove residents who echoed that sentiment.

At her urging he bought several kitchen gadgets he knew he'd never use but that she insisted every well-stocked kitchen had to have. He didn't even know what “zest” was, but by God, he now owned a thingamabob that would zest any lemons he might buy. He figured he'd keep it in the drawer with the cookie cutters—something else he couldn't conceive of ever using again. Because she'd be gone.

One booth sold enamel trinket boxes inlaid with crystal, running the gamut from flowers to fish. One in particular—a delicate pink flamingo—caught his eye. After purchasing it he presented it to her with a flourish.

“Even though this flamingo has its head attached, I hope it will remind you of Paradise Lost. And me.”

Instead of smiling as he'd expected she would, she'd pressed the box against her heart, then softly kissed him. “I don't need anything to remind me of Paradise Lost or you—you're both unforgettable. But I'll treasure this. Always. Thank you.”