He's the One Read online

  Her shyness did not bother him. He wanted her. Only her.

  She had no words to react to such a thing and simply pressed her lips against his, offering her body and her trust.

  He accepted with a care that brought tears to her eyes. Knowledgeable fingers brushed down her bare back, drawing small circles against her skin, doing things at the base of her spine that turned the muscles in her legs to water. He caught her around the waist and held her up, pressing her against him for balance.

  There was something incredibly erotic about having her naked breasts against his shirt-clad torso.

  She wanted to touch him, too, and tunneled her hands under the dark T-shirt. His skin was so warm, but he shivered at the touch of her hands on his back.

  As sexy as it felt to be half naked while he was fully clothed, she wanted his shirt off. She wanted to see and feel him without restrictions. She yanked at the hem and he broke the kiss to help her peel it off him.

  “Oh my . . .” she breathed.

  He stood there, letting her look her fill, somehow knowing that as simple as it was, this permitted voyeurism was the sexiest kind of foreplay to her. Last night, it had been almost dark. His body had been nothing but a shadow, but now she could see him clearly and what she saw entranced her.

  He had a light smattering of dark hair covering his chiseled abs and well-defined chest muscles. She reached out and brushed her fingers down his torso. The silky texture of his hair against her fingertips excited her unbearably and she smoothed her hands all over his hot skin, excitement melting the core of her.

  She whispered, “You’re incredible,” and then blushed. “I mean—”

  Once again, he pressed his finger over her lips. “It’s okay. I’m glad you find my body as pleasing as I find yours.”

  It was then she realized that while she’d been enjoying the display of his body, he had been looking at her bare breasts because her shirt was still pushed up under her armpits. She went to cover them in a reflexive action, but he forestalled her with a quick movement that pulled her into his body.

  Her nipples pinched tight, rubbing against him, and then pulsed with indescribable pleasure.

  He kissed her, his tongue coming out to master her mouth, but he did it with such tenderness that her heart squeezed.

  Was it possible to fall in love this quickly . . . to know you needed another person to complete the other half of your soul? She had to believe yes.

  She wasn’t sure how it happened, but they were completely naked, standing skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, at the end of a bed in a bedroom she had no recollection of moving to.

  She’d daydreamed so many times of her perfect lover taking her, sharing his body with her as she shared hers with him. Only daydreams could not begin to compete with this reality. Calder was so in tune to her every response, he seemed to know her body better than she did.

  He touched and caressed and tasted, while encouraging her to do the same. She touched him in ways and places she’d never wanted to touch another man, but with Calder, she wanted to know him completely, intimately, and forever.

  Her whole body trembled with the need to be joined to him. “Calder, please . . . I want you inside of me.”

  “Yes, Tabby, damn it . . . yes!” He swung her up in his arms and then carried her down to the soft bed.

  The down comforter was soft and cushiony, but then he was lying down and pulling her over him, and she forgot about her surroundings. “Ride me, sweetheart. Ride me hard.”

  She’d never seen herself as the passionate type, but with those words, he unleashed the primitive, sensual woman within. She lowered herself over his hardness, realizing only as she did so that he’d managed to get a condom on sometime in the last few minutes. Probably the same time he’d managed to get her clothes off . . . during that kiss that had taken her under in a haze of passion.

  She’d been too busy kissing and touching to notice anything else.

  She pushed down on his hard penis, but she gained only partial penetration. He was big and she was tight. It had been so long for her, and it had not been all that many times to begin with.

  “I know we’re supposed to fit, but I can’t . . . please, help me, Calder.”

  He gripped her inner thighs from the front so that his thumbs played across the swollen wet flesh of her clitoris. He caressed her, teasing her into movement in order to increase the friction on her sweet spot. He surged upward, his hold on her thighs keeping her in place. It was a pleasure this side of pain, but so intense she would die if he stopped.

  He didn’t stop. And though he had told her to ride him, he was the one doing the thrusting. But the wild woman inside her didn’t want it to be all him. She matched his rhythm, adding a variation of her own that had him gasping under her.

  She leaned down and offered her breast to him. He took her nipple into his mouth and started to suck, then nipped her with his teeth.

  They came together in a paroxysm of surging limbs and hoarse, elemental cries.

  Afterward, she collapsed on top of him, her whole body limp with pleasure.

  “Marry me, Tabby.”

  Her heart stopped and then started again at a gallop. It was more than she’d ever hoped for or dreamed of. “I . . .”

  “Please, Tabby, say you will. Don’t make me spend the rest of my life alone.”

  Tears washed into her eyes and she hugged him tight, unable to voice the maelstrom of emotions going through her. She understood exactly what he meant. If it wasn’t Calder, it wouldn’t be anyone. She guessed some people were just so perfectly matched that once they clicked, breaking open the lock would damage them both.

  Finally, she choked out, “I want children.”

  “Yes.”

  “And a house on the beach.”

  “What a coincidence, I’ve got one.”

  “And a fish.”

  “A fish?”

  “I’m allergic to cats and dogs, but our kids have to have pets.”

  “I’ll buy you a fifty-gallon aquarium for our first anniversary.”

  “Why do I have to wait?”

  “I want to make sure you have staying power. It’s an incentive.”

  She sat up in outrage and started laughing at the expression on his face.

  “I was having you on, love. I’ll buy you interest in Sea World if it will get you to marry me.”

  “I only need you. I love you, Calder.”

  “You’ll marry me?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Thank you.” He kissed her until they were making love again.

  When they were once again sated and lying together, this time under the soft, fluffy comforter, he whispered against her lips, “I love you, Tabby, and I always will.”

  “I love you, Calder.”

  And a year later, when she told him she was pregnant with their first child and he bought the fifty-gallon aquarium complete with fish and live coral, she knew she would love this man into eternity.

  NO SHIRT, NO SHOES, NO SERVICE

  Kate Angell

  Chapter One

  “Cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie.”

  Violet Cates gave a start at the sound of the deep voice behind her. There hadn’t been a customer in Molly Malone’s two minutes ago when she began counting her tips at the narrow waitress station between the soda machines and shelves of condiments. Apparently, someone had snuck in.

  She sighed as she folded the one-dollar bills and pocketed the change. No fortune was made from the noon rush, she realized, disappointed. Her regular customers were generous, but the surfers and skimboarders who’d jammed the diner earlier could barely cover the cost of their meals. Most of them paid in change.

  They sat at her tables, talking waves and swells, and Gulf temperature for the entire lunch hour. They seldom left her a tip. She’d chased out several guys for not wearing shirts or shoes. Barefoot William, Florida, was a beach community. Still, it was diner policy that customers must wear a T-shirt a
nd flip-flops. No exceptions.

  Violet glanced at her watch. Three P.M. She worked the dining room alone during the middle of the day, when it was usually quiet. The dinner shift started at five. Two other waitresses would be on the floor with her then.

  The customer who’d called out his order had one of those smooth, sexy male voices that sifted into a woman and made her sin. She shivered. She’d only known one man who sounded that hot. She hadn’t heard his voice in five years.

  She was curious to see what this guy looked like.

  Removing her order pad from the pocket of her short khaki skirt, she turned, put a smile on her face, only to have her heart nearly stop when she rounded the corner. There on the counter stool sat Brad Davis. She was sure of it.

  The memory of him nearly knocked her off her feet. She’d never forgotten the boy with the black hair, smoke-blue eyes, and lean body. His teenage good looks had sharpened as an adult. High cheekbones. Sexy lips. Solid jaw.

  “Brad?” she asked, curious, crossing to the counter.

  “Hello, Vi,” he said easily. One corner of his mouth tipped up, just enough to flash the single dimple in his unshaven cheek.

  He rose, stepped over his duffel bag, and gave her a hug. He tucked her so close she could barely breathe. Not that she was complaining. She loved his touch. His shoulders were wide; his chest was thick. The muscles in his body flexed and rippled against her.

  She inhaled against his neck. His cologne was subtle. He still wore Fierce, she realized, a blend of citrus, musk, and masculinity. The scent hinted of lust-darkened eyes and unzipped jeans. Of low moans, flushed skin, and twined limbs. Of rumpled sheets and orgasms.

  “It’s good to see you, babe,” he said near her ear. His words tickled warm against her skin.

  “You look great,” she managed. Sensations from their past stirred her present. Her skin prickled. Her nipples hardened as his dick brushed against her belly. She had the crazy urge to nip his jaw and lick the pulse at the base of his throat. Then get naked and kiss her way down his body.

  She’d missed him. Terribly. Even after all this time. She wanted to curl her fingers in his shirt and make a fist so he couldn’t leave her again. Her sigh was heavy, reflective, as his body pressed hers.

  A subtle shift in his stance and his knee eased between her legs. Her already short skirt hiked up an inch. The intimate rub of denim against her bare inner thighs gave her goose bumps. What was she thinking? Although the diner was quiet, a customer could walk through the door at any moment. Violet stepped back.

  Brad was slow to release her. His hands slid intimately down her back and over her hips. His thumbs stroked her belly, dented her navel, then creased the top of her thighs. His touch was sexual and familiar. Her heart was racing by the time he let her go.

  “Pie,” she repeated to clear her head. “Apple.” Her voice sounded raspy. She moved down the counter to the revolving pie case. Molly baked twice a day, offering a variety of homemade desserts.

  There was one slice of deep-dish apple left. Sure enough, it had Brad’s name on it. The pie had a crisscross crust and was sprinkled with cinnamon. Just the way he liked it. She scooped the last piece onto a small plate.

  Déjà vu, she thought. How many desserts had she served him when they were together? Too many to count.

  Memories took hold and time suddenly receded.

  She was drawn back to her senior year in high school.

  It was late October. She’d been taking notes on The Great Gatsby in English Literature class when the gossip reached her. Brad Davis’s parents had kicked him out of the house on his eighteenth birthday. His family was large, his father was out of work, and there’d been too many mouths to feed.

  He’d shown up at Barefoot William High with an athletic bag in hand. He went through the day surrounded by friends and their support. After the last bell of the school day, he went looking for work.

  Molly Malone’s was a popular locale on the boardwalk. The diner had a steady stream of traffic. Molly was the kindest person Violet knew. She offered the outcast a sandwich and a soda, then hired Brad before he finished filling out his application. He would help Vi bus tables.

  Molly also put a roof over his head, Violet recalled. Her aunt offered him the storeroom with its fold-out cot and small bathroom. She fed him two meals a day and gave him a chance to finish his education.

  Violet remembered sneaking peeks at him while they worked, asking herself how she’d gotten stuck with this jock. No clear answer ever presented itself since she and Brad ran with different crowds. She wrote for the high school newspaper and yearbook, while he played baseball and wrestled.

  They hadn’t known each other well until they’d started working together. She was all legs and wild, curly, blond hair. He was cocky and too good-looking.

  She spent her free time studying.

  He went on dates.

  Violet had gritted her teeth when groups of girls followed Brad to the diner after school. They’d sit at the counter, sipping sodas and watching him clear tables. Their heads going up and down like bobble-heads.

  She’d barely tolerated Brad, but that changed when she turned eighteen the following February. Molly threw her a small party at the diner after closing. The guests drifted out by ten P.M., leaving Brad and Vi alone with the last two corner slices of yellow cake with whipped cream confetti frosting.

  She could still sense their quiet intimacy. She shivered even now. They’d sat side by side in a booth. The window shades were drawn and a single vanilla votive candle flickered on the tabletop.

  She’d taken a final bite of cake, only to have the whipped icing smudge one corner of her mouth. She reached for a napkin just as Brad leaned in and licked her lips clean. She’d stared at him, stunned and wide-eyed.

  There’d been challenge in his eyes. Heat, too.

  She’d felt uncertain, yet curious.

  Her heart fluttered with the memory of that life-altering moment when she flicked her tongue back at him, touching his lower lip. He was quick to bite the tip. She’d felt the jolt in her nipples, her belly, her crotch, and all the way to her toes. Her entire body blushed.

  He went on to angle his head and kiss her fully. It had been an unforgettable kiss, one that was long and deep and tasted of sugar and candied dots of confetti.

  She fell in love with the way he kissed.

  They’d made out until their lips were numb.

  From that night on, awareness hovered between them. They began to look at each other in a new light. Their heated stares led to stolen caresses behind the soda machine. Kisses in the last booth after closing. Before long they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  They were daring, sneaking into the back storeroom with the fold-out cot. They did more than sleep. The brooms, buckets, and cleaning supplies kept their sexy little secrets.

  That first summer after high school, Molly promoted Brad to short-order cook and Violet started waiting tables. They went on to work together for six years. They shared great sex and their dreams for the future. They were both ambitious, though there wasn’t much room for advancement at Molly Malone’s. Still, they both hoped to open their own restaurants someday.

  Violet’s heart broke the day Brad left Barefoot William. He’d grown restless. A man could only flip so many pancakes. Scramble so many eggs. Butter so many slices of toast.

  She’d understood, but that hadn’t lessened her pain.

  He promised Vi he’d return someday. Once he’d made something of himself. Was today that day?

  As she looked at him now, he appeared much as he had before he’d left town. A man still down on his luck with long hair, wrinkled blue T-shirt, and faded jeans. His tennis shoes appeared to have walked a million miles.

  Right back to Barefoot William. And to her.

  Violet cast him a glance as she reached for the coffeepot. Her heart quickened. There was something appealing about a man with rough edges and a raw attitude. Brad had both. She fou
nd she was as drawn to him now as she’d been at twenty-four. His male heat touched her across the counter.

  He caught her eyeing him and his grin spread, knowing, lazy, unsettling. His single dimple was so damn sexy. It softened his sharp cheekbones and firm jaw.

  Violet collected herself. She served his pie, poured his coffee, and located a set of napkin-wrapped silverware. He took two big bites, leaned back on the stool, and patted his stomach. She noticed the stretch of the cotton over his abdomen. He was definitely cut. His belly was flat. The bulge behind his jeans zipper stood out significantly. His legs were long, his thighs muscled.

  “The pie is as good as I remember,” he told her.

  She met his gaze. “Molly hasn’t lost her touch.”

  He cut a look over his shoulder. “She’s redecorated, too.” He noticed.

  “Twice now, since you left,” she said.

  The present color scheme reflected the beach, aqua and sand tones. There were blue leather booths and light brown tiles. One wall was decorated with restored vintage photographs, each one depicting the growth of the town.

  Barefoot William valued its history. The photos showed the fishing pier under construction and the boardwalk with only three shops. The largest of the photographs depicted ten big boats scattered offshore. Commercial fishing had supported the town for fifty years.

  Brad took a sip of coffee, then said, “I’ve missed you, Vi. How’ve you been?” He seemed genuinely interested. “Still planning to go into business for yourself?”

  So he remembered her dream. Her heart warmed. “I’m two thousand dollars closer,” she said honestly. She didn’t mention her crisis stash, an additional five hundred that she kept hidden in an empty shampoo bottle beneath the sink at her cottage.

  Sadly, she’d saved very little money over the years and hated to admit her failure. “I love mom-and-pop corner diners. Nothing beats home-cooked meals. I’m not interested in buying a franchise, but I’d like to have a small diner someday.”

  He nodded. “You’ll make it happen, Vi.”

  “I hope so.” She swallowed her pride, said, “Unexpected emergencies cut into my savings.”