Dalton
This is a delicate operation. I realize that now, far too late to stop myself from sending that clumsy wedding invitation. Oh well.
At least it got Alba here, right? Got us back in the same geographic location. Now all I have to do is convince this whip-smart, funny, gorgeous woman that being with me would be worth all the media madness. That I could be good for her, finally. I could make her proud.
My girl is already outside when I reach the hotel, sitting on the stone steps and watching me approach with a rueful expression. The morning breeze lifts her hair and tugs on her red sundress. That color on her always drove me wild.
I remember one time in the spring before I left, on a Sunday afternoon when we were supposed to be studying for exams, the two of us snuck out to swim in the local river instead. Alba wore a red bikini exactly that shade. Between the sight of her bare skin and the icy cold water, my dick didn’t know whether he was coming or going.
I check my watch. “Six fifteen,” I call as I stride across the cobblestones, my voice echoing around the empty square. The dawn light is tinged blue. Only the baker is up, his windows glowing as the scent of baking bread rolls out through his open shop door. The rest of Sweet Cherry Cove is still snoozin’.
Alba looks tired as she smiles. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Me neither. Spent last night wearing a hole in my living room floorboards, pacing back and forth, trying to figure the exact right date that would make Alba fall in love with me. Something to make her see me as a real man, not just a rock star or her teenage best friend.
Couldn’t settle down and sleep. Didn’t catch a wink.
That house may be mine, but it’s not a home yet. Not until Alba’s there too.
“Too early for coffee,” I say, tugging her to her feet. Her hand is soft in mine, and she doesn’t pull away as we set off walking. Yes. Sweet victory. “Nothing’s open. But we could visit the waterfall, then find caffeine after?”
“Sure.” Alba slides me a look. “A waterfall, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m pulling out all the stops, sugar.”
Her blush is brighter than the lighthouse. I squeeze her hand gently.
Is there hope? Could I win her over?
It’s less of a ghost town once we hit the beach. Dog walkers nod from the coast path, stopping every few steps to let their pets sniff, and surfers cut through the waves, their wet suits dark against their boards. Joggers have churned up trails through the sand.
The salt breeze is fresh, stinging our cheeks, and as we walk, my chest loosens. I’m relaxed here. This town is good for me.
Though I hid it well, I was a nervous kid growing up, always inwardly fretting about grades and summer camp and the will-they-won’t-they dance of my parents splitting up. Then as a teenager, I was still wound tight, but I shoved those nerves even deeper down inside, smiling and laughing in the school corridors like nothing was wrong.
I still felt it, though. The stress. The pressure. The fear that if I didn’t do something huge, didn’t make something special of myself, Alba would slip through my fingers as easily as my once-happy family.
Now I’ve played gigs on six continents. I’ve sold out world tours, and there’s a glass case of industry awards in my new home studio. I went out into the world, and I made something of myself for this girl.
Doesn’t mean shit, though, if she’s truly moved on. I’ve gone about this all wrong. Took my eyes off the real prize.
“Dalton? You okay?”
Jolting back to myself, I quit scowling at every lump of seaweed. Alba’s watching me, brown eyes soft with concern. “Yeah, I’m good,” I say, rushing to fill the weird silence I left hanging. “Wait ‘til you see this waterfall. You’ll never want to leave.”
We walk on, those constant sharp nerves jangling through my insides, cutting me.
Nothing new about that—but I shove those feelings down even deeper.
Not now.Jesus Christ.
I need to focus. The stakes have never been higher.
* * *
“Holy crap on a cracker.” Alba’s eyes are like saucers, her head tipped back to take in the sight before us. We’re in a secret cave in the sea cliffs, the bright morning sunshine spilling through a break in the rocks overhead. Water gushes from a hole high in the rock face in front of us and thunders into the plunge pool below.
The water is crystal clear, sparkling in the sunshine. Around the edges of the cave, stalagmites and stalactites reach for each other, parted for millennia. The air smells like cool, wet stone.
“What do you think?” I’m grinning, practically bouncing on my heels. It’s impossible to not love this place. You’d have to be dead inside, and Alba has always been a sucker for natural beauty.
“It’s…” She trails off and peers around. Shakes her head and puffs out a breath. “Dalton. It’s…”
Yeah, it really is. Words don’t feel like enough somehow, because this place is unearthly. Like an ancient cathedral hidden in nature.
“We can swim if you like. This is the super secret local spot.”
Alba’s smile is weak, but she tugs at the halterneck tie of her sundress. “You really have integrated.”
“Oh, yeah. When I get breakfast in the diner, the wait staff all know me by name. They ask if I want my usual.”
She chuckles. “That’s the dream.”
We used to joke about that, way back when. The dream of leaving our lifeless suburb after graduation—not for the bustling anonymity of a big city, but for a cozy small town where the librarians set books aside that they think we’d like.
Why else come to Sweet Cherry Cove in the first place? It’s not like they try to coax in tourists. But I’ve been auditioning small towns, searching for the spot I thought Alba would like best.
“Wow,” Alba says softly, gazing at the waterfall again. Lost in the majesty of it.
Yeah. This place is the jackpot.
As soon as she tugs her dress tie loose, I pull my gray t-shirt over my head and drop it on a nearby rock. My belt buckle clinks, and I pause, weighing the boxers situation.
They’re black, so they won’t go see-through, but skinny dipping would keep them dry. I wait to follow Alba’s lead.
Her dress flutters down past her hips, puddling on the sand. She steps out of it, kicking off both sandals, and glances over at my choking noise.
It’s that bikini. The red one. The bikini that haunts my dreams. She still has it?
The hands on my belt have stiffened into claws.
“What?” Alba frowns down her body. “Why are you all bug-eyed? I know it’s a little small, but all the bits are covered. Don’t be a prude, Meadows.”
God damn it, I’m not being a prude. I need to take a fucking lap. My heart’s going crazy, my muscles are tensed harder than stone, and I’m grinding my molars to nubs.
Those curves suit her. They really suit her. Didn’t think I could be more attracted to Alba Hernandez, but here we are.
God damn.
When I clear my throat, it sounds like shifting rubble. So long, vocal cords. “I’m not bug-eyed. But you are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”
Another scorching blush. At this rate, she’ll heat the water to a warm bath. Alba scoffs and turns her back, dipping one toe gingerly in the water.
Boxers, then. I shuck the rest of my clothes in one jerky motion, then brush past her and slide into the icy depths. The plunge pool comes up to my chest, and it’s so freezing that my skin shocks chalky white, goosebumps rippling over every bare inch.
My heart rattles in my chest, and I try not to hop from foot to foot like a cartoon character. “What are you waiting for?” I say. “Get in.”
“It’s cold.”
“Correct.”
“Your nipples are hard.” Alba leans over from where she’s sitting on the edge, her calves dangling in the water, and flicks my chest. I catch her wrist and yank her in, grinning at her shocked shriek, and water droplets fly, sparkling like crystals in the sunshine. That’s more like it.
“Come on, Hernandez. No guts, no glory.”
She grumbles, but she’s already pressed against me, soft curves against my hard body. Her arms wind around my neck. “Are all rock stars this bossy?”
“Yes. Every last one of us.”
Is this happening? It’s real, right?
How many times have I dreamed of this—the two of us, skin to skin? How long have I yearned for this, my body aching for the girl who should have been beside me all these years?
“There were no starlets,” I say into her hair. It’s bundled in a messy topknot, tied with a scrap of polka dot fabric. Alba shivers and presses closer, her cheek wet against mine. “Just FYI. There’s only ever been you, sugar. I’ve been saving myself for you like a tween with a promise ring.”
Her snort is loud in my ear, and I beam as she hops up, ripples lapping at the sides of the pool, and wraps her thighs around my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because it is, damn it.
The two of us were made to do this.
“I’ve never… you know. Either. I’ve never even dated,” she says. Golden warmth spreads through my chest, and her voice is breathy in my ear, her body squirming against mine as I run one palm down her spine.
I walk us toward a nice, smooth rock and lean us both against it, relishing every gorgeous squishy bit of my girl.
“Not because—I didn’t think I’d see you again, Dalton. I wasn’t saving anything on purpose; didn’t want to pine for the guy who left me behind like some tragic loser. But the thought of someone else…”
Alba trails off with a full-body shudder. I lean down and bite her shoulder.
“Don’t,” I grit out, wedging my hips between her thighs. Her skin is salty and warm, and I lash it with my tongue. I’m biting gently, my words muffled, but I can’t let go. She’s mine, damn it, and my lizard brain agrees. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it, Alba.”
“That’s not very evolved.” She’s smiling against my neck.
“I don’t care.”
“You’re biting me.”
I feign a snarl, nibbling across her collarbone. When I finally pull back, Alba stares up at me, wide-eyed.
Her expression is so raw. It’s all there, so easy to read: the hope, the humor, the old hurt, the guarded way she protects her heart. Did I ever have it when we were younger? Did I have Alba’s heart then leave it behind?
Shit, I can’t think like that—makes me want to drown myself in the waterfall. Talk about a self inflicted wound.
Besides, there’s no way. I was nothing back then: just a rangy teenage boy with a second hand guitar and two awkward Christmases each year. Too many followers and not enough friends.
Now I have things to offer. Dalton Meadows is somebody at last, and this is my sweet, sweet reward: Alba sighing and melting against the rock, her body arching against mine each time I kiss her neck. The brush of her wet bikini against my chest.
My teeth scrape over her pulse point, and Alba hums. This is all so new. First a peck last night, now we’re grinding together in a plunge pool, exchanging sighs. Is this moving too fast?
Eight years is notfast, asshole.
“Tell me what you want.” My voice is strained, the words vibrating through the empty cave. The waterfall drums into the plunge pool. “Don’t let me cross any lines, okay? Tell me when to stop.”
Alba squeezes my waist with her thighs. Her breath is hot against my ear. “I will. Now kiss me already.”