Chapter 25
NICK
The kids are fearless.
I watch them from the beach bed beneath the shade of a large palm tree, shielded from the late-morning sun, the canvas warm beneath my bare back where I've been lying for the past twenty minutes alone.
The salt breeze moves over my skin, while back at our cottage Avery is in the shower after waking up with morning sickness.
She insisted I didn’t need to hover, so I headed out to the beach to wait for her.
I hate that she’s not feeling well. Hate it even more that it’s a burden she has to carry alone.
Out on the water, three sunfish boats cut across the turquoise bay, their colorful sails bright against the blue.
In each one sits a child with a background of abuse or neglect.
Now they're laughing, playing, tipping over into the water and righting themselves with the innate resilience that most children have when someone finally gives them permission to fail without consequence. Here, they can just be kids.
One of the boats capsizes. The boy inside, probably no more than nine years old, scrawny, with a mop of dark hair, goes into the water with a splash and a yelp.
The young male instructor's voice carries across the distance, calm and encouraging.
“You're fine, Jaylen. Grab the centerboard. Pull yourself up.”
The boy does just that. Rights the boat on his second try, and flops back into it. His whoop of triumph echoes across the water.
Pride swells in my chest. This place exists because of everything I survived, and because Avery gave me the encouragement to see it through to fruition.
These families are here healing, rebuilding, learning to trust again because we both wanted kids like these to have somewhere safe to go.
The resort, the sailing school, the cottages designed for privacy and peace—all of it is borne from the wreckage of what was done to me, repurposed into something good. Something that might make a difference.
The dark-haired boy—Jaylen—sails a wobbly figure-eight now, his confidence growing with every tack.
I find myself grinning as he navigates through a sudden gust that grabs his sail and nearly tips him again.
He adjusts, compensates, keeps moving forward.
I applaud him from where I watch, and he gives me an enthusiastic wave before focusing on his boat once more.
Will I be a good father?
The question surfaces unbidden, the way it does a dozen times a day now, and I don't have an answer.
Don't know if I ever will. All I have is the fierce, desperate certainty that I will be different from what I had growing up.
That my child will never know fear in their own home.
That my hands will only ever be gentle. And that I will be the father helping his son right an overturned boat instead of the one who taught him to flinch.
I want that so badly it sits like an open wound in my chest.
Before my thoughts spiral any darker, a hint of movement stirs at the edge of my vision. Avery. Walking toward me across the sand, a smile already curving her lips the instant our gazes collide.
Holy. Shit.
She’s wearing a red bikini, small triangles and long strings that make my fingers twitch with the desire to unfasten them.
The color is bright against her soft skin, scant scraps of fabric that show off her long limbs and gorgeous curves.
A sheer sarong tied at her hip, more suggestion than coverage.
Her blonde hair piled in a loose bun, still damp from the shower, strands escaping to catch the light as she approaches.
My blood heats at the sight of her. Every thought in my head empties out. There's only her and that sexy-as-fuck bikini.
Her smile widens as she reaches me. "Sorry I took so long."
"Totally worth it."
She settles onto the beach bed beside me, close enough that her thigh brushes mine and the warmth of her skin sends a pulse of want straight through my bloodstream.
She looks rested. Refreshed. The morning's nausea is clearly behind her now, and my chest eases to know she's not fighting her own body anymore.
"I feel human again. Finally."
"You look it." My gaze travels down her body without apology. "You look like a lot of things right now."
She gives me a knowing grin. "I thought the red might get your attention."
I chuckle. "You have my full attention." I reach for her hand, placing it over the bulge in my swim trunks. "And if we weren't surrounded by families and children right now, I'd already have those strings untied and my mouth on every inch of you."
Her answering laugh is easy, unburdened. This getaway is already worth the effort and expense just to hear her laugh again. I stare at her, soaking in every nuance of her expression, gratified by the look of calm I see in her eyes.
She reaches into the bag she dropped beside the bed and pulls out a bottle of sunscreen. Holds it out to me.
"Here. Make yourself useful."
I take the bottle. She turns her back to me, pulls the sarong aside, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
Her shoulders first. The lotion is cool against my palm, but her skin is like silk beneath my hands, and I work it slowly across her shoulders, down her arms, the curve where her neck meets her back.
She makes a soft sound of pleasure as my thumbs find the knots of tension she carries there, and I take my time easing them loose.
Her head drops forward as my hands move lower. Her breathing changes as my lotion application turns into a caress that follows the graceful line of her spine, the dip at the small of her back, the place where sun-warmed skin meets the edge of red fabric.
I tell myself this is caretaking. Protection from the sun. The responsible thing to do for a pregnant woman spending a day on the beach.
But my fingers slip beneath the waistband of her bikini bottoms. Just an inch.
Just enough to feel the swell of her hip, the softness there.
One flick of those flimsy bikini ties is all it would take to have her naked.
She inhales sharply, and I lean forward to press my mouth against her shoulder, tasting salt and coconut and her.
"Nick." My name comes out half warning, half want. Her hand finds my wrist, not pushing me away, just holding me still. "We're on a public beach."
"I'm aware." I don't move my hand, don't retreat. Just let my lips graze the curve of her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath my mouth.
"Surrounded by children," she adds, even as the air leaves her lungs on a trembly sigh.
"Also aware." My thumb traces a slow circle against her hip bone, dangerously close to the meager knot that’s holding her bikini bottoms together. "You came out here looking like this and handed me a tube of lotion." My voice has dropped, gone rough at the edges. "What did you expect?"
She laughs under her breath. "Maybe a little self-control?"
"From me? With you?" I lean forward, press my mouth to the curve of her neck again. "Never."
She pivots to face me, holding my gaze for a moment before lying back on the beach bed, presenting her stomach. "You missed a spot."
I squeeze more lotion into my palm. But when my hands smooth over her belly I linger for a moment, just to marvel at what's there.
What we made together in all those nights when nothing existed but her body and mine, when I buried myself inside her and whispered mine against her throat and meant it more than I've ever meant anything.
I bend my head down and place a kiss next to the place where my hand still rests. "Hey, kiddo. We need to have a little talk." The words are low. Quiet. Just for her and the baby. "You gave your mom a rough morning. I need you to do better."
Avery's breath catches. Her hand covers mine, fingers threading between my fingers.
"She's growing you from nothing," I continue, thumb stroking gently over the place where our child is taking shape. "The least you can do is make it easier on her." My voice drops lower, a command wrapped in tenderness. "We clear?"
When I look up, her eyes are bright. Not teasing anymore, but unguarded, her gaze so open and vulnerable it nearly unravels me. It’s the expression she only ever wears for me, the one that cracks me open every time.
I lean down and brush my mouth against hers in a kiss that’s filled with everything I don't have words for.
We settle into each other after that, her head finding the curve of my shoulder as I recline beside her, my arm wrapped around her so my hand can rest on the warm skin of her hip.
I feel such peace, such complete contentment when we’re together like this.
Avery anchors me in a way nothing else ever does.
Out on the water, the sailing lessons continue. On the beach, sandcastles rise along the waterline, shaped by small hands and big imaginations. I watch it all with Avery against my side and my palm pressed to the place where our future is taking shape.
Her fingers trace absent patterns on my thigh, light, idle, distracting in the best sense of the word.
Each brush sends a thread of heat through the thin fabric of my trunks, straight to where I'm already half-hard from several minutes of touching her.
She has no idea what she's doing. Or maybe she does. With Avery, it's hard to tell.
I spot Rusty down the beach from us, walking with a couple of other volunteers. He raises his hand to us in greeting, then says something to his companions before breaking away from them to head our way.
My hand tightens on Avery's hip, irritation flaring at the approaching intrusion.
Her fingers are still moving on my thigh, her body still pressed against mine, and I'm supposed to make conversation. Nothing against Rusty, but right now I want the whole world to disappear so I can exist in this bubble of Avery’s touch and soothing presence without interruption.
Rusty grins as he reaches us. “Morning. How’s everything going?”
“Great,” Avery answers.
I nod, trying to shift so that my hard-on isn’t obvious to my friend. Not that he would notice or say anything if he did.
He glances at me. "You coming to the cookout tonight?”
“What cookout?” Avery asks, still tormenting me with her featherlight caresses.
“Every week we host a big cookout for the families. Most of the resort workers and volunteers will be there too.”
She smiles at him. “Sounds like fun.”
He nods. “Good food, good people. I know everyone would love to see you both."
Avery looks so hopeful, I don’t have the heart to refuse. "We'll be there."
“Awesome,” he says, flashing his wide smile at my fiancée.
I give him a pointed look, not because he’s gawking—not entirely because of that—but because I don’t want my loose-lipped buddy letting anything slip about the other plans he and I have been making. Rusty seems to read my meaning, and makes his excuses to be on his way.
“See you guys tonight, then.”
“See you later, Rusty,” Avery calls after him as he jogs back up the beach.
She watches him go, her fingers resuming their idle torture on my thigh. I’m tempted to guide her maddening touch to where I really want it, but then I notice that her attention has shifted to the water. To the Icarus, moored in the distance, her white hull gleaming in the afternoon light.
Avery turns her head to look at me. "You said we could go sailing while we’re here. When are we taking her out?"
“Soon.” I keep my expression neutral, though my pulse ticks up at the question. "Rusty and I need to handle a few things first."
She picks up on it immediately, my vagueness, the non-answer I just gave her. "What kind of things?"
Instead of elaborating, I shift closer, my hand sliding up to find the spot below her ear that always makes her shiver.
I press my mouth there, feeling her breath catch, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath my lips.
Her skin is warm from the sun, salt-touched, impossibly soft. I want to taste every inch of it.
"Patience," I murmur against her pulse point. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."
She lets it go for now, settling back against me and closing her eyes, though I feel the curiosity still humming beneath her skin even as she sinks into my arms. My hand stays on her waist, thumb tracing the line where her bikini meets bare flesh.
The heat of her seeps into my palm, my fingertips, threading through my veins until my whole body feels tuned to the frequency of hers.
My fingers tighten on her hip. She opens her eyes, reads whatever's burning in my expression, and her lips part.
"Nick?"
“Come with me.” I stand, pulling her up with me in one smooth motion. Her head tilts as her feet find the sand and her hands splay on my chest. Her laugh is startled, delighted, breathless.
"Now?" She glances back at the beach bed, the water, the afternoon she's barely had a chance to enjoy. "I just got here."
"I’ll bring you back." I pull her hips against mine, letting her feel exactly how much of a problem she's created. "Afterward."
Her eyes drop to where our bodies are pressed together, then lift to my face. The laughter's still there, but it's softer now, heated with the recognition of what she does to me. She likes it. Hell, she revels in it.
She wets her lips, and all I can think about is having her mouth on me. Immediately. "Well, I suppose when you put it that way..."
She takes my offered hand and I lead her across the beach, back to our cottage. As soon as the door closes behind us, my fingers reach for the strings of her bikini top. The tiny scrap of fabric hits the floor in seconds, Avery’s breathless gasp warm against my ear.
“You certainly work fast, Mr. Baine.”
Her bottoms are gone in an instant. Then I press her down onto the bed and cover her with my body as I growl my answer against her throat. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take this next part nice and slow.”
“Mm, I like the sound of that.”
I kiss her like a starving man, then guide her onto the bed beneath me.
We have several days left in the Keys—including the most important one, and the surprise I’ve been planning for her. But for now, it’s just us alone in our cottage until I decide I’m ready to share her again with the rest of the resort.
These moments right now belong only to Avery and me.
I intend to make the most of every single one.