Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Josie was dead. She was a goner. In trouble, wrecked, a ship smashed against the rocks at midnight.
Despite her best intentions to not fall for Houston, she was doing just that.
He was walking next to her on the stretch of beach in silence and she was stuffed with crab and wine and good feelings. The pauses in conversation were no longer bothering her quite as much, though she did say ten words to every one of his. He just wasn’t a talker.
His other assets more than made up for it. During their dinner, she’d seen glimpses of him that had never surfaced in the hospital. The concern and loyalty he felt for his family, his love of the water and surfing in particular, and his passion for his career.
And of course, desire for her.
That had been there through the whole meal, an arc of sexual tension between them, awareness of where the night was going to end.
In bed. Through every inconsequential conversation and medical chatter, the knowledge that he wanted her naked and under him was always there—alive, pulsing, keeping her off-balance and strung out with physical need.
Holding her flip-flops in her hand, Josie let the sand sift between her toes and watched the round red sun dropping down over the western horizon. The night was quiet, the mournful jabber of seagulls the only sound except Houston’s steady breathing and the loud yammering of her excited heart.
“I thought this beach was private,” she said, stepping close to him to avoid a piece of driftwood.
“It is. My condo association owns it,” He pointed to a cluster of white houses attached to each other. “Right up ahead there is my place.”
Oh, yikes. Panic slammed her in the gut. They were walking there. They were almost there. Another five minutes and they’d be there, in his condo, and there would be no reason not to do what had been talked about at such great length in the supply room.
She coughed, feeling like her crab might rise for a second viewing of her mouth. “It looks like a nice development, right here on the beach. Wow. Lots of windows for the view, and everything.”
Houston stopped walking. He turned to her. She expected him to take her hand, to reassure her. But that wasn’t Houston, and she should have known that.
No, he took her mouth, with one hand in the back of her hair, eliminating the distance between them. The kiss was determined, skilled, hard, and urgent. She lost her hold on her flip-flops, and they tumbled to the sand as she also lost any sort of grip on her control.
That went the way of the waves, washed out to sea and dashed apart.
Not that she’d ever planned to resist him, not that she’d ever thought for one little teeny-tiny second that she was running the show.
Houston was far too dominating and used to getting his way.
While she may have entertained split-second thoughts of charming him into more than one night, she knew it was wishful thinking, an illusion of power.
He wasn’t a man who was charmed into anything, and she wasn’t a woman who had a fabulous track record of doing any sort of charming. She used her brains, worked hard, and when necessary, used a little friendly charm and self-deprecating humor.
Right now her brain wasn’t even working as his mouth closed over hers wet and firm, his hand holding her right where he wanted her, and Josie opened her lips, felt his tongue, and clung.
Houston broke the kiss and let her go. “Grab your shoes, we’re almost there.”
Blinking, wondering how he could switch gears so fast, she gazed at the water stupidly, chest heaving. He’d said something about her shoes. They were at her side on the ground, liberally dashed with sand.
Right. Flip-flops. Pick them up.
She bent over.
Houston swore, reached down, and scooped up the sandals before she could. “No bending over until we get there.”
It hadn’t been her plan to intentionally arouse him. But maybe because it was the only way she felt she had the upper hand, she had the urge to be a little impish in the face of his fascination with her behind.
Catching him off-guard, she bumped the flip-flops in his hand, tumbling them back to the ground.
“Oops.” With a grin, she bent over. All the way over. Without bending her knees more than was necessary.
She waited for the swearing.
“Damn it, Josie,” he said.
Her grin grew broader. One of these days she was going to ask him what exactly he found so appealing about her ass. But for now, she was just enjoying teasing him.
Then he ripped control right back by reaching out and grabbing hold of her backside, his fingers firmly planted across each of her cheeks.
She let out a yelp. “Houston!” She hadn’t expected that, and while the beach was private, there were forty condos within eyeball range.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Josie,” he said, and his hands ran up and down on her.
She didn’t know how he could do that, paralyze her with just one little touch. She couldn’t move, didn’t want to, and let him stroke over her possessively as the now-familiar ache started to build between her thighs.
Around and down his fingers went, under and through her legs until the tip of his finger was tantalizingly close to the juncture of her thighs.
Her shorts flooded, her legs stiffened. Her nipples jumped out and begged for attention, and while her brain said Good God, not here, her body said Anywhere you like, gorgeous, just don’t stop.
She gave a whimper like a dog needing to go out, and waited to feel embarrassment, but she was clearly having a delayed reaction, since all she felt was blinding lust.
He slid back and forth, his large hand crowding between her legs, brushing up against her clit through the taut fabric of her shorts.
“Not here,” she begged in a futile attempt at modesty, aware that she wasn’t really up to resisting him if he pursued the matter.
But a token effort would make her look less desperate.
If she wasn’t going to fool herself into thinking she gave a damn if half the population of Florida assembled stadium-style and watched, at least she could try and fool him.
“No one can see. I’m right behind you, blocking your body. No one can see that my finger is between your legs,” he whispered in her ear as he caught the edge of her shorts with his thumb. “I could slip it into you and no one would be able to tell. It just looks like I’m hugging you.”
He was going to do it and she was going to moan and bite her lip and come right there on the beach.
In full view of anyone looking. And somehow she really doubted a man leaning against a woman with his hand moving back and forth between her legs would be interpreted as an affectionate hugger by any passerby.
This would be setting a bad precedent. If she gave in and shattered all over Houston’s hand on the beach, who knew what else he’d think her capable of? He’d have her dangling from a chandelier naked if she wasn’t careful.
Forcing her eyes to stay open, she swallowed hard and tried to ignore the little teasing back-and-forth motions of his finger, the way he played with the edge of her shorts, darting under, brushing her underwear.
“I think they would be able to tell,” she panted, clamping her thighs together to keep him at bay. Which only trapped his hand, pressing him more firmly against her. Oh, shit, that felt good, and she savored it for a long slow pulsing second.
Then with the willpower she had relied on to study in med school and to work twenty-four-hour shifts, she stepped forward, out of Houston’s reach.
He didn’t say anything, but she heard the rush of his breath, felt his stillness. A breeze off the water ruffled her hair as she turned around. Houston stood straight, taut, his muscular arms at his sides. His jeans were straining to hold his impressive erection.
But he didn’t acknowledge that, didn’t make a joke, or crack a smile, or shift himself in his pants like other men she knew would do. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, spinning the ring, holding them around his index finger.
He wouldn’t beg. She had figured that out by now. He wouldn’t push her or coax or charm. He would just wait, knowing she wanted him, until she was doing the begging, compliant and wide open to him.
But he couldn’t quite achieve the remoteness she was used to seeing from him in the OR. He was just as edgy, though he knew how to control himself better than she did.
He took one step towards her. “Next time you bend over like that to tease me, I just may be tempted to smack your ass instead of touch it.”
Josie gasped. She gaped. She covered her butt with her hands, as if he might grab her and give her ten whacks right there on the beach.
He was joking, of course. Wasn’t he?
Of course he was. And she was repelled by the thought, not turned on and curious and leaning towards him like a sun-starved houseplant to the window.
Liar.
Nor was she entertaining any thoughts of bending over just to see if he would actually follow through on his threat.
Still lying.
If she did have any thoughts in that direction, any tiny, small, ridiculous thoughts, she ignored them and patiently waited for her brain to provide her with speechmaking capabilities again.
It was a little slow coming.
Unlike she was going to be the second they walked through his condo door.