Mariah Stewart - On Sunset Beach

His hand ran the length of her thigh and up under her skirt, slipped under her panties, and caressed her until she wanted to scream. She tugged at his belt, her hand lowering to feel the length of him.

“Carly …?” he whispered.

“Yes. Yes.”

He rose on one elbow, and she heard the crinkling of the foil wrapper that he’d removed from his pocket. A moment later, he was above her, and she wrapped her legs around his, raised her hips, and pulled him closer. She could feel him just there, at the entrance to her body, and wanted only to feel him inside. When he slid into her, she exhaled a moan so soft that even she barely heard it. With her hips setting the rhythm, they moved together in the dark toward an explosion of sensation that left them both rocked to the core.

He lay with his head on her breast, his breathing still erratic, his hands holding hers next to her head. She tried to force a normal amount of air into her lungs, tried to ignore the pounding of her heart. She wondered if he could hear it.

“Your heart is beating like a kettledrum,” he whispered.

So okay, he heard it.

“Ummmm” was the best she could do at the moment.

A few moments later, when she felt she could trust her voice, she said, “Tell me that wasn’t your boyhood fantasy.”

“What, making love with a beautiful woman on a perfect summer night while the stars were twinkling and the river flowed quietly by?” He raised his head and smiled down at her. “Ya think?”

She laughed softly and looked around. “I wonder if they were watching.”

“The ghosts?” He glanced over to the spot where the old shed was rumored to have stood. “If they were, they got an eyeful.”

She pulled him back to rest against her again, closed her eyes, and listened to the night sounds. A loud group of kids passing by the mansion reminded her that they weren’t the only people out and about. She startled and he laughed.

“Relax. We’re about two hundred yards from the street, and it’s pitch-black out here.”

“Two hundred yards? That doesn’t sound like much.”

“Think the length of two football fields.”

Still, she felt uneasy, so he sat up and began to rearrange first her clothes then his own. She watched him try to button her shirt, then laughed and told him, “I’ll do it. You take care of your own business.”

Carly put herself back together and sat, staring at the pale strips of the river that were outlined by the moon’s light. When Ford finished dressing, he held her face in his hands and asked, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I’m glad I wore a skirt …”

They walked back to the house lazily, and once they were back inside, he helped her turn off the lights, lock the doors, and then, without need of discussion, followed her down the hall to her bedroom.

“We lived out one of your fantasies,” she told him as she backed into the room and kicked off her sandals. “Now let’s try one of mine …”

CARLY awoke in the morning, a smile on her face.

She glanced over at the beautiful man sleeping next to her, and delicately traced the outline of his jaw where the dark shadow of just the hint of beard was visible. He wrinkled his nose in his sleep but did not wake. She smiled and got out of bed. Where Ford appeared dead to the world, she felt energized. She showered, changed, and was in the kitchen washing dishes from the night before when she heard him come into the room.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” She looked over her shoulder to find him behind her.

He kissed the nape of her neck and made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a word, and she laughed.

“What was that you said?”

“Coffee.”

Carly opened a cupboard in which several boxes of tiny coffee cups were stacked.

“Choose your poison,” she told him.

He sorted through the boxes, then handed her one of the cups.

“Extra-bold Sumatra? If you say so …” She tucked the cup into the coffeemaker, put a mug on the little platform, and set the machine to brew. When all the coffee had dripped into the mug, she handed it to Ford. “The sugar’s in …” She pointed to the cupboard, but he shook his head.

“Black. Thanks.”

“Now, one would think you had a long night last night,” she teased.

“Longest night I’ve had in … oh, maybe forever.”

“Me, too.”

Her eyes met his, and he set the mug down on the counter. He put his arms around her, and just held on for a long moment before kissing the side of her face and releasing her. He took the mug to the back door and looked out.

“Nice morning,” he observed.

“It’s even nicer outside,” she replied. “Not too hot yet, the humidity’s still low, and there’s a breeze. Go on out. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He unlocked the door, and through the window, she saw him standing at the edge of the patio, looking around the yard. She dried her hands, made a second mug of coffee for herself, then joined him.

“It’s nice,” he said. “Your yard …”

“It desperately needs some attention. The grass needs to be cut and the flower beds need to be weeded. I’d thought I’d get out here to tend to some of it, but there just hasn’t been time.”

“Guess you didn’t bring a lawn mower with you from New York.”

“Connecticut,” she corrected him, then added, “No, I didn’t.”

“I used to be friends with the kid who grew up next door. Lincoln Calder. We were in the same class from kindergarten through our senior year.” He looked over the fence at the scruffy black dog that was chasing its tail in the center of the yard. “Wonder where old Linc is these days.”

“Do his parents still live there?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“I bet your mother knows.”

“My mother knows everything that goes on in this town.” His mouth turned up on one side. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she already knows about last night.”

“Please don’t even put that thought in my head.” Carly faked a shiver. “I’d never be able to look her in the eye again.”

Ford laughed. “I didn’t mean she’d know everything. Just that I’m here.”

“How would she know that?”

“One of the family’s cars is in the driveway.”

“So? You think everyone in St. Dennis knows what the inn’s cars look like?”

He nodded.

“Please.” She rolled her eyes.

“I will bet you that before the day is over, Grace has something to say about it.”

“What’s the bet?”

“If you win—if she says nothing—I will cook dinner for you every night for a week.”

“You’re that good a cook?”

“Are you kidding?” He scoffed. “I can’t cook squat. I’m just that sure of my mother.”

“You’re on.” She reached out to shake his hand. “Now, enough talk about dinner. Let’s see about breakfast.”

“Good idea.” He opened the door and held it for her. “Was there any manti left from last night?”

“You wouldn’t eat that for breakfast …”

“Sure. Why not? It’s protein, carbs … best way to start the day.”

“Ugh. I can’t even think of eating lamb at this hour of the morning.”

“So tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

She followed him into the house and showed him how to heat up the manti while she spooned yogurt into a bowl and topped it with honey for herself.

“Oh, there’s a hearty breakfast,” he commented when he sat down at the table with a plateful of last night’s leftovers.

She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

“So somehow last night we forgot about the interview,” he noted.

“The interview?”

“You? Me? The Gazette?”

“Oh.” She nodded. “That interview. I don’t know how that could have slipped our minds.”

Ford smirked.

“I think this time we’re going to announce the Carolina paintings.” Carly became all business. “You know, okay, we’ve found this cache and we’re going to introduce the works to the art world as part of the dedication of the art center.” She looked at him across the table, not surprised that he wasn’t taking notes. He was simply watching her face.

“What?” she asked.

“You are so serious when you talk about Carolina. Even your eyes get serious. They get darker.” He leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table, and his chin in his palm. “How do they do that?”

“Are you trying to distract me from the fact that you are not writing down anything that I said?”

“No. I just really like looking at your face.”

“I like looking at your face, too, but we have work to do.”

“Right.” He patted his pockets. “No pen.”

In spite of herself, Carly laughed. “How ’bout I write up what I’d like you to say about the exhibit, and the paintings, and you can incorporate it into your article.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. It might be better. That way I can coordinate what goes into the paper with the press release I’ll be sending out. I’d like both pieces to go out at the same time.”

“You have this all planned.”

“Right down to popping the champagne at the opening.”

Her cell phone rang, and she jumped. She grabbed it off the counter, and looked at the caller ID.

“Oh my God. Tony.” Carly stared at Ford. “I totally forgot about Tony coming today to start putting in the security system.”

She answered the call and promised Tony she’d be at the carriage house in fifteen minutes.

“Take your time,” he told her. “I think I’m going to run back to that coffee shop I saw up on the main street and grab myself a cup.”

She glanced at the wall clock anxiously. If she hadn’t been running late, she’d have made coffee, but as it was, she had just enough time to jump into the shower and get dressed.

“Go ahead. Do what you have to do,” Ford told her. “I’ll clean up here and lock up before I leave.”

“Are you sure …?”

“Positive. Tell Tony I’ll stop over tomorrow to say hey.”

“Don’t forget, you’re meeting Lola …,” she reminded him before she bolted from the room.

“Right. Now go.”

She went. Straight to the shower, then into her bedroom to dress, ignoring the rumpled bed and last night’s clothes that were kicked here and there. She picked up her underwear and shirt and tossed them into the hamper. She’d look for her skirt later. It had to be there somewhere.

She went into the kitchen and tried to pretend it was the most natural thing in the world for her to have an adorable man washing her dishes, singing along to the playlist on his phone, which was on the table.

“Bruno Mars,” she said, recognizing the song and the singer. “I like him, too.”

She leaned up to kiss him good-bye, and he turned just enough to catch her mouth full-on.

“Thank you again for cleaning up here.” She smiled. “You could be my houseman.”

“Houseman? Is that the colloquial for sex slave?”

“In some circles, yes.” She tossed her phone into her bag and went out the door, the song he was singing still in her head. “You’re amazing, just the way you are …”

It stayed in her head for most of the morning, even when she and Tony discussed how he would wire and connect each of the paintings to a central motherboard so that removing one from the wall would trigger an alarm.

“We’ll get everything else set up,” he told her. “Then a few days before you open, I’ll come back and I will personally wire each frame. It will be tight to get it all done, but we’ll make it work.”