Barefoot by the Sea (16 page)

“Yeah?”

“I’ve missed you.” And when he kissed her again, he stroked her back and she felt every muscle in his body harden against her. Everything felt so good. So right. So absolutely perfectly delicious.

She opened her mouth and kissed him back, long enough that she almost forgot that he didn’t actually make the promise she’d asked for.

It was the best time in the kitchen. After the resort brunch was served and cleaned up, the restaurant closed for the rest of the weekend, so on Sunday afternoons, the kitchen was dark, deserted, and very, very cozy.

Especially in the cold and dark dry-storage pantry, where two people could find a corner to kiss and whisper—and share secrets.

Except Marcus wasn’t sharing anything right now but tonsil hockey. Of course, they hadn’t been together in two days, so how could they keep their hands off each other?

“Come on.” Marcus tugged at the sleeve of Ashley’s hoodie. “Take your top off, babe.”

“It’s cold, Marc.”

He pulled her higher on his lap, right onto an epic-sized boner. “I’ll keep you warm,” he teased. “I won’t hurt you.”

Ashley laughed softly, repositioning herself into a straddle, enjoying the little fireworks that exploded between her legs as she moved over the firm ridge between his.

“Let’s just do this,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and humping like they did last time. “It’s fun.”

“Fun for you.” He slid a hand under her hoodie, finding his way beneath her T-shirt and heading north to her boob. They’d gone this far already, so it wasn’t like she could say no. They were headed…there. Fast. But she wasn’t sure she wanted her first time to be in the dry-storage pantry.

A different kind of heat slithered through her, making her stomach tighten but not in the way it did when she thought about how much she liked this boy. This was a different tightness. This was an ache. He was definitely the one. It was only a matter of time until she lost her virginity to him.

He got his thumb right over her nipple and pleasure and pain welled up so intensely she wanted to scream. All she wanted was more. And so did he.

After all, he wasn’t some stinking high school junior who’d be happy making out and getting the occasional feel. This was Marcus and he was a
man
, especially since he’d be twenty in two months.

He started pumping between her legs, his eyes closing, his hands wandering to her other boob. “You’re hot, Ashley.”

She tried to let the compliment warm her, kissing his face. “So are you.”

“Take this stupid thing off,” he murmured, fumbling with her bra, underlining the plea with a hard press of his crotch right into hers. Oh, man, that felt good. “I want to see you, Ashley. I want to see your sexy titties.”

She closed her eyes and tried to decide. She was seventeen, for crying out loud. It wasn’t like it was a huge deal.

“Don’t you like me?” he asked, coming around the back to her bra snap.

She wiggled to stop him. “You know I do. But we can just do this today, okay? Like last time?”

“You came in your jeans last time,” he said, pulling back.

Oh, she had. And it had felt so freaking good she almost cried.

“So we are not even, girl.”

True, she hadn’t returned the favor. Yet. “You can come in your jeans,” she offered, kind of hoping he didn’t want to take her up on that. But what was the alternative? She
knew
the alternative. Maybe she could just kiss him and not put the whole thing in her mouth.

He took her hand and dragged it down there, making her rub his hard-on over his jeans.

“C’mon, Ash. Touch me. Put your—” He jerked away, pushing her back. “Did you hear that?”

She hadn’t heard anything but the blood pounding in her head and way too many questions that didn’t seem to plague any of her friends who did all kinds of smexy stuff with their boyfriends.

“Listen, Marc, we—”

“Shh!” He held a hand up to her mouth. “Someone’s in the kitchen.”

Her mother! “Shit.” She scrambled off his lap, ice-cold fear replacing red-hot sexy in a blink.

“Quiet!” he demanded. “They might not come in here.”

“They?” she whispered? Her mom and Clay? Shit monkeys! Life was over. She listened for the telltale sound of a baby’s cry, because they wouldn’t go anywhere without Elijah. Not anywhere, including the volleyball parents’ meeting they’d missed and the parent-teachers’ conference they blew off last week. Not that they needed to know she was majorly effing up calculus, but—

“It’s John,” Marcus said. “The new chef.”

She scowled. “He’s moving into his bungalow today. What would he be doing here?”

“Be quiet, Ash. Maybe he’ll leave.”

Ashley stayed right where she was on the pantry floor, staring at the door handle, taking silent breaths of flour and fear. Would the chef come in here? Would she be in trouble? Would he tell her mother what she was doing and who she was with?

Because this new boyfriend was probably not going to go over big.

Ashley brushed her hands over her top and jacket. At least she hadn’t gone any farther.

The door handle moved, then stopped. She heard a voice, but couldn’t make out what he’d said. Who was he with? Aunt Tessa? She’d die if Tessa saw her here. And of course her mom would find out and blow a gasket.

“Go.” She pushed Marcus. “Go tell him you’re working or something and don’t let him see me.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause he’ll think I’m, like, a slut or something.”

Marcus looked at her. “Who cares? He’ll fire my ass if he catches me in the kitchen now.”

Who cares?
She did. But she didn’t want Marcus to get fired, either. “Then tell him you’re doing inventory. You’ll get promoted, not fired.”

He looked at her, a mix of fear and hope in his dark, dark eyes. God, he was cute. “Please, Marc.”

The handle moved again and, to his credit, Marcus shot up, taking two long strides and opening it himself, using his body to block any view of the pantry. Ashley pushed to her feet and slipped out of view behind shelves.

“What are you doing here?” Marcus asked, sounding like the guiltiest person on earth.

“What are
you
doing here?”

“Um, just…”
Inventory, you moron!
“Working.”

Ashley closed her eyes and let out a silent grunt.

John pushed the door farther open. “Working on what?” he demanded, accusation in the question.

“You know, like, stuff that needs to be done.”

“In the pantry?” John asked. “What exactly are you doing in there?”

“Nothing, man. You don’t have to be a dick—”

“Marcus?”

Oh,
gawd
. Aunt Tessa was here.

“What’s going on?”

Marcus didn’t answer, but glanced to his side, where Ashley stood.
Why not scream my name, pal?
She gave him a pleading look and put her finger to her lips.

“I’m counting inventory,” he finally said.

“Counting inventory?” John definitely wasn’t buying it. “Or stealing inventory?”

“I’m not stealing anything!”

“Then let me in to see what you’re doing.”

Marcus stood frozen. “Tell him it’s cool, Tessa. I come in and do inventory a lot on Sundays for overtime.”

“Are you alone in there?” she asked.

Ashley almost slid back to the floor. Shit, shit,
shit
.

“Yeah,” he said, about as convincingly as a two-year-old with chocolate on his face. He started to step out of the pantry, carefully keeping them from coming in. “I’m done anyway.”

“You want to show me your jacket pockets?” John demanded.

Ashley’s jaw dropped. He really thought Marcus was a thief? Would Marcus subject himself to a search or sell her out? That would really tell her what he was made of, wouldn’t it?

“Eff you, John.”

“That’s Chef John to you. Empty your jacket pockets.”

From her hiding place behind the door, she couldn’t see Marcus’s face but could imagine the hot look of hatred he was giving John right now.

“Empty them or don’t come to work tomorrow.”

She heard a brushing of sound, probably his hoodie. “I don’t have anything, see?”

“What’s that?” Tessa asked.

Silence, then Marcus kind of laughed. “Like a Boy Scout, you know?”

“You take condoms into the pantry?”

Ashley closed her eyes and dropped her head back.

“Who’s in there?” John demanded.

Ashley put her face in her hands and bit back tears. She was so totally screwed.

“Nobody,” Marcus said.

She pulled her hands away, the first bit of hope curling through her. Of course he’d cover for her. He liked her. A lot. It wasn’t just sex.

“You’re in there alone?”

“Of course I am,” he said, his foot scuffing as he started to walk away. “Now I’m gonna book. See you guys tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you out,” John said.

“I’m cool, man.”

Ashley stood stone still, waiting for the door to close, for the nightmare to be over. Instead, it opened a little wider and a familiar dark-haired head peeked in. Ashley stayed stone still, holding her breath, praying Aunt Tessa wouldn’t see her hiding in the corner.

“Ashley?” No such luck. She walked in, frowning. “What are you…”

“He’s gone,” John said, walking right in behind her, then halting at the sight of Ashley. “Don’t tell me, you were working on the inventory with him.”

“She won’t tell you that,” Tessa said quietly. “Because Ashley doesn’t lie.”

Ashley gave her aunt-by-friendship a pleading look. “Please don’t tell my mom, Aunt Tessa.”

Tessa blew out a slow breath. “I’m going to walk Ashley home, John.”

And that might give Ashley time to make her case. She hoped.

Ashley was silent all the way out of the restaurant and onto the sands of Barefoot Bay, and Tessa racked her brain for the right way to handle this. Carefully, of course. Tenderly. With mature understanding and patience. Like a loving aunt, not a worried mother.

Ashley shot her an expectant look.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Tessa demanded. So much for tender and patient.

“Right now, I’m thinking that only I would have the luck to get busted by the aunt who would die before she kept a secret. Why couldn’t Aunt Zoe have come in there?”

“Zoe would kill you. I’m only going to yell. Ashley, what are you doing with him? He’s twenty years old!”

“Nineteen, so we’re only two years apart.”

By whose math? “He’s
almost
twenty and you just turned seventeen about five minutes ago.”

“Three weeks ago, Aunt Tess.”

“I don’t care.” She guided Ashley around some shellers, lowering her voice so they didn’t hear. “That’s too much of an age difference.”

“Age difference?” Ashley shot back. “My mom robbed the cradle.”

She suddenly sounded much, much younger than seventeen. And a lot more like the tempestuous and sometimes sullen young teen she’d been after the hurricane. Since then, Ashley had matured in so many ways.

Obviously, she’d matured as far as boys were concerned. “Ashley, Clay is only six years younger than your mother. And they’re
both
adults.”

She huffed out a breath. “I knew this was going to happen.”

“Look, I’m saying this as someone who loves you dearly and deeply. A boy his age—no, a
man
his age—is not appropriate for a girl who just turned seventeen.”

“Appropriate? Who even says that anymore?”

“You want me to spell it out? An almost-twenty-year-old young man is thinking about sex every minute of every day. I’ll bet a month’s salary you weren’t in there doing inventory.”

“I was saying no,” she said quickly but with not nearly enough conviction.

“He had a condom in his pocket.”

“At least he’s smart and careful.”

Tessa stopped suddenly, kicking up some sand. “Are you still a virgin?” The question slipped out with a little pain in her voice. Not that she had any right to ask or even that seventeen was
that
young, but she loved Ashley like she was her own daughter and she—

“Yes, Aunt Tessa,” she said, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward. “I am. I swear on my life, my name, and the Bible, I am a virgin.”

But Tessa hadn’t picked up speed yet. “You’re thinking about it, though, aren’t you?”

Ashley didn’t answer. Oh, boy. Oh,
man
.

“Ashley.” She slowed again to make her point. “Please be smart, and I don’t mean use protection. I mean say no.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “I have.”

Tessa sighed a hearty breath of relief.

“So far.”

Damn. “You don’t want your first time to be with just anyone,” she said, choosing each word carefully. “And you sure don’t want it to be in the kitchen of your mom’s resort.”

Ashley closed her eyes. “Please don’t tell her.”

Tessa didn’t answer, unwilling to make promises she couldn’t keep. She zipped through a mental file, trying to remember what she knew about Marcus Lowell, other than that he’d been in trouble with the law once, dropped out of Mimosa High—or was kicked out—and came from one of the most broken homes on the island. Lacey had hired him as a personal favor to the sheriff, who was trying to give the kid another chance.

Okay, so not the Most Likely to Succeed from Mimosa High, but why would Ashley hide him from her mother and stepfather? “Why can’t I tell her?”

“Because”—she finally faced Tessa—“she’ll fire him.”

“Why would she do that?”

“For the same reason you’re marching me home like I’m nine years old and I stole a candy bar from the Super Min.”

“I still don’t understand why you can’t tell your mother you’re…” She glanced sideways. “What exactly is going on with this guy? He’s your boyfriend?”