Perfect for the Beach (14 page)

What if she were having sex on the beach with Kyle, the lifeguard? What if she were having sex in the water, right now, with Kyle? Acting completely independent of her brain, her thighs responded with a resounding
Yes, let’s do it,
and rocked forward, nudging her mound against his rock-solid butt.

A shudder ripped through her. Have mercy.

* * *

Shit, was Sara trying to torture him?

Her fingers danced across Kyle’s back, like she was trying to fool him into thinking that’s what had been there the whole time. Hah. He knew a nipple when he felt one, and that had been a nipple. He had the erection to prove it.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” came the breathy reply, whispered over his shoulder.

Kyle started walking and wondering. He was not a spontaneous guy, never engaged in one-night stands. He had never even dated a woman he had met at the beach while on duty, though he had done his share of harmless flirting. The reputation of ladies’ man came with the job and the blond hair, but he had never lived up to it, and had mildly resented that people assumed he was a beach bum, content to spend his life in a beach chair.

No one really understood the training, hours, and effort that went into being a lifeguard, and he was tired of trying to explain it. After today, he was going to school to become an EMT, ready to move on to the next challenge, the next phase in his life.

But before he did, wouldn’t it be fitting if he lived up to the image just once? With the wet and clinging Sara.

He gave a quick adjustment to the front of his trunks before he emerged from the water and decided he was nuts. Sara wanted him to get her out of the water, modesty intact, not take her in the lifeguard office and give her mouth-to-mouth.

Besides, he wasn’t a one-night stand kind of guy. It always seemed disrespectful somehow, to use each other like that for pleasure. His brain remembered that even if his body wanted to forget.

Sara pressed closer to him, giving a little sound of distress. Kyle saw that several guys were glancing in their direction, and he reached back and took Sara’s hands in his own, threading his fingers through hers and giving her a little squeeze. He thought he felt her relax a little and he walked faster, determined to ditch her before she spotted his hard-on and ran screaming. Or worse, didn’t run.

The wind was even more brutal than it had been fifteen minutes ago, and Kyle sensed rain about to drop. The office was right ahead and he led Sara in, turned around, and closed the door. In the cool air-conditioning of the small room, he took a deep breath and tried not to look at her.

It was impossible. Standing in front of him, her hands across her breasts, he was looking at the most gorgeous body he’d ever seen. All long legs, thin hips, and firm, smooth skin, she was bending her narrow shoulders a little, hunching forward, her hair stuck to her like a wet blanket. Her hands covered her nipples, but not the swell of her breasts, not the luscious curve under each, not the flat abdomen that had drops of water rolling down it to a pair of red bikini bottoms.

Bikini bottoms that were low, as low as they could go without giving him a heart attack. Actually, a heart attack was still possible, given the way they fit snug, hugging the contour of her body, the little indentation of her soft folds visible in the wet fabric.

She looked uncomfortable and cold, goose bumps dancing across her wet skin. Yet her cheeks looked flushed, and her breathing was a little ragged, her eyes wide and filled with what he hoped like hell was something resembling the attraction he was feeling.

Either that or it was medical shock.

Which meant he really could do mouth-to-mouth. He never thought he’d be looking forward to CPR.

Sara wanted to speak, but her lips wouldn’t move. Kyle was just staring at her, ignoring the drops of water dripping down his face from his wet hair, and she gripped her breasts tighter, like they’d sail off and leap into his mouth if she let go.

“I don’t have a T-shirt,” he said. “I left it out on my chair. Let me go get it.”

“Thanks.” Sara glanced around the sparse room. There was nothing but life jackets, flotation noodles, and first aid supplies. She could wrap gauze around her chest, but that would be a last resort, since she didn’t think she would be able to wrap it by herself. The image of Kyle, big, large, blond Kyle, rolling thin gauze across her breasts made her want to whimper.

“I left my bag on the beach—it’s yellow plaid. I have a towel and a sarong in it.” A sarong that was see-through and utterly useless. But with her bag, she could put her glasses back on, drive home topless, and never set foot on this beach again.

Kyle looked thrilled to be able to leave. “I’ll go get it. No problem.”

Then he bolted, slamming the door behind him.

“Dammit, dammit.” Sara dropped her arms and started pacing the room. What a total disaster.

All she had wanted was to leave behind her staid and boring life, where everyone treated her as a doctor and not a woman, and for once, just once, experience what it would be like to have a man look at you and want you. Want you so bad he trembled, his mouth went dry, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

It was partly her fault. As a teen and college student, she had dressed herself down, wanting to be taken seriously, and had rebuffed any attempts at flirtation from classmates. Then she had chosen pediatrics as her specialty, and now worked primarily with women. She loved her career, loved children so much she ached to have one of her own. But somewhere along the way she’d forgotten how to be a woman.

This probably had been a lousy plan, trolling around the beach for a surfer to lure into a rip-roaring affair, and her friend Josie had tried to dissuade her. But Josie had a boyfriend, which made her unqualified to give advice to single people, in Sara’s opinion. Josie was having sex. Sara was in danger of collecting dust from lack of use.

Now she could either slink home in defeat, or she could turn her plan from a surfer to a lifeguard.

If she had the nerve. She pictured Kyle, remembered the feel of his large chest against her, his hands holding her tightly, and she decided if he gave any encouragement whatsoever she was going to be on him like white on rice.

Sara stuck her hands in her hair, trying to rake the moppy strands back off her face and shoulders. Her nail caught in a tangle, and she was standing like that, arms all the way up, working it loose, when Kyle opened the door, carrying her bag.

His jaw dropped. Then the bag tumbled to his feet.

Mortified, she wanted to run screaming out of the room naked, like a girl in an eighties horror movie. Instead, she forced herself to think rationally. This was just like taking a shower. Wet, hands in hair. Naked. With a complete stranger.

“It’s raining,” he said to her breasts. “I brought you my shirt, but it’s wet. Your bag and towel got hit by a wave and I couldn’t find the towel. And there’s a tree down on the main road—there’s no way for us to leave for the next hour or so. There’s a crew out there now clearing it, but it will be awhile.”

Sara just stood there and listened to him babbling, thinking this could only be a sign. A sign that maybe the beach was closed, but her plan was a go.

Given the way the last five years of her life had gone, it was possible she might never get another chance to do whatever could happen here with her naked and a gorgeous lifeguard in front of her.

Summoning her inner
Cosmo,
she fought the urge to squirm.

“Can we stay here?” Squeezing the water out of the bottom of her hair, she tossed it back over her shoulder, thrusting her chest out and sucking in her gut.

Kyle made a funny sound, almost like a low growl in the back of his throat. “Yes. We can stay here.”

She took a step toward him, holding her hand out for her bag. “That’s a relief.”

To her horny and humming body.

Chapter Two

If Sara touched him all wet and naked like that, he was going to lose it. In his shorts.

Kyle dodged her arm, forcing his eyes off of her smooth breasts and the way her hips dipped and swayed as she walked toward him.

He should ask her out. That’s what he should do. Ask her out, get to know her, show her he wasn’t after a quick roll in the sand.
Then
he could have sex with her. Over and over again, burying himself in those narrow thighs, making her call his name …

“Kyle.”

“Huh?” Damn, she was following him across the room. He wasn’t going to be able to hold out if she came within smelling distance of him.

“Can I have my bag? And your shirt to put on?”

Right. He stopped himself from just hurling the bag in her direction and politely handed it to her, staring at a spot on her shoulder so his eyes wouldn’t stray. His shirt was draped over the bag and she lifted it over her head, wiggling her shoulders, and he swore he wouldn’t look.

God, man, don’t do it, don’t go over to the dark side …

He looked. His white shirt was falling over her breasts, the damp material clinging to her, nipples rosy and clearly visible, as were the dark circles around them. Little folds of fabric hugged the curvy underside of each breast.

Oh, that was much better. Now she looked like first place in an Acadia Inlet wet T-shirt contest.

“It’s kind of big,” she said, fisting her hands in the hem, which hovered over her thighs. “But it’s drier than I thought.”

Then she did what would make a priest rip off his collar and sin. Her hands went under the T-shirt, sending it dangerously high. Kyle had some provocative mental images of what her fingers could be doing under there before they reemerged a second later.

The little red bikini bottoms rolled down her thighs until they landed on the floor with a wet thump, just a minute scrap of material that had only covered the essentials. But at least it had covered them. Now she truly was naked under that shirt. His shirt. Wearing nothing.

“Whew. That’s better. Those were so uncomfortable. I hate wet bathing suits.”

Now how was he supposed to behave himself when she said things like that?

He wasn’t. He said, “Me, too.”

“Oh.” Her blue eyes went wide. “I bet you’re uncomfortable, too. Your trunks are just as wet.”

Then she glanced down at them. He knew what she was seeing. Wet trunks, yeah. And a hard-on, which he hoped was impressive. If he was going to be mortified, he at least wanted to put his best face forward.

Sara tilted her head a little, studying him. “I thought the water was supposed to make it shrink.” Then she clapped her hand over her mouth, like she hadn’t meant to speak out loud.

Noticing how his T-shirt hugged the apex of her thighs, cupping her exactly the way he wanted to, he said without thinking, “Not under the circumstances.”

“If they feel really awful—your trunks, I mean—you can take them off.”

His heart about stopped.

“I have something you can cover up with.”

She rooted around in her damp bag, bending over a little, causing the shirt to ride up in the back. If he just moved a little to the left, he would see flesh where her thighs met her ass. He was on the verge of doing exactly that when she held up a white thing in front of him.

“My sarong.”

Her sarong was nothing but white filmy fabric with big red flowers on it. It was see-through. It was a skirt. “I’m not wearing that! That thing wouldn’t cover up a dimple.”

Sara suddenly grinned. “You’ve got more than a dimple, don’t you?”

Jesus, he was blushing. “Sara!”

The grin was still there, but she tried to sound contrite. “I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?”

Yes.
“No. Well, it’s just…” He took a deep breath and stuck his hands on his hips. “It’s just that when I walked in, you were just about naked, and hell, Sara, I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t react to that.”

Taking in those long legs again, he said, “You’re gorgeous.”

Her cheeks went a little pink and her teeth worked her bottom lip. “Thanks.”

He felt the need to elaborate. “Your body is …” His jaw worked up and down.