Seaside Serenade (Seaside Summers Book 9)

  SEASIDE

  Serenade

  A Seaside Summers Short Story

  Love in Bloom Series

  Melissa Foster

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

  SEASIDE SERENADE

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2019 Melissa Foster

  Kindle Edition

  V1.0

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  A Note to Readers

  Friendships and family abound during this fun-filled weekend of love, laughter, and happily ever afters! Spend the evening catching up with our Seaside friends in this Valentine’s Day celebration and fall in love with our newest Seaside couple, Brock and Cree!

  I have wanted to write Brock Garner’s story since the day I first met him, years ago, and I am thrilled to have finally fit it into my writing schedule. Seaside Serenade is a great way to get to know some of our Seaside Summers friends, and then you can go back and read each of their love stories. If this is your first introduction to Seaside Summers, please note that this is a flirt, a short story spanning one weekend. As with all my stories, you will get a sexy, fun, romantic story with a wonderful happily ever after, and never any cliffhangers. Like all Love in Bloom books, flirts are written to stand alone, so jump right in and enjoy the fun, sexy, and emotional ride.

  Sign up for my newsletter to receive a free Braden/Remington short story and to be notified of new releases, sales, and events:

  www.MelissaFoster.com/News

  If this is your first Love in Bloom story, then you have a whole series of loyal, sexy, and wickedly naughty heroes and smart, sassy heroines to catch up with. The characters from each family series within the Love in Bloom world cross into other family series and make appearances in future books so you never miss an engagement, wedding, or birth.

  Start reading the Love in Bloom big-family romance collection FREE with the series starters that kicked-off the sensation.

  www.Melissafoster.com/LIBFree

  A Love in Bloom series checklist, and family trees are available for download on the Reader Goodies page on my website:

  www.MelissaFoster.com/RG

  Happy reading!

  Melissa

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  A Note to Readers

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Excerpt from Seaside Dreams

  Keep up with Melissa!

  More Books By Melissa Foster

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  WHOEVER SAID WORKING out was a good substitute for sex had never been around Cree Redmond, a petite raven-haired beauty who preferred combat boots to sneakers. Brock Garner was a local boxing champ, and he was a big dude at six foot four and two hundred and thirty pounds, but that perky little sexpot could take him to his knees with one innocent smile. He stole a glance at her as he danced around the boxing ring with his buddy Sawyer Bass, another boxer-turned-trainer. Cree was leaning over the counter with a pencil in her mouth, studying the trainers’ schedules, moving her fine ass to the beat of whatever music she had on at the front desk, completely fucking oblivious to the hard-ons she gave Brock every damn—

  Umph! Sawyer’s glove connected with Brock’s jaw, snapping him from his Cree trance. Brock narrowed his eyes, focusing on his opponent, who was grinning around his mouthpiece.

  Asshole.

  Sawyer had taken a cheap shot, but it was Brock’s own fault. Nothing had ever broken his focus when he was boxing until Cree had come into his club looking for a job four months ago. He’d never forget the first time he’d seen her. She’d been helping to entertain the children of the guests at Sky and Sawyer’s quadruple wedding, during which Brock’s sister Jana had also gotten married. He’d been awestruck by her innocent brown eyes and sunny disposition, a glaring contrast to her head-to-toe black clothing, the colorful tattoos running down her arm and snaking up her neck, and the black Harley on which she’d arrived. But then he’d seen her around town with Justin Wicked, a rough-looking, bearded biker. Justin and his brother owned Cape Stone, a stone distribution and stonemasonry company. They were both stand-up guys, and after realizing Justin and Cree were dating, Brock had firmly placed her in the not-available category. Hiring her was the best and worst decision of his life. Clients loved her vivacious personality as much as he did, but seeing her prance around in tight yoga pants and barely there tank tops was pure torture. And ever since she’d started taking dance classes from his sister Jana, Cree had been practicing and shaking her fantastic booty on the job, making it hard for him to think of anything else.

  Well, other than having her naked in my arms…

  Brock lowered his chin, studying Sawyer’s movements. Sawyer had been concussed one too many times, and he no longer competed professionally, but Brock didn’t go easy on him. Not that Sawyer wanted him to; the guy was tough as nails. Brock saw an opening and took it, connecting with Sawyer’s ribs and then landing an uppercut to his jaw, while skillfully avoiding Sawyer’s retaliations.

  Sawyer’s phone alarm went off, indicating the end of their practice. Brock’s eyes shifted to Cree as he stripped off his gloves and took out his mouthpiece.

  “Nice fight,” Sawyer said sarcastically. “Maybe they can open a pansy division for you.”

  Brock scoffed as he climbed out of the ring. “If that were a real fight, I’d have won.”

  “If that were a real fight, I would have actually fought.”

  The bell over the door sounded, and Sky breezed in, her long colorful skirt whipping around her boots. She waved to Sawyer, then stopped to chat with Cree. Sky’s brother Hunter was married to Brock’s sister Jana. They were all pretty tight.

  “Be right there, babe,” Sawyer called out as he stuffed his equipment in his bag.

  Sky owned a tattoo shop in Provincetown, which, like most towns on the Outer Cape, was all but closed down for the winter. Cree worked for Sky in the summer, along with holding down a handful of other part-time jobs. As the oldest of four, raised by strict parents who believed in traditional values, Brock was a planner. He’d known he wanted to own a boxing club since he was a teenager. Going from job to job as Cree—and Brock’s sister Jana used to—would drive him batty. But that wasn’t why he’d hired Cree full-time at the club when he only needed a part-time employee for the winter. Giving her job stability probably should have been the reason, but his decision had been solely based on wanting to be around her. She was the happiest, friendliest, most beautiful person inside and out, and he’d jumped at the chance to have her in his life any way he could.

  “You should bring Cree to the Valentine’s Day party tomorrow at Undercover. I bet she’d dig hearing the Beast sing,” Sawyer said, referring to the name Brock used when he fought competitively.

  He and Sawyer sang in an a capella group called A Capella Boys along with Sawyer’s former boxing coach, Roach Regan, who also trained other fighters at the cl
ub. Their group had started as a joke, but they had too much fun to give it up. Now they occasionally sang at open-mic nights at Undercover, Brock’s brother Colton’s bar.

  Sawyer smirked and said, “Although I wouldn’t suggest having Little Miss Distraction watch you compete. You could lose your undefeated title.”

  Brock glowered at him. Then he looked across the gym at Cree, catching her gazing at him while she talked to Sky. Her cheeks pinked up, and she quickly shifted her eyes away, as she often did, but she’d already lit the wick between them, and his body heated up. Sometimes the things she said felt a hell of a lot like she was flirting, but then Justin would drive her to or from work, reminding him that she was firmly off-limits, and he’d realized it had only been in his head.

  “She probably already has plans.”

  “She’s still hanging out with Justin? She must really love his…motorcycle.” Sawyer pulled on his coat and swung his bag over his shoulder with a smart-ass look in his eyes.

  Brock gritted his teeth. “He drives a truck during the winter.”

  In addition to her motorcycle, Cree owned a bright yellow Toyota Tercel, which had been the first clue as to how serious she and Justin were. It wasn’t like she couldn’t drive herself to work. If she were his, he’d have her ditch that shitty car and he’d buy her a four-wheel-drive Land Rover so she didn’t kill herself in the snow.

  But she wasn’t his, and in case he’d forgotten that annoying fact, the lack of either a Harley or a Tercel in the parking lot was a glaring reminder.

  “If you were any other guy, I’d say to make your move,” Sawyer said. “But it’s not your style to hit on some other guy’s woman. Sorry, man.”

  “Sometimes I wish I were an asshole.” He glanced at Cree. She had her earbuds back in again and was bopping to the beat as Sky talked on her cell phone. “But if Wicked ever hurts her, you can guarantee I’ll go ape shit on his ass.”

  “I hear ya. See you tomorrow night.”

  After Sawyer and Sky left, Cree pulled out her earbuds and said, “Hey, Brock? I’ve got twenty minutes. Would you mind giving me a few more pointers before I take off?”

  A few weeks ago Cree had asked him to teach her to box. She said she wanted to learn to hit because a girl needed to know how to protect herself. With Justin around, Brock doubted she ever went anywhere alone or had to worry about that. But he believed wholeheartedly in self-defense, and it gave him a chance to get up close and personal with Cree, but damn, those black yoga pants did him in every time.

  “Sure.” I don’t mind taking another cold shower.

  “Yay! Thank you!” She came around the front desk with a bounce in her step as she whipped her T-shirt over her head, flashing an effervescent smile and revealing more of the colorful tattoos on her left arm and right shoulder. He tried like hell not to lower his eyes, but damn. The skintight crop-top/bra combo deal she wore left nothing to the imagination. Her nipples pressed against the thin material. His fingers curled against the urge to touch her. That should be enough to distract him from her bare stomach, but the glistening silver ring in her belly button made his mouth water.

  “Ready, big guy?” She walked backward, moving her fists like she was fighting. “I’m feeling good tonight. I think I can nail the speed bag this time.”

  He’d like to nail her.

  Great. That thought brought an instant hard-on.

  Up close and personal took on a whole new level when she used the speed bag. At least she didn’t want to focus on footwork tonight. He’d tried to get her to wear sneakers during their first lesson, but she’d insisted on wearing those clumsy combat boots. When they concentrated on footwork, she often tripped, landing in his arms. Lucretia “Cree” Redmond was the very definition of heaven and hell.

  “And if we’re quick,” she said with a spark of excitement in her eyes, “maybe you can show me some fancy footwork.”

  There was no water cold enough to douse the flames that idea sent coursing through his veins.

  “Spin it around, sweetheart,” he said when they reached the speed bag. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  She faced the bag, wiggling her butt, hands fisted, and said, “I’ve got it this time. I don’t even think I need to do the fingertip thing. Watch.”

  She stood with her feet a little too wide and lowered her elbows too much, but he bit his tongue because she was so freaking adorable and excited he didn’t want to steal her joy. She inhaled deeply and thrust her breasts out. Freaking torture. Smile still in place, she nodded once and hit the bag. She even got a second hit in, but then it all went to hell. She hit the bag too hard, losing the rhythm, and her next two punches missed the bag altogether.

  Her arms stretched down toward the floor, and she looked up at the ceiling with a loud groan. “I’m such a girl!”

  “That’s a good thing.” He stepped closer, bringing his body flush with her back. He inhaled her sweet scent, the scent that invaded his darkest fantasies. The ones in which he stripped her bare and feasted on every inch of her.

  Christ. He was a glutton for punishment. “What do I always tell you?”

  She leaned back against him just enough to make his cock throb and said, “That fighting like a girl is a compliment.”

  “Right. There’s no competition between girls and guys. Girls can be as tough as they want or need to be. But it starts with the correct stance.” He guided her left hip back. “Your entire body should face the bag.”

  “I remember,” she said a little breathily, standing straighter.

  “And your hands are too low and wide. You want to keep them in tight. Tighter is always better.” Aw, fuck. His mind went straight to the gutter.

  “Like this?” She held her hands closer.

  “Almost.” He guided her hands into position. “It might be easier if we do it together. Put your hands over mine, and I’ll show you the motion.”

  Her slender hands moved over his as he began hitting the bag with his fingertips. “Keeping your hands close to the bag will help you control each hit. Remember to use small, circular motions. Hit it twice with the left hand, twice with the right, until you get it down.”

  “Get it down. Got it.”

  He couldn’t resist pushing the boundaries, because fuck, didn’t he deserve it after all this? “Think of the bag as a new lover. Hit it too hard, and you may not be able to keep up. Too soft, and you’ll both be left unsatisfied.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said huskily.

  “But when you find that perfect rhythm, you’ll know it because you’ll never want to stop.”

  Her fingers slipped between his, holding tighter as he tapped the bag. Her ass brushed over his cock, and he sure as hell never wanted to stop.

  “You’re really good,” she said breathily. “I bet you never leave anyone unsatisfied.” Her face whipped toward his. “Anything! Never leave anything unsatisfied. I want to do you. It! I want to do it! Hit the bag!” She pulled her hands back as if she’d been burned, her cheeks stained crimson. “Ohmygod! Fire me, please.”

  She was so fucking cute and flustered, he couldn’t stifle a laugh.

  She covered her face with her hands and said, “God. Justin’s right. I’m going to get myself in trouble working here.”

  Talk about a cold shower.

  Shit. This was all his fault. He had no business toying with her. He gently lowered her hands and said, “It’s my fault. It’s been a long day, and that analogy came out of nowhere. It was probably inappropriate. I’m sorry.”

  “No. It was fine. It’s me. It’s always me.” She grabbed her shirt and tugged it over her head as she stalked up front.

  He followed her, feeling like an ass. “Cree, don’t be silly. You’re amazing.”

  “Amazingly awkward.” She shoved her earbuds in her ears and started navigating on her phone, cutting him off completely.

  She gathered her things and shoved them in her messenger bag. She pushed her arm into her black leather coat and the earbuds came
unplugged. Music blasted from the phone, and the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard filled the air. It was throaty and eclectic, like a mix of Janis Joplin and Stevie Nicks.

  “Who is that?”

  “No one.” Her cheeks flamed and she dove for her phone, but he snagged it first and held it out of her reach as recognition hit him.

  “Holy shit, Cree. That’s you.”

  “Give it to me!” She jumped, trying to reach her phone, but at five two she didn’t stand a chance.

  “You can sing,” he said with awe as her voice sailed from the phone.

  “No, I can’t.” She jumped again. “Give it to me.”

  “Not a chance, sweetheart. You’re really talented. What song is that?” He didn’t recognize the lyrics, which were dark and light at once.

  “It’s just something stupid I wrote.” She grabbed the front of his shirt, using his chest for leverage, and jumped again. “Give it to me.”

  “Stupid, my ass. This is brilliant and beautiful.” Just like you. “What are you doing working here, when you can sing like that? You should be onstage.”

  She tried to pull his arm down. “Stop being ridiculous and give me the phone.”

  He swept his arm around her waist, holding her against him as he said, “Come to Undercover tomorrow and sing for open-mic night. It’s Valentine’s Day. You’ll make everyone’s night that much more special.”

  She scoffed and grabbed his shirt, using his chest for leverage as she went up on her toes to try to reach the phone. “No. I can’t sing in front of people. I just do it for myself.”

  He tightened his arm around her, holding her gaze. Her voice was miraculous. It was inspiring and stunning, just like her. He couldn’t let this go. “How about you do it for me?”

  Her lips parted, and she gazed at him from beneath long dark lashes. Her fingers fisted in his shirt. Sexual tension billowed as thick as the silence between them. Whether she’d sing for him or not, he knew he’d never forget the emotions he’d heard in her voice as she sang about feeling lost and found at once or the way every word sounded as though it was ripped from her soul. He wanted to be part of those emotions, to ease her longing and help her get found.