Bayside Passions (Bayside Summers Book 2) Page 2

  “Do you know a back road to her place?”

  He turned, brows knitted. “I can take you over on the Jet Ski.”

  “Oh, fun!” Her excitement deflated as quickly as it had arrived. “But then I can’t bring my stuff.”

  “Why don’t you hang out here and help me in my yard? We’ll throw something on the grill for dinner, and you can go over when the traffic clears.”

  “You must landscape all the time. Your yard looks like it belongs in a magazine.”

  “Thanks.” He shrugged and said, “Gotta do what you love, right?”

  She knew that in addition to being co-owner of the resort, Dean maintained a few clients with his own landscape business—the hospital where he used to work as a trauma nurse and the local assisted living facility, where he worked in the gardens with the residents. Emery liked to tease him about his elderly fan club. Dean was great at keeping his emotions close to his chest, which made him difficult to read sometimes, but whether they were texting or talking on the phone, his passion for his work always came through loud and clear.

  “Very true.” She loved what she did for a living, but lately she’d craved more than the yoga classes she’d been teaching at a gym since leaving the rehab center. She hoped one day to return to being a yoga back-care specialist and to turn her passion for yoga back care into something more meaningful. But those were plans for another time.

  One major life event at a time.

  To distract herself from her thoughts, she focused on Dean’s cottage. She took in the hardwood floors and wood-paneled walls that ran the length of the open living room and kitchen, which were separated only by a table for two. A black cast-iron oven and cooktop and fridge complemented earth-toned granite countertops atop rustic wood cabinets. Long, rough-hewn wooden shelves held dishes and cups, giving the place the brawny feel of a bachelor pad.

  “I saw glimpses of your place when we FaceTimed and Skyped, but”—like seeing you in person again—“experiencing it firsthand has a much stronger impact. This is incredible. So earthy and rugged. I love it.” She ran her fingers over the simple oak table.

  “Thanks. This is the original house built on the property. When I renovated, I wanted to preserve the rustic feel, so I used old, sun-bleached scaffold boards for the walls and floors. Check this out. It’s my favorite feature.” He went to the wall that faced the kitchen, unhooked something near the top and then near the bottom, and slid the entire wall into the living room wall, like he would a pocket door. “These are barn doors I repurposed from another property.”

  At least ten or fifteen feet of wall space disappeared before her eyes, opening the small kitchen to a magnificent trellis-covered patio, with potted plants overflowing with life on top of enormous rocks, like the one Dean had been carrying when she arrived. Comfortable-looking rockers and two oversized loungers had a gorgeous view of more impeccable gardens.

  “Wow, Dean. I’ve never seen anything like this.” She followed him outside, where low stone walls lined either side of the patio. A fireplace anchored one end, and she spied the telltale wooden stall of an outdoor shower just beyond. Her gaze swept along the gorgeous pavers, and she imagined how wonderful it would be to meditate there in the early mornings, when the rest of the world was asleep. She’d seen the hardscaping he’d done at the resort, but this was even more breathtaking.

  They walked along a rocky path between two garden beds. She recognized some of the flowers and was happy to see roses and lavender, which she could use to steep tea. As they wound through the path surrounded by vibrant flowers, with the sun shining down on them, it felt like she’d stepped into his private paradise.

  “Sort of coaxes you into thinking about a simpler lifestyle, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  “Definitely. If I lived here, I might never want to leave. But what landscaping are you doing? Everything already looks gorgeous.”

  His hand pressed against her back as he guided her around a wall of bushes. She’d forgotten how often he’d done that the weekend they’d met, and how nice it felt. Most guys just said they’d show her something and expected her to follow. Her burly buddy might look standoffish to some, but he was the most gentlemanly guy she knew.

  “Thank you for letting me use your bathroom and hang out for a while.” She put her arms around his waist and hugged him. His entire body felt like one giant muscle. His hand moved up her back, returning the embrace. It wasn’t the rushed embrace of a man looking to get laid—which she was all too familiar with. It was a gentle yet powerful loving embrace that spoke volumes about their close friendship, and it made her feel like she’d come home instead of having left it all behind.

  “Anytime, doll,” he said. “And if it’ll earn me hugs, then use my bathroom as often as you’d like.”

  They walked around more garden beds, and nestled between a rock garden and a grassy area with lounge chairs and a small table, there was a patch of tilled earth with all sorts of weeds growing around the edges.

  “This is my latest project.” The edges of his lips tipped up. “Are you in? Or do you want to sit in traffic?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m in. But I warn you, I have a black thumb. I can kill a plant just by looking at it.”

  He laughed. “I highly doubt that. I’ll go grab another trowel and a couple of cold drinks. Be right back.”

  Helping weed his garden was the least she could do. After all, he was the one who’d convinced her to give this move a go. During one of the many nights when they were FaceTiming, she’d mentioned that she was thinking about coming up for the summer to see if she could get a seasonal yoga business off the ground, hoping it would not only be a nice change of pace for her, but that it would also bring added value to the inn for Desiree and Violet’s customers. Dean had asked, How can you succeed at anything, giving only half an effort? She’d seen it as a huge step, moving away for the summer, not half an effort, but then he’d followed that question with one that had stopped her in her tracks. Are you always afraid to commit, or are you worried you’ll miss your family? And she’d found herself retracing the last few years of her life and realizing that maybe, just maybe, he’d figured out what she never had. And the more she’d thought about it, the more convinced she’d become that she had been the adventurous one, but only within the safety of her small hometown. It was time to blaze a new adventure and blow that girl out of the water.

  She heard a phone ring in the house, jarring her from her memories. Shrugging off those thoughts, she set to work ripping out the weeds.

  DEAN PRESSED HIS cell phone to his ear, trying to hurry his older brother, Jett, off the phone. But Jett was busy apologizing about having to be in Argentina to close a major investment deal, which would cause him to miss the upcoming benefit dinner for the Pediatric Neurology Foundation their late grandfather had established. It was just another in a long line of Jett’s excuses, even if this one sounded valid. Their father was going to be a keynote speaker at the event and, as usual, Dean had given in to his mother’s plea and agreed to attend in support of the family, while Jett did his own thing. Dean wasn’t looking forward to attending the stuffy event, but he would put on his best face, if only to keep from hurting his mother’s feelings. After all, their oldest brother, Doug, wouldn’t be at the event either. Doug had married right after medical school and was working overseas. Being a physician, he had a very different relationship with their father than Jett or Dean, but that didn’t affect his relationships with them. Although Dean was close to each of his brothers, equal parts of him respected and resented Jett’s choices.

  “I swear I’ll make it up to you,” Jett promised. As a real-estate investor, Jett owned plenty of properties in and out of the country, including a waterfront he’d purchased several years ago in Wellfleet, though he had yet to build on it. He stayed at whichever of his properties was closest to his current business, which meant he never stayed in any one place for very long.

  “Whatever, dude. I’ve got this.” Like alway
s.

  Dean had been dealing with the aftermath of Jett’s distancing himself from the family for years. Jett had never forgiven their father for briefly separating from their mother when he and his brothers were young. To this day, Dean had no idea what had led to their father’s leaving or what had transpired to bring him back home beyond being told that his parents had hit a rough patch. But that brief three-month separation had destroyed Jett’s trust in their father. When Jett had gone off to college, rarely coming back to visit, and their oldest brother, Doug, was getting ready for medical school, Dean had taken it upon himself to make sure their mother didn’t feel abandoned. He’d buried his own dark feelings toward his father in order to help smooth things over in the wake of Jett’s rebellion.

  “What’s happening with the chick from Virginia?” Jett asked. “She comes next week, right?”

  Dean loved his brother, but after months of getting to know Emery, and endless nights spent fantasizing about what it would be like when they were together again, she was finally within reach. He’d much rather spend time with her than explain to Jett that if anything were to develop between him and Emery, who’d sworn off dating friends, it would take a lot of finesse. Or a miracle.

  “Listen, dude. I’ve got tons of shit to get done today and I have to run. Hit me up when you return to the States and you can pay me back for attending the dinner from hell.”

  After he ended the call, he poured two glasses of iced tea, wishing he had fresh lemons, since he knew Emery’s favorite drink was ice water with fresh lemon slices. He carried the drinks out to the yard, grabbing an extra trowel from the shed on his way.

  He didn’t know how he’d gotten lucky enough to be Emery’s emergency bathroom stop, but he was in no hurry to get rid of her. When she’d first told him she was moving to the Cape, he’d thought he was the luckiest guy on earth and hoped he had a chance at convincing her to give up that nonsense about not going out with friends. Or more specifically, not going out with him. But he knew he had to bide his time. The last thing he wanted was to scare her off. And to make matters worse, when she’d come to him and his partners about the idea of offering yoga to their customers, he’d been torn. While it would mean she would be around more often, she’d told him months ago about how much she had loved working as a yoga back-care specialist with the elderly before she’d gone out with—then broken up with—her asshole boss and she’d been forced to resign in order to escape his stalkerish ways, and in doing so, she’d lost the career she’d loved. The bastard. Dean knew she wouldn’t find that type of fulfillment teaching yoga to vacationers at the inn or the resort. But his desire to see her again had selfishly won out, and he’d agreed to the arrangement even though everything inside him had wanted to push her to take the time to network and figure out how to get involved with what she really wanted, despite the fact that it might have meant delaying her arrival.

  He was a strong man, but Emery had become his Achilles’ heel, and his best intentions and desires had been pushed aside in order to have her nearby—but that didn’t mean he’d look the other way forever about making sure she didn’t forgo the career she really wanted.

  As he came around the bushes, he shoved those thoughts away and said, “Hey, doll, I brought iced—” Holy. Hell.

  Emery lay on her back on a lounge chair in a skimpy yellow bikini top and barely there brown bottoms with cutouts over her hips. Her body was sleek and toned, and so damn sexy he had to stifle a groan. Her long, golden-brown hair was spread out around her just like in his midnight fantasies, save for that itsy-bitsy bikini. A thin leather necklace rested against her tanned skin, two small silver charms lying between her breasts. He’d give anything to take their place.

  She opened one gorgeous hazel eye, shading it with her hand. “Hey there.” Her gaze flicked to the drinks. “Oh! Iced tea?” She jumped up from the chair, her breasts bouncing right along with her as she grabbed a drink from his hand and took a sip. “Mm. Needs sugar.”

  “Sugar,” he mumbled, trying to untangle his lust-addled thoughts. The trowel dropped to the ground.

  “No worries. I’ve got it.” She bent over to pick up the trowel, and her ass cheeks peeked out from beneath her bikini bottom.

  Fuuck. He turned away and bit his knuckle, hoping the spear of pain might keep his cock from rising any further.

  When he turned around, she was taking off her bracelets. “I got your weeding done. It wasn’t so hard after all,” she said as she set several bracelets on the garden table and fiddled with a thick silver one.

  He was vaguely aware of her speaking—weeding?—but that itsy-bitsy bikini revealed too much for him to concentrate, and he pretended to focus on her unscrewing something on her bracelet so she wouldn’t catch him lusting after her. She tipped the bracelet over and poured white powder into her palm from some secret container within the shiny silver bangle.

  His stomach sank. “Em, what the hell is that? You’re not into drugs, are you?”

  A mischievous smile played on her lips. “You have known me for five months. Don’t you think you’d know if I were a druggy?”

  She was right. He would. Emery wasn’t the type of woman who held back her thoughts. Most of the time she had no filter whatsoever. He’d asked her about her candid comments once, and she’d said growing up with three brothers did that to a girl. She’d explained that she’d learned to speak her mind so she wouldn’t get walked all over. Dean didn’t have a sister, but he took Emery at her word. After all, she didn’t seem to know how to do anything but tell the truth.

  They’d shared hundreds of texts and late-night phone calls, during which she’d told him about everything from her work woes to her dating life, filling him in on more details than he could handle in some cases. He was surprised by how much he wanted to know everything about her—including the details of botched dates that made him want to kill the guys. Even if through gritted teeth, he loved talking with her. He liked knowing that her favorite shows were offbeat, and sometimes scary, adventures, and her favorite movies were sappy love stories, despite her not believing in true love. And he found her likes and dislikes in people interesting. She didn’t shy away from aggressiveness the way some girls did. She seemed to thrive on it, which he’d learned had set her up for heartache too many times for his liking. He knew how lonely she’d been after Desiree had moved away, and in the hours they’d spent talking about it she’d unknowingly revealed the sensitive woman behind that tough-girl persona. Yes, Emery Andrews might be a complicated firecracker, but she’d been an open book from the moment they’d met. That was just one of the things he loved about her. He’d had his fill of women who played games.

  Unfortunately, they’d become such good friends, and with her recent swearing off of dating friends, he had a feeling that’s all he could ever be to her.

  She licked her finger, then dipped it in the white powder and held it up to his mouth with a playful glimmer in her eyes. “Open.”

  Like a trained pup, he opened his mouth, wanting her to jump in. She put her finger in his mouth and rubbed it over his tongue. He grabbed her wrist and sucked her finger clean, puckering at the saccharine taste.

  She pulled her finger away, laughing.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “Splenda!” She tapped the powder into her glass and set the bangle on the table beside her other bracelets. “I hate Equal and that’s about all anyone ever has. I used to carry sugar, but I needed too much of it. So…Splenda it is. Do you want some?”

  “Depends what you’re offering,” he said under his breath.

  “Splenda, silly.” She took a long drink, and his entire body came alive as she licked her plump lips. “Mm. That hit the spot.”

  I’d like to hit your spot.

  He needed to get a freaking grip. It had been much easier to control himself when Emery was hundreds of miles away. He set his drink on the table and cleared his throat, as if that might help to scatter his dirty thoughts.

&n
bsp; “Aren’t you happy that I weeded?” she asked cheerfully. “Now you can just sit back and relax with me.”

  He followed her gaze to the garden, remembering something she’d said about weeding earlier, when he’d been too busy checking her out to process it. His stomach knotted at the sight of the plants he’d spent all morning planting lying in a pile on the dirt.

  “Well?” She blinked up at him with a proud, enthusiastic expression. “Great, right?”

  A disbelieving laugh fell from his lips, and he turned away. He pushed a hand through his hair, stroked his beard, and ground his back teeth together in an effort to quell his frustration. When he faced her again he hoped his expression was casual enough to mask his irritation.

  “Oh no. Did I do it wrong?” Her eyes shifted to the plants she’d dug up.

  She sounded devastated, and it took his frustration down from holy shit, my plants to wanting to take her in his arms and make her smile again. Before he could think of the best way to handle the situation, she bent over in front of him, reaching for the plants—and exposing her gorgeous ass again.

  “Should I have put them in a bucket or something?”

  He grabbed her arm and hauled her upright. “No buckets. Didn’t you have clothes on before? I think you need to put something on.”

  She looked up at the sky. “Why? It’s gorgeous out. And you don’t have a shirt on.”

  “Christ,” he muttered. “Never mind.” The confused look in her eyes turned his insides to mush. “Okay, doll, time to teach you the difference between three-toothed cinquefoil and weeds.”

  “Three-toothed what?” She put her drink down and set her hands on her hips. “Oh God. I killed your weeds and you wanted them, didn’t you? I’m so sorry!” She threw her arms around his waist, crushing her softness against him. “I told you I have a black thumb. I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

  Heat radiated from every point where their bodies connected, lighting him up like a bottle rocket. He reluctantly peeled her arms away and guzzled his drink. When that didn’t cool him down, he dug into the glass for ice and rubbed it over his chest.