Page 39 of California Waves

He stepped back and nodded. “I will never look at this painting and not think of you. Thank you.” He shook his head. “What kind of a terrible host am I? Let me get you something to drink.”

He took the wrapping paper into the kitchen and put it away, and on impulse, she followed him. It was just nice to see him so at home. He opened the fridge, and she was impressed to see that it was already stocked with food. He pulled out a bottle of champagne and turned to her. “It’s a housewarming party. We should celebrate.”

He popped the cork while she fetched champagne flutes from the cabinet. They were lovely crystal glasses that had belonged to the previous owners, but she suspected that at some point Hersch would swap them for something simpler. He poured the sparkling wine, and as they clinked rims, she said, “Here’s to your new home.”

And he said, “And to new beginnings.”

Their eyes met, and she felt a shiver go from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She took a sip, and the wine was cool and crisp on her tongue. Then she took another sip, possibly for courage. They went back to the living room, and she noticed that music was playing. Now she went to the framed photograph of him and his crew about to climb aboard the space shuttle. She couldn’t help but recall the rescue effort she’d watched on YouTube.

She said, “I know you don’t like to hear it, but you really are a hero. I could never have done what you did the day of your crash landing.”

He seemed to take in her words and really consider them. “Going into space is easy. Just throw on the suit, eat freeze-dried food, and learn to sleep while floating. But I don’t think I could have ever done what you did—own those waves, compete at that level, and come back so brilliantly from your injury. I think you’re my hero.”

If he was hosting a party for the two of them, he could have only one thing in mind, and Mila didn’t feel like waiting around. She was far too keyed up. She moved toward him as though to kiss him, and at the same time, he moved forward as though to do the same, and they met in the middle. There was not a shred of hesitation in either of their bodies. They were full-on ready for each other.

Allowing their lips to meet, Mila sank into the kiss, and Hersch grabbed her waist, holding her firmly in his strong arms.

When they pulled away, she said, “I couldn’t help noticing the box from that new mattress outside. Shall we try it out?”

He ran a hand down her hair and gazed into her face. For a second, she thought she’d gotten it all wrong, that he wasn’t planning on seducing her tonight, but he said, “There’s nothing I want more. I think I wanted you from the second I saw you. But I need to be honest with you. This can never be anything serious.”

He was such a serious man anyway, and his expression was searching as he looked into her face. She felt shocked, as though she’d just unexpectedly flipped off her surfboard into freezing-cold water. This can never be anything serious? That was her line. She was the one who kept things casual.

Getting her feet back under her, she said, “Absolutely. That’s perfect. Great.”

But deep inside? She was irked. Why wouldn’t he want to be serious with her? What was wrong with her?

And then he kissed her again, and every thought about the future went out of her head. Even if they had nothing but this one night, she was determined to make the most of it, and when she was finished with him, he would never, ever again say, This can never be anything serious.

Chapter Twenty

He took her hand and led her to his bedroom. Idly, she noted that the bedding looked great on the new bed—they’d chosen well—and that even in the short time that he’d inhabited this space, it was his. There was more of his art on the walls, and no doubt his clothes were already neatly folded in the drawers.

He moved toward her, took the champagne glass out of her hand, and put it on the nightstand, where it made a tiny click. He put his own glass beside it.

She breathed deeply. This was it. This was what she’d been waiting for since the moment she’d first laid eyes on him.

He pulled her in for another soul-searing kiss, his hands roaming over her hips, grazing her lower back. At the end of it, she was completely breathless. Every part of her tingled. He kissed her again, and she couldn’t help herself. She ran her hands through his hair, over those gorgeous, muscular shoulders, down his back. She felt him hard against her chest, and every part of her began to melt and turn to liquid. She moved instinctually, her hips beginning to dance, and then she heard him groan. And now his hands found the rest of her, fingertips tracing circles up her back and over her shoulders, down her sides, and without any problem at all, he released the two bows at her shoulders and let her dress slide to the floor.

Then he stood back and gazed at her in her barely-there scraps of lace and said in a voice she’d never heard from him before, “I knew you’d be gorgeous, but I had no idea.”

Then she reached forward, pulled his polo shirt out of his trousers, and yanked it up. He helped her, pulling it over his head so the Saint Christopher’s medal caught slightly at the neck and then settled itself against his muscular chest. Before she could get to his belt, he was already divesting himself of his jeans, and then wearing nothing but a pair of navy boxer shorts, he came back to her and reached around for the clasp of her bra. The wisp of lace fell to the floor, and he dropped to his knees in front of her and slowly slipped her panties off and down her legs. She was trembling all over. Her legs could barely support her.

And then he kissed her. There. He gave her a little push so she fell back on the bed. He climbed up with her and parted her thighs. He made magic on her with his tongue. She climaxed so fast she barely saw it coming, her hips riding up as the wave took her.

While the aftershocks were still shaking her, she cried, “I need you in me, now!”

For a man who was usually so methodical and so in control, he didn’t need to be asked twice. He had his boxers off in a second, and that glorious body was moving up the bed. He reached for the bedside drawer, and she was happy to know that he had enough sense to think about protection. He sheathed himself with slightly trembling hands, and then he was kissing her, hard and commanding. It was a side of Herschel she’d never seen before, hadn’t imagined he even possessed. And it was totally erotic. She wrapped her legs around him, and grabbing his hard, toned butt, she pulled him into her even as she thrust her hips up.

It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Afterward, she couldn’t have said why. She’d been with plenty of men. But there was something about Herschel that was just different. They connected on every level. He thrust like a man who knew exactly what he was doing and understood a woman’s body. She clung to him, actually struggling to keep up. Meanwhile, he kissed her, and she tasted her own pleasure on his lips, and then he grabbed her hands, putting them above her head, and they clung to each other as she climbed toward her pleasure yet again. For once, she was trying to hold herself back, but she couldn’t. She cried out, and as she did, she heard him roar along with her.

She felt as though she was spiraling out of control, and it was ages before she could catch her breath. He rolled off her and lay beside her, also struggling to catch his. After a while, he turned and tenderly kissed her shoulder.

In a husky voice, he said, “Usually, I’m a little more smooth and like to take my time. But I couldn’t stop myself. I had to have you.” He reached over and kissed the tip of her breast. “I should have taken more time with you and caressed your gorgeous breasts and all the other bits of you. But I was like a horny teenager.”

Although she felt all warm and languid, she was so surprised that she laughed. “In case you didn’t notice, I am plenty satisfied.”

“But it was so quick,” he complained. “I wanted to stretch it out and make our first time last.”

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