Page 23 of The Cottage on Pelican Bay

Three hours later, Zara stood and stretched her body. She decided to stop painting for a while. Sierra had dropped by earlier with her favorite soup and turkey sandwich. It had been too much to eat for lunch and she’d saved the rest for dinner. Moving over to the window she looked out at the bay. It was such a spectacular sight. Simply awe-inspiring. Peaceful. Now more than ever she understood why her mother found it easy to paint here. It was the perfect getaway. And... she thought as a feeling of intense longing flowed through her, it was also the best lovers’ hideaway.

She’d been with Saint two other times at this cottage and was definitely looking forward to a third.

Saint parked his car beside Zara’s rental and got out. While having dinner with his parents he had spoken with his mother about staying out of his love life—or trying to remedy his lack of one.

She had again expressed to him how much she wanted grandkids. However, as he’d already told her, he wouldn’t get into a loveless marriage to have them. There had to be love, and presently, he had no intention of falling in love again.

Saint looked around and took note on how secured the property was. He figured Mr. Miller had made doubly sure of it since his wife and daughter had spent so much time on Pelican Bay. The property was resplendently landscaped and the brick walkway that led to the pier was adorned with all kinds of impressive rosebushes that were native to the area. He immediately recognized the noisette roses, tea roses and Bourbon roses, mainly because his mother grew the same kind in her rose garden.

The pier was wide enough for two couples to walk side by side. The floor was made of redwood cedar, which was the best type of wood to prevent decaying due to moisture. Decorative ornamental iron railings lined both sides, which gave the pier a very distinctive look. Zara had told him the first night he’d visited the cottage that the pier was a mile long and you could barely see the roofline of the cottage at the halfway mark. And speaking of the halfway mark, that was where the main pier jutted out to narrower piers on both sides. Wooden chairs were in place so you could sit and enjoy a spectacular view of the bay.

He paused when he saw that one of the chairs had a blue towel draped across it. That made him wonder if Zara had gone swimming from the pier earlier that day. He’d never seen her in a swimsuit and the thought of her in one had sexual energy pulsing through his body. He resumed walking, knowing every step he took brought him closer to the cottage and to her.

Saint didn’t have to figure out what was going on between him and Zara. They both were satisfied with the arrangement they’d agreed on. He didn’t worry about who she was with when they weren’t together and vice versa with her regarding him. They didn’t have an exclusive relationship. They’d each had that before and it hadn’t worked out.

Why was he constantly reminding himself of that lately?

He pushed that question to the back of his mind when he saw the cottage. Although she’d said her father had had it built for her mother as a wedding gift, Saint thought it was a perfect reflection of Zara. It was impressive, stylish and captivating, with its pitched roof, wraparound porch, adilynn arch windows and landscaped yard. A varied mixture of flowers surrounded the cottage and made it look like the perfect retreat.

Or as it was sometimes being used...a lovers’ hideaway.

Once his feet touched the brick walkway leading to the porch, he recalled the last time he’d come here, the night of Vaughn and Sierra’s wedding. Zara had given him the key to let himself inside, and he’d arrived before her. Within minutes of her opening the door and walking in, he had her naked, sprawled across the bed and that gorgeous mane of brown hair spread across the pillow.

He wasn’t sure if she was expecting him tonight or not. No plans had been made. However, she had made it pretty clear he was welcome, and he felt damn good about that. Since he didn’t have her phone number there was no way to let her know he was coming. He would talk to her about that. He felt it was time for them to at least exchange numbers.

When he reached her door, he could hear music from inside—namely, the soulful sound of Aretha. He lifted his hand to knock. Once. Then again. The door opened and there she stood, wearing an oversize T-shirt, shoeless with her toes painted a bright coral that matched her fingernails. Her hair was tied back from her face, and he was tempted to reach out and set it free to see it flow around her shoulders.

Standing before him was the epitome of his fantasy woman. He suddenly felt a surge of emotions that made his entire body ache. But then he quickly recalled their agreement.

No emotional attachment. No commitment. No expectation of anything other than the moment.

“You came.”

Did she think he wouldn’t? “Yes, I came,” he said, as his gaze raked over her.

His strong desire for her should be unnerving. However, it was the only thing that did make sense right now. The sexual chemistry between them seemed stronger than ever. They failed miserably each time they tried working each other out of their systems.

His chest expanded when he recognized the T-shirt she was wearing. His. The New Orleans Saints shirt he’d given her that first night in the hotel room. It hit her midthigh and she looked so damn sexy in it. He could clearly see the outlines of her nipples and they were hard, pressing against the cotton fabric. And he had a feeling her bra wasn’t the only thing missing underneath that T-shirt. Not that he had any complaints.

She stood aside for him to enter and he got a whiff of her scent. When she closed the door, he turned to her, opened his arms, and she walked right into them.

12

Zara didn’t understand why she was so intensely delighted that Saint had come. She was no longer dependent on any man for her happiness. She had worked hard since her breakup with Maurice to assure that. However, she didn’t feel her independence was threatened by the fierce need she felt when it came to Saint. As strange as it might seem, being with him only enhanced it. Mainly because with him she could be the woman she was. She could be herself with no limitations.

Since her breakup with Maurice, she’d become strong-willed, determined, and didn’t play nice when she didn’t want to. She didn’t put up with anyone’s crap and had no problem going after what she wanted and turning her back on what she didn’t. And today, right now at this very minute, she wanted Saint.

From the huge, hard bulge pressed against her midsection, she could feel he wanted her, too. She leaned into him and when he whispered in her ear just what he wanted to do to her, his words were like an arousing melody that caused a throbbing in her core.

“Saint...”

Instead of answering her, he pulled her even tighter against him. It was as if he needed to hold her. That was all good because she needed to hold him as well. Maybe she should seriously question why but she couldn’t. The only thing she could do was enjoy being held by him. With his arms wrapped around her, she felt emboldened by his strength and closeness. And as if he knew what she needed, he leaned down and kissed her. Had it been nearly two months since she’d last shared this type of intimacy with him? Two months since being kissed by him, touched and made love to?

He released her mouth and then, taking her hand firmly in his, he escorted her out of the living room to her bedroom. “I like seeing you in my shirt, Zara. In it you look like an angel. My Angel.”

His Angel.

Hadn’t she convinced herself weeks ago that no man would ever consider her his again? However, for some reason she knew Saint didn’t mean it that way. This handsome and sensual man didn’t want her to belong to him any more than she wanted him to belong to her. He was merely caught in the moment. It was understandable with this degree of passion between them.

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