Page 113 of The House Beyond the Dunes

Normally, I run from anyone who gets too close, but not tonight. It could be my attraction to him, or I might like to believe that someone would miss Stevie Palmer if she were gone.

Sully tosses a twenty on the bar. “I do live close.”

My body warms. Sully is about to be the exception to my no-second-date rule. I untie my apron and toss it under the bar. “Want to get out of here?”

“Do you?” he asks hoarsely.

My heart shifts a fraction. “I do. Very much.”

He stands. “Let’s get out of here.”

The drive to Sully’s small house takes fifteen minutes in summer traffic. He lives in Kill Devil Hills on a back road that tourists aren’t likely to find. The yard is neat, and the siding a light gray. The house backs up to woods. Even on the Outer Banks there are places that are off the beaten path. He parks in his driveway, and I slide in behind him.

Without hormones fueling us blindly toward one another, I’m oddly edgy. I follow him up to the front porch and watch as he unlocks the door. His body is stiff.

“Are you nervous?” I tease.

He chuckles. “Maybe a little.”

We step inside, and in the darkness, I take his face in my hands. The shadow of his beard feels rough under my fingers as I kiss him on the lips. He hesitates a moment, and then a low growl rumbles in his chest. He cups my butt and hauls me closer to him.

“I’ve wanted to do this since I walked into the bar tonight,” he says.

“Really?” I’m not shocked. Half the guys in the bar were likely thinking the same thing.

“Yeah.” He takes me by the hand, turns on a small light, and leads me to his back bedroom. Like before, his space is neat, organized. The last time I was here, I didn’t pay a lot of attention, but this time I search for family photos or mementos that tell me about him. We pass a spare room that’s set up as an office. The marine flag hangs behind the desk, and the room is lined with bookshelves filled with hundreds of hardback and paperback books.

When we reach his bedroom, I kick off my shoes and pull off my shirt. No reason to be coy. We both know what we want.

His gaze darkens as it drops to my cleavage, and he shrugs off his shirt. He has several tattoos. On his chest, there’s a list of five names on the left pec, and on the right the Marine Corps eagle standing on top of the world and Semper Fi. Along his ribs there’s some quote, and on his bicep a wild horse ensnared in thick vines. There’s also a woman’s name on his arm.JENNIFER.I’m guessing that’s the ex-wife who remarried two weeks ago.

I smooth my fingers over tanned skin and swirl them around Jennifer’s name. He’s lean, muscled, but he’s not the kind of guy who struts.

“Do you miss her?” I ask.

“Sometimes. Not as much.” He frees a heavy sigh. “Jealous?”

“No.”

“Who the hell are you?”

I shake my head. “Just me.” I kiss him, and in less than a minute, I’m shimmying out of my jeans and we’re both getting naked. He tosses back the blue-and-red spread on a double bed.

I meet his gaze, still filled with lingering assessment. My gut twists. I don’t want him looking too closely. “Tell me there are more condoms in that nightstand.”

“There are.”

I settle on the bed and lean against the pillows. He opens the drawer and removes a condom. He’s erect, ready, but seems to be in no rush.

Anticipation builds in me. I’m more than ready. I smooth my hand over his back and over his backside. He flinches, rolls on his back, and slides on the condom. I kiss his belly and smile when I feel him tense.

“Slow down. Or this is going to be over before it starts,” he groans.

“It’s only been a few days, cowboy.”

“Feels like a few years.”

“Years?” I kiss his chest and then settle back against the pillows beside him. I’m giving him control, which is no small feat for me. When he settles on top of me, I close my eyes, wanting to be lost in the primitive sensation.

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