Page 70 of Bookworm and the Beast
Afterward he rose to his feet and smoothed my dress back into place then took my face between his hands.
“You are gorgeous,” he whispered. “And you taste like heaven. And now, unfortunately, I have to go.”
“Go?” Admittedly, most of my blood had deserted my brain for southern shores, but I was having a surprisingly hard time grasping his meaning.
“Upstairs. To write,” he said and leaned forward to kiss me softly.
I twisted my hands in the front of his shirt, refusing to let him go. “But I want to do that to you.”
For a long moment, his eyelids closed, and he inhaled deeply. Then he opened his eyes.
“I am veryverymuch looking forward to the time when I can see those beautiful lips exactly where I want them most.”
He kissed me again. “But it’s not tonight. Sleep well my beautiful girl.”
Backing up his words, Jack pinned me with an I-wish-I-could-stay-and-give-you-the-night-of-your-life expression. But he didn’t ask to come in—or knock the door down, tear off my clothes, and throw me on the bed.
Pity.
If he didn’t soon, I might knockhisdoor down. I didn’t think I could leave here and go back to New York without knowing what it was like to have him deep inside me and seehimlose control—without the risk of discovery in the hallway.
And without the need to leave when the pleasure ended.
Chapter Twenty-One
Food-gasm
Bonnie
Though it was Fall, the following day was exceptionally warm and beautiful, like second-Summer.
I went through my usual morning routine, still glowing from last night. I’d drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face and hope simmering in my heart. Today I felt like a kid on the last day of school before summer, filled with anticipation of what was to come.
Stepping into my closet, I selected a pair of shorts and a cute top from my steadily expanding wardrobe.
Jack kept having deliveries made from the posh boutiques that lined Eastport Bay’s main street, though I insisted I didn’t need any more clothes.
In fact, when there was a knock at the bedroom door, I opened it to see him standing there holding yet another shopping bag.
I couldn’t help but smile even as I attempted to chastise him. “What has gotten into you? You’re becoming a shopaholic.”
With an unrepentant grin, Jack handed me the bag. “These are not frivolous—they’re necessities. You can return whichever ones you don’t want.”
I peeked into the bag to see a rainbow assortment of swimsuits.
“I don’t need a new swimsuit,” I protested.
“You do... unless you’re up for skinny dipping?”
He laughed at my bug-eyed expression of shock. “I thought we could turn our morning walk into a morning swim. Youcan’tstay almost a month by the ocean and never go in. It’s in the eighties out there today. I know the perfect beach not that far away. No rocks, beautiful white sand.”
I recovered enough from the skinny-dipping remark to respond. “I didn’t even know therewerebeaches like that in Eastport Bay.”
“Trust me. Just pick a suit, get changed, and meet me out back,” Jack said.
Turning to go, he stopped and shot me a smoldering look back over his shoulder. “But if you decide on the skinny-dipping option, you won’t get any arguments from me.”
I did pick a suit, a blue and white gingham check high-waisted bikini set with white eyelet trim around the underwire demi top. Before going downstairs, I pulled on a coordinating white coverup that was also in the shopping bag. It provided modest coverage but was also a little sexy, which I liked.
