Beach Town (17 page)

He was halfway to the door.

“Eb?”

He turned, a wary look on his face.

“You mentioned cookies?”

“You got it.”

He left the front door ajar and she heard him, taking the stairs two at a time, chanting “Cookies and condoms” under his breath.

 

18

Gunter whined and waddled toward the door Eb had left ajar. His tail switched slowly as he stared down the darkened hallway. The old dog gave one short, anxious bark.

“It's okay, buddy,” Greer said as she gathered up her scattered clothing. “He'll be right back.”

She found a paper towel in the kitchen, dampened it, and mopped up the puddle Gunter had left on the floor, then tossed him a treat from the jar on the kitchen counter.

The sliding barn door was heavy and she had to use both hands to yank it aside. She couldn't find a light switch, so she stumbled into the dim room, toward the bed and a nightstand with a lamp.

“Wow,” she breathed, gazing around the room. The bedroom had exposed brick walls, too, and a battered wooden floor and high ceilings.

Eb was a typical straight, single male. Piles of discarded clothing littered the bare floor. A worn pair of jeans hung on the footboard of a massive wrought iron bed frame. She ran her hand over the cool iron and decided it must have been made from salvage. The bed was unmade, with rumpled sheets and a plain quilted cotton blanket that looked suspiciously like a movers pad. A ceiling fan whirred lazily overhead. The swing arm lamps on either side of the bed were tarnished brass pharmacy lamps. There was a huge Victorian mahogany wardrobe in one corner of the room, which obviously stood in as Eb's closet, and beside it stood a makeshift dresser fashioned from an old wire-frame bread rack with a faded Merita Bread and Cakes logo.

Another large bank of steel-frame windows was curtainless, and she could see and hear the rain slashing outside. The sky lit up again with jagged strikes of lightning.

She switched on the bathroom light. More surprises here. The walls were of rough whitewashed shiplap lumber, but the floor was old black and white penny tile. A sink vanity had been fashioned from a vintage oak dresser, and its matching cheval mirror reflected Greer's messy blond curls and cheeks stained red from beard burn. She blushed when she realized she'd gone to the city council meeting earlier straight from a long day's work.

A claw-foot bathtub rigged out with a showerhead stood in a corner of the bathroom, which had been lined with sheets of corrugated tin. Impulsively, Greer turned on the water, dropped her clothes, and stepped in.

She let the hot water stream over her skin. Clouds of steam fogged the room, and she groped around the tub until she found a bar of Irish Spring soap on a block of wood nailed to the tin sheathing.

“Hey!” The voice startled her so badly she dropped the soap. She peeked around the shower curtain to see Eb Thibadeaux, bare chested, standing in the bathroom doorway.

“You don't mind, do you? I'm positively crusty from working all day.”

He took a step forward and pulled the shower curtain aside, taking in her water-slicked pink body. She blushed and yanked the curtain closed. “I'll be out in just a minute.”

Eb took a seat on the commode. “I can wait.”

She peeked around the curtain again. “Out!”

She found a tiny bottle of hotel shampoo on the same ledge where the soap had been. She worked it into a lather and rubbed it into her scalp. The shampoo was the same cheap stuff stocked at the Silver Sands. Her hair would look like steel wool when it dried, but at least it would be clean steel wool. While she massaged her scalp, the thought occurred to her that she was taking a shower in a strange man's bathroom, after thirty minutes of fairly intense foreplay. He had every expectation that things were going to escalate. She had actually encouraged those expectations.

In fact, she wanted Eb Thibadeaux more than she'd wanted any man in a really long time. But what the hell was she thinking? She wasn't like CeeJay or the other women she worked with in the film business. They might hook up with a guy during a shoot, just for convenience—shack up for a few weeks, screw each other's brains out, then part without a backward glance. That wasn't Greer. And this wasn't just any casual crew screw. Eb was the mayor of Cypress Key. The mayor! Who was standing between her and getting her job done. What the hell?

She stood under the showerhead and rinsed her hair. She thought of how his hands had felt on her body, his lips on hers. They had come very, very close back there on his dining room floor. But not close enough. She hadn't been with a man since Sawyer, which meant it was nearly two years now.

CeeJay claimed that made Greer a born-again virgin.

“You about done in there?” Eb called, bringing her back to the here and now. “Need anything scrubbed?”

“Stay where you are.” She squeezed the excess water from her hair. Close was not enough. She wanted it all. She wanted Eb Thibadeaux hot and throbbing inside her, and the hell with the consequences.

She stepped out of the tub, wrapped a towel around herself, and wiped enough condensation from the fogged-up mirror to get a look at herself. Her hair looked like Medusa's—wet, wiry coils springing everywhere. She searched the bathroom, hoping for something like moisturizer, or a hairbrush, or any kind of beauty aid. She hesitated for a moment, glanced toward the bathroom door, and slowly opened the medicine cabinet.

Nothing promising—or surprising—here. A bottle of aspirin, a box of Q-tips, a tube of deodorant, and some antacids. She quietly closed the cabinet and hurriedly dragged a comb through her tangled locks.

The bathroom door opened slowly, and her first impulse was to hide. But then she saw his face, lit up like a Christmas candle.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and traced a drop of water down her cheek with his fingertip, his touch light and caressing. “Hello, beautiful.”

She took his hand and followed him into the darkened bedroom.

*   *   *

He'd left just one lamp burning. Greer saw a forty-count box of Trojans on the bedside table and barely managed to suppress a giggle. He obviously had big plans for this evening. She stood in a pool of golden light beside the bed and looked at him expectantly. Eb hooked one finger under the edge of the towel and it fell to the floor.

“God, Greer,” he breathed. She felt herself blush deeply and wanted to grab for something, anything, to hide her body. But Eb didn't give her a chance. He leaned forward and kissed her, lightly at first. He ran his hands down her back, and she shivered, so he pulled her closer, smoothing his hands under her butt cheeks, resting them there, pushing himself up against her.

His lips and hands wandered as he found her nipples, sucking one, then the other, while he stroked within her, until she was weak with needing more.

She unzipped his fly and pushed his pants and briefs down, over his narrow hips, then lower still. He took a step backwards and kicked free of them.

In the dim lamplight she took a moment to appreciate his physique. Eb's chest was smoothly muscled, with dark hair curling on his chest and groin. He was deeply tanned, with thick thighs and powerful calves.

He was backing her slowly toward the bed. She tumbled onto it and pulled him down with her. They lay facing each other, touching and kissing, stroking and licking, exploring each other's bodies until Greer thought she would lose her mind.

She straddled him and lowered herself slowly, savoring every inch of him, the palms of her hands braced against his chest. Every nerve in her body was taut. He caught her breast in his hand, stroked the nipple with the pad of his thumb, and she heard herself gasp with pleasure.

“Good?”

She kissed him in answer. “So good.”

A few more thrusts, then he abruptly rolled away from her, groping in the dark for the condoms., smiling with his entire body.

Eb Thibadeaux was a man who took things slow. He teased her with his body, entering, stroking, withholding, smiling at her with his entire body.

Finally, when she was drenched with sweat and her entire body was writhing with need,she felt herself catching the sweetest wave of pleasure, and now they were surfing the wave together.

*   *   *

Afterwards, she rested her cheek on his chest, listening to the rain outside.

“I should go,” she muttered.

“Why?” He was stroking her back, drawing lazy circles with his forefinger.

“We have an early-morning call. I have to be at the motel at four. I've got to get some sleep.”

“They can't film in this storm, right?”

“Not if the rain doesn't let up, no,” she admitted. “But I should go anyway.”

The room was quiet. And then they heard soft snoring coming from the corner, where Gunter was sprawled on his back in a bed made out of an old wooden Coke crate.

“I think you should stay. We haven't even touched the cookies.”

She propped herself up on one elbow. “I forgot about the cookies.”

“I didn't.”

He slid out from the covers and grabbed a plastic sack she hadn't noticed earlier.

He dealt the packages out onto the quilt. “I wasn't sure what kind you like, so I got some of everything we had. Oreos. Pecan Sandies. Fig Newtons—”

“Eww.” She shuddered. “No Fig Newtons.”

“Check. I'll make a note of that.” He continued with the inventory. “Nilla Wafers. Nutter Butters. Chips Ahoy—”

“Chips Ahoy? Oh my God! The kind with the M&Ms?”

“You like 'em too? They're my favorites.”

Eb opened the bag and offered her the first cookie. She leaned in and grabbed it with her teeth, then plopped back against the pillows and chewed happily, brushing at the crumbs that rained down on the sheets. He took a cookie, reclined on the pillow next to hers, and did the same.

Fifteen minutes later the blue bag was empty and the sheets were strewn with cookie crumbs and the brightly colored shards of the M&Ms.

Greer sighed deeply. “That was amazing.”

“Me? Or the cookies?”

“You. Definitely,” Greer said, stretching and yawning. “The cookies were just an added bonus.”

He pulled the sheet away from her bare breasts and leered. “And just think. I own a whole store
full
of cookies. Shelves and shelves of them. We can do this anytime you like.”

“Are you trying to bribe me with Chips Ahoy?” Greer slid her feet onto the ground.

Eb grabbed for her but missed. “Come on, don't go just when we were having so much fun.”

“Eb. I told you I have to work.”

“Are you going to walk back to the motel in this rain?” He pointed out the window.

“I thought maybe you'd loan me an umbrella.” She retrieved the towel she'd abandoned earlier and wrapped it around herself.

“Stay until the rain stops. Then I'll take you home in my golf cart.”

A smile played across her lips. He wanted her to stay. He wanted her to sleep with him, which was the sweetest thing she could imagine. Sawyer never spent the night with her after they'd made love. Not in all the eighteen months they'd been together.

A wicked streak of lightning rattled the steel window frame, and she jumped.

“See?” He sensed she was on the fence about leaving, and tugged her hand. “C'mon. Just until the rain stops.”

With a sigh she dropped the towel and climbed back into the bed. And Eb's arms.

 

19

The alarm chime on her phone rang quietly but insistently. Greer sat up in bed, momentarily disoriented.

Then she heard the sound of soft snoring, saw the tousled head on the pillow next to hers. She leaned over, to make sure that the previous night hadn't been just another erotic dream, gently lifting the edge of the sheet. The sight of Eb Thibadeaux's naked body, next to her own similarly unclothed form, jolted her wide awake.

What had she been thinking? Sleeping with the mayor of Cypress Key? Worse, sleeping with the mayor of Cypress Key after having sex with him. Lots of lovely, hot, messy sex, at that.

Greer gave herself a mental head slap. Had she really gotten that buzzed off one and a half martinis? And a glass of cheap ros
é
?

She slid quietly out of bed and crawled around in the dark, looking for her clothes and her phone. After she'd managed to gather up everything, she tiptoed to the bathroom and closed the door before turning on the light.

What she saw in the mirror gave her a shock. Something as round and red as a bullet hole pierced the exact middle of her forehead. Good God. Maybe she really had been drunk. Her fingertips flew to her face and touched the red spot. No pain. She held her fingertip up to the light and found herself staring at a red M & M.

Oh yes. The Chips Ahoy orgy was real too. She found a smeared green M&M stuck to her collarbone. Way real.

Greer dressed hurriedly, tucked her phone in her pocket, and switched the light off again before opening the door.

The lamp on the nightstand was on and Eb was sitting up in bed. His hair was mashed to the side of his face, and in that moment he looked so boyish, so adorable, she could have licked him like an all-day sucker.

Then she gave herself another mental head slap. What was she thinking?

“Where are you going?” he asked, yawning.

The lie slipped off her tongue as easily as honey. “Don't judge, okay? It's just, after sex, I crave ice cream.”

He rewarded her with a sleepy smile. “I could do some butter pecan, if you're interested. It's on the far left wall. Top shelf. Get the good stuff, okay? It's on me.”

She felt a sharp, bitter pang of guilt. For once, this lie was killing her. She slid her feet into her sandals. “Be right back.”

Her purse was on the dining room table, where she'd left it the night before. She hurriedly hooked it over her shoulder, pushed the sliding door aside, and headed down the stairs.