He's the One (15 page)

“I know we’re supposed to fit, but I can’t . . . please, help me, Calder.”

He gripped her inner thighs from the front so that his thumbs played across the swollen
wet flesh of her clitoris. He caressed her, teasing her into movement in order to
increase the friction on her sweet spot. He surged upward, his hold on her thighs
keeping her in place. It was a pleasure this side of pain, but so intense she would
die if he stopped.

He didn’t stop. And though he had told her to ride him, he was the one doing the thrusting.
But the wild woman inside her didn’t want it to be all him. She matched his rhythm,
adding a variation of her own that had him gasping under her.

She leaned down and offered her breast to him. He took her nipple into his mouth and
started to suck, then nipped her with his teeth.

They came together in a paroxysm of surging limbs and hoarse, elemental cries.

Afterward, she collapsed on top of him, her whole body limp with pleasure.

“Marry me, Tabby.”

Her heart stopped and then started again at a gallop. It was more than she’d ever
hoped for or dreamed of. “I . . .”

“Please, Tabby, say you will. Don’t make me spend the rest of my life alone.”

Tears washed into her eyes and she hugged him tight, unable to voice the maelstrom
of emotions going through her. She understood exactly what he meant. If it wasn’t
Calder, it wouldn’t be anyone. She guessed some people were just so perfectly matched
that once they clicked, breaking open the lock would damage them both.

Finally, she choked out, “I want children.”

“Yes.”

“And a house on the beach.”

“What a coincidence, I’ve got one.”

“And a fish.”

“A fish?”

“I’m allergic to cats and dogs, but our kids have to have pets.”

“I’ll buy you a fifty-gallon aquarium for our first anniversary.”

“Why do I have to wait?”

“I want to make sure you have staying power. It’s an incentive.”

She sat up in outrage and started laughing at the expression on his face.

“I was having you on, love. I’ll buy you interest in Sea World if it will get you
to marry me.”

“I only need you. I love you, Calder.”

“You’ll marry me?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her until they were making love again.

When they were once again sated and lying together, this time under the soft, fluffy
comforter, he whispered against her lips, “I love you, Tabby, and I always will.”

“I love you, Calder.”

 

 

And a year later, when she told him she was pregnant with their first child and he
bought the fifty-gallon aquarium complete with fish and live coral, she knew she would
love this man into eternity.

N
O SHIRT
, N
O SHOES
, N
O SERVICE

Kate Angell

Chapter One

“C
up of coffee and a piece of apple pie.”

Violet Cates gave a start at the sound of the deep voice behind her. There hadn’t
been a customer in Molly Malone’s two minutes ago when she began counting her tips
at the narrow waitress station between the soda machines and shelves of condiments.
Apparently, someone had snuck in.

She sighed as she folded the one-dollar bills and pocketed the change. No fortune
was made from the noon rush, she realized, disappointed. Her regular customers were
generous, but the surfers and skimboarders who’d jammed the diner earlier could barely
cover the cost of their meals. Most of them paid in change.

They sat at her tables, talking waves and swells, and Gulf temperature for the entire
lunch hour. They seldom left her a tip. She’d chased out several guys for not wearing
shirts or shoes. Barefoot William, Florida, was a beach community. Still, it was diner
policy that customers must wear a T-shirt and flip-flops. No exceptions.

Violet glanced at her watch. Three
P.M.
She worked the dining room alone during the middle of the day, when it was usually
quiet. The dinner shift started at five. Two other waitresses would be on the floor
with her then.

The customer who’d called out his order had one of those smooth, sexy male voices
that sifted into a woman and made her sin. She shivered. She’d only known one man
who sounded that hot. She hadn’t heard his voice in five years.

She was curious to see what this guy looked like.

Removing her order pad from the pocket of her short khaki skirt, she turned, put a
smile on her face, only to have her heart nearly stop when she rounded the corner.
There on the counter stool sat
Brad Davis.
She was sure of it.

The memory of him nearly knocked her off her feet. She’d never forgotten the boy with
the black hair, smoke-blue eyes, and lean body. His teenage good looks had sharpened
as an adult. High cheekbones. Sexy lips. Solid jaw.

“Brad?” she asked, curious, crossing to the counter.

“Hello, Vi,” he said easily. One corner of his mouth tipped up, just enough to flash
the single dimple in his unshaven cheek.

He rose, stepped over his duffel bag, and gave her a hug. He tucked her so close she
could barely breathe. Not that she was complaining. She loved his touch. His shoulders
were wide; his chest was thick. The muscles in his body flexed and rippled against
her.

She inhaled against his neck. His cologne was subtle. He still wore Fierce, she realized,
a blend of citrus, musk, and masculinity. The scent hinted of lust-darkened eyes and
unzipped jeans. Of low moans, flushed skin, and twined limbs. Of rumpled sheets and
orgasms.

“It’s good to see you, babe,” he said near her ear. His words tickled warm against
her skin.

“You look great,” she managed. Sensations from their past stirred her present. Her
skin prickled. Her nipples hardened as his dick brushed against her belly. She had
the crazy urge to nip his jaw and lick the pulse at the base of his throat. Then get
naked and kiss her way down his body.

She’d missed him. Terribly. Even after all this time. She wanted to curl her fingers
in his shirt and make a fist so he couldn’t leave her again. Her sigh was heavy, reflective,
as his body pressed hers.

A subtle shift in his stance and his knee eased between her legs. Her already short
skirt hiked up an inch. The intimate rub of denim against her bare inner thighs gave
her goose bumps. What was she thinking? Although the diner was quiet, a customer could
walk through the door at any moment. Violet stepped back.

Brad was slow to release her. His hands slid intimately down her back and over her
hips. His thumbs stroked her belly, dented her navel, then creased the top of her
thighs. His touch was sexual and familiar. Her heart was racing by the time he let
her go.

“Pie,” she repeated to clear her head. “Apple.” Her voice sounded raspy. She moved
down the counter to the revolving pie case. Molly baked twice a day, offering a variety
of homemade desserts.

There was one slice of deep-dish apple left. Sure enough, it had Brad’s name on it.
The pie had a crisscross crust and was sprinkled with cinnamon. Just the way he liked
it. She scooped the last piece onto a small plate.

Déjà vu, she thought. How many desserts had she served him when they were together?
Too many to count.

Memories took hold and time suddenly receded.

She was drawn back to her senior year in high school.

It was late October. She’d been taking notes on
The Great Gatsby
in English Literature class when the gossip reached her. Brad Davis’s parents had
kicked him out of the house on his eighteenth birthday. His family was large, his
father was out of work, and there’d been too many mouths to feed.

He’d shown up at Barefoot William High with an athletic bag in hand. He went through
the day surrounded by friends and their support. After the last bell of the school
day, he went looking for work.

Molly Malone’s was a popular locale on the boardwalk. The diner had a steady stream
of traffic. Molly was the kindest person Violet knew. She offered the outcast a sandwich
and a soda, then hired Brad before he finished filling out his application. He would
help Vi bus tables.

Molly also put a roof over his head, Violet recalled. Her aunt offered him the storeroom
with its fold-out cot and small bathroom. She fed him two meals a day and gave him
a chance to finish his education.

Violet remembered sneaking peeks at him while they worked, asking herself how she’d
gotten stuck with this jock. No clear answer ever presented itself since she and Brad
ran with different crowds. She wrote for the high school newspaper and yearbook, while
he played baseball and wrestled.

They hadn’t known each other well until they’d started working together. She was all
legs and wild, curly, blond hair. He was cocky and too good-looking.

She spent her free time studying.

He went on dates.

Violet had gritted her teeth when groups of girls followed Brad to the diner after
school. They’d sit at the counter, sipping sodas and watching him clear tables. Their
heads going up and down like bobble-heads.

She’d barely tolerated Brad, but that changed when she turned eighteen the following
February. Molly threw her a small party at the diner after closing. The guests drifted
out by ten
P.M.
, leaving Brad and Vi alone with the last two corner slices of yellow cake with whipped
cream confetti frosting.

She could still sense their quiet intimacy. She shivered even now. They’d sat side
by side in a booth. The window shades were drawn and a single vanilla votive candle
flickered on the tabletop.

She’d taken a final bite of cake, only to have the whipped icing smudge one corner
of her mouth. She reached for a napkin just as Brad leaned in and licked her lips
clean. She’d stared at him, stunned and wide-eyed.

There’d been challenge in his eyes. Heat, too.

She’d felt uncertain, yet curious.

Her heart fluttered with the memory of that life-altering moment when she flicked
her tongue back at him, touching his lower lip. He was quick to bite the tip. She’d
felt the jolt in her nipples, her belly, her crotch, and all the way to her toes.
Her entire body blushed.

He went on to angle his head and kiss her fully. It had been an unforgettable kiss,
one that was long and deep and tasted of sugar and candied dots of confetti.

She fell in love with the way he kissed.

They’d made out until their lips were numb.

From that night on, awareness hovered between them. They began to look at each other
in a new light. Their heated stares led to stolen caresses behind the soda machine.
Kisses in the last booth after closing. Before long they couldn’t keep their hands
off each other.

They were daring, sneaking into the back storeroom with the fold-out cot. They did
more than sleep. The brooms, buckets, and cleaning supplies kept their sexy little
secrets.

That first summer after high school, Molly promoted Brad to short-order cook and Violet
started waiting tables. They went on to work together for six years. They shared great
sex and their dreams for the future. They were both ambitious, though there wasn’t
much room for advancement at Molly Malone’s. Still, they both hoped to open their
own restaurants someday.

Violet’s heart broke the day Brad left Barefoot William. He’d grown restless. A man
could only flip so many pancakes. Scramble so many eggs. Butter so many slices of
toast.

She’d understood, but that hadn’t lessened her pain.

He promised Vi he’d return someday. Once he’d made something of himself. Was today
that day?

As she looked at him now, he appeared much as he had before he’d left town. A man
still down on his luck with long hair, wrinkled blue T-shirt, and faded jeans. His
tennis shoes appeared to have walked a million miles.

Right back to Barefoot William. And to her.

Violet cast him a glance as she reached for the coffeepot. Her heart quickened. There
was something appealing about a man with rough edges and a raw attitude. Brad had
both. She found she was as drawn to him now as she’d been at twenty-four. His male
heat touched her across the counter.

He caught her eyeing him and his grin spread, knowing, lazy, unsettling. His single
dimple was so damn sexy. It softened his sharp cheekbones and firm jaw.

Violet collected herself. She served his pie, poured his coffee, and located a set
of napkin-wrapped silverware. He took two big bites, leaned back on the stool, and
patted his stomach. She noticed the stretch of the cotton over his abdomen. He was
definitely cut. His belly was flat. The bulge behind his jeans zipper stood out significantly.
His legs were long, his thighs muscled.

“The pie is as good as I remember,” he told her.

She met his gaze. “Molly hasn’t lost her touch.”

He cut a look over his shoulder. “She’s redecorated, too.” He noticed.

“Twice now, since you left,” she said.

The present color scheme reflected the beach, aqua and sand tones. There were blue
leather booths and light brown tiles. One wall was decorated with restored vintage
photographs, each one depicting the growth of the town.

Barefoot William valued its history. The photos showed the fishing pier under construction
and the boardwalk with only three shops. The largest of the photographs depicted ten
big boats scattered offshore. Commercial fishing had supported the town for fifty
years.

Brad took a sip of coffee, then said, “I’ve missed you, Vi. How’ve you been?” He seemed
genuinely interested. “Still planning to go into business for yourself?”

So he remembered her dream. Her heart warmed. “I’m two thousand dollars closer,” she
said honestly. She didn’t mention her crisis stash, an additional five hundred that
she kept hidden in an empty shampoo bottle beneath the sink at her cottage.

Sadly, she’d saved very little money over the years and hated to admit her failure.
“I love mom-and-pop corner diners. Nothing beats home-cooked meals. I’m not interested
in buying a franchise, but I’d like to have a small diner someday.”

He nodded. “You’ll make it happen, Vi.”

“I hope so.” She swallowed her pride, said, “Unexpected emergencies cut into my savings.”

“Your sister?” he was quick to guess.

She nodded. He’d met Lydia, her sister with three kids and no job. “She’s a single
mom and needed my help more than once,” Vi said, holding back her sigh. Lydia could
be exhausting.

Whenever her younger sister held out her hand, Violet was there, paying a bill, buying
clothes for Lydia’s kids, or filling the refrigerator with groceries. Last week, Vi
had bought two retread tires for her sister’s dented, rusted, and outdated Datsun.
The bucket of bolts was falling apart and had no trade-in value.

Violet was the only person she could turn to. Their parents no longer loaned Lydia
money. She never paid them back. She was in debt not only to family but to countless
friends. Lydia lived off people. She used her kids to gain sympathy, but people were
tired of her ploys.

It seemed for every two dollars Violet got ahead, she fell back five. Her credit cards
were maxed out. She wasn’t making enough money at the diner to qualify for a bank
loan. Life was as life was. She refused to throw herself a pity party. She’d make
it. Somehow.

“I’m in a rut.” She smiled thinly. “I’m still waiting tables.”

“You look good doing it,” he complimented her, giving her the once-over. His gaze
lingered on her breasts and the bare length of leg below her short skirt. “Don’t give
up, Violet. You never know when your luck will change.”

“Have you been lucky?” she asked, and instantly regretted her question. He appeared
the worse for wear. Brad needed a shower, shave, and change of clothes.

He shrugged. “I’ve had a few things go my way,” he slowly said, only to pause when
Molly pushed through the swinging kitchen door.

She wore a plain brown dress, white Keds, and carried a bank bag. She crossed to the
counter. “Brad Davis!” Her excitement was genuine.

“Sweet Molly.” Brad hugged the older woman. He was as tall and lean as she was short
and plump. Molly was a testament to her home-style cooking. She sampled every dish
and dessert before it was served to her customers.

“Have you come back to me?” Molly asked, hopeful.

“Did I ever leave you?” he asked.

Molly patted him on the arm. “Stick around,” she said as she filled the bank bag from
the cash register. “You couldn’t have arrived at a more opportune time. My cook is
going on vacation for two weeks. I’d hate to hire someone for such a short time. You
know the ropes, son. Care to help out, unless you have other commitments?”