The Kiss on Castle Road (A Lavender Island Novel) (14 page)

She seemed to ignore all that and furrowed her eyebrows, directing him back to her cart. “Here, let me take you home.”

“Natalie, seriously, I’m much better now.” Although it felt good to have her hands on him, he was uncomfortable with her treating him like an invalid. He warred over whether or not to move out of her reach. He didn’t want to. He liked being so close to her pieces of toast, and thinking about the fact that only one thin layer of flannel lay between him and her body. But . . . ultimately . . . his pride won out.

“I’m fine.” He moved away from her babying.

“Let’s just let the antihistamines do their work for a minute; then I’ll let you go. You probably need fresh air. Do you want to walk a little?”

She pointed to a trail that ran from Becky’s driveway and seemed to wind down the mountain. The surrounding trees and fresh night air looked appealing, and Elliott led the way, each step farther from Becky’s house giving him more strength.

“I see you went with the
Star Trek
watch,” she said.

“I did.”

“It’s really nice.”

“I appreciate that you appreciate it.”

She laughed as they reached a small outcropping with a large flat boulder in the center. Natalie climbed up, wriggling to the top in her floppy pajamas and slippers. Elliott hauled himself up the rock and sat beside her. It felt as if they were on top of the world, the wind whipping their hair around their faces, overlooking all the twinkling lights of the tourist town.

“Isn’t everything beautiful up here?” she asked breathlessly, peering over the side of the hill.

He took in her flannel pants getting buffeted by the wind, her hair that was barely held together in a hasty half braid that looked as though she’d thrown it together before running out to the cart, the loose tendrils of auburn-brown flying about her temples, and her makeup-free face that had spots of color where the cold was touching her cheeks.

“Sure is,” he finally said.

CHAPTER 12

Natalie tugged at her pajama-pant leg, crisscrossed her legs underneath her, and smiled back at Elliott.

He was so cute. She liked taking care of him. She could keep this mancation under perfect control when she was reacting to him as a sincere friend instead of a potential new boyfriend. And that she did. When his call came, her first instinct was to change into something presentable before hopping in the golf cart—her old way of thinking. But Elliott had been in serious trouble—she could hear the wheezing. So she’d simply grabbed the antihistamines, jumped in the cart, and came to help him without even glancing in the mirror. Without thinking of how to impress him. Her only thought was how to help. It was freeing.

Plus, he was on his dating quest, and she wasn’t part of it. Just because his date ended in a semidisaster didn’t mean Becky was finished with him. Becky’s slinky pajamas that Natalie had gotten a glimpse of solidified
that
.

No, Natalie needed to stay focused on simply being Elliott’s friend.

He looked as if he could use one now.

“Aside from the ending, how did this date seem to go?” she finally asked.

“I don’t expect a call soon.”

“Oh, I do.”

“The fact that I just stumbled through her bushes out her back patio because I’m apparently severely allergic to her dogs, which she rescues and loves more than anything, isn’t a deal-breaker?”

“It could be. But the fact that she invited you over, invited you in, and had on her Sophia Loren lounge clothes makes me think it was going pretty well. How did she invite you in?”

“She just kind of . . .” Elliott waved his hand back toward the door. “I don’t know, exactly. I didn’t know what was happening.”

“Lust, maybe?”

Elliott glanced up at her, looking almost ashamed. She didn’t mean to make him feel bad. What man wouldn’t follow sexy Becky into her bedroom if she asked?

She sighed and reminded herself to be a good friend. “I think you’re doing great,” she finally admitted.

He blinked up at her.

His phone buzzed loudly. Natalie stared at his trouser pocket. “That’s her,” she said confidently.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is. Check.”

He pulled the phone out and lifted his eyebrows. A small grin made a dimple appear. “You’re right.”

“What is she saying?”

“She says, ‘Had a great time’—
great
is in all caps—‘and hope to see you again soon. Next time we’ll go to your place.’ Huh.” He looked up at her, the surprise evident on his face. He gazed out across the vista as he tucked the phone away, clearly lost in thought about a possible next date. Natalie pushed aside her gut reaction toward jealousy and told herself she was being a better person if she could help Elliott out here.

“Okay, you can do this,” she said. “I could tell she was interested in you. What’s your next plan?”

“I don’t have a next plan. I didn’t even know I was moving to a next plan.”

“Well, what’s your standard second-date plan?”

“I, uh . . .” His hand flew into the air in exasperation. “I don’t know. You tell me. What’s a good plan?”

She forced herself to look at this selflessly, and to forget about how sexy he looked with his tie loosened around his neck like that and the start of a five o’clock shadow across his jaw. “Okay, she mentioned your place, so she’s clearly ready to move things along. I think maybe dinner in, like you did for Alice and Caren. And serve a sexy dessert.”

“A sexy
dessert
?”

“Something like strawberries and cream.”

“You find strawberries and cream sexy?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s kind of a standard message. Strawberries equals sexy.”

“Do I
do
something with the strawberries?” His mouth quirked up on one side.

“You could do something with the cream,” she snapped.

His smile slipped a little, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in a visible swallow.

What was wrong with her? She didn’t like making him feel uncomfortable. But she also didn’t like the slimy jealousy slithering through her veins right now and didn’t know how to handle it. But she could. She was determined to be selfless.

She took a deep breath and tried again.

“And feel free to touch her throughout dinner.”

Elliott glanced back up at her. “Does this involve the strawberries?” He cleared his throat.

“No. Touch her
body
, I mean. Her hand, her thigh. Depends on what you have access to during dinner. It sort of starts the whole foreplay process early.”

“During
dinner
?”

“Of course. How good are you at foreplay?”

Elliott took a nervous swig of bottled water and looked away.

“Elliott?”

He shook his head.

“Are you okay?” Was his throat closing up again?

“I’m okay,” he choked out.

“Is foreplay not your forte?” Natalie moved across the rock so she was positioned in front of him. If they were going to be friends, she could put this all on the line. It might be nice to speak for all womankind, actually, and instruct at least one good man on the art of dating and sex. She tucked her pajama legs underneath her. “It should be easy. Women have many erogenous zones, and you can touch any of them—some during dinner, and then . . . Well, some you should wait until you’re naked.”

Elliott swallowed again.

She crossed her legs tighter against her body. “Do you need me to tell you where they are?”

“I could use a refresher,” his voice rasped.

“You’re not going to get this kind of help from the Colonel, you know.”

“Thank God.”

“Do you want the during-dinner ones first, or do you want to skip right ahead to the while-naked ones?”

“We’d better start with dinner.”

“Are you a pretty quick study?”

A wicked smile slowly turned the edges of his mouth. “I always ruined the curve.”

Now it was her turn to catch her breath. She gulped and finally got hold of herself. “All right then. Wrists.” She pointed. “Inside elbow.” Pointed again. “And behind the knee. You can touch those spots during dinner. Try one, and if she doesn’t pull away, feel free to try one more. Don’t go with more than two or you’ll seem desperate. Wrists are easy. You can gently stroke while you’re talking to her at dinner. Kind of like this.” She grabbed his hand and positioned it on the rock as if it were on a tabletop, then rubbed her thumb across it as she looked into his face. “See? You don’t even have to watch what you’re doing.”

He stared at her fingertips. “Women like that?”

“Some do. Erogenous zones are different for everyone. If that doesn’t get you far, you can try behind her knee, although this works best if you’re sitting side by side, like watching TV or something.” She scooted around so she was next to him and put her legs out in front of her. “Like this.” She grabbed his hand and pressed his fingertips into the back of her knee. This was one of her personal favorites that no man seemed to ever
get
, so she was pleased to share the knowledge. For womankind and all.

“Here?” Elliott pressed once, then stroked gently, then . . .
mmm.
Natalie had to force herself to move away as his strokes began sending tingles through all her nerve endings. He definitely got it.

She cleared her throat. “Mmm, okay. Very good. Then. There we go.” She moved farther away and took a couple of quick breaths. “Okay, then there’s kissing, too. With clothes on, you can still kiss those same places, like wrists again.” She held hers up. “Or back behind the ear, or along the back of the neck.” She moved her braid and pointed.

“Should I try that?” He was staring at her neck.

“Now?”

He nodded.

“On
me
?”

He nodded again.

She glanced up toward Becky’s house and was certain Becky couldn’t see them from here. And she wasn’t
flirting
, exactly. Was she? She wanted to be a good female friend. She didn’t want to lose her bet with Paige. She was just
teaching
, right? Certainly, if she’d wanted to flirt with him tonight, she wouldn’t have stayed in her toast pajamas. “Okay . . .”

Elliott turned toward her. Next thing she knew, he had his legs bent on either side of her and had her sitting between his knees. He gently moved her hair. She could feel his breath on her neck, right beneath her pajama collar, and she waited, holding her own, shivering a little in anticipation as he leaned closer.

“Here?” he mumbled.

He placed a delicious kiss at the slope of her shoulder, and a large shiver went straight into her scalp.
Damn.
Dr. Sherman had some kissing skills. “A little higher,” she choked out.

Another kiss followed the first, this one at the base of her neck. Goose bumps covered her arms and ran up to her neck, but she hoped he couldn’t see them in the dark.

“Here?” he mumbled again.

“A tad higher,” she managed to squeak.

A third kiss landed in just the right spot—her favorite spot—right at the hollow behind her ear. The kiss was warm, with just enough tongue to make it almost seem like a lick, and enough to send goose bumps all over her body and a pull into every sexual nerve ending she had. She couldn’t help but close her eyes and enjoy it this time, and she fought the moan that wanted to escape her throat.

“Good?” Elliott asked softly.

“Yes.” Her answer came out breathless and embarrassing, and Elliott rewarded her—or maybe punished her—with another kiss, right there, in the same spot: warm tongue, cold night, his fingers pushing her hair aside, his breath along her neck. Her shoulders came up this time in a reluctant shiver, and she pushed herself away abruptly, holding him at bay.

She was almost afraid to meet his eyes, completely afraid to address the sexual awareness between them, afraid that she’d initiated it but he’d felt it, too. But when she finally lifted her eyelashes, he looked completely guileless.

“Was that okay?” he asked.

Unable to speak momentarily, she simply bobbed her head.

He pulled back, looking at her expectantly, waiting for the next instruction.

She took a couple of deep breaths.

“Okay then,” she finally managed to say.

“What’s next?” he prompted.

“Yes, yes, of course. Maybe . . . um . . . maybe we should continue this tomorrow? How are the antihistamines working, by the way?”

“Perfect. I feel much better.”

“Good! Good. That’s really good.” She slid off the rock into the sage, rubbing her pajama arms against the wind that came up over the mountaintop. Or maybe against the goose bumps that still remained from Elliott’s skillful kisses. Or maybe against the awareness that she wanted him
now
. Whatever. All she knew was that she needed to get the hell out of there before she knocked him down right on the rock and kissed the living daylights out of him. If he could kiss good-night like he’d proven yesterday in front of the Colonel, and kiss her neck like he’d proven just now, she couldn’t imagine what other wonders he was capable of with that tongue.

“How about if we maybe do this tomorrow?” she asked. “I have to, um . . . get home and . . .”

Another shiver had her sprinting toward the carts. “I’ve got to go now, Elliott. I’m glad you feel better,” she yelled over her shoulder.

He followed behind her, thanked her as she started her ignition, and lifted his hand as she rolled down the driveway.

Natalie floored her cart to its full twenty miles per hour all the way down the mountainside.

Elliott hung his hands on his hips and watched Natalie power toward the first turn on the mountain, dust swirling around all four tires.

He didn’t know what, precisely, had just happened, or why she was running away, but he knew he was ready to break into a smile from ear to ear.

Because Natalie Grant had moaned.

Or hummed.

Or some kind of sound. Right beneath his lips. And it was positive. So positive, in fact, he’d kissed her again.

Of course, the second kiss was when she’d all but fled off the rock, but Elliott still considered it a positive sign. He’d made Natalie Grant moan.

Or hum.

Whatever.

The important point was that, whatever happened for the rest of his life, he’d always have that little moment of success.

He’d probably dream about it for the rest of his livelong days, in fact.

As soon as she turned the corner, he ran a hand through his hair and glanced up at the stars. This night had turned out to be not as bad as he’d thought.

He hopped in his own cart and concentrated on keeping his itching eyes open for the rest of the drive home.

At the base of the mountain, just before his driveway, he felt his phone buzzing again, and he pulled his cart into his garage, almost knocking down a set of bicycles and golf clubs the owner kept along the side. He scrambled to get his phone out, hoping it would be Natalie.

“Hello?” he said eagerly.

“Elliott, it’s Becky.”

His chest fell.

“You can put this number into your phone if you’d like.” She gave a low, sultry laugh. “I was just calling to say I’m sorry again and hope you’re feeling better.”