Summer at Seaside Cove Read online

  Yet still his heart rapped against his ribs in a crazy, staccato rhythm.

  Clearly he was an idiot.

  He sure as hell wasn’t looking for any entanglements—freeing himself from bad relationships had been one of his prime motivations in escaping to Seaside Cove. And getting involved with a woman who lived right next door, in a house she was renting from him, had Extremely Bad Idea written all over it.

  Yet there was no denying his awareness of her. Or that sizzle when they’d touched. Which meant he had three choices—act on it, ignore it, or get the hell out of town for a couple days and hope it went away.

  He knew which one his body wanted.

  He knew which one was the smartest.

  And he was pretty sure he knew which one he’d choose.

  Chapter 6

  Considering the fact that Nick Trent was a strong contender for the title of Least Charming Man She’d Ever Met, Jamie was both dumbfounded and highly irritated to find herself even momentarily charmed by him. But there was no denying that’s what she felt as she stood next to him on the beach and watched him throw a tennis ball into the waves for an ecstatic Godiva.

  In addition to feeling charmed, she also felt as if she were melting from the inside out—which unfortunately had little to do with the sun’s hot rays and a whole lot to do with the fact that Nick looked like a freakin’ Greek god in his board shorts.

  How the heck did a guy who went off on regular benders manage to have perfect pecs and abs you could grate cheese on? Maybe he wasn’t going off on benders at all—maybe he was modeling for those Calvin Klein underwear ads. Thank God she’d put on her sunglasses—she wouldn’t want him to know she’d given him the onceover. You’ve given him the onceover about forty-three times, her suddenly number-conscious inner voice whispered.

  Stupid voice. Where was a muzzle when she needed it?

  But really, who could blame her? No one, that’s who. At least no one sporting two X chromosomes. Sure, every female knew that guys who looked like Nick Trent existed, but the average woman normally saw them only between the pages of magazines. Standing so close to one, in the flesh … such warm-looking, goldeny tanned, perfectly defined without being too muscular flesh … was wreaking havoc with her normally no-nonsense brain cells.

  Which was crazy! She didn’t even like the guy.

  Maybe not, but darn it, she was pretty much in love with his dog.

  Godiva was just so damn happy, her mood was contagious. Jamie laughed as the dog raced toward the water, kicking up sand behind her, then catapulted herself into the waves, a brown frenzied blur of canine joy. She grabbed the ball between her teeth, then ran back toward them.

  “You might want to step back,” Nick warned as Godiva approached.

  “Why—?”

  Her question was cut off when Godiva commenced a fullbody shake that sprayed them with clammy-scented sea water.

  “That’s why,” Nick said unnecessarily. With an unrepentant grin he picked up the wet ball Godiva had dropped at his feet. “Wanna throw it?”

  Jamie eyed the wet, sandy ball. Clearly he didn’t think she’d touch it. Clearly he didn’t know who he was dealing with. “Sure,” she said, taking the ball, then heaving it down the beach and toward the water. Godiva took off like a shot.

  Nick gave a soft whistle. “That’s a pretty good arm you’ve got there.”

  “I played softball in high school. Centerfield.”

  “Interesting. I would have pegged you more as the president of the debate club.”

  Humph. Showed what he knew—she’d been the treasurer of the debate club.

  She was saved from replying by the return of a very wet and sandy Godiva, who proceeded to once again enthusiastically shower them with sea water.

  “I’ll have you know that Cupcake never sprays me like that,” Jamie said, taking off her glasses to wipe them on the hem of her orange cover-up.

  “Yeah, but can she do this?” He tossed the ball straight up. Godiva crouched down, then leaped upward, snatching the ball out of the air when it was still a good six feet off the ground.

  “I’m sure she could if she wanted to,” Jamie said with a sniff as she slid her glasses back on. “She just doesn’t want to.”

  Nick laughed, then threw the ball once again, and a tireless Godiva gave chase. “You’re being a good sport about Godiva showering you with doggie sea water.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am.”

  “I don’t see why. This is the beach, not a cocktail party. I’m wearing a bathing suit, not Armani. And I was already covered with sand and salt. What’s a little water at this point?”

  “I don’t think it’s a big deal, but I figured you would.”

  “Well, you figured wrong.”

  She sensed his gaze on her and turned her head. And found him looking at her. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes through his dark lenses, she sensed the intensity of his regard. Awareness of him, of the sun glinting off his broad shoulders, walloped her like a steaming slap, shooting tingles to all her girl parts. Her avid gaze skimmed over him—for the fortyfourth time—taking in his toned arms and ridged abs, lingering on the fascinating happy trail that ran downward from his navel and disappeared into his waistband, before continuing on to his nicely muscled legs dusted with golden brown hair and ending at his sandy feet.

  His very large, sandy feet.

  You know what they say about men with large feet, Jamie.

  Her gaze instantly zeroed in on his crotch. Hmmm … couldn’t get a good read on things. Darn it.

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  Her gaze jerked upward. He’d pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and was regarding her through those unfairly gorgeous green eyes with an expression that made it very clear he knew he’d just been ogled with the sort of zeal a piranha would bestow on a hunk of beef.

  Jamie’s face ignited—oh joy, the blotches would appear any second. And because embarrassment always brought out her inner Victorian schoolmarm, she said in a glacial tone, “I’m not showing you anything. Ever.”

  He laughed. “Whoa, you can go from hot to icy in a blink. Can’t figure out why that amuses me so much.”

  “Obviously there’s something wrong with you.” At least mentally. Because there was nothing wrong with him physically.

  “Obviously,” he agreed with a lopsided grin. He looked beyond her. “Here comes Godiva again. She looks like she’s got three hundred gallons of water on her coat to shower us with. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to make a run for it.”

  Before she could move, he tossed his glasses in the soft sand, then took off toward the water. Godiva immediately changed direction and headed toward him like a wet, brown laser beam.

  Nick dashed into the waves, jumping over several before making a shallow dive beneath a third. Several seconds later he stood and Jamie nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight of him, rising from the foamy waves like a modernday Adonis, sun glinting off his glistening skin, his board shorts clinging to him in a way that totally proved the bigfeet premise, and totally disproved the whole cold water/ shrinkage supposition.

  Nick’s presence in the shallow water sent Godiva into absolute doggie rapture. Jamie watched them for several minutes, laughing at their antics, and decided right then and there that as soon as her life was once again settled back in New York, she was going to get a dog.

  “They’re a lot more fun and a lot less trouble than a man,” she murmured.

  And speaking of fun … it was about time she joined in rather than standing on the sidelines. She kicked off her flip-flops, slipped her cover-up over her head, then set it and her sunglasses next to Nick’s glasses and ran into the water. A wave broke on her thighs, splashing her right up to her forehead, and she laughed at the sheer refreshment of the cool water sluicing over her sun-warmed skin. She ducked beneath the next wave and surfaced in knee-high water about three feet away from Nick.

&nb
sp; His gaze coasted over her yellow tankini and she totally blamed her suddenly hard nipples on the water temperature. He clearly noticed as his gaze lingered there for several seconds before taking in the several inches of bare skin exposed on her stomach. She stood up a bit straighter in an attempt to flatten out the roundness she’d picked up from eating about twelve million calories worth of pity-party Ben & Jerry’s after Raymond had dumped her.

  When his gaze met hers once again, he favored her with a crooked grin that made her heart flutter—either that or she was going into cardiac arrest. And given how ridiculously sexy he looked, heart failure wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities.

  “You look good all wet, princess.” His eyes darkened and her lungs—which had worked perfectly well for twenty-six years—completely forgot how to function. Good thing a wave chose that moment to slap her in the ass and break her out of the trance she’d fallen into and suck in a breath, otherwise she might have passed out from lack of oxygen.

  Nick’s teeth flashed brilliant white in another grin and he nodded his chin toward the shore. “Now let’s tire out my dog.”

  Jamie looked at Godiva. She stood on the beach, every muscle quivering, eyes bright with excitement, paws in the water, tail thwapping back and forth like a windshield wiper during a downpour, tennis ball clamped in her mouth.

  “I’m thinking we’ll tire out long before she does,” Jamie said with a laugh, wading toward the dog. “She looks ready to run for about another two hundred miles.”

  “More like four hundred. Lucky thing you have a good throwing arm.”

  She paused and shot him a raised-brow look over her shoulder. “Dude. My throwing arm is way better than merely ‘good.’ ” With that, she trotted to Godiva, who obligingly dropped the ball at her feet, and proved herself with a throw that would have done her old high school team proud.

  They spent the next hour throwing the ball and splashing each other and Godiva. Nick and Godiva engaged in a playful tug of war over the ball that ended when Godiva suddenly opened her mouth and Nick fell flat on his ass at the water’s edge. Jamie was already bent double with laughter while Godiva danced around her, loving this game, when a wave broke right behind Nick, completely engulfing him in foamy, sandy water.

  With his gaze fixed on her, he slowly rose. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “At you—and the piece of seaweed stuck in your hair—and the three pounds of sand that just got washed into your bathing suit.”

  He shook his leg, and sure enough at least a handful of sand plopped out of the leg of his shorts, dissolving Jamie in another round of giggles.

  “God, I wish I had a camera,” she managed to gasp out.

  “Okay, that’s it.” He reached her in two strides, and before she could move, he’d scooped her up in his arms and walked purposefully back toward the water.

  Although she was weak from laughter, she had enough of her wits about her to note that 1) he’d very impressively plucked her up as if she weighed no more than a daisy, and she was no flyweight, 2) his hard, muscular chest felt really nice pressed against her side, and 3) she was about to get tossed in the water.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t you dare.”

  He turned his head. His sand-dotted face was only inches from hers and for the first time she noticed the pale gold that radiated out from his pupils into his deep green irises like a sunburst. “Where I come from, laughter leads directly to retribution. And dares are always accepted.”

  “I dare you to put me down.”

  His gaze flicked to her lips, shooting sparks right down to her toes. “That the best you can do?”

  Pretty much, yeah. Because given the way he was looking at her, at how close his lips were to hers, his skin against hers, his strong arms cradling her, she once again forgot how to breathe.

  And a darn good thing, otherwise she would have taken in a lungful of water because in the next second he tossed her into an incoming wave and water closed over her head. She came up sputtering and narrowed her eyes at him. “You are in so much trouble.”

  “Hey, you dared me to put you down.”

  “I meant on my feet. On the sand.”

  “Oh. Bummer for you that you didn’t make yourself clearer.”

  “You’re going down,” Jamie threatened.

  “You’ll have to catch me first.”

  She lunged for him, but missed. Godiva barked and danced on the shore, then galloped into the water to join the fun and an impromptu combination of tag, catch, and fetch commenced. Thirty minutes later, Jamie staggered out of the knee-deep water and flopped on her back on the wet sand.

  “I give up,” she said, breathing heavily from exertion. She felt a thump next to her and turned her head. Nick had dropped to his knees next to her. He was barely breathing heavy, damn him.

  “You okay?” he asked, the water dripping from his body splashing on her arm.

  “Swell. You happen to have an oxygen mask? Or maybe a morphine drip?”

  “Sorry, fresh out.”

  Just then Godiva bounded out of the water and skidded to a halt beside her. She shook herself, spraying water like a sprinkler, then dropped the tennis ball next to Jamie’s head and gave a questioning whine.

  “Dear God, isn’t she tired yet?” Jamie asked.

  “Nah, she’s good for at least another three, four miles.”

  Jamie groaned. Godiva gave her a sniff, then licked her cheek. “I need a minute. Or an hour. Maybe two hours.” At least she now knew how Nick stayed in such primo shape. He didn’t need a gym—he had the inexhaustible Godiva.

  She looked up and saw a bird overhead. “Is that a vulture? Circling, waiting for me to breathe my last?”

  “It’s a seagull.” He shot her a wicked grin. “Bless your heart.”

  A half laugh she was too exhausted to get all the way out rose in her throat. “I’ll get you—and your little dog, too,” she said in her best Wicked Witch of the West voice. “As soon as I regain my strength, that is.”

  “Like hell. As soon as you regain your strength, you’re going to keep your promise and help me give my now very salty and sandy—although no longer clammy-smelling—dog a bath.”

  “Ugh.” She flopped out a weak hand to lightly swat him and her fingers skimmed over firm, wet skin. She turned her head and saw that rather than his arm, she’d brushed her hand across his abdomen. Just south of his navel.

  He sucked in a quick breath. “I’m not sure if your aim is really bad or really good.”

  Darn it, neither was she. Jamie’s face caught fire and she snatched her hand away as if he’d turned into a blow torch.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, although she wasn’t sure she really was. And if she was sorry, was it because she’d accidentally touched his happy trail—or because her hand hadn’t brushed over him a few inches lower?

  And did she even want to know the answer to that question?

  Probably not.

  Due to her embarrassment, she suddenly felt revived, and—thanks to his beautiful eyes and steaming-hot body and gorgeous smile—as horny as hell.

  She sat up and carefully avoided touching him as she stood. “I’m prepared to honor my promise.”

  They gathered their belongings, and with Godiva safely leashed, they walked back to Southern Comfort, where Nick turned on the hose. Amidst much grunting and laughter and spraying about of water and soapsuds, they managed to get a very excited Godiva soaped up and rinsed. While Nick turned off the hose, Jamie crouched down and wrapped a huge beach towel around Godiva and vigorously rubbed her wet fur.

  “Does that feel good baby?” she crooned.

  Godiva made happy noises in her throat, licked Jamie’s chin, then flopped on her back and presented her belly, which Jamie obligingly rubbed.

  “She’ll give you three days to knock that off,” Nick said from behind her.

  Jamie looked at him over her shoulder. He stood several feet away, looking down at her with an expression she c
ouldn’t read. She gave Godiva a final pat, then rose.

  “Cupcake enjoys having her belly rubbed, too. Must be a pet thing.”

  “Yeah. It’s also a guy thing.”

  Her gaze dropped to his abs and an image flashed in her mind … of her fingers trailing over that taut belly, exploring all those fascinating ridges.

  “Thanks for your help with Godiva, princess.”

  His voice yanked her from her heat-inducing thoughts. She jerked her gaze upward. There was no mistaking the fire kindling in his eyes. She locked her suddenly wobbly knees and swallowed to find her voice.

  “You’re welcome. And I’m not a princess.”

  A frown creased between his brows. “Maybe not,” he conceded, although he looked both displeased and surprised.

  “Definitely not.” She held out his towel. “I, um, had fun.”

  He took the towel, and something that looked like confusion clouded his eyes. “Me, too,” he said slowly, as if he couldn’t believe he was actually saying the words. He studied her for several long seconds with an expression that made it clear he didn’t quite know what to make of her. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth and all Jamie’s girl parts went on red alert. Then his frown deepened and he took a slow step toward her, as if reluctantly being dragged closer, but unable to stop himself.

  She went perfectly still. Holy crap, was he going to kiss her? That would be great, er, bad. Really bad. Bad idea. Yet it certainly looked like he was thinking about it. Which had her thinking about it. Which had her lips—among other things—tingling in anticipation of that oh so firm yet oh so soft-looking mouth touching hers.

  A faint ringtone sounded. He blinked twice, as if emerging from the same lustful fog that had engulfed her. “That’s my phone,” he said in husky voice. “Excuse me.”

  He took the stairs two at a time. The screen door banged behind him, then she heard the low murmur of his deep voice.

  “Saved by the bell,” she murmured. “Literally.” And thank goodness. Good grief, what was wrong with her? She was in full I Hate Men mode. Her mind and common sense and better judgment knew it—and wanted nothing to do with anything that had a penis—but apparently her libido hadn’t gotten the memo and thought Nick Trent was the greatest thing to come along since triple-fudge brownies. With whipped cream. And a cherry on top.