Seaside Nights Part 5

How was she supposed to think about anything, much less form a single word in response, after hearing that? He left her nearly salivating for a kiss and held her hand as he walked down the first step toward the alley below, then pressed a kiss to the back of it and said, "Good night, my sweet summer Sky."

She watched him disappear around the corner and finally broke from her stupor and went inside. Her apartment was dark, save for the sheen of red and yellow light streaming in the front window from the shop's sign across the street. Merlin, her two-year-old longhair Persian cat, wound between her feet. She picked him up and he purred like crazy as she nuzzled him beneath her chin.

"How's my boy?" She set her purse on the chair by the door and carried Merlin to the kitchen, the memory of Sawyer's kisses still lingering on her lips. She filled a saucer with fresh water and set Merlin down to drink. He looked up at her with his puckered face that made him appear to be in a constant state of harrumph.

"Yes, I'm still thinking of him. Don't look at me like that."

Merlin rubbed against her leg, reminding her of how good it had felt to lie next to Sawyer in the sand.

"Eat, sweetie. We need to drive down to Wellfleet after you've had your fill."

She heard footsteps rushing up the stairs outside her door, followed by a quick knock. One of the first things Blue had done when she'd bought the building was install a security monitor and a peephole, as well as a slew of locks and other security measures that she swore she'd never need-and he'd insisted upon. The minute her brothers had heard she balked at the idea of all those security measures, she'd landed in the middle of a text diatribe from Hunter and Grayson and a verbal lashing from Matty over the phone. Pete wasn't nearly as gentle. He'd appeared on her doorstep with a scowl and literally stood between her and Blue, keeping her from interfering with Blue's efforts. She'd lost the battle but won the war. She was out of her father's store and in her own place. That was a step in the right direction.

She glanced at the monitor hanging from the underside of her kitchen cabinets and saw Sawyer pacing on the landing, sending her heart into a frenzy.

She reached for the doork.n.o.b, hesitating for a moment to try to calm her racing pulse.

"I'm sorry," he said as she opened the door. Apologetic had never looked so hot. "I forgot to ask for your number." His cheeks were a little flushed.

"Did you run here?"

"Just from the pier." He smiled, a sweet, slightly embarra.s.sed, smile. "I was afraid you might have already left for Wellfleet, and then I worried that if you hadn't left, I'd send the wrong message by showing up again. I..." He exhaled loudly. "I'm babbling."

"A little, but a big, bad, babbling boxer boy is supercute."

"Cute isn't exactly what a twenty-eight-year-old man hopes for." He laughed and handed her a slip of paper. "Here's my number, in case either one of us is running late tomorrow."

She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. "Want me to put my number in your phone?"

He dug it out of his pocket and handed it to her, his eyes warm and grateful as she added her number to his contacts, then handed the phone back to him. She stepped out onto the landing and Sawyer peered around her.

"Someone's giving me the evil eye."

"That's Merlin's adoring look." She bent and picked up her fluffy gray kitty and petted him. Sawyer lowered his face to Merlin's eye level and kissed the tip of his nose.

I have a nose that needs kissing, too.

"Hope you had a nice evening, Merlin," he said as he petted Merlin's head.

"Cute. Definitely cute. In the very best of ways," she a.s.sured him.

His eyes went dark and seductive as he wrapped his arms around her waist and said, "Thanks for your number."

She whispered, "Cute," just to see his reaction.

"I'm going to change your mind about that. You'll be calling me Hulk-like or Herculean by tomorrow at midnight."

She went up on her toes and kissed his p.r.i.c.kly chin. "Okay, cutie pie."

"If you weren't holding your cat, I'd show you just how cute I really am."

She couldn't turn and set Merlin inside fast enough. She pulled the door closed so the kitty couldn't escape and flashed her most challenging grin, which she hoped was at least a little bit s.e.xy, then fisted her hands in his shirt. "Show me."

"Sky." As he said her name, he stepped forward, pressing her back to the door. When he ran his hands down her hips and caressed her bare thighs, she couldn't resist leaning in to him.

"Sawyer." She loved the way his name slid off her tongue.

His rough hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over her jaw, heightening her antic.i.p.ation. "Sweet, sweet summer Sky. What am I going to do with you?" His eyes dropped to her mouth, as his other hand slid to the curve of her a.s.s, beneath her shorts, as he'd done when they were dancing. Shivers of heat rippled through her.

His touch, the sultry look in his eyes, and his potent masculinity swirled together and slithered over her skin. She brought her mouth closer to his.

"I'm trying to be a gentleman." He ground his impressive erection against her as he claimed her lips in a kiss that sent ecstasy spiraling through her. He held her possessively, ma.s.saging her a.s.s with both hands, with the same insistence as every stroke of his tongue, every rock of his hips. Her thoughts spun out of control. She had no hopes of silencing the moan of pleasure that spilled from her lungs into his. He pressed her hips so tightly to his her feet left the ground, and as he lifted her, her legs circled his waist. His lips moved south, and he sealed his teeth over her neck.

Her head dropped back, and she sucked in air as sensations bowled her over. It was too much, felt too good, and when he somehow shifted her lower so his arousal pressed against her center, the friction was excruciatingly scintillating. His mouth found hers again, and his tongue thrust hard, in a powerful rhythm that matched that of his hips against her damp center. And-holy h.e.l.l-she felt the pull of an o.r.g.a.s.m. Couldn't be. No way. Her hips moved harder, faster. Her belly grew tight. Holy s.h.i.t. OhmyG.o.d. His fingers brushed against her panties, and he groaned, a guttural, carnal sound that sent her tipping over the edge. Her head fell back and he didn't relent, pressing, stroking, and keeping her at the peak of her first fully clothed climax. And just as the full-body shudder began to ease, he pressed his fingers against her panties and brought his mouth back to her neck, taking her higher again.

"More-" The unbidden plea surprised her, but she didn't care. Everything about tonight had surprised her.

His fingers sank into her, stroking a pleasure point, and she lost all control, crying out and digging her nails into his biceps as her inner muscles clenched repeatedly in the sweetest, most intense o.r.g.a.s.m.

She panted for air, and when she opened her eyes, bringing him back into focus, he withdrew his fingers from between her legs and wiped them over her lips, then followed the path with his tongue. Her pulse was racing so fast she couldn't think, could only suck his tongue into her mouth, seeking more.

When they finally drew apart, she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

His eyes narrowed as a grin curved his lips, and he dragged his tongue up the length of his glistening fingers. Sky had never known such intensity, such overwhelming pa.s.sion, and as he set her on her trembling legs and gathered her in close, she was thankful for his strong arms to hold her up. He tipped up her chin with his hand and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

"Sweet dreams, my sweet summer Sky." He held her hand as she somehow managed to walk inside the apartment, but she didn't want to let go.

It was crazy, keeping hold of him the way she was. Insane the way she tugged him through the doorframe, leaning against him as she tried to calm her breathing. She didn't know him well, and yet somehow she felt as though she'd known him a h.e.l.l of a lot longer than a few hours.

"That was..." For the first time in her life, she had no words. Nothing measured up to his sensuous seduction or the longing for more that made her ache for him.

"If you say cute," he whispered, before kissing her forehead, each cheek, and then the corners of her mouth. "I might have to try to convince you again."

Before she could say, Stay, he added, "Some other time."

Disappointment washed through her, surprising her again. What was going on with her? She was like the worst kind of addict. Give me more. No, don't. Yes, please. It was new, and frightening, and exciting at once. She didn't understand it, and she didn't try to. She loved the way he made her feel, and laugh, and the way he spoke from his heart.

"I want to do things right with you, Sky. To date, treat you like you deserve to be treated, before we go further. I really like you, and I'm sorry if I went too far."

"No. You didn't," she said quickly. "I don't know what came over me. I pushed for more. I taunted you."

"Sky, I've wanted you since the moment our eyes met across the bar. And I'm-"

She found her voice and her confidence and said, "Don't you dare apologize, unless you didn't enjoy being close to me."

"Didn't enjoy it? I loved it. I want more of you, not less. It's taking all of my restraint to leave you tonight." He reached for her hand. "I came back for your phone number, but part of me-a big part of me-hoped for more. I wanted to touch you. To kiss you." His voice went low as he stepped in closer. "I wanted to taste you, and, Sky, your sweetness will stay on my tongue and infiltrate my dreams. But I don't want you to wake up tomorrow morning and wonder what the h.e.l.l you did tonight."

"I won't." She was nervous and rattled to her core by what she'd experienced right outside her door, with a man she'd known only a short time. But still, she was sure tomorrow morning would not bring regret.

"Maybe not. But I'm not willing to take the chance." He kissed her softly. "You have my number. If you change your mind about tomorrow night, call me."

"I won't."

"I hope not." With that, he turned and disappeared out her door.

Sky didn't know how long she stood there, seeing his eyes in her mind when she'd opened the door and the simmering heat in them when he'd licked his fingers. Sometime later she opened the paper with his phone number on it and set it on the counter. It curled at the edge, revealing writing on the other side. She lifted it into the gleam of the sign from across the street and walked to the window, reading his note. Tall, strong letters gave life to each word.

Wanton looks, shimmering touches. Little nothings, wild and triumphant. Into the night. Into the night. She stared at the words, feeling each intimate one as a p.r.i.c.kle of heat beneath her skin.

She looked out the front window and saw Sawyer heading down the alley toward the parking lot. His shoulders were strikingly broad, his waist narrow. Every step was determined, unlike those walking casually on the main road. He glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes moving up the building to the window where she stood watching. Her pulse quickened again. His lips curved up, and his hand followed in the sweetest wave she'd ever seen. In that instant, Sky finally understood what her friends had felt when they'd fallen for their men in practically the blink of an eye.

And in the next second, reality sank in.

No matter how great of a kisser he was, or how she felt like they'd connected on so many levels, he was still a fighter.

A boxer.

He stepped into a ring and beat someone up. For money.

For his father? At least partially, but she knew that was a rationalization.

He was a fighter, a compet.i.tor.

She'd challenged him with her body, and he'd won her with his words-but could she win their biggest challenge? Her acceptance of his career?

Chapter Six.

SAWYER RAN DOWN the beach with the sun at his back. It was just after dawn, and he was nearing the end of his six-mile run. His house came into view, sitting high atop a dune in the distance. The summer house that his parents had called a cottage had been in his family for generations. Sawyer was the only one living in the large bay-front home, and it was much larger than he needed. But the familial history was important to him-and to his parents.

In the years between when his parents had sold their summer house and when Sawyer had bought it back, his parents had lost too many good summers, during his father's strongest years. But at least it was back in the family. Sawyer's parents never asked for a d.a.m.n thing from him, besides for him to be an upstanding citizen and follow his heart-but they gave him unconditional love, emotional support, and strength every day of his life. Buying back the cottage, and winning the upcoming fight, couldn't compare to what they'd given him, how they'd taught him to succeed and to believe in himself.

He sprinted the last quarter mile over the dunes. He might have run toward Wellfleet to seek out Sky at the Seaside community, but he had a feeling that if he was lucky enough to find her, his training would fall by the wayside. And that was not an option, no matter how much he enjoyed her company.

He tossed his gear into his truck and drove down to Cape Boxing in Eastham. Sawyer had trained in many clubs, but Cape Boxing had become his second home. He trained there several hours each day.

Boxing clubs weren't like the more-common fitness centers where families went to work out with plush child-care centers, lavish planters and other decorations, bars serving overpriced fruity drinks, and Top 40 music playing overhead. Fight clubs had one purpose-to provide a training ground for fighting. It was a tough, b.l.o.o.d.y sport, and there was no room for froufrou anything. Concrete walls and painted floors served them well. The clubs Sawyer enjoyed most were located in warehouse-style buildings with open trussed ceilings and heel-scuffed floors, like Cape Boxing. When he was training, he didn't want distractions of any kind. He needed to be highly focused-mind, body, and spirit.

Today the club environment wasn't an issue. He wondered how he would rein in his focus with thoughts of Sky lingering in his mind.

Before heading inside, he snapped a picture of himself and scrolled through his contacts to find Sky's number. He found it under Sweet Summer Sky, and smiled at her programming his phone with the name he'd called her.

You are my sweet summer Sky.

Their evening together made this his sweetest summer yet. He typed a text message: See the empty s.p.a.ce beside me? Wish you were here. Then he attached the photo of himself and sent it off to Sky, before heading inside for his training session.

The sound of gloves. .h.i.tting a heavy bag was like music to Sawyer's ears. His steps became more determined as he strode past the front desk.

"Hey, Songbird," Brock "the Beast" Garner said from behind the desk. Brock was a local fighter. He was six four, two thirty, with thick blond hair and a smile that softened him like a gentle giant. He owned the gym, worked as a trainer, and was one of Sawyer's closest friends.

"Beast," Sawyer said in return. Most of the fighters called each other by their boxing names. Songbird had been Sawyer's nickname since he first met Roach, because when he'd first started training as a kid, Roach had made him scrub down the gym, and he'd sung under his breath while he worked. Roach had coined the nickname, and it had stuck ever since.

"Can you spare some training time this week?" Brock asked. "I've got a group of adults and a group of teens dying for training. They're going into Hyannis to Eagen Boxing because I don't have the time to train."

"I'd love to make time each week, but between my own training, renovating the house, and getting over to see my folks, I'm swamped." And now he had Sky to think about spending time with, too.

"One day I'm going to kick your a.s.s and make you commit," Brock teased.

"You know I'll do you a solid and train when I can. Right now my time's a little tight. Is Roach here yet?" Roach was one of the best-known boxing trainers on the East Coast. He trained world champion boxers and UFC fighters, and Sawyer knew how lucky he was to have him as not just his trainer, but his mentor and friend.

"In the back," Brock answered. "Hey, we're all going down to Undercover tomorrow night for a cappella night. You want to drive down with me?"

"Nah. I'll meet you guys there." Years ago, on a dare, Sawyer, Roach, and Brock had sung a cappella at the bar Brock's brother Colton owned, and they'd continued doing it every few weeks since then. It was a great stress reliever and a lot of fun. Sawyer knew that when Brock said we're all going, he was referring to his younger sisters, Jana and Harper. Brock's siblings had become the siblings Sawyer never had. They got together often and supported each other through bad times and good.

Sawyer walked through the club, pa.s.sing the bag area, where heavy bags, double-end bags, and other training bags hung from thick metal chains. He nodded at the two guys working out there, then pa.s.sed the two boxing rings off to his left and found Roach talking on his cell phone and pacing by the locker rooms. Roach nodded at him, then turned his back and continued his conversation. He was a formidable man with ma.s.sive arms and a thick barrel chest. The breadth of his shoulders was twice the size of his waist. He kept his jet-black hair cropped close to his head, giving him a startlingly tough look, and like his three brothers, when Roach was working, he was about as gruff as they came.

Sawyer set his bag down and began wrapping his hands for his bag workout.

He looked across the room at the boxing ring, and his gut churned. He was sparring after the bag work, and for the first time ever, as his doctor's warning rang through his mind, the ring looked slightly menacing. He couldn't allow himself to give the warning a second thought. Second thoughts led to doubt, and doubt led to carelessness, which in turn would likely lead him to exactly what gave him the second thought in the first place-the threat of permanent brain damage.

Roach ended his call and slapped Sawyer on the back. "How's your pop, Songbird?"

"Not bad. You know. Good days, bad days," he answered as he finished wrapping his hands and reached for his gloves.

"You get a clean bill of health from the doc?" Roach shoved his phone in his pocket and looked over the bags while Sawyer mulled over his answer.

"About as clean as you'd expect." He handed his gloves to Roach, who eyed him suspiciously while he helped him put them on.

"Meaning?" Roach had eyes that could flash hot as fire or cold as ice. Either way they could elicit fear from anyone within a ten-foot radius. At the moment they were riding a fine line in between.

Sawyer had no interest in pushing him over either side, so he chose silence and took a step toward the bag.

Roach grabbed his arm. "Spit it out or you don't train."

"Roach. Let it go." Roach had been right there in the trenches with Sawyer when he'd learned of his father's diagnosis, and he'd stayed with him every step of the way as his father's disease progressed. Roach worked him hard when he needed it and gave him s.p.a.ce to run off the pain when the ring was too confining. He was also a veteran in the industry, and Sawyer had no doubt that his savvy coach knew exactly what he was trying his best to hide.

Roach wrapped a thick arm over Sawyer's shoulder and pushed his forearm against his neck, slowly tightening like a vise grip. "Three. Two-"

"Fine." He flung Roach's arm away from his neck and muttered, "a.s.shole."

Roach crossed his arms over his chest and looked down his nose at Sawyer.