Except there never would be a kid, and it suddenly pissed him off. He shrugged, affecting unconcern. “Except I won’t have a kid without a wife, obviously, and I won’t be getting myself a wife.”
“Anytime soon, you mean?” she asked, meeting his gaze without wavering, her little round cheeks plumped out with soft drink.
“Ever.”
Brown liquid squirted between her lips and dribbled down her chin.
Chapter Eleven
Josie was dead. She was a goner. In trouble, wrecked, a ship smashed against the rocks at midnight.
Despite her best intentions to not fall for Houston, she was doing just that.
He was walking next to her on the stretch of beach in silence and she was stuffed with crab and wine and good feelings. The pauses in conversation were no longer bothering her quite as much, though she did say ten words to every one of his. He just wasn’t a talker.
His other assets more than made up for it. During their dinner, she’d seen glimpses of him that had never surfaced in the hospital. The concern and loyalty he felt for his family, his love of the water and surfing in particular, and his passion for his career.
And of course, desire for her.
That had been there through the whole meal, an arc of sexual tension between them, awareness of where the night was going to end. In bed. Through every inconsequential conversation and medical chatter, the knowledge that he wanted her naked and under him was always there—alive, pulsing, keeping her off-balance and strung out with physicalneed.
Holding her flip-flops in her hand, Josie let the sand sift between her toes and watched the round red sun dropping down over the western horizon. The night was quiet, the mournful jabber of seagulls the only sound except Houston’s steady breathing and the loud yammering of her excited heart.
“I thought this beach was private,” she said, stepping close to him to avoid a piece of driftwood.
“It is. My condo association owns it,” He pointed to a cluster of white houses attached to each other. “Right up ahead there is my place.”
Oh, yikes. Panic slammed her in the gut. They were walking there. They were almost there. Another five minutes and they’d be there, in his condo, and there would be no reason not to do what had been talked about at such great length in the supply room.
She coughed, feeling like her crab might rise for a second viewing of her mouth. “It looks like a nice development, right here on the beach. Wow. Lots of windows for the view, and everything.”
Houston stopped walking. He turned to her. She expected him to take her hand, to reassure her. But that wasn’t Houston, and she should have known that.
No, he took her mouth, with one hand in the back of her hair, eliminating the distance between them. The kiss was determined, skilled, hard, and urgent. She lost her hold on her flip-flops, and they tumbled to the sand as she also lost any sort of grip on her control.
That went the way of the waves, washed out to sea and dashed apart.
Not that she’d ever planned to resist him, not that she’d ever thought for one little teeny-tiny second that she was running the show. Houston was far too dominating and used to getting his way. While she may have entertained split-second thoughts of charming him into more than one night, she knew it was wishful thinking, an illusion of power.
He wasn’t a man who was charmed into anything, and shewasn’t a woman who had a fabulous track record of doing any sort of charming. She used her brains, worked hard, and when necessary, used a little friendly charm and self-deprecating humor.
Right now her brain wasn’t even working as his mouth closed over hers wet and firm, his hand holding her right where he wanted her, and Josie opened her lips, felt his tongue, and clung.
Houston broke the kiss and let her go. “Grab your shoes, we’re almost there.”
Blinking, wondering how he could switch gears so fast, she gazed at the water stupidly, chest heaving. He’d said something about her shoes. They were at her side on the ground, liberally dashed with sand.
Right. Flip-flops. Pick them up.
She bent over.
Houston swore, reached down, and scooped up the sandals before she could. “No bending over until we get there.”
It hadn’t been her plan to intentionally arouse him. But maybe because it was the only way she felt she had the upper hand, she had the urge to be a little impish in the face of his fascination with her behind.
Catching him off-guard, she bumped the flip-flops in his hand, tumbling them back to the ground.
“Oops.” With a grin, she bent over. All the way over. Without bending her knees more than was necessary.