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He stopped moving, buried to the hilt inside her. Bracing himself on one arm, he cupped her face in his other hand. “It was right. Whatever we’ve been feeling, whatever’s been driving us…this was meant to happen.”
He didn’t have to say another word, she understood completely. “I know.”
Then they couldn’t speak anymore. They could only stroke and caress, kiss and touch, give and take. And soon, when the water had reached their thighs and Allie had almost gotten dizzy from staring at the stars, feeling as if she were climbing toward them, Damon cried out his release, bringing her with him as he flew.
DAMON DIDN’T KNOW how long they stayed on the beach. After the first time they had sex, they moved a little farther from the surf, which had gone from cooling off their naked bodies to chilling them. But they remained curled together on the dry sand for a long time. They didn’t talk much at first, just exchanged soft, slow kisses and easy strokes. He couldn’t stop touching her, even after the initial frenzy was spent. Running his hand over her arms, her throat, her breasts, her stomach, he marveled at the texture of her skin. She was soft everywhere, not skinny, not plump, but beautifully rounded and so damned feminine she took his breath away. The moonlight caught the golden highlights in her brown hair, and he ran his fingers through it, plucking out the sand, laughing softly when she complained he was pulling it.
Eventually they started to talk. Mostly about what had just happened, but also a bit about their romantic pasts. When he found out he was only her second lover, he was pretty surprised. And when he found out her first lover had been a ruthless bastard who’d seduced her just to get back at her older sister, who’d dumped him, he wanted to hurt the man.
Instead, he focused on doing sweet things to her, as if he could erase those bad memories. They made love again—slow and easy—with her riding him, taking whatever she wanted. She wanted a lot. He was happy to lie beneath her, looking up at her beautiful, full breasts and her lovely face framed by moonlight.
Afterward she’d collapsed on his chest. He took a couple of deep breaths and muttered, “I’m so glad I ended up in Trouble.”
“Pun intended?” she asked, sounding just as breathless.
“Yeah. Strange name.”
“Strange place.”
She rolled off him and tucked herself against his side. Damon still didn’t have the energy to move a muscle. “Why do you stay?” he asked, wondering—as crazy as it seemed since they’d known each other only a few weeks—if she would consider leaving Trouble. Say, perhaps, for Florida.
“It’s become my home in the past year,” she said with a yawn. “The small town I always wanted, without the criticism and constant judging of the one I grew up in.”
“What brought you there?”
“My sister. I’d just been officially ‘thrown out’ of the family by my grandfather and was living with Sabrina. When she went to Trouble on business, I got bored and followed her. I never left.”
He wasn’t sure where to start—on the sister, Trouble or the thrown-out-of-the-family part. Allie’s tone was casual. There was probably no situation more open to honesty than one such as this, when they were completely exposed and vulnerable. And sated. So he went for the tough part. “Your family disowned you?”
“Oh, yeah. My grandfather hated that Sabrina got out from under his thumb. When I did, too, just a couple of years later, he threw a fit. And the fact that I got myself into way more trouble than anyone ever expected,” she added, suddenly sounding sarcastic, “was the last straw. He disowned me. The rest of the family and everyone else in town followed suit.”
Damon squeezed her shoulders, stunned at how cruel her family could have been to someone so adorable. He was, of course, curious about what kind of trouble she’d gotten herself into, but figured if she wanted him to know, she’d have said so. Then he remembered something she’d said on the day of their walk in Trouble. “He’s a minister, right? Your grandfather?”
She nodded.
“Whatever happened to love thy neighbor?”
“In Bridgerton, Ohio, people don’t ask, ‘What would Jesus do?’ they ask, ‘What would Reverend Caleb Tucker do?’ And what he did was call me a whore and kick me to the curb.”
“Unbelievable.” She’d had one lover—had been taken advantage of by a ruthless pig—and had lost her family because of it. The woman was about as far from a whore as he was from a real circus performer. His body clenched and tight with anger, he forced himself to relax, not wanting her to stop opening up to him.
“My mother has finally come around, though. She took my younger sister and brother and moved out of his house. She even came to Sabrina’s wedding to Mortimer’s grandson last Christmas.”
“Mortimer…that’s your boss?”
“Yes. The one sitting beside me during your show tonight.”
He laughed softly, certain now, after what they’d shared, that she hadn’t been making an excuse for her presence here. “You really came here on a business trip, didn’t you?”
She tilted her head back and gave him an indignant look. “I told you I did.”
“Come on, you gotta admit, it’s pretty coincidental.”
“Tell me about it.” Nibbling her lip, she added, “Mortimer’s a big-time meddler and matchmaker. I don’t suppose it’s impossible that he heard something about my involvement with a hottie Roma King and found out where you’d be.”
“Well, remind me to thank him.”
She smiled broadly, obviously pleased, and he wondered again at her life, that she’d be so happy at a little compliment. But she changed the subject on him, groaning about the state of her hair, and her clothes, so he couldn’t press her on it.
