Under the Boardwalk Page 2

  But I’ve got no time to think about that now because he gives himself a little shake and straightens, clasping his hands behind his back. “I’ll be here for the summer, observing the daily goings-on of the stand and learning the ropes.”

  I swallow, hard. If Crispin’s going to be here for the entire season, it’s going to be a huge pain in the ass, given how he’s made me feel in just the last few minutes.

  But I’m a professional, so I nod. “Sounds good. Let me know how I can help.”

  He offers me a lopsided smile and Hail Mary full of grace why is he so damned attractive? “I’m going to need a lot of help, I’m afraid.”

  The truth and vulnerability in Crispin’s voice warm me to him. “I’m here for you,” I say, and find myself hoping that he’ll want more from me than strictly professional assistance.

  That smile grows and I can’t decide if I want to take him in my arms to comfort and protect him, or grab him and kiss him like I’ve never kissed a man before — with feeling.

  I do know one thing for sure, though. Crispin Donne and his beautiful, boyish smile spell trouble of the best kind, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to resist it.

  Tess

  I wait not-so-patiently outside the rear entrance to Buccaneer Pier’s ticket booth for my friend Maria to get done with her shift. I try not to glare at the evening revelers, young families giving way to adults and teenagers. I achieve limited success.

  The booth door finally opens and Maria tumbles out. Her forehead’s shiny from a day spent in the hot booth, but on her, it looks like a dewy glow. She shakes her sleek curtain of brown hair over her shoulders and fixes me with a narrow gaze.

  “You look happy. New owner that bad?”

  I wince. “Not exactly.”

  She snaps her gum. “Spill it.”

  “Alcohol first.”

  “Uh oh.” She loops her arm through mine and we head down the boardwalk away from our pier of work. As usual, every hot-blooded heterosexual male we pass rakes his gaze up and down her Italian curves. But unlike my usual, this time it bothers me.

  Fortunately, I’ve got an explanation.

  Crispin Donne.

  We swing out of the way of the tram, prattling its incessant warning. “Watch the tram car, please,” the automated recording spills from the speaker mounted on the roof of the tiny train. Then, leaving the neon glow of the nighttime boardwalk behind, we head down a ramp and along two blocks of sun-heated pavement to Four Roads.

  Even though the bar is only a few minutes from the boardwalk, only locals go to Four Roads. The tourists tend to go for brews with views, and Four Roads has none of that. But a scuffed pool table, dive bar grit, and a rotation of Ocean Point residents gathering to grump about tourist season? Four Roads has got that in spades.

  I pull Maria into the cool dim of the bar’s interior, inhaling the stale yet comforting scent of spilled beer. We grab a couple of stools at a corner table, and it’s not long before Dominique, the owner of Four Roads from Barbados, plunks two ice cold beers on its sticky surface.

  “Rough day, girls?” the brown-skinned woman says in her rolling Caribbean accent, curiosity and concern mixing on her face.

  Maria shrugs and points at me. “Just her.”

  “Well, I hope it’s not too bad, Tess.” Dominique stares at me with that gaze that always seems to see beyond what’s said.

  I shake my head. “No, just boss troubles.”

  She laughs, the sound rich and resonant as a bell’s ring. “That’s why I’m my own boss and wouldn’t have it any other way.” Dominique claps me on the shoulder before heading back behind the bar.

  Maria’s practically dancing on her stool. “Okay, I can’t stand the suspense. What’s the new owner like, and what percentage total asshole is he?”

  “Zero percent asshole,” I say before taking a swig of beer. “That’s the problem.”

  My friend snorts. “I wish I had that kind of problem.”

  “You wish you found yourself so surprisingly attracted to your new boss that you’ll probably do something that will get you fired?”

  Maria’s mouth drops open.

  “Yeah,” I mutter, taking another swallow, “I didn’t think so.”

  “Wait, so you’re into this guy? That’s the problem?” She puts air quotes around the word problem.

  “I can’t afford to lose this job. You know that.”

  “Okay.” Maria leans back, palms on the table, and when she speaks it’s like she’s giving a speech she’s rehearsed. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Uh oh.” Whenever Maria starts talking like this, it usually doesn’t end well.

  “No, hear me out. We’ve been working on the pier for years, right? Always watching everybody else have all the fun.”

  “Yeah, but that’s what you get when you work in the tourism industry.”

  She continues like she hasn’t heard me. “Don’t you think it’s time that we got in on some of that summertime fun?”

  “Yes, but we aren’t tourists.”

  “That doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time. And I think it’s about damn time that we started to.”

  I frown. Against my best judgment, I’m intrigued by her proposition. “What do you have in mind?”

  Maria tosses her hair over a shoulder like she does whenever she means business. “Look, we live in this amazing town, right? People come here from all over the world —“

  “You mean all over the tri-state area,” I grumble.

  My friend ignores me. “Nobody knows this town better than we do. I think that this summer, we take advantage of that.”

  I raise a single brow. “How?”

  Maria grins, eyes dancing. “Any way we like. Summer flings. Crazy nights. Adventures. You know — fun stuff.”

  “Like Girls Gone Wild, except it’s just us, and it’s all summer?”

  She nods. “Exactly.

  “I wonder how that can go wrong,” I say in a flat voice, the words not a question.

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Maria says, leaning in. “Who cares what goes wrong? What, we’ll be fired from our itinerant unskilled jobs that are going nowhere?”

  Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve guzzled nearly an entire beer in the span of our conversation, or maybe I really am feeling restless. Either way, Maria’s pulling me in with her enthusiasm.

  “It might be nice to do all the summer things that we never do because they’re touristy,” I say slowly. “I’ve lived here all my life and have never gone on a whale watch.”

  “Same, girl,” Maria says. “There are so many things we haven’t done. And why the hell not? I say it’s our turn.”

  I nod slowly. My friend is making sense.

  Maybe too much sense.

  I’m not sure that I care.

  “So let’s go watch some whales, or play some mini-golf, or get freaky with our new bosses.”

  “Our?” I ask.

  “Okay,” she concedes, “you’re the only one who gets to do that. No way do I want Mick to touch me in that way.”

  “I don’t know if I should get, uh, freaky with The Sugar Shack’s new owner, Maria.”

  “You’re attracted to him. It’ll be fun. That’s why.” She smirks. “Don’t tell me you’re turning into a prude all of a sudden.”

  I think of Olek and snort. “Not exactly. I just don’t want to lose this job. You know I’ve got no leads on the kind of job I actually want. I’m not in a good place to lose the one that I have.”

  Maria leans back, hands raised in surrender. “You do what you feel is right. I’m not trying to talk you into anything that you’re uncomfortable with.”

  “Good,” I growl, dripping the dregs of my drink into my open mouth.

  “But,” she continues, that smirk curving over her full lips once more, “I’m going to have fun this summer, and I think you should too.”

  “Sign me up for a Cape May mansion ghost tour then.”

  “Maybe I will,�
� Maria says, smirk turning into a dazzling grin.

  I slide off my stool and head to the bar on the pretense of getting us another round.

  But if I’m being honest with myself, it’s because Maria’s doing a damn good job of talking me into doing something, um, unprofessional with Crispin Donne — and because I like the idea of it quite a bit.

  I can’t go there, however. Not with him. Not when the future’s looking so bleak for my career.

  Once again, though, I find myself wondering if I really care. I felt something with Crispin today, something I haven’t felt with Olek or any of my other casual encounters. Something textured and interesting, something that I want to follow and see where it leads.

  I’d be better off putting all that out of my head and contenting myself with one-off fucks beneath the planks with Olek. And as long as I don’t see much of Crispin this summer, I think I just might be able to manage that.

  Maybe.

  Crispin

  I spend the next two days doing every business task that does not require me to come within a mile of The Sugar Shack.

  On the third day, my business manager informs me that I need to get my ass over to Buccaneer Pier to look at the stand’s point of sale system. I tell him that I can pick a new P.O.S. from afar, thank you very much, and he responds by staring me down point-blank until I give in.

  And he’s right. I do need to understand the system — and the stand — before I can make savvy decisions about it.

  There’s just one problem.

  Tess Giordano.

  More specifically, Tess Giordano’s wild hair and luscious thighs and the way she looked at me like she saw me the other day, like she really got me and decided to like me anyway.

  Except she’s the manager of our top-performing location and I can’t screw that up.

  Even though I find myself desperate to screw her. Which is a new experience for me. It’s not like I’m a blushing virgin, but I’m not a playboy either. When I feel attracted to a woman, I’m not the kind of guy to immediately start making moves to get into her pants.

  With Tess, it’s different.

  I want her naked, splayed out across the tousled sheets of my bed as I taste her sweet nectar and use my tongue to make her squirm.

  And, with equal ardor, I want her curled into my side as I tell her about how fucking dizzying it is to find myself at the helm of a fiercely successful business given to me by the father I always thought never wanted me.

  I understand that both situations are recklessly unprofessional. But I don’t trust myself. Not when she makes me feel this way.

  So I’ve stayed away.

  Until now.

  I stalk down the boardwalk with a gait more confident than I feel. Gray clouds gather above, sending patrons scurrying for their cars. The first droplets of rain wet my face as I reach The Sugar Shack and duck inside.

  Tess is waiting for me, as she’d promised.

  On her own, which is not what I’d expected.

  “I sent Daisy home,” she says as if I’d spoken my surprise aloud. “We won’t get many, if any, customers with the storm coming.”

  “Right. Good. Thank you.” I wonder if I sound as much of a pompous douchebag as I feel.

  “You’re here to see the point of sale?”

  I raise my chin. “Yes, that’s right.”

  Is it just me or does Tess’s gaze flick quickly down and up my body, taking in my form. I shiver at the near-physical sensation of her eyes on me. Her lips curve up at once corner — she totally notices.

  “It’s right over here,” she says, turning to the two cash registers stationed at the far end of the booth. “We’ve got the one P.O.S. for both machines.”

  I follow in her wake and catch an aroma of lilies and cedar above the saccharine scent of the cotton candy maker.

  “Does it work well for you?” I ask, peeking over her shoulder and trying to ignore how close our bodies are to each other.

  She shrugs. “It gets the job done.”

  “I can get you a new system if you think that would be helpful.”

  Tess cocks her head to one side. “Do you think it would be?”

  I open my mouth to emit some bullshit answer, then shut it again. I take in her liquid brown eyes and the way her curls have a halo of frizz about them, no doubt thanks to the summer humidity and the constant breeze coming in off the ocean. I bet she hates that frizz. Most girls seem to. It think it makes her look like an angel.

  An angel I’d like to fuck.

  “I don’t know,” I say at last, unable to stop what’s probably the dopiest leer from spreading across my face. “I’ve got no fucking clue what I’m doing.”

  Tess’s eyes narrow like she’s not sure if I’m trying to put one over on her. When she speaks, confusion clouds her words. “Um, then how’d you end up in charge of a big chain like this one? I mean, why not hire somebody to run if for you.

  “My father’s wishes.’” I’m surprised at the bitterness that leaks into my voice, and from the look on Tess’s face, I’m not the only one.

  “You mean —?”

  I sigh. “If I’m going to benefit from being the C.E.O. of The Sugar Shack enterprise, I’m required to head it up personally. Otherwise I get nothing.”

  She exhales in a long draught of air. “Jeez. I didn’t realize your dad was such a jerk.” She smiles. “Lucky for you, though, huh, inheriting the biz?”

  “Yeah,” I say heavily, “lucky.”

  Tess’s smile disappears. “Shit. That’s a terrible thing to say to a guy whose father’s just died. I’m so sorry —“

  I stop her with the wave of a hand. “Don’t be. You’re right, I am lucky.” Mostly because I got to meet you, I add silently.

  Once again, I get the distinct impression that Tess hears the words I did not speak. Her cheeks grow pink and all of a sudden she’s looking everywhere except at me.

  “So, the P.O.S.,” I clear my throat to say, but I never get to finish because at that moment the sound of thunder cracks through the stand, near enough that we both duck.

  “Holy crap,” Tess mutters.

  “Yeah,” I agree, but the sound of my voice is drowned out by a searing flash of white light accompanied by another crack.

  I jump at the lightning, but Tess jumps into action.

  “Come on,” she shouts to me as the sky opens up and rain comes thundering down outside, “time to close up shop.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about, but that’s been a pretty common occurrence for me lately, so I follow Tess out the door and into the downpour.

  Squinting through the sheets of rain, I see her pulling chains I hadn’t noticed before. There’s one between each window pane, and tugging them folds down wooden shutters over the windows. I follow her lead and yank chain after chain, securing the stand.

  When the windows are all shuttered, we run back inside the stand, then stare at each other for a long moment. We’re both soaked to the skin, standing in growing puddles of water pooling from our clothing.

  “You’re wet,” Tess says at last, and for some reason, it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Laughter bubbles from me, first a trickle, then a flood. I lean against the counter for support and soon she’s laughing along with me.

  “Damn,” I say when I catch my breath, “does it rain like that very often?”

  Tess shakes her head. “Not often. But — if it’s not bad form to admit this to my new boss — I like it when it does. Then I get the stand all to myself. It’s cozy when it’s all boarded up, rain pounding on the roof, you know?”

  And suddenly, I do know. Because her words make me hyper-aware of the fact we’re together in this tiny space, away from all prying eyes, trapped by the lightning as much as by the downpour.

  Alone. Together.

  My breath comes faster as my eyes rove Tess’s soaked form, taking in how her dripping polo shirt clings to her breasts and the soft curve of her waist.

  Her eyes a
re on me too, traveling from my chest to my pelvis and staying there.

  After a long, breathless minute, I realize that my cock is hot and hard, growing in spite of my damp, wet clothing.

  And she can see it.

  I turn away, or begin to.

  But then Tess closes the space between us, stepping close. I hold my breath.

  “We should get out of these wet clothes.” Her words have a breathy edge to them. “There are towels.”

  “Are there?” I ask absently, more focused on how exquisitely near she is and how much I want to touch her.

  She nods, and like me, it’s an absent movement, her eyes hard on mine. “In the closet by the door. We can dry off a little, soak up some of the rain.”

  “Good,” I say. I don’t move.

  Neither does she.

  After a long moment, I clench my jaw, pray I’m not out of line, and push her wet hair back from her forehead.

  Tess leans into the movement, eyes never leaving mine. I allow my hand to linger, wiping beads of rainwater from her cheek with a thumb.

  “You’re so damn beautiful,” I say, the ragged whisper filling the small interior.

  “Kiss me,” she says.

  And, with a growl, I do.

  I grasp her face in both my hands and lick the moisture from her lips, then take my first taste of her. And of course she’s more delicious than anything The Sugar Shack has to offer, and hotter than the freshest cotton candy too.

  Her tongue is in my mouth and her fingers on my belt buckle, as insistent and hungry as the look in her dark eyes. I grasp a breast and squeeze, feeling for her nipple standing tall from the rain, and twist. She moans and presses her hips against mine, grinding into my erection.

  Then my pants are open and Tess sets my cock free. It bounces over the top of my boxers as she yanks them down with my slacks. A moment later she’s on her knees, lapping at my length like its one of the towering ice cream cones they sell on the next pier over.

  While I admire her enthusiasm, this is not what I want.

  I take her by the shoulders and gently tug her back to her feet. Her eyes shoot me a silent question that I answer by switching our positions. Now she’s leaning against the counter and I’m on my knees.