I Love How You Love Me Read online

  "He seemed quite happy with the young, pretty babysitter, actually." Grace had repeatedly reminded herself in the past half hour that she couldn't watch over her son every single second. A couple of hours with a babysitter would be okay, even if leaving him this morning was one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

  Grace moved farther into the boathouse. "Who is this boat for?"

  "Promise you won't tell?"

  She was the one frowning now. "If you don't want me to talk about something in my interview, of course I won't."

  "No, that's not the reason." He reached out a hand and it felt so natural to take it. "It's for my family."

  Surprised--and touched--she asked, "They don't know about it?"

  "If they knew, they might think they needed to feel bad about me ignoring the waiting list for them."

  "How long is your customer waiting list?"

  He shrugged. "I'll take a look at it again next week."

  "Why do I have the sense that you pay as much attention to your waiting list as you do to your ringing phone?"

  "Because you already know me so well." He drew her closer. "I know you're here to interview me today, not to make out with me, but I've spent every second since Saturday night thinking about kissing you again. Just one and then we'll get down to business. I promise."

  "Well," she said softly, "since you proved to me on Saturday night that you are good at keeping your promises, just one...since we really do need to get to the interview."

  "Then I'll have to make it count, won't I?"

  Before she could even take her next breath, his mouth was on hers. Arousing. Seducing. Ravaging. And challenging her to pour just as much passion back into him. Instinctively, she answered that challenge with so much heat and passion that before she knew it her arms were around his neck, her legs were wrapped around his waist, and his hands were on her hips to hold her steady against him while they tried to get as close to each other as they possibly could in the middle of his sun-drenched boathouse.

  "Wow," she said slowly when he finally set her back on her feet and she tried to get her brain to fire on all cylinders again, "you really know how to make a kiss count, don't you?"

  "I was going to say the same about you," he said in a hungry voice that sent another wave of desire shuddering through her.

  "I think I'm going to need a minute for my head to clear." She shook her head and took a couple of deep breaths, but it didn't help clear the lust-filled fog from her brain. "Maybe two minutes."

  "Would coffee help?"

  "Hopefully, yes."

  They both walked the short distance to his small corner kitchen, and while he brewed some seriously great-smelling coffee, she set up her recorder, pad of paper, and pen on the small table...and tried with all her might to stop thinking about how desperately she wanted to jump back into his arms.

  He brought her a mug and she nearly groaned aloud with pleasure at how delicious it was. "Where did you learn to make coffee this good?"

  "Good, strong coffee is the best way to wake crew members up for their watch."

  For the next hour or so, she asked him much more practical nuts-and-bolts questions about sailing and boats than she'd asked him on Friday. Finally, she returned to something he'd said about continuing to teach new sailors the ropes. "I can see how much satisfaction there must be in building a boat, and I can imagine how exciting races must be. But why do you continue to teach when I'm guessing those hours would be better spent building a pricey sailboat for someone on your waiting list?"

  "Early on, when I was trying to make a go of boat building, taking people out for a long weekend was an easy, fun way to bring in funding. I've always enjoyed sailing with a crew. Probably comes from having four siblings and more than a dozen cousins," he said with a grin. "The people who come out to learn with me are always an odd mix. Maybe one's a baker. Another's an accountant. A third is a painter. A fourth is a cop. They usually don't have much experience with sailing, but it doesn't matter because all of them--all of us--share the same passion. And by the time we make it back into the harbor, they're hooked."

  "What do you tell them before you head out? What are your hard and fast rules for sailing?"

  "There's just one: When it's your turn to stand watch, you show up on time. It's the only thing I'm an inflexible tyrant about because I've seen what happens when the watch system breaks down and people lose vital hours of sleep. Fatigue will kill you faster at sea than any storm will."

  Grace was reminded yet again of the way Dylan had shifted on Saturday night from gentle to dominant, from sweet to dangerous. Obviously, he'd seen how much she liked it, but she also now knew that the sinfully sexy man who had ripped her panties off was just as much a part of him as the softhearted man who loved making her baby laugh. She could easily imagine him shifting from easygoing to no-bullshit in the blink of an eye if he thought anyone was putting his crew at risk out at sea. He was a natural-born protector.

  "You really don't have any other rules?"

  "I teach my clients navigation and heavy-weather sailing. How to plan a passage. But mostly, we just sail. That's how I learned best, not by listening to someone talk about technique, but by keeping the boat moving, one way or another. If the wind is from ahead, haul the sails in. If the wind is from the side or behind, let them out. It isn't much harder than that."

  "You help make people's dreams a reality," she mused aloud. "That's why you do it, isn't it? Because you had that same dream once."

  "I still do. I've never lost my sense of awe at what the ocean is capable of, not even after hundreds of midnight watches. As far as I'm concerned, the magic of a night sea is one that can only be matched, and transcended, by one thing." He paused and held her gaze for a long moment. "By love."

  When heat--and emotion--immediately kicked up between them, Grace did what she could to bank it for the time being and hold her focus on her interview. Later, she knew, they would shift from professional to personal. But for now, she needed to be no-bullshit, too.

  "I'm assuming your students have all come back in one piece?"

  "The ocean has a way of rising up to test your resolve right when you think you've got everything dialed in. But even though there've been a couple of close calls here and there, I'm proud to say that my crews have not only come back in one piece, but many of them have also gone on to do some pretty major cruises in their own sailboats for months at a time."

  "So then what do you teach them if not technique?"

  "To stay flexible and to be willing to change tactics as conditions dictate, whether it's challenging weather or equipment failure. A good sailor knows that if the action you're taking isn't working, you try something else. And, most important, to enjoy the hell out of what you're doing, because every single moment is a gift."

  Grace had thought interviewing Dylan would be a job, nothing more. But again and again he touched her heart with something he said, something he did. "Staying flexible and enjoying every moment are good rules not just for sailing, but for life," she agreed.

  After all, wasn't that exactly what she'd done when she'd learned she was pregnant and would be raising her son on her own? She'd changed tactics and then made sure to enjoy the gift of every moment with Mason.

  "My family taught me those rules," he told her.

  "Out on a sailboat?"

  He shook his head. "My father lost his job when I was pretty young. He was out of work for long enough that Ian ended up stepping up to keep things afloat. I was too young to be much help to anyone, but I watched. I learned. And I saw that the sacrifices everyone made for each other were more than worth it."

  "The boat you're making for them is your way of saying thank you, isn't it?" But even as she said it, she knew it was more than that. "And it's also your way of sharing with them what has brought you endless joy."

  "Yes," was his simple answer, one that made her heart feel even softer toward him--even more open with him. No other man had ever disarmed her so e
asily...or heated her up so quickly.

  "Can you put it into words, that joy?"

  "Everyone from Tennyson to Jacques Cousteau to Jimmy Buffett has said it already, better than I ever will."

  "I'd like to hear it in your words, Dylan." Didn't he realize what a poet he was when he spoke about the sea? About his family? "Please."

  He took her hands, stroked his fingers over them before he began to speak. "The sea is full of so much wonder and magic that I've never seen anyone leave one of my boats without falling under its spell. Even people who have been afraid before, or who are certain they will never find their sea legs. All I really want to do--all I really want to give to people--is that fearlessness, that respect, that love that I've always felt." He lifted her hands to his chest so that she could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart. "Right here."

  The phone rang, jolting her out of the spell his words were weaving around her. But he made absolutely no move to answer it, didn't even seem to notice it.

  "You're going to ignore that, aren't you? Doesn't it ever bother you, wondering who it is?"

  "I've always found that the people I want to hear from know where to look for me. Just like you did."

  The phone stopped ringing for a few seconds, then immediately started again. "You're not even going to check the caller ID?"

  "What's caller ID?"

  She knew he was kidding--he must be kidding, right? Fortunately, when the phone started ringing a third time, he said, "If you want to answer it, be my guest."

  Of course she did, so she picked up the handset on the old phone, complete with spiral cord, that hung from the wall by the desk. "Hello."

  "Hello, it's Shawna." The woman on the other end of the line managed to infuse a ridiculous amount of sexiness into the three words. "It would be so nice if you could let Dylan know I want to talk to him."

  Grace figured out from less than a dozen words that this woman had been in Dylan's bed. And that knowledge made her feel so jealous and irritated that despite knowing Dylan hated speaking on the phone unless he absolutely had to, she said, "No problem, Shawna. Hold on and I'll pass him the phone."

  She held out the receiver to him, trying to read whether or not he was pleased by the obvious booty call, but he had his poker face on. And it was a damned good one, too.

  "Hi, Shawna." He listened to what she had to say before replying, "That's nice of you to think of me for the game tonight." Dylan paused and looked straight at Grace, his expression shifting from easy to intense in the blink of an eye. "But I'm seeing someone. Someone important. So I'm going to have to pass. Have fun at the game."

  I'm seeing someone? she thought as he put down the phone. "You didn't have to turn down the tickets." Someone important? "You could have gone with her."

  "Didn't you just hear me say that I'm taken?"

  For all the warnings she'd given herself about taking things too seriously with Dylan, she couldn't stop a warm glow from washing over her. "I thought we agreed to take things slow."

  "We are." He reached for her, drew her against him the way she'd been secretly longing for throughout their interview. "Slow and exclusive."

  But as thrilled as she was to hear Dylan say that he wanted only her, she had to try to make sense of something that didn't make any sense. "How are you not with someone already?" She gestured to the phone. "Clearly, there are women lining up around the block for some time with you. And with the way you look, the way you kiss--" She made herself stop before she rambled on any longer about how amazing a catch he was. "I just don't understand it."

  "I have all the same questions about you, Grace. The way you look. The way you kiss. The way I can't stop smiling whenever you're near. How are you still single?"

  Was he nuts? The reason was obvious. "I'm a single mother of a ten-month-old." Not to mention the fact that she hadn't let anyone close enough to even try getting through the wall she'd put up around her heart after it had been smashed by her ex and his family.

  "A great ten-month-old."

  Dylan's affection for her son was yet another thing that set him a world apart from other men. "That's another thing I can't figure out."

  "What's that?"

  "How you are so willing to open up your life to a woman with baggage."

  "Anyone who would actually call Mason baggage, anyone who can't see that he's the greatest gift in the world, doesn't deserve you." He brushed back a lock of her hair, making her shiver despite the heat. "Did you get what you needed for today's interview?"

  With the way he was looking at her, she could only just manage to say, "Yes. We've covered a lot of ground today."

  "Not enough." He took each of her hands in his and lifted them to his lips for a kiss before he started moving them both into the back area of the boathouse. "Not nearly enough."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "Is there--" My God, had anyone ever looked at her like this? Like he wanted to devour her in one big gulp and was only barely restraining himself from doing just that? "Is there something else you wanted to tell me?" But he didn't answer, simply continued their path behind the nearly finished sloop. Her heart was racing as she followed him. "Something you need to show--"

  When he backed her up against the wall, then lifted her hands and arms above her head so that her back arched slightly and her breasts pressed into the hard wall of his chest, she swallowed the last word.

  "This." He nipped at her lower lip, hard enough that it sent a blast of heat--and need--searing through her, head to toe. "I need to show you this." He nipped at her again, her chin this time, sending even more bright bolts of desire through her. "I need to show you how much I want you." He found her earlobe next with his teeth, and a low moan slipped from her lips. "How I haven't been able to stop thinking of you since Saturday night." He breathed her in once. Then once again. "Your scent...it drives me crazy." He scraped his stubble across her neck. "Your skin...it's so soft, so kissable."

  That was when he finally brought his mouth back to hers and licked across the seam of her lips, making her half-gasp, half-moan at how good it felt.

  "Again," he urged her as he lifted his mouth from hers only far enough to speak. "I need to hear it again."

  The truth was that she was just as desperate for him, had barely been holding desire at bay long enough to get through her interview. Unable to take any more teasing, she took the next kiss he gave her deeper. So deep, so fast, that she was surprised a spark didn't actually light between them to set his boathouse on fire.

  She knew better than to do this, to let him reach for the hem of the sundress she was wearing and pull it up over her head in the middle of the day, at his place of business, where someone could walk in at any moment. But once again, her need for him was bigger than her fears. So big that she found herself relishing this chance for a few wicked moments, for one more break from the straight and narrow line she'd been walking for the past year and a half.

  The truth was that knowing someone might walk into his boathouse, might come looking for him and find them wrapped all around each other, only made it more exciting. And as she embraced the wildness of the moment, she realized it didn't just feel okay to stop being so careful all the time--it felt like exactly what she needed.

  Especially when he ran his big hands over her curves and told her how perfect, how pretty she was, that he couldn't get enough of her, that she was all he could think about. Every word, every touch, made her lose her breath a little more as he rained kisses on her skin between each sweet murmur. His lips feathered across her cheek, her neck, her collarbone, and then the swell of her breasts before he clicked open the latch on her bra and cupped her breasts together so that he could lave both needy peaks at once.

  One kiss, one taste had quickly spiraled into a desperate need for more. So much more. Which meant that when he slowly lowered himself to his knees before her, his hands gripping her hips hard as he held her right where he wanted her against the wall, his lips running a devastating path over he
r ribs and stomach, she didn't stop him. Couldn't, frankly, have imagined a world in which the word stop could possibly have come out of her mouth. Especially when he leaned in and pressed his lips to the vee between her legs, lace and all.

  "Oh...oh...oh..."

  It didn't matter how many times he loved her like that. Every time would feel like the first. Explosive and shockingly sinful from the first touch of his tongue to her overheated flesh. And when he moved away just enough to slide the damp lace down her thighs, the anticipation of knowing his tongue was going to slick across her bare skin soon nearly did her in.

  He found her with his fingers at the exact moment he used his lips and tongue to take her higher, and then higher still. She'd never done anything this exciting, this thrilling. Only in her secret sexy fantasies had she believed anything like this could happen. And yet here she was, on the verge of climaxing with Dylan kneeling between her legs while she stood in front of him wearing only heels, the sunlight from his skylights beaming down on the top of his head as he took her places she hadn't even realized she could go.

  "Now," he urged as he continued to play over her so perfectly with his fingers. "Come for me now, Grace."

  As if her body had only been waiting for his sensual command, she held on to his shoulders for dear life as he made her shake and gasp and come apart at the very seams. Wave after wave of pleasure rocked over her, through her, until her legs couldn't support her anymore and it was only Dylan's hold on her that kept her up against the wall.

  She was only vaguely aware that he was kissing his way back up her body, his hands steady on her hips the whole time so that she didn't have to count on her shaky legs to hold her up. His kisses were soft and lingering as he let her catch her breath, but she wasn't so far gone that she could miss the need throbbing through him. Yet again, he was restraining himself from taking what he needed.

  "You must have been so frustrated on Saturday night, after the way you left without me returning the favor."

  "Touching you, feeling you, watching you come apart is the most fulfilled I've ever been in my life. Anything more is just a bonus."

  "In that case," she said in a husky voice, "it looks like it's time for a bonus. Not just for you, but for me. Because you weren't the only one who was frustrated. I wanted to take your clothes off. I wanted to touch you." She paused, held his gaze. "I wanted to make you come."