"From me? With you?" I lean forward, press my mouth to the curve of her neck again. "Never."
She pivots to face me, holding my gaze for a moment before lying back on the beach bed, presenting her stomach. "You missed a spot."
I squeeze more lotion into my palm. But when my hands smooth over her belly I linger for a moment, just to marvel at what's there. What we made together in all those nights when nothing existed but her body and mine, when I buried myself inside her and whisperedmineagainst her throat and meant it more than I've ever meant anything.
I bend my head down and place a kiss next to the place where my hand still rests. "Hey, kiddo. We need to have a little talk." The words are low. Quiet. Just for her and the baby. "You gave your mom a rough morning. I need you to do better."
Avery's breath catches. Her hand covers mine, fingers threading between my fingers.
"She's growing you from nothing," I continue, thumb stroking gently over the place where our child is taking shape. "The least you can do is make it easier on her." My voice drops lower, a command wrapped in tenderness. "We clear?"
When I look up, her eyes are bright. Not teasing anymore, but unguarded, her gaze so open and vulnerable it nearly unravels me. It’s the expression she only ever wears for me, the one that cracks me open every time.
I lean down and brush my mouth against hers in a kiss that’s filled with everything I don't have words for.
We settle into each other after that, her head finding the curve of my shoulder as I recline beside her, my arm wrapped aroundher so my hand can rest on the warm skin of her hip. I feel such peace, such complete contentment when we’re together like this. Avery anchors me in a way nothing else ever does.
Out on the water, the sailing lessons continue. On the beach, sandcastles rise along the waterline, shaped by small hands and big imaginations. I watch it all with Avery against my side and my palm pressed to the place where our future is taking shape.
Her fingers trace absent patterns on my thigh, light, idle, distracting in the best sense of the word. Each brush sends a thread of heat through the thin fabric of my trunks, straight to where I'm already half-hard from several minutes of touching her. She has no idea what she's doing. Or maybe she does. With Avery, it's hard to tell.
I spot Rusty down the beach from us, walking with a couple of other volunteers. He raises his hand to us in greeting, then says something to his companions before breaking away from them to head our way.
My hand tightens on Avery's hip, irritation flaring at the approaching intrusion. Her fingers are still moving on my thigh, her body still pressed against mine, and I'm supposed to make conversation. Nothing against Rusty, but right now I want the whole world to disappear so I can exist in this bubble of Avery’s touch and soothing presence without interruption.
Rusty grins as he reaches us. “Morning. How’s everything going?”
“Great,” Avery answers.
I nod, trying to shift so that my hard-on isn’t obvious to my friend. Not that he would notice or say anything if he did.
He glances at me. "You coming to the cookout tonight?”
“What cookout?” Avery asks, still tormenting me with her featherlight caresses.
“Every week we host a big cookout for the families. Most of the resort workers and volunteers will be there too.”
She smiles at him. “Sounds like fun.”
He nods. “Good food, good people. I know everyone would love to see you both."
Avery looks so hopeful, I don’t have the heart to refuse. "We'll be there."
“Awesome,” he says, flashing his wide smile at my fiancée.
I give him a pointed look, not because he’s gawking—not entirely because of that—but because I don’t want my loose-lipped buddy letting anything slip about the other plans he and I have been making. Rusty seems to read my meaning, and makes his excuses to be on his way.
“See you guys tonight, then.”
“See you later, Rusty,” Avery calls after him as he jogs back up the beach.
She watches him go, her fingers resuming their idle torture on my thigh. I’m tempted to guide her maddening touch to where I really want it, but then I notice that her attention has shifted to the water. To theIcarus, moored in the distance, her white hull gleaming in the afternoon light.
Avery turns her head to look at me. "You said we could go sailing while we’re here. When are we taking her out?"
“Soon.” I keep my expression neutral, though my pulse ticks up at the question. "Rusty and I need to handle a few things first."
She picks up on it immediately, my vagueness, the non-answer I just gave her. "What kind of things?"
