Sun-Kissed

  Sometimes the power of no is more erotic than the power of yes. Yes. Oh, yes…

  All Julia wants is a little rebound nookie. Something to bolster her confidence after her last nasty breakup. She treats herself to a week in Myrtle Beach, but off-season Myrtle Beach isn’t cooperating. Maybe it’s her curvier-than-ideal body. Or maybe it’s the shattered self-esteem which leaves her barely able to meet a man’s gaze—any man’s gaze. Even if he seems interested.

  Then a disembodied voice begins whispering in her head, a voice as warm and sensual as the South Carolina sun. A voice that sparks an orgasmic explosion the likes of which she’s never experienced.

  And when a gorgeous, sun-browned stranger appears—a stranger who mysteriously seems to know everything about her: her past, her pains, and exactly how vanilla she isn’t—Julia finds herself on an erotic one-night ride that will change her life forever…

  Warning: Contains a woman who burns for a man who will satisfy all her appetites, and a telepath who knows just how to light her fire.

  Sun-Kissed

  Sierra Dafoe

  Dedication

  For all the readers who kept waiting, and hoping, and nudging me with the occasional Facebook message and email—you know who you are! Your faith and encouragement kept me trying even during the times when it felt like trying was useless. It’s no exaggeration to say that without you, this story would not exist. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

  Chapter One

  “It is a cruel and colossal irony of life, Selena, that I’m too old to attract any of the men I’m interested in, while the ones I do attract are far too old to interest me.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Julia.” Selena’s easy laughter spilled from Julia’s cell phone, compounded of equal parts amusement and exasperation. “You’re thirty-one, for crying out loud.”

  “Yes, and all the thirty-something guys are busy chasing girls who are twenty-one,” Julia replied sourly, watching a gaggle of those very same twenty-one-year-olds splash in the surf in their teeny bikinis. “So, for that matter, are the forty-something ones.” She was whining, she knew it, and frankly at the moment she didn’t care. Thank God for best friends, though—whining was no fun at all without someone to listen. “I swear, Sel, the only nibbles I’m getting are from balding retirees in luau shirts and golf pants.”

  “Eew.” Selena’s shudder was almost palpable. “Well, try and have fun anyway, sweetie, huh?”

  She was, Julia thought resentfully as Selena said her good-byes. She was trying to have fun. Unfortunately, Myrtle Beach didn’t seem to be cooperating.

  Oh, it was pretty enough, with high blue skies, sandy beaches and cheery, bright-colored birds spilling entire fluting arias from their feathered throats—a lovely change from the hard, staccato chirps of chickadees punctuating the silence of the New England winter she’d left behind. There was even an occasional palm tree here and there, its fronds nodding lazily in the warm South Carolina sunshine, and some kind of exotic-scented bush flowering exuberantly near her hotel. But the sidewalks along Ocean Boulevard were still mostly deserted, stretching emptily past shuttered storefronts and unoccupied souvenir stands, and the Ferris wheel towering in the middle of the boarded-up fun park stood like a sun-faded skeleton against the sky.

  Maybe if she’d come in August. Or June, even. But Myrtle Beach in March wasn’t exactly what she’d been hoping for.

  And what were you hoping for, Jules? Adventure? Excitement?

  Well, okay, yeah. Maybe she was. Nothing unrealistic, no earth-shattering romance or anything—she wasn’t ready for that yet anyway, not after Kyle. But hell, it had been almost a year since anyone had so much as made her heart go pitter-pat.

  She could use a little pitter-pat, darn it.

  Grumpily, Julia rolled over onto her belly, feeling her modest bikini bottom trying to wedge itself into what she considered a thoroughly improbable place. She tugged at it, reflecting that it would probably help if she weren’t still a good twenty pounds too heavy to be wearing the damn thing. Okay, maybe thirty. She sighed, her gaze drifting back to where the girls frolicked in the waves, their lithe, taut bodies flashing in the sunlight as they giggled and shrieked. They were awfully cute, she had to admit.

  Her looks weren’t the problem, though. Not really. Her age wasn’t either, despite her complaints to Selena. No, the real problem, whether she liked it or not, had a lot more to do with the way she ducked her head and avoided eye contact anytime anyone vaguely interesting walked by.

  And that, she knew, had everything to do with Kyle.

  A dull, familiar fury roiled in her gut, and she flipped onto her back, staring up at the high blue sky, tasting a disappointment as bitter as salt water and tears. Damn it, she’d done everything she could for him, everything he’d asked, everything he’d said he wanted…and it still hadn’t been enough.

  She hadn’t been enough.

  Her jaw tightened, and for half a moment, she wanted nothing more than to storm up off the beach, into the shower, head to the nearest bar and throw herself bodily at the first man she saw—and was that too much to ask for, really? A little break from eleven straight months of beating herself up and feeling like shit? A little rebound nookie? A quick, meaningless resort fling?

  Apparently it was.

  She sighed again as her anger sputtered and lost its energy. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, after all. She’d gone out every night for the five days she’d been here so far, and hadn’t met one single, solitary guy who seemed interested in her—not, at least, that she wanted to interest.

  It didn’t help any that half the nightclubs along King’s Highway were still closed, their marquees blank or, worse yet, sporting perky, faded messages like “Thanks for a great season!” and “See you next summer!” The only places that had looked even close to busy were the strip joints—and she was not going there, thank you very much.

  The truth was, she admitted, she really didn’t feel like trekking through bar after depressingly empty bar, hoping to find someone even halfway appealing. It was all so much effort, she thought, sighing heavily—first you had to meet someone, exchange glances, maybe a smile, somehow engage in conversation; pleasant, meaningless words passed back and forth to cover up the essential questions being asked: Do you find me attractive? Attractive enough to sleep with? And hell, for that matter, am I really attracted to you?

  Honestly, the whole idea just made her tired.

  About the only thing she’d really enjoyed here was this—simply lying in the sun, feeling the soft white sand cradle her body and reveling in the novelty of being on a beach in March, a month which in Maine was more than likely to be punctuated by a final blizzard or two—or three. She shuddered, picturing the frigid, ice-packed snow that had likely built up on her car in her absence—snow she would undoubtedly have to chip through, fingers aching with the cold, before she could even open her door in the airport parking lot.

  Maybe Myrtle Beach wasn’t so bad, she thought, and then snorted in amusement. Compared to being stuck in a New England nor’easter? Hell, it was paradise.

  Stretching her arms above her head, she dismissed her snow-covered car from her thoughts and let herself savor the warm caress of sunlight instead. She could feel it all over—on her shoulders, her belly, the bridge of her nose, touching and accepting every inch of her. Like an appreciative lover, it nuzzled her skin with a soft, steady heat. It made her feel…sensuous, and how long had it been since she’d felt that? How long had it been since she’d sprawled, unself-conscious and uncaring, wrapped in a pool of warmth as real, as tangible as a lover’s arms? Was it really any wonder she woke each day eager to get down to the
beach and stretch herself out beneath the sun’s gentle, soothing touch?

  And hey, even if she couldn’t get what she’d been hoping for when she came here, at least she could get a killer tan. Or as killer as her Anglo-mutt ancestry would allow her to get, anyway. And maybe when she went back to Maine, all sun-browned and glowing, maybe she’d just happen to run into Kyle…

  No. No, you are not thinking about him, Julia. Don’t. Just don’t.

  Irritated with herself, she stood and shook out her towel with a bit more energy than was strictly called for, sending grains of sand scattering into the ocean breeze. Damn it, why did she always have to do this to herself? Every time she started to relax, every time she started to feel the least bit good, her traitorous brain decided to slip images of Kyle into her head.

  It was really starting to piss her off. It wasn’t like he was all that, anyway—he had plenty of faults. She’d never been blind to them. She’d just been willing to look past them, was all.

  Which was, she thought resentfully, a favor he’d never seemed willing to return.

  The same old bitterness filled her mouth again, a bitterness that tasted like bile and stale dreams. Christ, she was sick of this. Sick of being angry. Sick of feeling flawed, like she was somehow inadequate.

  She deserved better, damn it.

  Yes, you do.

  Startled, Julia paused, her turquoise-blue beach towel in her hands. She lifted her head, glancing quickly around. That voice… She’d heard it. It had sounded ethereal, almost ghostly, no more than a whisper on the wind…but she’d heard it.

  Hadn’t she?

  She looked around again, but there was no one near. Not near enough, at least, to have been the source of that deep, intimate whisper. Shaking her head, she spread her towel back out and carefully lowered herself onto it. Although maybe she shouldn’t—weren’t hallucinations a sign of sunstroke?

  In the back of her mind—or maybe somewhere in the distance—she thought she heard a chuckle, rich and low. Her spine tensed, but after a moment, she dropped her head onto her folded arms and closed her eyes. Pretending to relax, she held herself taut, every nerve tight and ready as she waited, listening…

  Nothing. There was nothing. The waves rolled in, thirty feet away, a gentle, rhythmic hiss in her ears. Gulls cried overhead. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the shrieks of children—nice, normal sounds her ears could readily pinpoint and identify.

  So maybe she’d imagined it. She didn’t know. Maybe it had been nothing more than the kind of auditory illusion that made you hear the ocean in a conch shell. An aberration, nothing more.

  Maybe so—but still she couldn’t seem to let herself unwind. She tried breathing deeply as the sun’s heat stroked her back in a slow, reassuring caress, tried concentrating on the soft, soothing warmth brushing over her like a lover’s hand…

  Relax, Julia. Let me show you what you deserve.

  Julia’s head snapped up. No way was that her imagination. She shot to her feet, glaring around for the source of that deep, rumbling murmur.

  Two college boys tossed a football a good fifteen yards to her left, shouting and laughing in tones completely unlike the voice she’d heard. The giggling girls she’d seen earlier had disappeared somewhere—no, there they were, sprawled on towels farther up the beach, their tight little butts angled strategically toward the college boys. And they sure as hell hadn’t been the source of that unmistakably masculine whisper.

  But if they weren’t, then nobody was. There was no one else nearby.

  Irked—and more than a little perturbed—she snatched up her towel and the book she hadn’t even bothered to open, and stalked toward the sandy path winding through the beach grass toward her hotel, her heels gouging angry crescents in the sand behind her.

  At her retreat, the chuckle sounded again. Its tone wasn’t mocking, merely amused. Like a last caress, words murmured deep in her mind.

  That’s all right, Jules. I’ll see you tomorrow.

  Oh no, he wouldn’t. Determined, Julia fought with the cranky old beach chaise, ignoring its rusty squeals of protest as she forced the seatback flat.

  No way in hell was she going down to the beach again.

  Squinting against the sun, she moved the chaise closer to the edge of her small balcony and set her book and water bottle beside it. For added security, she stripped the flat sheet off the extra double bed and hung it over the railing, blocking her view of white sand and sun-chased waves. Then she stepped back and nodded.

  Whoever he was, just let him try to find her now.

  As hard as she’d tried, Julia hadn’t been able to get that voice out of her head. She’d even thought she’d heard it again this morning, briefly, whispering in her ear at the edge of sleep, as warm and gentle as the first ray of sunlight slanting across her bed.

  Wake up, Jules.

  Okay, so that had been her imagination. But yesterday? No way. That voice had been too potent, too vibrant, too damn real to be anything as simple as a hallucination.

  She only had two days left in Myrtle Beach. Giving up the beach for two days to avoid some bodiless, telepathic freak didn’t seem like too much of a sacrifice.

  But she wasn’t about to give up the sun.

  Dropping to the chaise, she stretched out on her back, draping one arm over her eyes to block out the light. Even so, it trickled in, creating a rosy glow behind her eyelids. The sound of breakers filled her ears, more muted than it had been on the beach but still soothingly steady. Julia breathed deeply, letting her knotted muscles unwind as seagulls cried intermittently overhead, faint, plaintive calls that blended seamlessly with the repetitive, hypnotic hiss of the surf and the constant, nearly inaudible whisper of the wind.

  And over it all, the sunlight streamed down like honey, both heavy and weightless and delightfully warm. It stroked her belly, caressing the curves that, try as she might, were never going to go entirely away no matter how many sit-ups or curls or crunches she did. The sunlight didn’t care, at least—it feathered her skin with soft, heated kisses, tracing the swell of her hips, trailing lingeringly down the generous line of her thighs, pooling like warm water in the soft dip of her navel. Julia sighed, shifting slightly, and felt warmth radiate over the upper curves of her breasts, its touch growing stronger, more heated—almost as if it was aroused by the sight of all that full, soft, barely covered flesh. She smiled drowsily at her whimsy and stretched both arms above her head, taking a deep, lazy breath that lifted her breasts delectably into the sun’s velvet touch.

  The heat above her intensified, rippling against her skin. She pressed her chest up impatiently against it and felt it close around her, cupping her breasts firmly, massaging their lush weight, brushing over and over across the thin, stretched fabric of her bikini top. She sighed again, stretching her arms higher, and moaned slightly as a lick of heat rasped across her nipples, teasing them erect.

  God, it felt good. It felt wonderful. She writhed on the chaise, rubbing her breasts back and forth against all that shimmering heat. Displaying them. Flaunting them. Enticing the heat to stroke them even harder.

  She felt it pressing against her skin, hungry and demanding. More, it whispered. She arched her back, feeling her breasts strain against the fabric. They were full, swollen, aching beneath the warmth hovering just above them.

  More. Give me more.

  So demanding! Julia smiled to herself behind her closed eyelids, thrilled to the core by the curtness, the impatience, the need in that simple command. Playfully, she tugged at the bottom hem of her bikini top, pulling it down till her nipples scratched against the fabric, just barely covered by the blue floral print.

  The wind stilled, as if the very sky was holding its breath. Desire surrounded her, pulsing and intent. Sunlight stroked across the newly exposed skin, tickling the edges of her areolas and making her squirm.

  T
ake it off.

  At the terse demand, she smiled again. Well, why shouldn’t she? No one could see her. The sheet shielded her from the view of the beach, and the balcony above hid her from all eyes but the sun’s. With a quick yank, she loosened the ties and let her top fall away.

  Immediately, warmth closed around her breasts, kneading their fullness. The sunlight kissed her eyelids, her nose, her chin, trailed a column of heat down her throat to play in the valley between her firm mounds. Lying back, Julia let herself savor the sensation, loving every minute of it and at the same time wanting more.

  Teasingly, the sun flicked across the lower curves of her breasts, tracing them with lines of exquisite fire. She moaned in response, tossing her head on the chaise, and felt a deep rumble of masculine amusement.

  More?

  Oh God, yes.

  Who was she talking to? A tendril of alarm uncurled in her belly—and heat closed over her nipples, wrapping them in a velvet grip. Julia gasped, her back arching as it tugged at them hungrily, over and over, then pulled back to rasp across their taut buds, teasing them with licks of fire until they were hot and aching, begging for more.

  She writhed, unable to escape the fire tormenting her nipples. Small, gasping sounds spilled from her throat. Her hands clenched at her sides as the rasping, intangible touch played over her breasts, squeezing them, rubbing them, running up to draw at her nipples again and again until she was twisting helplessly on the chaise, pressing her breasts upward into that maddening, teasing touch.

  Every time it tugged at their tips, fire flared in her belly, making her clit pulse and everything inside her feel swollen, aching, needy…

  “Please,” she pleaded desperately. “Oh, please…”

  Turn over.

  Even aroused as she was, Julia hesitated. Reason had long since flown elsewhere, but the sudden apprehension tightening her gut had nothing to do with reason. Fleetingly, she thought of the girls on the beach, their tight little bottoms as round and hard as basketballs.