From a prompt on tumblr, I decided to add on to "Summer Lovin'" and have now changed the title for the third time. This tale has gone from "Summer Lovin'' to "Rolling with the Tide" now to "High Tide". Let's hope I don't change my mind again. ;)
I don't own Ouat or Robin or Regina, in case you were wondering. I just enjoy inviting them over for dinner now and then.
He's not coming.
She should have expected this, should have known better than to mess with an online dating service, but her house was too empty with Henry away for the summer, and she couldn't spend one more night watching I Love Lucy reruns.
His profile had intrigued her—single dad, widower, and an architect of some renown. Of course, she had investigated him, and had been rather shocked to learn he was not only an activist and philanthropist, but the regional coordinator for The Race for the Cure.
What in God's name had attracted him to her profile, she wonders, staring down at her new red dress, knowing she is out of her league. Elementary School Principals don't end up with wealthy widowers, she repeats silently, and she berates herself yet again for agreeing to meet him at this chic restaurant overlooking the beach.
She sighs and puts down the wine list, calculating how she can make a hasty exit unnoticed by the maître d.
"Regina?"
She turns and finds herself speechless, staring up at a man she'd like to have for dessert.
"I'm so sorry," he explains, and she wonders just how blue his eyes really are. "My babysitter fell through at the last minute, and my phone seems to be acting up for some reason. There's nothing I can do right now that can adequately make up for inconveniencing you like this, I know, but perhaps you'd allow me to try?"
"Perhaps," she manages, amazed at how composed she sounds, forcing herself to sip her water rather than finish it off in one gulp. "But I should warn you. I can be rather difficult to impress at times."
A roguish set of dimples nearly take her out as he sits across from her, his brow raising in synch with hers.
"I suppose we could always start with a drink," he suggests, licking his lips in a way that makes her feel half-buzzed.
Perhaps the summer won't be such a waste after all.
One drink had led to another, then to another, conversation progressing into laughter and laughter into touch. Her heart had sped treacherously when his hand reached out to take hers, and she wasn't certain what surprised her most—the fact that he had taken that initiative or that she had let him do it.
But let him she had, and now they are on the beach, walking under what moonlight manages to escape cloud cover, the breeze whipping at her legs, biting yet fresh.
"I love it here," he admits, pausing to stare out at the ocean, her hand still in his, the crash of the surf almost as loud as the pulse in her ears.
"You seem very much at home," she muses, and he bites his lower lip in a grin, tossing her a glance that melts her like butter in a warm skillet.
"You have no idea," he returns, resuming their path away from the restaurant and towards a well-lit pier. Her shoes dangle from her free hand, and she shivers at a gust of wind that creeps under her dress and up her thighs. "Are you cold?"
"Just a bit," she lies, unwilling to let a mere force of nature deter an evening with a man like this. God, she's acting like a college girl, but she's actually enjoying herself. When was the last time she had actually gone out with someone, much less someone who enjoys her sarcasm, can discuss both Goethe and Game of Thrones intelligently, and looks like sex on legs?
He lets go of her hand and wraps his arm around her, pulling her close enough so she can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"Better?" he questions.
"Better," she hums, his face now close enough she can make out the lines around his eyes. They make him more handsome, she realizes, and she fights back the urge to hit him at the injustice of how age makes men sexier and drives women to plastic surgery.
"What is it?" he asks. "Did I do something wrong?"
She drops her eyes, staring at the cool sand scratching underneath her toes.
"You're male," she sighs, and he laughs robustly, scratching his chin with one finger without dropping his shoes in the process.
"A high crime, indeed," he muses, and she tosses him a pointed glance. "And you're just now noticing this?"
She does punch him lightly then, making him rub his ribs as he tosses her a mock whimper.
"I've noticed all evening, thank you," she quips, his scent about to drive her to distraction.
"What a relief," he sighs, returning his arm about her waist and tugging her to a halt. "It would make things awkward if you hadn't."
She feels awkward all of a sudden, staring into eyes she never expected, looking up at a man who clearly wants to kiss her when she hasn't been kissed in…
His mouth cuts off her brain function.
There's nothing soft about this kiss, nothing hesitant. It's hot and pulsing, his tongue pressing into her mouth, hers stroking his hungrily in response. Her shoes hit the sand as her arms wrap around his torso, and he tugs her flush to his body, the warmth of him infusing her with a pulsing heat that travels straight to her thighs.
He eases back a bit, catching his breath, allowing her to catch her own.
"What was that?" she asks, her body shaking with the force of what they had just done.
"If you have to ask, I must not have done it well," he quips, and she laughs in spite of herself, inspiring him to join in with her as they breeze wreaks havoc with her hair.
"You did it very well," she breathes, shaking her head as her ears begin to burn. "We did it well, I mean."
He nods appreciatively, eyeing her over and back again.
"I think there are many things we could do well together," he muses boldly, his eyes dropping as quickly as the words leave his mouth. "I'm sorry. That was very forward of me, and I'm usually not…"
She cuts him off this time, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him back to her mouth with enough force that gives him no room to argue. He doesn't seem to want to, however, giving back as good as she gives, inhaling, imbibing, setting each other further aflame until breathing is labored and lips are swollen.
"I want you," he admits, his voice ragged, brushing her already sensitized nerves to full attention. "I haven't wanted a woman like this in years, but God, I want you."
Her chest refuses to slow down even as her fingers stroke his cheek and beard.
"I want you, too," she confesses, swallowing past the confines of her throat, inexplicably aroused by the texture of his facial hair. "And I don't do this sort of thing. At least I haven't in a long time."
He nods, she smiles nervously, hating the fact that this man can get to her so quickly, completely attracted to him for the very same reason. How many men has she scared away over the years, she contemplates? Most of them never made it past dinner, much less through dessert, coffee, another bottle of wine and a walk on the beach.
"I understand," he nods, his nose coming down to touch hers. "I've avoided relationships ever since my wife died, but…"
He pauses and she falters, her insides sinking under fears that perhaps she is a convenient substitute, a fill-in for the wife he still mourns.
"Robin," she begins, pushing herself back from him. "Maybe this…"
"Hear me out, Regina," he interrupts, taking her hands within his own. "Please. I need to be honest with you about something."
His fingers aren't steady, and her stomach cinches at the thoughts of what he has to say.
"I wasn't late tonight because of babysitter difficulties. I was late because I nearly didn't come."
Shit. There it is. She clasps on to the fringes of what composure she can summon, knowing it's far less than she would like.
"I only signed up on that website because I lost a bet with my idiot brother-in-law," Robin continues, his shoulders as tense as her jaw. "I've been a bit of a recluse since my wife died. I mean, I work, I go to activities with Roland, but other than that…"
He pauses, studying her face to see if she's still with him. She grants him a small nod, and he takes a fortifying breath.
"Anyway, he's been urging me to get out there again for two years now—my brother-in-law, that is, and has told me in no uncertain terms that it was time. He's also the one who discovered me staring your profile one night and encouraged me to ask you out. Actually, harassed might be a more appropriate term to use."
"How flattering," she quips, and he reaches out to touch her arm.
"It wasn't like that," he insists, as her tongue thickens. "Not at all. In fact, he said you were a looker, and for once in his life, he was right."
A puff of air escapes her as her mind attempts to fit mismatched pieces of conversation together.
"So this wasn't your idea," she manages, feeling as if she's just become the butt of a terrible joke. "Asking me out. I get that."
"No," he confesses, his eyes looking pained. "It wasn't. And I nearly backed out of it at the last minute, I'm sorry to say."
"Why didn't you, then?" she questions, the pressure in between her eyes building uncomfortably. "If the thought of meeting me was so repulsive to you?"
"Because I knew it was a terrible way to treat a woman simply because I was acting like a ridiculous coward," he sighs, unable to look at her. "So I dropped Roland off at my brother-in-law's and drove straight here before I could change my mind."
She can't think clearly, her brain whizzing around treacherous emotions setting her up for a disappointment she should have never allowed.
"And the thought of meeting you wasn't repulsive," he continues, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. "Not at all. I was attracted to you from the moment I saw your photograph and read about you—I mean, what man wouldn't be?"
"You'd be surprised," she puts in, feeling as if she is balancing precariously on the ledge of something. "I don't exactly have a line of admirers."
"You probably just haven't noticed," he maintains. God, his eyes are practically pleading with her to understand something she isn't sure she's ready to hear but doesn't have the will to resist.
"So if you were so attracted to me, why did you almost stand me up?"
The question flies from her mouth and hits its target. His shoulders square, his lips purse together, and then he suddenly deflates.
"Because I was terrified."
"You're kidding," she insists before she can stop herself, searching his face intently. "You were scared of meeting me?"
"Horrified," he clarifies, finally looking at her directly again, scratching just under his ear. "God, I was acting far worse than Roland during a thunderstorm. It was pathetic, really."
His self-depreciating laugh makes her tingle down to her thighs. Damn. It's just wrong that he looks so ridiculously adorable as he confesses the fact that he nearly stood her up. She should want to smack him hard and walk away rather than stroke his hair and devour his face. What the hell has gotten into her?
"You were frightened that we wouldn't hit it off?" she presses, trying to sound logical as she shifts in an attempt to warm her freezing toes.
"No," he whispers. "I was scared that we would."
Something clicks then, something bigger than she anticipated, and it nearly knocks her over.
"I studied your profile, you know," he continues, making it continually harder for her to breathe. "Mother. Professional. Principal of an elementary school. I knew you must love children, figured you had to be both driven and unafraid of hard work, and as for your looks…"
He is closer somehow, and she's on her tiptoes without remembering how she got there.
"You're just stunning," he confesses, his breath warming her mouth. "In every way."
Her heart nearly pops out of her throat.
"You studied my profile?" she repeats, wishing she could stop her nose from twitching as it does when she gets nervous.
"A few times," he admits, looking almost sheepish. "It became more intimidating with every read-through."
"Wait," she interjects. "My profile intimidated a well-known and highly sought-after architect and respected philanthropist?"
His grin unleashes those deadly dimples.
"I sound that impressive online?" he questions with a shake of his head. "My brother-in-law did a better write-up on me than I thought. No wonder my profile got so many winks."
She stares back at him and laughs, shaking her head, trying to process all of information coming at her in waves.
"That honestly surprises you?" she asks, unable to keep from staring at this man, smiling at this man, standing all too damn close to this man she barely knows.
"Yes," he returns. "I thought something was wrong with the site, actually."
"For God's sake, Robin, your profile is spectacular," she returns, rolling her eyes soundly. "I don't know of a single woman alive who wouldn't toss a wink in your direction once they've read it."
He grows quiet, too quiet all of a sudden, and she wonders if she's just made a complete idiot of herself.
"I can only hope the real man hasn't proved a disappointment," he states, his eyes falling away from hers.
Is he for real? Shit. Just shit. Maybe she should run away now before her life gets far more complicated than she had banked upon two hours ago.
"No," she replies, wondering how far her shoes have landed from her feet. "Not at all. Just more than I anticipated."
Her stomach flutters at her admission, her hands fidgeting in spite of herself. God, what has gotten into her? She never acts like this.
"Same here," he breathes, those baby blues boring into her with an intensity that makes her ache. "Much more, actually."
Then he touches to her cheek, his fingers edging towards her hair and tucking a billowing lock behind her ear, and her limbs overheat in two seconds flat.
His lips make contact before she can protest, but she doesn't want to—in fact, she wants more of this, of him, of this madness claiming her on this very beach in spite of her better judgment. His hands embrace her face as his mouth caresses and cajoles, taking his time this round, exploring, tasting, making her feel more than she should, make her want all of him and then some.
"God, Regina," he hums, tickling her insides with the rough edge of his beard nudging close to her ear. She pulls him closer, kisses him harder, holds him in a way reserved for very few.
"Are we insane?" she questions as him mouth begins a descent down her throat, her back arching into him as he pulls her even closer.
"Quite possibly," he murmurs into her skin, his hands sliding up and down her back coming precariously close to her ass. Her fingers press into his scalp as his tongue dances across her clavicle. She knows where this is going—where she wants it to go, no matter how ridiculously impulsive it is. Forget impulsive—this is perhaps is the most foolish thing she has done since her early twenties. But she has no intention of asking him to stop.
Then the wind hits her hard from behind, and she quakes from the cold, making him pull back from her with a small smile.
"Perhaps we should take this inside," he breathes before swallowing audibly, taking her hand in his and tugging it to his chest. "If you'd like to, that is."
She nods, her teeth actually starting to chatter as she begins to move in the direction of the parking lot. But he tugs on her hand, indicating the opposite direction towards the pier and a few beach houses.
"Just where did you have in mind?" she questions, intrigued and now half-frightened of what she is allowing to happen.
"How about there?" he asks, pointing towards the second house down. She stares at the small villa partially tucked into some trees and lit only by an outside porch light.
"Don't tell me," she states, her eyes rounding at his implication. "Yours?"
His head drops as he bites that lower lip again.
"Guilty," he admits, watching for her reaction.
"Did you design this?" she questions, noting the clean simplistic lines of the house that blend perfectly into its surrounding environment.
"Guilty again," he shrugs. "My retreat from life, if you must know."
"Nice retreat," she muses. "Mine is usually a corner table at the closest Starbucks."
He chuckles at that, most of the recent tension falling away from his features, making him look younger, more uncertain, more approachable and vulnerable—nearly as vulnerable as she feels.
"So you like it?" he asks softly, and she fights the overwhelming desire to muss that perfect hair.
"I haven't been inside yet," she returns, watching a sly grin spread over his lips at her response. He starts to walk again, and she falls into step beside him, allowing him to pull her back to his side. "So has this been your plan all along? To get me into your villa and then get into my pants?"
He laughs unexpectedly, the sound warming her rib cage.
"Not all along," he confesses, staring at the sea before moving his gaze back to her. "And you're wearing a dress, by the way. A very pretty one, at that. I have noticed."
She chuckles at this, goose bumps spreading across her legs as a reminder.
"Easier access?" she quips, and he laughs, holding her closer.
"You said it," he muses, and she wonders if he is actually blushing. "Not me."
"So when exactly did you come up with this course of action? This whole take me to your private beach house on a first date scenario?" she queries, pushing down her nerves. "When things started to come up down there?"
She nods towards his groin, and his grin broadens as his gaze falters.
"I try not to let that part of my anatomy steer my decision making," he notes. "Nothing but trouble and complication when he drives." She smirks, and he blushes, or at least she thinks he does. "That being said, he does approve."
She shakes her head, he smiles back at her.
"Actually, I thought I'd see how you felt about this course of action, as you call it, after you kissed me."
"After I kissed you?" she returns incredulously. "If memory serves me correctly, you kissed me first."
He is smiling broadly now, enjoying the fact that he can vex her so easily.
"I did," he shrugs casually. "And that was totally unplanned. But when you kissed me back, well…"
"Well what?"
She stops in spite of the chill, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.
"Well," he returns, sticking his hands in his pockets. "It woke me up." He sighs at her stare of surprise, taking a step closer until their noses nearly touch. "I've been living in a fog for three years now, Regina," he continues. "Oblivious to pretty much everything except for my work and my son. But when I kissed you, and then you kissed me, it—well it made me notice parts of myself I thought might never feel again. And no—not just that part."
She feels her entire body flush, even as his words tug on emotions she's half-frightened to identify.
"I'd like to get to know you, Regina," he states, his fingers stroking her back in a gesture that makes her tremble. "In many ways."
His fingers trail along her spinal cord as hers caress his side through his shirt.
"So you intend to be thorough," she muses with a tilt of her head.
"Very thorough," he returns, tipping her chin slightly to see her directly. "And I must admit I liked it when you said first date a moment ago. That implies you'd consider going out with me again."
"And that implies you're planning to ask me again," she tosses back, doing her best to sound composed. "Even if I don't play hard to get?"
"Games are overrated, I think," he observes. "And I'd still ask, even if you'd prefer that I take you home right now."
She swallows and stares at him hard.
"Would you rather go home?" he questions quietly. "There is no pressure on my part for you to take another step towards my house, you know. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable or push things between us too fast."
Her pulse races ahead of what reason she has left.
"Then you shouldn't kiss me like that," she hums, leaning in closer. "Men aren't the only ones who ache, you know."
The grin he flashes her is downright wicked.
"I'm glad to hear it," he breathes, unable to keep his mouth off of hers a moment longer. She sighs into the kiss, pulling him directly to her, holding on fast as she floats out of her body and around the man overrunning her senses with some sort of spell.
"So will you go out with me again?"
He leans back far enough to ask and gauge her reaction.
"Yes," she answers, already too addicted to the way he bites that lower lip, thinking how much she'd like to do the same thing to him. "Provided the rest of this evening goes well."
His brows flicker upwards as they reach his back deck. God, she can't wait to get out of the wind and into his everything.
"That sounds like a challenge," he quips, opening the back door for her and extending his arm in an invitation.
"Take it as you like," she quips, moving into his beach house and into the midst of something neither one of them can yet define.
Yes...this will be continued. :) Thoughts?