She woke up and stretched lazily. She smiled to herself. She could still feel his skin against hers, his calloused fingers touching and stroking her everywhere, the feel of his scruffy beard against her face and against the inside of her thighs, him inside her. She turned on her side only to see the other side of the bed was empty. She closed her eyes again, remembering how she had been so engrossed with her thoughts that she hadn't paid attention to how far she'd gotten from the beach house on her solitary walk. When she heard the thunder, she had looked around and realized she was going to get caught in a storm. And then he came running for her. Deacon. He was probably the handsomest man she'd ever seen, dressed in his long sleeve t-shirt and jeans. She could tell – although now she knew for sure – that he was fit and muscled. His dark hair looked unkempt in the strong breeze and he had the clearest blue eyes she'd ever seen. She'd been mesmerized, thinking oh my god, I'm in love with this man.
She had really never done anything this crazy before in her life. She was Rayna Wyatt, even though she'd officially changed her last name to Jaymes when she turned 18. But she was the daughter of Lamar and Virginia Jaymes Wyatt, combining two of the wealthiest and most powerful families in Nashville. She'd grown up in a mansion in Belle Meade and gone to the best private schools. Things had certainly changed for her when her mom died back when she was 12, but everyone in Nashville knew who she was. Being Rayna Jaymes didn't change that and so she'd always been careful, kept her personal life private. Trying to make it in the country music business had afforded her more leeway because she wasn't at the forefront of society. The fact she hadn't been successful just meant she was off most people's radar. But this. Getting rescued by a handsome man – a singer and a songwriter, even – was one thing. Kissing him and letting him take her to bed was quite another. But she liked it.
The singer/songwriter thing had been a surprise, but once he'd told her that, she'd noticed all the guitars displayed around his great room. Guitars she'd missed at first. She'd spent enough time in the business that she was familiar with the concept of writing songs, not that she'd written any. And she'd certainly heard enough of his songs that she knew he was good. Really good. He'd rattled off those #1s and she was pretty sure he had more. She had felt drawn to him as she'd listened to him play some of his own music. He wrote beautiful songs. And when they sang together it had felt magical. It had kind of taken her breath away. Almost without realizing it she'd been sitting right next to him and the next thing she knew he had kissed her. A kiss that she had felt deep down in her soul. A kiss that had shaken her to her core.
She opened her eyes and looked over at the clock and saw that it was almost 9. She sat up and looked around. She'd had no time to look at his room when he'd carried her back there. It was a very masculine room and pretty spare. Other than the bed, there was a dresser, 2 end tables and a club chair, much like the one in the living room. She got up and found her underwear, stepping into them. Then she found the flannel shirt he'd given her to wear and slipped that on. She walked down to the guest bathroom and pulled her jeans down. They were pretty dry, so she pulled them on, then stepped into the ankle boots she'd worn.
She stepped back out into the hall. "Deacon?" There was no answer, and she didn't hear anything. When she walked to the kitchen, she could smell coffee. Luckily there was enough for her to pour herself a mug. She rooted around and found sugar and a spoon and added the sugar. She thought she heard the faint sound of a guitar, and she looked around, finally spying him on the front porch. When she opened the front door, he stopped playing and looked over at her.
"Good morning," he said with a smile.
"Good morning." She went and sat next to him on the porch bench. She held up her mug. "Hope you don't mind. I think I got the last of it."
"No problem. I can always make more." He looked at her, his eyes twinkling. "You sleep okay?"
She giggled and then took a sip of coffee. "I don't know how much sleep I actually got but I definitely had a very nice night." It had been hard for them to keep their hands off each other. Not that she'd minded at all.
He leaned over and kissed her. "Me too." He pushed some of her hair back and then let the back of his index finger trail down her cheek. "I'm glad you stayed."
She smiled. "I'm glad you rescued me from the rain." She sighed. "It was like it was meant to be." She looked at the table in front of him and saw a notebook and pencils. "Are you working on something?" She picked up the notebook and saw that he'd written something with no cross outs or changes. She looked at him.
"Yeah. I wrote this song for you. I was inspired to write it just by looking at you."
She was dumbstruck and it took her a minute to regain her composure. "You did?"
He nodded. "Sometimes it happens that way. A song just comes to you and you gotta write it down."
She looked at the notebook, then back at him. "Is it finished?" He nodded. "Will you play it for me?" He nodded again and she put the notebook back on the table, open to the page with the lyrics. Then she sat back as he started to sing.
Sitting here tonight / By the firelight / It reminds me I already have more than I should ...
When he finished, she had tears in her eyes. He sat back and looked at her. "That was, well, that was beautiful," she murmured. "I can't believe you wrote that for me."
He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "I never felt nothing like this about anyone else before. But it's like you said, like it was meant to be for us to meet. Like maybe we were meant to be together."
Her heart was fluttering as she thought about that. "I think you're right. It just all seemed so... perfect. Well, maybe perfect isn't quite the word. But it feels like I've known you all my life and I'm supposed to know you for the rest of my life. That we're supposed to do this together somehow." She stopped. "Maybe I said too much."
"No. I feel exactly the same. It's like... you're the one." She smiled and then she reached out and took his guitar, gently laying it on the table. Then she scooted close to him and, putting one hand on his cheek, she leaned forward and kissed him. Gently at first, but then the kiss grew. It felt filled with need and want and passion and desire. He put his arm around her, and she felt his hand slide under the shirt and up her back. When he realized she didn't have a bra on, he groaned a little, sliding his hand around to cup her breast, his thumb playing with her nipple. Now it was her turn to moan as she felt herself melting into him. The curl of desire that had started when he finished the song had turned into a raging need.
He pulled away from her lips and she could see in his eyes that he wanted her right then, as much as she wanted him. He gently squeezed her breast, then let it go. He took her hand and pulled her up off the bench and they walked back into the house, through the great room, down the hall and back into his bedroom, where they undressed each other quickly and he walked her back to the bed. He hovered over her for a moment, and she opened her legs, inviting him back in, an invitation he immediately accepted.
This time when she woke, he was there, holding her as she tucked herself into him. When she opened her eyes and made a humming noise, he lifted his head, first resting it on her cheek and then kissing her neck, before settling back. She turned so she could face him and smiled, kissing him. "I don't think I want to leave this bed," she said with a smile.
He chuckled. "I don't want to let you." He kissed her back. He put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. The covers had slid away from their shoulders and she shivered just a little. He frowned. "You cold?"
She shook her head. "Not really. You're keeping me warm."
"I forgot to ask you before if you wanted breakfast."
She looked up. "Mmm..." – then she looked back at him – "maybe." She then realized she was hungry. "Actually, yes. Let's have breakfast."
He smiled. "I make a really great scrambled eggs and bacon."
She laughed. "Is everything you make great?"
"The few things I do make, yes."
He started to sit up and she stopped him. "After we eat breakfast, will you sing to me again? Maybe the song you just wrote? I'd love to hear it again."
"I can do that." They got up, putting back on the clothes they'd been wearing. She thought she probably needed to go to the beach house and change clothes, but she didn't want to leave him. She sat at the island and watched as he prepared breakfast. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was – that she couldn't imagine not being with him.
As they were eating the very delicious eggs and bacon, she looked at him curiously. "What's the name of your song?" she asked.
"A Life That's Good." She couldn't help but think it would be the life they would have.
He took his time washing her body, spending extra time on her most sensitive areas, a wicked smile on his face. When she did the same to him, he sucked in his breath. She smiled up at him. "This is nice."
He took the soap out of her hands and put it in the soap dish. "Yes, it is," he said. He bit his lip quickly. "I think I'm gonna have to do something about it."
She laughed softly. "I wish you would." He breathed in deeply and then turned her away from him. He stood close behind her, skin to skin, and he was hard against her bottom. He ran his hands down her arms and then over to her stomach before sliding them up to her breasts, which he cupped in his hands, gently caressing them. Her whole body felt alive with want. He finally used one knee to nudge her legs apart and she instinctively leaned forward, pressing her hands against the shower wall. He moved his hands to her hips as he positioned her and then entered her quickly, filling her up and causing her to moan.
As he began to move inside her, he murmured, "Oh god, Rayna" over and over. He thrust in and out, his movement rhythmic and powerful, and she adjusted her own rhythm to his. She could feel herself cresting and then suddenly she came hard, the waves spreading through her over and over until she felt like she could barely stand. He pushed inside her one last time, shouting out her name as she felt the power of his orgasm.
When he finally stepped back from her, she felt weak in the knees for a second. She turned to face him. "Are we crazy?" she asked.
"Well, if we are, I'm okay with that." He breathed in. "This has been the best time I've spent with anyone in a very long time. Actually, maybe ever."
They stood there for a couple minutes until the water started to run lukewarm and then he reached behind her and turned it off. He helped her out of the shower and then gave her a towel, taking one for himself.
She was in the bedroom by herself as she dried her wet hair. She knew it was probably time for her to go back to the beach house, but she really didn't want to. She'd certainly had boyfriends before and even an ill-fated dalliance once or twice. She had had some torrid lovemaking, the kind that could leave you breathless and wrung out. But nothing had ever been like this. The lovemaking had been almost... otherworldly. She couldn't even think of another way to describe it. She'd felt like when they were in each other's arms they were one. Each time had felt more perfect than the last.
She felt a little tingle as she thought about it. When he'd taken off his clothes she'd seen that he was perfect, not one inch of fat on him. He was muscled but not overly so. Seeing how aroused he was caused her heart to flutter, but once he'd buried himself inside her and they were skin to skin with no space between them, it had felt like magic. It had felt like the way it was always meant to be. She'd felt a little empty with the other men in her life, but this wasn't like that. She felt complete.
She hesitated to leave the room because she knew that meant he'd have to take her back to the beach house and then it would be over. She didn't want that. She wanted to stay here – with him – forever. The thought of that felt overwhelming somehow. If she never went back to Nashville, never tried to follow her dream again, she'd be happy here. She'd be content. The thought surprised her, but it also felt absolutely right. She got a little teary thinking about how, when he took her back, all of this would be done. It would be a nice memory of a very special time. She sighed, brushing the back of her hand across her eyes, and then ran a comb through her hair. She went into the other bathroom and pulled down the sweater, wondering if it was ruined but not really caring if it was.
When she walked out into the great room, he was sitting at a small table across from the kitchen, that she hadn't noticed before. It was almost like nothing else had existed in the house but him. He looked up. "Hey," he said with a tentative smile.
"Hey."
"I guess you, um, want to get back. Need to get back."
"I guess. Yeah." She walked over to the table and sat in the chair perpendicular to him, setting the sweater on the table in front of her. "I'm sure you want your shirt back." She was still wearing it and didn't want to take it off, even though she knew she would have to.
He shook his head. "Nah. It's okay." They looked at each other for a moment and then he sighed. "I don't want you to go. Is that nuts?"
She smiled a little. "Maybe. But I was thinking the same thing." Her smile got larger. "But I do need clean underwear."
He laughed. Then his face turned serious. "What if I, uh, took you back and you maybe got some things and came back. Is that too weird?"
She moved from her chair to his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I was thinking maybe I could get all my things and come back here. And I think that's probably too forward."
He put his arms around her waist. "I don't think it is at all. You would really do that?"
"If you were okay with it."
He smiled then. "I'm very okay with it." She leaned in and kissed him. "When do you have to go back? To Nashville, I mean."
"No timetable."
He grinned. "Even better."
She really didn't have to give him directions. There was only one road and it led past both his beach house and the Wyatt beach house. It was a couple miles away – he told her that and she was astonished that she'd walked that far on the beach – and it only took minutes to get there. There had been no traffic on the road around his house, but that changed when they got to hers. The town was small but had kind of grown up around the large beach houses that crowded themselves for a mile or so right along the beach. They were all 2 or 3 stories tall, and they all had big wide porches on the beach side, on all floors.
She pointed towards the Wyatt house, and he pulled in, parking behind her rental car, the one she'd driven down from the Norfolk airport two weeks earlier. She'd have to have someone come get that. They got out of his truck, and she walked around to where he was standing. He was looking up at the house, which was built on stilts that formed a carport. "I never been in one of these," he said. He looked at her. "Never really wanted to."
"Why not?"
He shrugged. "Just didn't seem like beach houses to me. I mean, I get it, this place is amazing. It's still pretty quiet, even with the increase in traffic and all. I guess I just like the old beach houses."
"I understand. Now that I've been in your house, I can see this isn't anything like that. I like the old beach houses better too." She smiled and he smiled back. He put his arm around her, and she led them to the stairs that went up the side of the house to the main level porch. They stood at the railing for a moment, looking out over the beach and the ocean beyond. "Nice view though," she said.
"Yep," he said. They turned and walked up to the sliders, and she inserted her key and opened them to an expansive room that encompassed almost all of the living area. Much like his house, everything was in one area – living room, dining area, kitchen – but much larger and grander.
She had always loved this house, particularly when she was young, but she could see now it was just someone's idea of what a beach house would be. It had the right colors – light blue with white trim – and lots of maritime type do dads around, but it didn't feel lived in like Deacon's house. It wasn't authentic, something she could see now. "So, this is it," she said.
He looked around. "Big," he said.
She made a face. "Doesn't look really beachy, does it?"
He shrugged. "It tries." He looked over at her and smirked. She laughed.
"Well, let me go and get some things." She started to head for the stairs, but he gave her a look that made her stop. "What?"
"So you're gonna bring everything, right?"
She nodded. "Yes."
He nodded. "You need help?"
She smiled. "Yes. I have a fair amount of stuff." He walked over to the stairs, and she took his hand, leading him up.
Her bedroom was facing the beach and had French doors that led to the porch on that level. The windows were large and even with the gray skies, the room was bright. She noticed she'd left the bed unmade when she'd gone for her beach walk the day before. Deacon was right behind her. He lifted her hair and kissed her on the neck. And then behind her ear. It was clear to her what he was thinking. Good news was she was thinking the same thing. She turned in his arms and he kissed her. Another of those kisses that sent shivers all the way down her body to her toes.
When he finally let go of her lips, she glanced quickly over her shoulder. "I guess we shouldn't let it go to waste," she said with a smile.
He grinned. "You read my mind." In seconds, their clothes were on the floor, and they were under the covers on her bed.
She was clinging to the rails of her headboard, pushing herself back against him, wanting to feel all of him. He was moving in and out forcefully, his hands on her hips. "Oh my god," she murmured over and over. She was right there. So close. She whimpered a little and then, as though he knew what she was thinking, he reached around and touched her right where she needed him to. All she could do was cry out incoherently as her orgasm overtook her, sending waves of release through her. She heard him groan loudly as he pushed into her one last time, emptying himself inside her. He laid against her back, both of them breathing heavily, and he moved his hands to cup her breasts. After a few moments she felt her breathing coming under control and she exhaled. He let her go and fell to one side of the bed, pulling her with him. They both reached for the covers and then lay there in each other's arms, not saying a word, just enjoying the togetherness.
He had his arm around her, and his other hand smoothed the hair back off her face and he kissed her forehead. She turned her head into his chest and breathed in. He smelled like the soap they'd showered with and, strangely, the bacon he'd cooked. He smelled like a man. A good, wonderful man who was also incredibly sexy and made beautiful love to her. She pressed her lips against his skin and then settled back, looking up at him. "As much as I want to stay here, I should probably pack up my things," she said.
He smiled, brushing her lips with his. "I know. If you'll pack, I'll carry things down."
"Deal."
Deacon had taken the last of the suitcases down to his truck. You really do have a lot of stuff, he'd said but he'd smiled when he said it. She had told him she needed to call her sister to let her know of her change in plans and then she'd be down. She stood in the kitchen and called Tandy. "Hey there," she said when her sister answered.
"Hey. how's the beach?"
"Good. Really good."
"Are you getting the clarity you wanted?"
"Sort of."
There was a pause. "What's going on, Rayna?"
"Well," – she smiled as she twirled the phone cord – "I've sort of had an interesting... adventure, I guess you'd call it."
"What does that mean?"
"I was walking down the beach yesterday" – had it really only been the day before? – "and got caught in a storm pretty far down the beach. And kind of out of nowhere this guy came running out to save me."
"Save you? Some stranger on the beach?"
"Well, he's not a stranger anymore and he's actually very nice. I didn't get completely soaked, but as it happened, I was on the beach right in front of his house and he was on his porch and saw me. He came running out and we ran back to his house before the storm really got bad."
"You were in a stranger's house? Are you kidding?"
"Like I said, he's not really a stranger anymore. His name is Deacon, and he lives here at the beach in one of the old beach houses. He makes great spaghetti and bacon and eggs and he's a songwriter and he's just so nice."
"Spaghetti and bacon and eggs? Did you have to stay overnight?"
"I didn't really have to. But I did."
"Oh my god, Rayna. Is he some old man by the sea kind of person?"
"No! He's probably a little older than me and he's handsome and nice and kind. Anyway, the reason I called is to tell you that I'm going to close up the house and stay with him for a while."
"Have you lost your mind?"
She wanted to laugh but knew her sister wouldn't appreciate it. "Maybe, but in a good way. I'll call you if I need anything."
Tandy was quiet on the other end, and she knew what her sister was thinking. "Sweetheart, what happens now? I thought the clarity you wanted was around your future."
She leaned against the wall and sighed. "It was. It is. But I'm not sure what that looks like now. Things have changed."
Tandy sighed. "How much longer do you plan to stay?"
"I'm not sure. But I'm fine, Tandy. I really am. He's amazing and wonderful and it might sound silly, but I think I'm in love with him."
"Oh my god, Rayna. You don't even know this man. Or his background or anything. He could be dangerous."
She did laugh then. "I doubt it. He's just a nice guy who's lived here his whole life and he writes songs for a living." She paused. "He actually wrote one for me. About me."
Tandy sighed on the other end of the line. "I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this foolishness, am I?"
She smiled. "No, you're not."
"Well, be careful. Call me if anything happens. Actually, call me and let me know what's going on. Every few days so I know you're still alive."
She laughed. "I will. Bye, Tandy."
"Bye, sweetheart."
She hung up the phone and smiled to herself. Of course Tandy would worry. Tandy had been the one she'd always turned to after their mom died. Tandy was her biggest supporter and cheerleader. Tandy had been there for all the big decisions, and she knew this was a pretty big one. She picked up the keys, checked to be sure doors and windows were locked and then walked out of the house and down the stairs. Deacon was standing by his truck, waiting for her, and he smiled when he saw her. She felt so happy, happier than she had ever felt in her whole life, and it was because of him. She ran towards him and he picked her up, swinging her around. Then he set her down on the ground and kissed her, long and slow and delicious.
