Oceanside Marine (Kendall Family Book 4) Read online

  He chuckles before we enter a room where an elderly man lays in a hospital bed, one leg amputated at the knee and wrapped in gauze. Between the man’s sagging, wrinkled face, deeply drooped eyes, and the crop of short white hair on his head, I’d guess him to be in his seventies or older. His round cheeks lift with a bright smile.

  “Well if it isn’t my favorite duo!” he greets Braden and Jazz, excitement lighting his eyes. “And who’s this beautiful young lady you’ve brought with you? Finally found yourself a good woman, or have you brought me a present?”

  “Keep your pervy hands to yourself, Walt,” Braden teases. “She’s a family friend.”

  My heart takes on a stuttered beat as I’m introduced to the Vietnam vet who tells me he recently lost his leg to diabetes. Jazz jumps up on the mattress to greet him, lapping her long pink tongue over the old man’s face. Watching Braden and Jazz interact with Walt over the next half-hour is a real treat, especially when Walt fondly tells the story of the first time he met Jazz as the dog cuddles in beside him.

  Tears spring to my eyes as I watch on quietly. Braden volunteers to spend his free time with injured veterans. Why can’t he be a lazy pothead that plays video games all day? It would’ve been ten times easier to walk away. But learning he has a big heart on top of being brave, smart, responsible, and undeniably gorgeous is too much to take. And why can’t he be ten years older?

  When my emotions become too powerful to hide, I excuse myself to find a bathroom and almost collide with a young blonde in a digital camouflaged uniform right outside the door.

  “Just waiting for them to finish so I can give Walt his meds,” she explains with a kind smile, holding up a small cup. “All the nurses were just talking about how lucky you are to have snagged Braden. Since he and Jazz started visiting, he’s turned down so many women that some of them were convinced he’s into guys. He’s such a sweetheart—spends practically all his free time volunteering on this floor. I suppose we won’t see as much of him now that you’re in the picture.”

  Though the last comment seemed a little on the bitchy side, I prepare to tell her that I didn’t “snag” him and we’re only friends. But I’m hit with a sudden surge of bitterness knowing so many young girls want to date him. What’s stopping me from playing along, pretending I’m really his girlfriend? By the time they learn the truth, I’ll have left the state and won’t ever see them again. Still, it makes me sad to think I’m missing out on the chance to be with the sweet man she’s describing.

  Why does someone with the potential to be “perfect” for me have to come wrapped up in such a beautiful package, complete with rippling muscles and big brown eyes that I could lose myself in? Why can’t he live in Brooklyn like most of his siblings? And for shit’s sake, why does he have to be Evelyn’s little brother?

  “He is pretty amazing,” I finally concede with total conviction.

  Flashing her a sweet smile, I turn away in search of the restrooms. Since we shared that 12-pack on the beach, I’ve learned so many things about Braden that have shattered the image of him I formed years ago. Why had I always assumed he was a lady’s man just because women flock to him? Why did I picture him as a reckless partier with no set future? I’m ashamed of myself for being such a judgmental asshole.

  I almost fall into the toilet when the truth hits me.

  I’m falling for Braden Kendall.

  Nonononono…this can’t be happening! I’m far too old for him! He was probably in preschool while I was going through a stage of listening to grunge bands and dressing like I belonged at a Seattle concert!

  After splashing water over my face and collecting myself, I return to the room in time to catch Walt beaming affectionately at Jazz and Braden as they’re saying their goodbyes. I shake the old man’s hand and kiss his cheek before we head out.

  The temptation to take Braden’s hand in the parking lot is so great that I offer to take Jazz’s leash to keep myself occupied. “It takes an awfully big heart to spend your free time helping others,” I comment as he unlocks my door. He doesn’t say anything in return.

  While he’s pointing out highlights of the base on our ride out, I methodically stroke Jazz’s smooth fur, my thoughts a thousand miles away. Braden’s even better looking after watching him engage with Walt. So much that I can’t look at him without breaking out in a full body flush.

  I can’t let myself go down this path. I can’t fall for a man who lives on the other side of the damn country. There must be some men in New York that are closer to my age with a fun, easy-going personality similar to Braden’s. Namely any that aren’t related to my sister-in-law and won’t destroy our family if our relationship were to turn sour.

  After dropping Jazz at Braden’s house, we head for the beach. On the short ride I wonder what my life would be like if I lived out here and actually dated him. Could we become the kind of happy couple you see in sappy bubble gum ads and aesthetically composed Pinterest boards? Not likely. My carefree days of frolicking with hot young guys disappeared along with my smooth stomach and the ability to get hammered without nursing a two-day hangover. Plain and simple, that ship has sunk so deep there’s no chance of it being recovered.

  But what’s the harm in allowing myself one day to pretend my boat’s still floating? What’s it going to hurt if I relax and give myself the luxury of enjoying this hot young stud’s company for as long as I’m able?

  I’m so deep into my delusional thoughts that I startle when Braden waves a handful of bills out in front of me. Blinking heavily, I discover we’re parked in front of a store with swimsuits and surf gear on display in a brightly decorated window.

  “Go inside and buy a suit,” he tells me in what sounds suspiciously like some kind of demand.

  I sit with my arms crossed, refusing to budge. Pretending I’m in a relationship is one thing, but I can’t wear a swimsuit around him—especially when I know his body is sculpted to perfection. I’d be humiliated if he saw the stretch marks creeping up to my bellybutton and along the upper part of my thighs, or the excess tires of fat surrounding my hips that made an appearance shortly after turning thirty. But in the world of pretend, none of those things have to exist, right?

  Before I’m able to make up my mind, he’s slipping the money into my hand. “I mean it, Katie. I’m not going to surf unless you get in the water with me and give it a try. You asked me what I’d do if I only made it out this way once in my lifetime, and this is it. Learning to surf is the quintessential California experience. It’s going to be a little on the chilly side, so you’ll want to grab a wet-shirt too.”

  Frustrated by his stubbornness, I grumble to myself. Maybe they have one piece suits with board shorts. “Fine. But I’m not taking your money. I can afford to buy my own bathing attire, thank you very much.”

  He chuckles with a deep, rolling sound as I drop the bills in his lap before grabbing my purse and marching inside. I’m pleasantly surprised when greeted by a cheerful saleswoman who looks to be around my age, maybe even older.

  “Welcome to Keith’s Surf Shack! Anything in particular I can help you find?”

  Overwhelmed by the hundreds of selections as far as the eye can see, a majority appearing to be tiny bikinis, I huff. “Have anything that says ‘I can be sexy even though I have two adult children’ without appearing like I’m trying to act like I’m still in my twenties?”

  The tall brunette’s lips purse as her striking eyes flicker to the ceiling. Then her gaze returns to me and she winks. “I’m pretty confident that can be arranged.”

  Braden’s eyes hardly stray from my new purchase long enough to properly gauge the waves hurtling at us. Kendra, the saleswoman from the surf store, sure knew her shit when she picked out the colorful bikini top and a wet shirt with a zipper that allows me to show off some serious cleavage. The somewhat modest bottoms weren’t enough to cover each of my stretch marks, but they shaped my butt nicely and I figured Braden’s gaze wouldn’t leave my top long enough to notice.


  I was so right.

  There wasn’t time to compete in sports as a teenage mom, but I have a respectable amount of coordination along with a short center of gravity to work with, making it somewhat easy to pop up on the board as Braden instructs. We have our share of spills, and my stomach hurts from laughing, but by the end of the afternoon we’ve ridden out a considerable number of waves together.

  And boy, is the experience of surfing with Braden ever hot.

  Having his strong arms lift me out of the water, watching his impressive muscles flex and strain makes it hard to breathe whenever I’m not choking on a mouthful of salt water. And I feel lighter than I’ve felt in ages, and not just because of the buoyancy from the ocean. The whole pretending thing has done wonders for my spirit. It’s probably the first time in nineteen years I haven’t defined myself as a mom first and a woman second. It certainly helps when Braden keeps giving me these heated looks like he wants to unzip my top the rest of the way.

  “We should head in,” he’s telling me before long. Grinning, he gently moves a strand of hair away from my face. “We went longer than I had planned, so there isn’t time to swing by to get Jazz. But I don’t want you to miss the sunset.”

  All at once his expression becomes thoughtful and serene. Fingers still on my cheek, his eyes lock with mine. Oh hell. There’s no fighting the electrified connection between us. It warms my core and ripples all the way down to the tips of my toes.

  If I’m going to keep up this charade for the remainder of my trip, I shouldn’t have to resist it any longer. So why do I still sense myself holding back?

  Braden must feel my hesitation because he drops his hand from my face and slips back onto his board, patting the empty space between his legs. “Hop on, beautiful. I’ll give you a ride back.”

  I eagerly take his outreached hand, mounting the board like a pro. I’m hyper aware of his body heat as we paddle together back to shore. It’s so tempting to lean back into his thick chest and give in to my carnal desires, let him touch me everywhere. I even hear Sharlo’s little voice telling me to let it happen, because I know without a doubt that it’s something she’d encourage. When I called her this morning from the hotel to tell her I was taking the day to do a little sight-seeing, she told me to “let my hair down” and get “bloody wild.” But I somehow manage to keep my distance, partly because I’m afraid of what happens once I make a move.

  We return to our pile on the beach and quickly bundle up in the towels Braden brought, throwing everything else in a canvas bag before heading toward the pier. The crowd has thinned out along with the setting sun, and we’re suddenly among a handful of couples walking hand-in-hand. The warm golden glow stretching across the horizon makes them look like the silhouettes in commercials for tropical vacations.

  What I wouldn’t give to spend the entire week here to relax and maybe pretend a little longer. Then it occurs to me: I forgot to buy a flight back! Did I really forget or did I purposely procrastinate, hoping to get an invitation from Braden to stay another day? Just how far was I willing to take this little fantasy? Am I prepared to spend all night making mad, sweet love to this gorgeous man?

  When a violent shiver ripples up my spine with the delightful thought, Braden reaches around my back to rub my toweled arm. “Come on, big city girl. It isn’t even that cold yet. We can change in the public bathrooms after the sun’s all the way down.”

  He picks the ideal place to stop and watch the sun sink the rest of the way, spilling a breath-taking array of pink and yellow hues along the base of the pier and beyond, providing a stunning contrast to the blue water. It’s so damn romantic, the perfect ending to a perfect day.

  I relax into him because it feels natural. His fingers curl around my toweled arm and he brings me in closer for a sideways embrace. I hold my breath when I feel his face pressing against the top of my head to drop a kiss. All at once my body becomes a raw bundle of desire, ready to fall apart with every one of his warm breaths falling down the back of my neck. I wrap my hand around the towel wrapped at his waist and drop my head on his bare breastbone, ready to combust when he slips his other arm inside my towel to hold me in a lover’s embrace.

  I once had a fantasy involving Braden that was oh-so-similar to this moment—at least I was wearing a swimsuit—in which he threatened to throw me down and fuck me senseless. When my eyes drag away from his pebbled nipples and the valleys of his chest to lock with his beautiful brown eyes, I’m all at once reminded of that fantasy. My heart pounds furiously, shaking my entire body with each thrum, and my lips part with a quiet sigh.

  Cupping my chin in his hand, his lips bend to one side with a dimpled smirk. “Come to your senses yet, beautiful?”

  I whimper. Come is probably the most accurate verbiage that he could’ve used.

  Oh shit, this is really happening. He was right.

  “Cocky little shit,” I mumble, tightening my hold around his waist. “Kiss me before I change my mind.”

  Then his cool, salty lips are on mine, starting with tentative swipes that stoke the flame of yearning rising inside my chest. Reaching up to tangle my fingers in his wet locks, my towel falls to our feet. I draw him closer to lick the seam of his lips. They part to give passage, releasing a delicious groan. My resistance buckles with the first stroke of our cold tongues, tangling among fervent breaths. I’m suddenly as transparent and squiggly as the jellyfish we saw earlier, my core zapped as if one had stung me.

  With every second that passes I become more ravenous, more intoxicated by the scent of his wet skin. I cling to him as he kisses me back, his strong muscles squeezing me tighter and tighter until I fear I’ll pass out. It’s already as if I’m floating above the earth, looking down on myself making out with someone my twenty-four-year-old self would’ve died to hook up with. Just when I don’t think I have the willpower to ever stop kissing him, someone throws a catcall our way and a deep voice tells us to “get a room.”

  Braden pulls away first, nuzzling his nose against mine. “Please don’t tell me that’s all you’ll give me because this time I want to fill you, beautiful. Inch…by…inch.” Groaning with his own taunt, his warmer fingers reach down to cup my chilled ass. “Damn it, woman. I don’t even think I can make it home as hard as that kiss made me.”

  I maneuver my hand inside his towel to stroke his hard length. Dropping his head on my shoulder, he groans. He wasn’t lying, he could bust something with that rod. And holy shit, he’s a big boy. It’s a little intimidating when I wonder if he’ll fit, or if birthing two big babies stretched me out more than he’s used to. In this day of make-believe, I refuse to believe being with Braden will be anything other than the best sex of my life.

  “I’m not opposed to getting a little sand in awkward places,” I whisper before raking my teeth over his bottom lip.

  His eyes pop wide.

  That’s right, buddy. Twenty-four-year-old Katie is coming out to play.

  With a deep growling noise, his fingers sink into my wet hair before he kisses me again. This time it’s hungry and savage, bordering on frightening when I consider for the first time that he may have more energy than I’m prepared for.

  He draws back suddenly, still holding my hair tightly. “I need somewhere private for what I have planned for you.”

  I try to swallow, but my mouth has suddenly become dry.

  Sleeping with this beautiful man is going to be a life-changing experience.

  Chapter 7

  KATIE

  Ten minutes on the road feels like a lifetime as Braden pushes the old pickup truck to its limits, running two yellows and getting honked at more times than I can count. By his death-grip on my hand, I wonder if he thinks I’m going to open the passenger’s door and roll out into traffic to avoid sleeping with him. I’m not so sure he’d be wrong.

  As he’s squealing around the corner to his house and slamming on his brakes in the driveway, my heart pounds against my ribs. Should I stop this and take a cab t
o the airport? The idea hits me hard and fast, drawing my breath tight. He may be mature, but he’s still just a kid, hardly older than Connor. What if sleeping with him and leaving right away messes with his expectation of every future relationship? What if it breaks us both?

  My brain takes on the dialect of a caveman when he drags me across the pickup bench to drop a slow, intoxicating kiss against my lips.

  Sex, now.

  Sex, good.

  His strong arms lift me out from the pickup and we run to the house hand-in-hand. As he’s fumbling for the right key, I slip my hand into the back of his board shorts and stroke the firm globe of an ass-cheek with my fingertips. Bless him, who knew a male physique could be so flawless? At this point I’m so drunk on desire that I’m ready to take him on his front step.

  Once the door’s finally open, he spins around and scoops me off my feet, carrying me in his arms the short distance to his bedroom. I drag my fingers across his beautiful chest as he flips the light switch, revealing a room that’s neat and simple like the rest of the house.

  When he tosses me down on the unmade queen bed, I’m shocked by a row of mirrors that stretch across his closet doors. Someone’s awfully full of themselves. Wondering what it will be like to watch myself as he drives into me, I shiver.

  “Don’t worry, beautiful,” he says as he’s ripping his t-shirt from his body and kicking his shoes into the corner. “I’ll warm you up in no time.” His shorts go next with one tug, and suddenly he’s completely naked, his beautifully hard length bobbing between his muscular thighs.

  Biting down on my lips, I give myself a moment to appreciate his delightful form a second time. I’m not usually one to enjoy ogling totally naked men, but I’ve seen my share of racy shit thanks to pictures my horny friend April is always sending, so I recognize that a cock as beautiful as his could be considered a rarity. He’s thick, smooth, slightly curved, circumcised, and the most delightful shade of pink with a pattern of dark veins pulsating beneath the surface. Whoa. Guess there’s a good reason he’s so full of himself.