Beachcombing in the Bahamas (Once Again #11)

Chapter 16

16

A fter opening presents, they all sat around the coffee table, drinking Olive’s spicy Irish coffee and singing carols.

In Adeline’s house, the holiday was much more staid. Christmas carols played on the stereo, and if anyone sang along, it was almost under their breath. But not this Christmas in the Bahamas. They were loud and off key and boisterous. They played rowdy games of Rummikub, using three sets so they could all play. The winners, Garth, Brock, and Jodi, had a playoff.

Brock loved Yvette’s boisterous cheering for her daughter, sometimes leaning over to give her advice. He had the temerity to put a finger to her forehead and push her back, the touch electric as he said, “No helping from the peanut gallery.”

A little after midday, Olive called them over for dinner, serving early so that she and Samara could go home to their families for the rest of the holiday.

The two of them carried in dish after dish and platter after platter. As the family took their seats at the table—Brock making sure Yvette sat next to him—Olive introduced everything they were about to eat. Pointing to a soup tureen, she said, “We have smoked turkey soup with red beans. As your other starter, I have prepared a crab salad. For your main course, we have our traditional baked ham glazed with brown sugar mustard.”

Brock noticed Adeline’s lips thin, but she said nothing.

Olive continued. “Your side dishes include our peas and rice, as well as baked macaroni and cheese. And here in the Bahamas, we love our root vegetables. We have pumpkin, yams, and dasheen. Dasheen is like your taro, and we cook it with garlic and onions and smoked pork belly.” She rushed on to say, “Think of it as bacon, oven roasted and cut into pieces. Then we add a bit of scotch bonnet pepper for spice and top it with scallions. It looks like potatoes, but spicy and smoky.” She looked at Adeline. “Of course, for those of you who don’t want the spice, I’ve also prepared cassava, another root vegetable, which has a mild, nutty, sweet flavor. It is very much like mashed potatoes. Be sure to add a wedge of butter. And of course, we have our steamed vegetables.” She clapped her hands and cried out, “It is Christmas, and there are no calories today.” Which seemed such an American thing to say.

As always, Adeline went first. Once Olive and Samara had returned to the kitchen, Adeline passed his seat, saying, “We were supposed to have roast beef. That’s Christmas tradition.”

Brock answered her mildly. “I told Olive to make us a traditional Bahamas feast. Next year, you can have your roast beef.”

She harrumphed, and he wanted to laugh. Bypassing the soup and crab salad, she added a healthy portion of ham to her plate, some of the cassava, and a lot of the steamed vegetables. Back at her seat, she scraped the mustard glaze off the ham. Typical Adeline.

He held back while everyone else helped themselves, and with a foot beneath the table, he held Yvette back as well. As the line grew shorter, he gave her a subtle nod, and they rose together. He said, loudly, mostly for Adeline’s sake, “I’m dying to try the smoked turkey soup with red beans. As well as the crab salad.”

She gave him the evil eye, but he thought there was a hint of humor in there too. Yvette echoed him. “I’ll try both the soup and the crab salad to start.”

Everyone else had piled their plates high, taking a bit of everything, carrying both plates and soup bowls back to the table. Brock took only the first course.

With Yvette once again beside him, the way he always wanted her to be, he tried the soup. It was smoky, a tad spicy, and thick with mashed beans and some left whole. “This is freaking delicious,” he said to the table at large. His sons and his nieces nodded, but they were all too busy eating to speak. “The crab salad is excellent too.” Then he shook his finger. “Never tell Mrs. French I said this, but I believe Olive is her equal.”

At the other end of the table, Adeline harrumphed, still working on her ham and cassava. With another foot tap against Yvette’s calf, he rose to dish up his main course and sides, saying, “How’s the ham?”

“It’s to die for, Uncle Brock,” Jodi called out.

He was happy, maybe even giddy, the words of Yvette’s note sizzling in his veins. Over the chafing dishes, he leaned close to her, saying softly, sure no one else could hear, “So, two ties are better than one for what you have in mind.”

She gave him a closed-lipped smile, her eyes dancing.

“And exactly what do you have in mind?” he pushed.

She zipped her lips, sliding a piece of ham onto her plate, and telling him, “Move along, you’re holding up the line.” But the sparkle in her eyes promised everything.

He took both cassava and dasheen, wanting the dasheen’s spice as badly as he wanted Yvette’s spice.

The note was making him crazy. He was sure that was why he’d lost the Rummikub playoff. He wanted whatever Yvette planned, wanted it so badly his brain felt fogged. And his dirty mind was telling him to grab her up and whisk her off to his cottage. He might have, had Adeline not barked out, “What are you two whispering about? It’s vulgar to whisper.”

Brock shot back, “We weren’t whispering. We were talking softly so you wouldn’t hear me say you’re crazy for not trying the dasheen. It smells amazing.” He held up the serving spoon. “Are you sure you won’t try?”

“You must be joking,” she drawled. “It will give me indigestion. The way it will give all of you indigestion.”

Garth laughed. “I haven’t had indigestion since we’ve been here.”

Adeline always had a comeback. “That’s because you’re used to eating ramen noodles and chili out of the can. You have a cast iron stomach.” She shook her finger at him. “In twenty years, those poor habits will catch up with you.”

Everyone enjoyed all the offerings, but Brock made sure he wasn’t stuffed by the time Samara removed all the dinner plates and Olive brought out their dessert.

“The holidays here in the Bahamas are nothing without our special rum cake.” She set the cake, already sliced, in the middle of the table along with dessert plates and forks. “I want every crumb eaten, do you hear?” She shook her finger at them, her eyes lit with a smile.

“Oh my God,” was all Jodi said as she tried the first bite.

“I could get drunk on this,” Trevor added.

There was a definite kick to the bite Brock swallowed, but damn, it was good.

Adeline snorted. “Lorna, you’re not allowed to eat it.” And she slapped at the woman’s hand as Lorna picked up her fork.

“The alcohol cooks off,” Trevor said with a snort. “Eat as much as you want, sweetheart.”

“Adeline’s right,” Lorna said. “I don’t think all the alcohol is gone.”

Adeline harrumphed, this time in triumph.

But Olive was back, another dessert plate in her hand. “I have made you and the baby my special coconut duff.” She smiled down at Lorna as she set the rolled cake in front of her, then dropped her voice to add, “And I promise there is no rum in the sauce.”

Lorna held her hand for a moment. “Bless you, Olive.”

And Brock added, “Our thanks to you and Samara for this fabulous meal. We appreciate you taking the time away from your families to prepare it for us.”

Olive put her hands together and smiled, accepting the thanks. “It was our pleasure. But we will take our leave of you now. Except for what remains on the table, the dishes are all done. Merry Christmas.”

A chorus of, “Thank you,” and, “Merry Christmas,” followed her out to the kitchen.

They spent the rest of the day in laughter and fun, games, walks on the beach, swimming, and even a rowdy volleyball match on the sand.

“Can you imagine doing all of this on Christmas back home?” Garth asked no one in particular while they sat around the fire pit that evening.

“We’d need a wetsuit to go bodysurfing,” Jodi answered.

Brock raised a toast to his family, minus Adeline, who’d already retired. “Best Christmas ever,” he repeated Jodi’s earlier sentiment. And there was so much more to come.

For him and Yvette, the night had barely begun.

It was late, the night quiet. She’d waited for him. The tub in her cottage was barely big enough for two, but Brock stripped down to all his beautiful naked flesh and climbed in with her. The water was probably too warm for the balmy night, but she loved it hot.

He pulled her snug against his chest. And finally, he opened the box of bath bombs she’d set on the side of the tub. He plucked out the misshapen one, and, putting his arms around her, he held it out. “Try this one.”

Yvette held it to her nose. “Mango, I think.”

She tested it in the water, watching it froth. Moving her legs as she lay between his, she swished until the water turned orange. Then she cupped the ball, enjoying the foam as the water released the bath bomb’s fragrance. Dipping it beneath the surface again, and then again, it fizzed against her palm, growing smaller.

Brock leaned forward to nip between her shoulder and neck in a sexy love bite. “I love the way you smell. I love the way your scent clings to me after we make love. I love the way it lingers in my office after you’ve walked out.”

She answered him with, “I love the way you feel against me.” She wriggled back, rubbing the hard ridge of his sex against her spine. “And I love the way you feel inside me.”

Dipping her hands again, this time something gold peeked out of the foam. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “What did you put in here?”

“I had this bath bomb made especially for you.”

With one more dip in the water, the last of the bath crystals crumbled away and a gold necklace lay in her cupped palms. A choker with a red stone. “It’s gorgeous. Thank you. What’s the stone? It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“It’s a cabochon ruby. I saw it.” He bent to kiss her neck. “And I knew I needed to make love to you while you wore only that ruby.”

She held it out to him. “Put it on for me.” The chain made of chunky gold links, it felt slightly heavy against her collarbones as he fastened the choker around her throat. She touched the ruby, the weight of the necklace against her skin. “It feels so beautiful. But I can’t see it.” She moaned as he kissed her ear, his warm breath making her shiver.

“I like it on you. “

“Thank you. But you didn’t need to get me anything.”

“But I want to. I want to cover you in jewels.”

“I don’t need them,” she said, wanting him to know that what was between them was never about money or about the jewels he could buy her.

He trailed a hand from the necklace to her breast and pinched a streak of heat from her nipple straight down to her center. Then he followed its trail down into the water, finding her core. With her body pressed to his, the scent of mangos all around them and the bath bomb turning her skin to silk, he brought her to a shuddering full-body climax.

The water was lukewarm when they climbed out, but her body was hot. He stood her in front of the mirror, toweling her dry with a bath sheet. And his gift glowed against her skin, tinged pink with the heat of his touch.

“It makes me look beautiful,” she whispered.

He leaned close, his breath across her ear. “You make the necklace look beautiful.”

When they were dry, he picked her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He must have entered while she was running the bath, because the covers lay at the end of the bed.

“I’m assuming that’s why you gave me two ties instead of one.” He pointed to the head of the bed, where he’d knotted a tie around each of the bedposts.

She laughed. “That’s exactly what I had in mind.” When he set her on her feet, she turned in his arms. “I want to tie you down and have my wicked way with you.”

“It sounds much more fun if I tie you down and make you come until you scream.”

“My gift, my way,” she whispered, trailing her fingers down his chest to his erection.

“If you insist.” Then he took her with a kiss that seared her soul.

Breathless, she pulled back and pointed. “Now stretch out on the bed.”

He spread-eagled himself, and she climbed over him, taking each hand and looping the ties around his wrists. He could easily pull free, but he wrapped his fists around the silk, stretching it taut from the bedpost. “Now,” he murmured. “I beg you to have your wicked way with me.”

“I love the power of sitting astride you.”

His body twitched against her core. She leaned down, her hair falling over them, and kissed him for long, delicious minutes, their tastes mingling, their tongues swirling. Then she crawled down him, torturing his small nipples with licks and bites and pinches until he groaned, “I like your torture.”

“Oh, it gets worse.”

She kissed her way over his abdomen, then curled her hand around him and took him in her mouth. She pleasured him until he bucked against her, his body seeming to react of its own accord. He moaned, he writhed, and then he swore, “I need inside you, God, please.”

Only then did she rise above him, sliding down, taking him deep. His lips stretched with a guttural groan, his fists tightened around the length of silk binding him, and his words came out in a growl, “Torture me some more. Please. I’m begging you.”

She gave it to him exactly the way he wanted it, riding him in slow torture, using him to stroke herself on the inside. Falling over him, she braced her hands on the mattress, and the new angle became a glorious, seductive torment even for her. The climax built inside her, and she reached for it, grabbed it, exploded on him.

Hanging on to the ties, he took over the ride, his body pounding up into her, the bed slamming into the wall with the rhythm of his thrusts. Then he swore through gritted teeth and his body throbbed inside her, filling her, words bursting from his mouth as he burst inside her. “Christ, I love you. I love you so damn much.”

He slipped his wrists loose of the ties. It had been so sensual, letting her do whatever she wanted. He liked the way the necklace clung to her throat like a brand, a symbol of ownership for all the world to see.

He whispered to her as she lay nestled against him, “You’re mine.”

She curled her fingers in his chest hair. “And you’re mine.”

“We belong to each other.”

He didn’t ask her to marry him. He didn’t even beg her. But she was his. The time would come when he would never have to leave her. Because he couldn’t live without this, without her. And whatever he had to do to keep her forever, he would.

What he felt for her gave him no other choice.