by Lea Nolan
Stepping between his legs, she set her palms on his hips. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry we didn't come back. I missed you." Her eyes bored into him.
Unable to resist the feel of her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer still. "I missed you, too. You were my favorite part of summer." Heat from her outer thighs warmed the inside of his legs, fueling his desire. Christ, this woman would be the end of him.
Wren smirked. "I thought you liked fishing."
He dipped his head and grinned. "A pretty girl beats a fish any day."
"Thanks. Though I didn't feel very pretty back then." Her eyes cast downward. "Not that I feel so pretty now."
Smith cupped her face with his hands. "You're gorgeous."
She blushed. "You don't have to say that."
"I know I don't. But it's true. You've always been beautiful. Even if you didn't know it." His fingers trailed through her hair at the nape of her neck.
They stared at each other for a long moment, transfixed by the crackling energy that sparked between them.
Finally Wren broke the spell. Rising on her tiptoes, she leaned against his hard core and whispered. "I want to kiss you."
The press of her breasts against his chest was almost impossible to resist. "Then kiss me," Smith rasped, desperate for the taste of her mouth on his.
On a sigh she answered, "But things are—"
He searched her gaze. "What? Complicated? And you only have a few days left on the island?"
She nodded. "Y-yes."
"The only thing that's complicated is how much you think about things. You know what's simple? I like you. And I like liking you." Smith trailed his finger tips down the length of her neck, then along her jaw, stopping just short of her plump and waiting lips. “I like touching you. And kissing you. And I know you like kissing me."
Wren moaned. "I do. God, I do."
"So kiss me, so I can kiss you. All over."
She leaned forward and closed her mouth on his.
Fina-fucking-ly
Their mouths crashed together in an explosion of need, want and passion. She tasted so good, like a fine wine.
When they came up for air Smith drew her closer still. “You liked having me between your legs yesterday, didn't you?" He pressed his pelvis against her, making sure she felt the hot and hard length beneath his jeans.
"Mm-hm," Wren muttered as she rolled her hips against him.
Smith kissed her neck, nipping her skin with his teeth. "I want to do so much more. Show you how beautiful you are. Worship you." Freed from the friend zone, he poured his heart out now, whispering words he'd never dreamed he'd have the chance to say. "Tell me you want me to," he said on a low growl.
A small, high pitched whimper escaped her throat as she dug her nails into his back. "Please, Smith. Please."
Chapter 8
Wren wanted Smith so badly she was sure she'd burst.
This man, this hulking, gorgeous, sexy man wanted her. God help her, but at this moment, she didn't want to think about her life in Baltimore or how long she had left on the island. All she cared about was the here and now, and Smith's electric touch, clutching and stroking her body as his lips met hers.
His tongue darted and flicked against hers, stoking her want. Sliding her hands up his rock hard body, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with every ounce of desire in her body. He owned her, probing and thrusting this tongue, then nibbling at the tender skin of her neck until she thought she’d cry out from the pleasure.
This was like no other kiss she'd had before. In Smith's arms, she was helpless, completely at the mercy of his raw emotion and unbridled passion. If ever she'd yearned to be completely consumed, this was it.
Smith sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, grazing her flesh with his teeth. Wren whimpered at the exquisite pleasure of the pain and dug her nails into his broad shoulders. He pulled back, drinking her in with his lustful blue eyes.
Her chest heaved. "Why did you stop?"
A dangerous smile curled his lips. "Oh darlin', I've only just begun."
Yanking off his pullover, he tossed it onto the bench, leaving him in a long sleeved T-shirt and dark jeans that were tight in just the right places. His eyes smoldered as he spun her around so her back was against the railing, then set to work unfastening the tiny buttons on her shirt. When he was done, he yanked the ends until they came loose from her pants. Cool ocean air blew on her exposed chest, a bracing counterpoint to the heat swelling between her legs.
Smith bent and kissed the tops of her breasts, licking her pale skin. Shifting slightly lower, he laid his mouth on her lacy bra cup and bit her right nipple.
She sucked in a breath as her back arched and a chill raced over her body. "Do the other," she pled.
Just as she commanded, he blew hot air on her left nipple before clamping the hardened nub between his teeth.
She squealed and dragged her fingernails across his scalp.
Smith played at her breasts for another delicious minute until her nipples strained against the soaked fabric. When he found her mouth again, his tongue probed deep as his hands dropped to her waist and worked at the button on her jeans.
A moment later, her pants were open and his fingers slid beneath the elastic of her panties. Her breath caught as his fingertips glided over her hot, swollen flesh, exploring her folds and teasing her opening. Smith's light, tickling touch nearly drove her mad until he finally settled on one perfect spot. There, his finger circled and flicked until her core ached with sweet agony. Wet and needy, her brain screamed for more, something, anything to sate her feverish desire.
As if he'd read her mind, he sunk to his knees and yanked her jeans down to her ankles.
Panic gripped. Wren's eyes flew open and she looked down at his gorgeous face. "Smith, I don't—"
He glanced up through dark lashes. "Shh. Trust me."
She clutched his wide shoulders and swallowed hard. "But I've never..." The hushed words died in her throat. How could she explain that at thirty-four years old, she'd never had a man go down on her before?
His eyes softened, conveying the depth of his understanding. He tenderly took her hands in his. "Let me worship you, Wren. Let me show you how a man should treat a woman as precious as you are."
When he put it that way, how could she resist? Wren had spent years wondering what it would feel like, and this was her chance to find out. She nodded, breathless. "Yes. Show me."
Smith grinned. "I can't wait to taste you."
His fingers hooked her panties and slid them down her legs. The brisk air on her bare backside sent a chill over her skin. An instant later, the sensation was forgotten when he spread her legs and placed his hot, wet mouth on her. His tongue stroked her flesh then flicked at her core. Shuddering, she clutched his shoulders to stay upright.
A hungry rumble escaped his throat as Smith reached around her hips and cupped both sides of her backside. Pulling her close, he tilted her pelvis, granting him greater access to her most private area.
Wren melted under his touch as his tongue worked its magic, licking and probing her swollen flesh. Her head rolled back as she drowned in sensation. This was amazing. And so worth the wait. She'd definitely missed out all those years with selfish and self-centered boyfriends who'd asked for oral sex but never returned the favor. But even if they had, it was impossible to believe they'd have half Smith's expert skill or masterful touch.
Just when Wren didn't think she could take any more, his mouth clamped right where she needed him most and sucked, sending a shock of pure pleasure straight through her core. She whimpered as her legs went weak and tension coiled in her stomach. Her fingers buried in his hair, drawing him closer, deeper.
He answered her unspoken plea by shifting his hand so his thumb entered her opening while his tongue flicked faster, and his mouth sucked harder than before. She cried out as her body locked and a shimmering yellow light burst behind her closed lids. Waves of pleasure pulse
d as Smith held her in his strong, sure grip.
Wrung out in the best possible way, Wren opened her eyes to find him staring at her, an expression of gratitude on his face. "Thank you," he said, his voice hushed as he set her on her feet. Slowly, reverently, he pulled her panties back in place.
She stroked his cheek. "Thank you. That was..." Wren sighed, searching for the words to describe how absolutely world-rocking the experience had been. Stumped, she settled for a poor substitute. "Perfect."
Smith slid her jeans up to her waist, fastened them closed, then rose to his full height. Towering over her, he cupped her jaw in his hands. "You're perfect." Dipping his head, he kissed her. The lingering taste of her own sex was an unexpected turn-on. They locked in another embrace, his mouth devouring her once again.
When they finally parted, breathing hard and drunk with lust, Wren set her palm on his chest. She needed to speak the thought running through her mind before he kissed her again and erased her brain. "I'm not perfect. Far from it. I'm actually kind of a mess."
He brushed a stray lock of hair off her face. "Aren't we all?"
"Maybe. But the last six months. . . " Tears pricked the back of her eyes, but she forced them back, refusing to cry in front of Smith. "I was so hurt. And so alone."
Smith pressed his palm against her hand. Beneath it, she felt the beat of his heart. "You don't have to be alone anymore. I'm here. And I'm nothing like that douchebag." His fingertips stroked the length of her jaw. "Give me a chance, Wren. Give us a chance."
She met his gaze. "I've never done this right. Something always goes wrong."
Smith's brow arched. "That's because you've never been with me."
Wren couldn't help but laugh. The only way he could be more cocky was if he actually transformed into a rooster.
Still he had a point. She was sick and tired of being sad all the time. Of feeling so crammed full of hurt and anger she could vomit. Or locking herself in her office to cry her eyes out while her asshole ex-fiancé laughed it up at happy hour.
Maybe things could be different with Smith. Even though they hadn't seen each other in years, the last few days felt as comfortable as slipping into an old pair of jeans. He knew her, and she knew him. Their shared history had to count for something.
But one worry still nagged.
Her fingers brushed against the soft cotton of his sleeve. "Aren't you afraid we'll wreck our friendship?" she asked.
Smith chuckled. "We've already moved way beyond friendship. Being with you this week has been better than I ever imagined. You can't tell me you haven't felt it, too." He gripped her hips and pulled her close.
"I have. Especially today." Wren's cheeks flushed with heat as she relieved the sensation of his mouth probing her.
"Do you want me to stop doing this?" He kissed her neck, her collar bone, the top of her breast.
A shiver raced over her skin. "No. I'd very much like you to keep doing that," she answered, breathless.
Smith pulled back just enough to bore into her gaze. "Then stop second guessing everything and spend the rest of the week with me." His expression was so solemn, it felt like more than just a request. He was asking for something weighty, something important. Something precious.
Wren stared up at his gorgeous, kind face. Of course she wanted him. He was Smith Connors, hands down, the sexiest man she'd ever known. And he'd just given her more pleasure than any partner ever had. More than that, he cooked like an artist and had built one of the most famous restaurants in the region. She'd been impressed by his accomplishments before she knew about his learning disabilities, but now she was in awe. He was the total package. She could spend the next few days in his arms—and hopefully his bed—blissfully ignoring the rest of the world.
She nodded and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'd like that. A lot."
Wren was smack in the middle of a sexy dream about Smith when her phone rang and ruined everything.
On a groan, she woke to the harsh realization that he wasn't laying on top of her, his broad arms encircling her, and his mouth was very definitely not on her breast.
Dreams like that didn't come around often. And they most definitely deserved to run their natural course.
The cell blared again.
On the chance it was the man himself offering to stop by for a special good morning, she shot out her hand from beneath the covers and snatched the phone from the bedside table.
With her eyes closed, she swiped her thumb across the screen and brought it to her ear.
"Hello?" her voice was thick with sleep.
"Oh jeez, don't tell me I woke you,” Raven answered, her voice echoing through a speakerphone.
"What tipped you off?" Wren asked.
"Oh, I don't know, you sound like you're recovering from an all-night kegger."
More like a late night sitting at the bar at Harbor's Edge, watching Smith preside over his restaurant with utmost finesse and precision. He was in his element, confident and commanding, yet still warm and engaging to all his customers and employees. And so damn sexy, she barely restrained herself from dragging him into a stock room for a replay of their encounter at Heron Point. But the night had worn on, and after two glasses of wine, Wren had gotten sleepy, and since Smith had an early morning meeting with a distributor, they decided to call it a night and settled for some knee-wobbling kisses at her front door when he walked her home after closing.
Wren groaned. "I haven't been to a kegger since my junior year in college."
Raven laughed. "Maybe that's your problem. You need to get out more."
"I get out."
"Leaving your house to go to work doesn't count."
Damn her sister for knowing her so well. Fortunately for Wren, that sisterly knowledge went both ways.
"You're one to talk. You're more of a workaholic than I am."
"That's because I'm married to my job. It's more reliable than a husband. Please tell me you haven't been lying in bed all week, gorging on ice cream, and giving in to despair."
"I haven't," Wren said.
"I don't believe you. It's eleven o'clock in the morning. You should've been up hours ago."
If you looked up ball buster in the dictionary, Raven's picture was the centerfold.
Wren pushed the covers off her head and sat up. The bright morning light made her squint. "First, I'm on vacation. If I want to stay up all night and sleep all day, I will. And second, I've gotten out this week. Quite a lot, actually," she said, a little too smugly.
Raven gasped, giddy. "Oh my God. You've been boinking Smith Connors."
"I'm not boinking him. At least not yet. And don’t call it boinking. We're not in middle school. Besides, he's more complicated than you think. Yes, he's hotter than hell but he's also amazing. Kind. Funny. Accomplished. And good Lord, can he cook."
"Uh huh. He's also the most eligible bachelor in Delaware, according to The Delawarian."
Not for the rest of the week. For the next few days he was all Wren's. Still, she didn't like the unspoken implication of her sister's words.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Wren asked.
"Nothing. Just...don't expect things to get too serious. It's one thing if you're just screwing around⎯I mean, with all his practice, I assume he's more than adequate in that department? Please tell me he's as good as he looks."
"Don't you worry about him. Or me, for that matter. I can take care of myself," Wren said.
"I know. But you just got over one heartbreak. I'd hate to see you crushed by another."
"I'm the big sister. You're not the boss of me. Did you call just to harass me?"
Raven's tone turned flat. "No. I had something important to tell you. Actually, to warn you about."
A knot twisted in Wren's gut. "Is it Lark? Is she okay?" For the most part, their free-spirited sister’s adventures turned out fine. But Wren and Raven had received enough middle-of-the-night calls pleading for emergency money transfers for repairs, tow trucks, and once even
for bail, to have cause for worry.
"She's fine. Doing a bunch of craft shows along the Pacific Coast Highway," Raven answered.
"Then what's the matter?" Anxiety pricked up the tiny hairs at the back of Wren's neck.
"If I tell you, you have to promise not to log into your social media accounts. I mean it. No Facebook, no Instagram. Nothing."
"Raven, you're scaring me. Tell me."
A beat of silence passed. Then a second. Raven picked up the receiver from the speaker phone. "Pierce and Lolita got married. In Jamaica. Yesterday."
Bile rose up the back of Wren's throat.
That thieving asshole. Pierce had gotten the best of her one last time. Wren had not only funded his vacation, she'd paid for his wedding.
She wanted to kick herself for falling for his bullshit excuses for not paying her back.
"Say something," Raven said.
Wren forced out a cleansing breath. "I suppose I'm not surprised. After everything he's done, I should have expected they'd elope while they were down there."
"He's her problem now. And she's his. Eventually, they'll end up making each other miserable. It's inevitable," Raven said, as only she could.
"Does it make me a horrible person to hope that happens?"
Raven laughed. "Are you kidding? I'm praying it does."
A small amount of burden eased from Wren's shoulders. "Thanks."
"Listen, I've got a meeting in five. Promise me you won't get online. You don't need to see any of it. Just get dressed, find Smith, and take all those messy emotions out on him. But in a good way. You know what I mean."
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks for telling me. I think." Wren forced a dry laughed.
She hung up, then laid back in bed and stared at the ceiling.
She didn't have to see their stupid wedding pictures or read the comments filled with well wishes.
She didn't care what Lolita wore.
And she certainly didn't need to see the luxury resort in the background of those horrible pictures, either.
But she got up anyway.