Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  She doesn’t even notice my fumbling, but now my nerves are stronger than ever. We can’t do this. I can’t date Jack. I’ll just break it off with him and then I’ll never have to tell Helen, and sure I really think I love him, but there are other fish in the sea and lots more cowboys where he came from. Phew, glad that’s settled.

  “Jack!” someone shouts in the living room, and the subject of all of my fantasies has just arrived. I can hear him greeting guests in the other room with that husky, deep voice, and my heart is a fluttering little mess. My hands are shaking so badly, I have to stop chopping carrots.

  Helen smiles. “Oh, Jack’s here!”

  I keep my mouth zipped shut. The only reaction that won’t give us away is a non-reaction.

  When I don’t move, she quirks a brow. “Aren’t you going to go say hi?”

  I reply like this: “Oh…hmm…um…yeah…ha!”

  She looks at me like I’ve just suffered a stroke in her kitchen, and then Mr. Sexy Cowboy walks through the doorway and all my well-planned tact flies straight out the window because he’s so handsome, my mouth waters.

  “There you are,” he says with a smile.

  Helen glances between us like she’s confused. I try for the same expression. Yes, I know, Helen—why is he looking at me like he’s seen my panties up close and personal? So strange!

  Jack isn’t having it. He marches right up to me, bends down, and presses a kiss to my lips. My knees buckle a little. When he’s made his point, he pulls back, wraps his hand around my waist, and turns us to face Helen.

  “Helen, your sister was worried about telling you that we’re dating, but you know I’ve always preferred to be direct.”

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  I drop my face into my hands.

  “Wait…what?!” she exclaims.

  What a fun way to die—of pure mortification, right in the middle of my sister’s newly remodeled kitchen.

  “For how long?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…a month?” Jack answers nonchalantly.

  She doesn’t exactly sound upset, which gives me enough courage to glance up at her. Her hand is on her mouth and her eyes are welling up with some fluid that looks a lot like tears.

  I cringe and rush toward her to grab her shoulders so she’s forced to listen to me. “I swear this is as unexpected to me as it is to you. I hated him when I first moved here!”

  Jack nods. “It’s true. I was a real asshole. Also, she wasn’t exactly the ideal hire.”

  “But then we sort of became friends?” I look to him for help. “Right? I don’t know.”

  “No, it’s been more than that on my end for a while—since the rope swing.”

  My mouth drops open. “Even then?”

  He shrugs, all confident and unruffled by this obviously awkward conversation.

  Wow. Okay.

  Then, in the most shocking turn of events, Helen yanks a towel off the counter and rushes over to pop Jack’s bicep.

  “Jack McKnight! I asked you to help my little sister get back on her own two feet, not to leg-sweep her into your damn bed!”

  She winds up the towel again, but he’s learned his lesson and moves out of the way before she gets him again.

  He holds up his hands in defense. “I did help her!”

  “You better not be taking advantage of her,” she snaps with a protective tone.

  I blush a dark red. “Believe me, he’s not.”

  Jack grins at that, which only pisses Helen off more. She’s really going to bat for me, which is definitely a new thing. I like it.

  It takes a bit more convincing before Helen will calm down and stop growling at him about dating “her baby sister”, but she does eventually come around. In fact, she tears up she’s so happy for us.

  “You two—” she sniffles. “I can’t believe it. If you’d asked me before, I would have said it’d never work, but now that I see you together, it makes perfect sense.” She’s shaking her head. “Jesus! What else are you going to surprise me with?! You two aren’t engaged are you? Oh my god, am I going to be an aunt?!”

  I don’t bother telling her it’s actually impossible for me to be pregnant at the moment. Instead, I laugh and shake my head. “I swear this is it. No more surprises.”

  After that, the rest of the night is a whirlwind. Jack and I sit beside each other during dinner and though I’d like to crawl over and sit in his lap, I resist and am a very good dinner guest. I keep my hands to myself, even when, as Helen serves dessert and we’re all sipping coffee, Jack leans back and drops his arm on the back of my chair. I want to reach over and touch his thigh, but I don’t trust myself. My libido has a hair-pin trigger at this point. Sure, I’ve had orgasms, and don’t get me wrong, they’ve been W-O-N-D-E-R-F-U-L, but there’s something missing, something I want even more—something I’ve decided I’m finished waiting for.

  30

  Meredith

  Neither one of us is talking on the drive home. The radio is playing softly in the background, and we’ll be back home in fifteen minutes…fifteen minutes of quiet country roads. I look back over my shoulder and see one of his jackets in the back of the truck, probably forgotten from winter.

  On our right, there’s nothing but cornfields. On the left, rolling hills and oak trees.

  “Does this land belong to Blue Stone?”

  He nods. “It starts back near the edge of town and stretches this way a couple miles.”

  Good.

  “Pull over up there, where the road cuts into the cornfield.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see something.”

  “A cornfield?”

  Not exactly.

  Despite the skepticism in his tone, he listens and pulls off the road. We dip between the rows of corn.

  “Keep going.” The road turns to dirt and there’s nothing but stalks as far as the eye can see. We’re at least a mile from the main road, not another soul in sight.

  “This is good,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt and reaching into the back for his jacket.

  He puts the truck in park and turns, a question in his eyes, but I don’t give it time to surface. I hop out of the truck and round the back so I can lower the tailgate and climb up. Fortunately, it’s empty and pretty clean—not that it would stop me if it wasn’t.

  Jack cuts the engine and steps out, leaving the door open.

  He doesn’t realize we’ll be staying a while.

  “Might want to close your door or that overhead light will kill your battery.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you have planned?”

  I shake out his jacket and drop it on the bed of the truck. I set my phone down and Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” plays softly from the speakers.

  “Oh my god,” he says, shaking his head.

  “Haven’t you figured it out by now?” I ask, stepping to the edge of the truck bed and leaning down to prop my hands on the ledge. I smirk and he steps right up so I can kiss him. His hand wraps around my neck and his fingers twine through my hair, keeping me bent there while he deepens the kiss.

  His fingers massage my neck. His tongue skims against mine and my arms start shaking from the weight of holding myself up. I smile and break the kiss, pressing the back of my hand to my lips.

  His eyes are alight with mischief, but he’s still there on the ground. Maybe I’ll need to do a bit more convincing.

  I move to the first button on my sundress. There are five up top. Each one will reveal a little more of my pale cream bra—the same bra I wore the day we jumped off the rope swing.

  “Y’know, I’m legally a single woman as of today.”

  His brow arches, but his eyes are on my fingers as I slowly tug each button free.

  “That means your excuses have all run out.”

  He shakes his head and waves for me to get down. “Let me take you back to the farmhouse, to a bed.”

  “This is a bed—well, a truck bed. Are you worrie
d someone’ll see us?”

  My taunt brings a little smirk to his lips. He wipes it away and glances down the road, contemplating something. I want to know what he’s thinking. I want to know how much more convincing it’ll take before he climbs up here.

  All five buttons are free and I push the strap of my dress down my shoulder.

  He’s watching me, mesmerized.

  “Meredith,” he warns.

  “Jack.”

  His brown eyes implore me to get down, but I shake my head and offer up a sweet smile.

  I’ve never stripped like this for a man, but it’s exhilarating. I know he wants me as much as I want him. I know he’s scared to hurt me, but I’m not as fragile as he thinks. In fact, I think I’ve proven pretty resilient these last couple months.

  I push the second strap of my dress down, and—oops—the fabric falls to my waist. His eyes skim down, blazing a path across my bare skin. The humor is wiped clean. Now he’s looking at me like a man who’s a little bit angel and a whole lotta devil.

  A summer breeze picks up strands of my hair and wraps me in a gentle warmth. Goose bumps bloom across my skin, and all the while, he stands there, watching me.

  I tug the rest of my dress down and kick my shoes off with it. I’m standing there in my underwear, exposed and vulnerable. He could still force me to get down. He could drag me to the farmhouse and tuck me into bed, but I don’t think he wants to wait any longer either. I think he’s sick of being the responsible one.

  With a groan and a tug of his hand through his hair, he turns and whips the truck door closed. The light cuts off and we’re left under the stars. I blink, trying to force my eyes to adjust faster, but the loss of that sense heightens all the rest. I’m jumpy and nervous as he rounds the truck and hops on up.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he warns with a husky tone before his hands find my waist and he pulls me to face him.

  My bare leg brushes against his denim-clad thigh and he squeezes, holding me tight. His chest crushes mine and I feel so small, so out of my league all of a sudden.

  His head dips down and his breath hits my hair. I shiver even before he presses a kiss just below my ear.

  “Have you ever had sex in the bed of a truck?” I ask, breathless.

  He laughs. “I like to treat women a little better than that.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  He nuzzles against my ear. “I don’t think you realize how uncomfortable it’s going to be for you.”

  I smirk and kiss his cheek. “Not if I’m on top.”

  And I will be. Tonight, my fantasy is coming true.

  We kiss like that, standing in the bed of his truck until I’m panting and writhing and acting like I’m going to spontaneously combust if he doesn’t fulfill my every want and need ASAP. My hands have done the heavy lifting, unbuttoning his jeans and yanking them off as fast as possible. His shirt is gone too, hanging limply on one of the cornstalks after I tossed it out of the truck bed impatiently.

  He tugs me down to sit on his lap as his back rests against the cab of the truck. I straddle him and smile.

  This is exactly what I wanted.

  My bra is gone as quick as his shirt and then there’s the most blissful few seconds of skin on skin, soft breasts against hard muscle. We both sigh against each other and he winds his fingers in my hair, tilting my chin until my mouth is perfectly positioned for him. I want to keep kissing him until my lips stop working, until they’re so chapped that I can’t even talk, but I want something else even more. I roll my hips against him like the beginning of a lap dance.

  There’s a deep groan from the base of his throat and it’s like I just sparked a match. I like that sound. I want to coax that sound out of him again and again.

  It’s just us in this field with nothing but time. I kiss my way down his chest and then stand.

  He stares up at me, and his expression does all the talking, replacing all the hatred Andrew filled my head with. His expression is love, and need, and adoration. His eyes are smoldering as I gently push my underwear down and step out of them.

  The moon is nearly full and bright enough that I’m pretty sure he can see every inch of me.

  I smirk and point down. “Your turn.”

  He laughs. “Oh yeah? So I have to put my ass cheeks on cold metal? Interesting how that worked out.”

  “Oh!” I snap. “That’s why I brought the jacket!”

  I’d almost forgotten about it.

  He stands and I situate the fabric. He tugs off his boxer briefs and my mouth waters. I fist my hands by my sides and do a nice, slow once-over of him. It’s a lot to take in, like a whole lot. He chuckles under his breath and reaches for my hand, tugging me down onto him again. This time, though, he spins me around so my back hits his chest. It’s a new angle, and now we’re both facing out to where the starry sky meets the horizon.

  “Lie back against me,” he says, easing me toward him until my head rests against his shoulder. He cradles me there with one hand around my waist and the other tugging my thighs apart. My knees splay out like butterfly wings and then he traces soft circles up the inside of my thigh.

  Suddenly I feel exposed. Suddenly I feel like we’re out in the middle of nowhere and anyone could wander up at any second.

  “Are you sure we’re alone?”

  He chuckles. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

  Oh god, what have I done?

  He kisses my cheek. “Relax.”

  The second half of that word coincides with his finger sliding inside me. My back arches and can we get this man a slow clap because he really knows what he’s doing. He adds a second finger while his thumb skims little circles across my most sensitive area, the spot where all my hopes and dreams live. I wrap my hands around his neck and hold on for dear life. His other hand (the one not currently BLOWING MY MIND) wraps around my chest and palms my breast. Details hit me from every sense: warm, floral summer air, callused hands, hard muscle, smooth wetness. Any residual shyness has flown out the window. I’m splayed out on top of him like I’m on a pool float, basking in the summer sun, but this is better. I’m basking in Jack and I tell him that. He laughs and his chest rumbles and then his fingers start sliding faster.

  I was ready for him as soon as we turned off the main road. I was even more ready for him after we started kissing in our underwear. Now—now, I’m a puddle, barely sentient. I’ll come any second if he keeps moving his fingers, pumping them into me like that. My hands turn into tiny hooks as he drags his fingers out slowly and brushes soft circles. It’s like he’s giving me a preview of what’s to come. My toes are already curling. I can feel the warning signs—those first delicious sparks—and then I realize I’m speaking. I’m begging him to stop. I know what it feels like to have him bring me to the brink of oblivion like this. It’s so good—applause-worthy—but I will not be distracted from my end goal. I AM GOING TO HAVE SEX WITH THIS HOT COWBOY IN THE BED OF A PICKUP TRUCK LIKE IT’S MY CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT.

  I tell him this, too, and now we’re both laughing, but I’m not distracting him enough, because he’s teasing my breast in a way that’s making it hard to form complete sentences. I know what he’s doing. He likes this position where he’s in charge and I’m nothing but a gasping mess of want. He promises me he’ll make me come again, but NO. I am done waiting. I push his hand away and spin around, reaching for his crumpled jeans.

  “Please tell me you keep a condom in your wallet.”

  If not, I’ll fashion one out of something—a corn husk, perhaps woven grass.

  My aim is to get his wallet from his back pocket, but I’m so impatient, I just end up pawing at his jeans like an animal who lacks opposable thumbs. We’re laughing as he yanks them away from me and extracts the condom, tears it open, and rolls it on with such precision, such grace. He could go to the Olympics for condom application. It’s obvious he’s done this before, and I know I’m in for a treat. I’d rub my hands together like a l
ittle evil mastermind but they’re currently occupied with his very tempting pectoral muscles.

  I sit down on his lap and touch every surface I can get my hands on. Yes, I realize I’m so close to having him inside me. I can feel him beneath me, stiff and demanding, but now maybe I’m not in the same hurry I was a second ago. I have him right where I want him. All that hard, tan muscle is just sitting there waiting for me to touch it. That chest is just the tip of the iceberg. His shoulders are something else. I take hold of them and try to shake him. He doesn’t budge. I move my hands down to his biceps and squeeze, trying to see if I can close my fist. I make it halfway around.

  “It feels like you’re trying to size up what part of me you want to eat first,” he says with a lazy smile.

  I smile wickedly, and then I bend down and sink my teeth into his shoulder, not hard, but he still reaches around and grips my ass. I yelp and release him. It’s tit for tat.

  I go back to my exploration. I’m charting unmapped territory, staking claims with tiny Meredith Avery flags. It’s important to be thorough. I don’t let a single inch escape my notice, not his tight abs or the hair that trails down, down, down. He’s tan everywhere, warm everywhere, hard everywhere.

  “Not in such a hurry now?” he teases, right before he skims his hands up from my ass and grips my hips. He uses his hold on me to drag me back and forth across his length, and I think one of my eyes starts to twitch. He’s taunting me. He’s wearing a devilish smirk I try to wipe away with a kiss, but that was a mistake, because now he’s still dragging me back and forth and he’s kissing me senseless. He slides his tongue into my mouth and this isn’t even foreplay anymore, this is the best sex I’ve ever had and we aren’t even doing it yet. A ripple shoots up my spine, and I pat his shoulder like I’m tapping out of a fight.

  “No…no more of that.”

  There are heavy, hot breaths in between each of my words.

  This is falling apart. I’m falling apart. I was the one to initiate this little bone-a-rama. I was supposed to be the one rocking his world, but there’s no more delaying. We are having sex right now, and if it kills me, then so be it. I lived a good life. Adios.