“Why are you here instead of him?”
“Because she asked me first.” She cocked her head at me. “Are you always this nosy?”
When I was anxious about something, yeah, I was. I found it easier to keep my mind off my troubles when I listened to someone else talk about their life. Patch’s voice wasn’t so bad either. It had a soothing cadence that paired well with a sultry tone I was pretty sure she wasn’t aware of.
“Is she coming?” I avoided her question, but she was so absorbed in her drink she didn’t seem to notice.
“Supposed to tomorrow.” She swirled her frozen concoction. “I’m not sure I want her to.”
Honey eyes met mine, and suddenly there was less space in my shorts. Of all the come-ons I’d heard in my life, this was the best. From a librarian. A sexy as hell, no bun, glasses, or stick up her ass librarian.
“I—”
She grabbed my arm and whisper-hissed, “Hide me!”
I turned around to see what had her so suddenly in a panic, but she yanked harder until our heads were inches apart.
“What the hell?”
Her response was to bury her face in my neck. Mine was to pull her between my legs and wrap my arms around her. She smelled like cinnamon and rum. The fine strands of her hair were soft against my skin, a tease that had my hold on her tightening before I realized what I was doing.
She slowly lifted her head, but then quickly dropped it back down.
“This is an interesting turnabout,” I said in her ear. “I’m not complaining, but I distinctly got the impression you don’t care for me all that much.”
She peeked around and, when satisfied that the threat had dissipated, shoved at me.
“I don’t like you.” A delicate hand that had clutched my arm only seconds before pushed, not so gently, at my chest.
I grinned and squeezed her hip. “Not sure I’m buying that, Patch.”
“My best friend’s dickhead fiancé, the one who left her at the altar yesterday, he’s here. With another woman. That’s why I don’t want her to come.”
Smithe
* * *
“Didn’t know drama was included in the price of admission.”
He still hadn’t let me go. I ignored the little voice inside asking ‘why do you want him to?’ and pushed on his shoulders. A lopsided grin temporarily made me forget why I disliked him so.
“Let go of me.” Abruptly, he did, and my ass landed on the edge of my barstool.
Doyle and his new toy had settled into a high-top table out on the beach. If I stayed in the bar, it would only be a matter of time before I was discovered. Problem was, I didn’t have anywhere else to go.
I snatched Painkiller number two like it held all the answers and sucked hard on the straw. The frozen drink did little to cool my overheated body, but went a long way toward helping erase this shitshow of a day. My limbs felt loose as my cocktail shaded the world a lot brighter than it had been before the rum. That buzzing? It had nothing to do with this stranger who didn’t feel so much like a stranger and his stupid muscular arms and that stupid minty scent I’d gotten a noseful of while I’d hidden in his neck.
I poked at his leg to make sure it was the alcohol instead of actual attraction. Nothing. All rum. Definitely not the sexy seatmate who had abs of steel and floppy hair that I absolutely didn’t feel while I was latched onto him. I couldn’t be held responsible for what my hands did while under the influence of Caribbean rum, or air for that matter.
I poked his leg again. Hmm. That could’ve been sparks. Better test that out.
This time when I touched his muscular thigh, he grabbed my finger. “What are you doing?” he asked cautiously, like my answer might bite him.
“I was seeing if—” I cut myself off before the alcohol made me act like I was in a confessional. “Your shorts are made of cotton,” I finished, proud of my quick thinking. Then I looked at his hand on mine and frowned. It felt nice, better than nice, and maybe not just because of the rum.
“I think it might be time to call it a day.” He motioned toward the bartender for the tab. “I’ll help you to your room.”
“Then you’re a miracle worker.” I downed more of my cocktail.
He signed the check. “Once you relax, you’ll be ready to go again.”
“Where do you suggest I do that? Under a palm tree?” The happy-go-lucky buzz was short-lived, shifting to the grouchy monster side.
He glanced past me to where my purse and carry-on bag were perched on the seat beside me. “You haven’t checked in?”
I snorted. “Her ex already took the room, and you’ll never believe this, but turns out a lot of people want to come here. There aren’t any rooms.” I waved my hand toward the crowded beach. “Personally, I don’t get it, but hey, maybe a sexcapade could be interesting.”
“Kinda hard when everyone else is taken,” he said with a secretive smile.
“Where’s your other half?” I asked sullenly as the image of someone else’s fingers in his floppy hair played in my mind.
“Don’t have one.” He stood, and I caught a trace of the pepperminty scent again. “Patch, I think you and me are the only single people on this island.”
“I won’t be on it for long,” I mumbled. My loose limbs turned leaden. Moving off the barstool became an effort I wasn’t sure I could make.
He grabbed my bags and hoisted them on his shoulder. “Want your shirt back?”
Without waiting for an answer, he took off toward the boardwalk.
“Where are you going?” I peeled myself off the stool and hurried to catch up with him, his strides long and purposeful as he moved.
“To our room.”
I caught his arm, but that didn’t slow him down. He shifted so that my fingers were twined with his. Warmth that I was sure had nothing to do with the weather or alcohol shot through me.
“I don’t even know your name,” I protested.
“If you asked, I’d tell you.”
I wouldn’t on principle. Not now anyway, even though I wanted to know. “I just met you.”
“We’ve been through a lot. We survived a vomit comet. We’ve worked out this issue you have with your ex. I’d say that makes us more than strangers.”
“My issue with my ex?!” I screeched. He didn’t know the first thing about it.
“Okay, so we’re not quite through it, but we will be.” He stopped in front of a beachfront bungalow. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”
I froze as soon as we were inside, sobering up another notch. I’d spent hours looking at photos of the rooms with Roxy, but nothing could have prepared me for how spectacular they were in the flesh. Turquoise and white spanned the view out the back sliding glass doors which took up the entire length of the bungalow. There was no one on the beach. It was private, just as the website promised.
A king-sized bed dominated the simple decor. White linens against a driftwood headboard begged to be mussed.
“Don’t get used to it. I’m only here for tonight,” he called over his shoulder as he set my things on an aquamarine sofa. “Tomorrow you may have to bunk with your best friend, her fiancé, his friend, and the best man.”
“Under a palm tree sounds better.”
He grinned and offered me a bottle of water. “Change into your swimsuit. We’ve got a few more hours of sunshine left and a whole beach to ourselves.”
“I don’t have my luggage,” I reminded him.
“You came to paradise and didn’t throw a bathing suit in your emergency kit?” he asked in mock horror.
I tossed a throw pillow at him. “I packed at five this morning. Give me a break.”
“Underwear is really the same as a suit.” He shucked his shirt and dropped it on the bed.
For the second time today, I stared at the sculpted planes like it was my job. When he turned away and strode into the closet, the view was just as good. That was a back to rake fingernails down.
Whoa. When had I ever thought
about a man that way? Never.
I unzipped my bag and frantically pulled out my paperbacks, praying that by some miracle I had actually packed a bathing suit in my emergency stash. A Tasmanian devil couldn’t have kept up with me. I reached the bottom in no time…no swimsuit.
“Are you a traveling librarian?”
I wheeled around. “No.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “You’ve got an awful lot of books with you. How many is that? Ten? Fifteen?”
“Nine, thank you very much. I’m supposed to be here for a couple of weeks, and I’ll finally have time to read.” I kept my posture defensive and my tone even more so.
“I thought that’s what librarians did all the time.”
My eyes bulged. “You’re unbelievably rude in your assumptions.”
“Where are your glasses and bun?” He grinned as he stalked toward me. When close enough to touch, he fingered a strand of my hair and studied it as if he couldn’t understand why it was down.
“I only bring them out for special occasions,” I huffed.
His laughter echoed around the bungalow and made a direct hit on me. It rattled around, temporarily derailing my irritation with him.
“I look forward to that.” He winked and pulled lightly on my hair. “You won’t need a book just yet. The water looks amazing.”
“I’m not going swimming.” I folded my arms, but stopped short of stomping my foot.
“And here I thought you weren’t shy.” He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Have fun inside.”
Through the open sliding glass door, salt air hit my face. He stretched out on a lounge chair, those abs tightening as he placed his hands behind his head. The legs that had barely stuffed into the first class seat were on full display, thick and muscular and—why the hell was I in here when I could be out there?
This was crazy to be so trusting with a stranger, yet he made me feel safe. I shrugged off my clothes in record time, hesitating when I reached the back door. My body hadn’t seen the sun since two summers ago, and I had sock line dimples. On a deep breath, I stepped over the threshold. I’d show him shy.
Hale
* * *
I choked on a swallow of water.
She dropped into the chair beside me without a word and patted my shoulder. Librarians did not wear underwear like that. If they did, I didn’t want to think about it considering my sister, father, and grandmother were all in the profession.
Barely-there black lace was a stark contrast against her pale skin. Her breasts nearly spilled over the thin cups of her bra which did little to disguise her taut nipples. I drummed my fingers to keep from touching her. When I’d suggested she swim in her underwear, I’d expected panties up to her belly button and a bra built for comfort, not this. I couldn’t continue to lay next to her without her effect on me becoming noticeable.
“I’m going for a swim.” My voice was scratchy as I hustled from the lounger toward the water without looking back.
As soon as I was waist deep, I ducked under in an attempt to clear the image of black lace over dusky nipples from my head. By the time I couldn’t hold my breath any longer, it was still all I envisioned. If I drowned, though, I’d never see the real thing again.
When I came up and wiped the water away from my eyes, what I saw tempted me to go back below the surface. She was headed toward me, all creamy skin and—damn. I recognized what I’d missed before. Those panties weren’t the kind that barely covered the ass. She had on a thong.
Sweet Jesus, someone slap me.
If I hadn’t opened my big mouth, she’d still have on jeans and that sweater jacket thing, I’d still have my assumptions about what was underneath, and she’d be at the bar, drowning her sorrows. I found I didn’t much care for the thought of her alone and having had too much to drink with no place to go.
“You look like you stepped on a jellyfish,” she said as she splashed into the surf.
I tried to look away, really I did, but when the lace got wet and clung to her skin…I was a man. She was a beautiful woman. What was I supposed to do?
Don’t touch her. Don’t touch her.
She swam toward me, dolphin style. When she surfaced, her hair was plastered to her face, and her bra…fuck me. Her breasts had been too much for the lace. They’d popped free, and my view of her puckered nipples was unobstructed.
She dipped back beneath the water, giving me a temporary reprieve until I realized I could still see everything perfectly in the crystal clear ocean. As she came back up for air, she slicked her hair back and smudged her mascara in the process. Somehow that made her more endearing.
I wiped away the black streak with my thumb. She parted her lips and went stock still.
“You had a little something.” I wiped under the other eye even though nothing was there, just to get another reaction out of her.
This time, she stopped breathing for a fraction of a second before she exhaled loudly. I dropped my arm to my side.
She looked down and squealed, her hands flying to her breasts. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I figured you could feel it.”
No matter how she pulled on the wet lace, it wouldn’t stay over her exposed skin.
Finally, she gave up and sank below the water line. She grunted when she realized everything was still on display.
“I always wondered if this water was really as clear as it looks in pictures.” I couldn’t divert my eyes no matter how my brain warned it was the right thing to do. She cupped her breasts to try to cover them up, but that was worse. My mind darted into the territory of her touching herself. I just kept staring and couldn’t stop.
A mutter that sounded an awful lot like “fuck it” came from her direction. She spread her arms wide to balance while she floated on her back, breasts wet, exposed, and pointed toward the sky.
Kill me now.
Maybe swimming laps until it got dark might help. Then I’d be too exhausted to lust after this unexpectedly free spirit. Instead, I shifted to my back and floated beside her. Lust was more fun than laps.
“Why do you call me Patch?” she asked after a long while.
“Because you fix things. I had a problem, and you patched me up.”
A “hmph” escaped her, and she was quiet again for a moment. “What’s your name?”
I bit my lip to keep from grinning. “Wouldn’t we usually go through pleasantries before we get naked?”
“I’m not naked.” She glanced down at her exposed breasts. “Not completely.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you might as well not be wearing those panties either. They don’t cover much.”
She butterflied her arms to move away from me. “Never mind. I don’t care what your name is.”
I rolled and swam toward her. “Might be a good idea to know before we spend the night together.”
She cast a haughty look in my direction. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“You’re the one who brought up a sexcapade.” I tried to keep a straight face as hers turned a bright red.
“I’m not having sex or sleeping with you,” she spat.
I dipped down until my nose was inches from hers. “When’s the last time?”
“That’s none of your business.”
I got that she was already way out on a limb even sharing a room with a stranger. She’d soon enough figure out my intentions were only the best. “No strings. Just pleasure. Think you could handle it?”
She fidgeted and splashed. “I’m not having a sexcapade with you.”
“You’ve checked out my chest six times since we met. You’ll have a hard time selling that you aren’t attracted to me.”
“You’re staring at my nipples like a teenage boy who’s never seen breasts before,” she shot back.
“I haven’t, like yours.” I swirled my hands in the water so I didn’t touch those nipples which were puckered like they were begging me to.
“You’re full of shit.”
“I may
do a lot of things, but I don’t lie.”
“Did you plan this?” she demanded, dropping to her feet. Her breasts floated on the water, but I kept my focus on her pissed-off face.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Somehow you made sure I wouldn’t have a room so I’d be forced to share yours.” The accusation hung between us, and the whole thing was suddenly a little less of a turn-on.
“I don’t have to lure women into my bed.” I floated away from her.
“Yeah, right, you don’t lure them in at all, with that laugh, and you’re all pepperminty and have muscles like rocks. And you’re nice sometimes.”
I stopped moving. “If you get in my bed, it’ll be because you want to be there. But I’ve got a big day tomorrow, and I ain’t sleeping on the couch.”
I swam toward the shore, done with being called a pepperminty creep.
As I toweled off, her head bobbed in the water near the beach. “Will you bring me a towel, please?” The nice words sounded like they’d taken all the effort she had.
“Sorry, Patch. I’ve done all my good deeds for the day.”
Smithe
* * *
I made a mad dash for the lounge chairs, grateful the beach was deserted. There wasn’t a towel in sight, not even the one I’d laid on before we’d gone for a swim. Jackass.
I marched into the bungalow soaking wet and went straight for the bathroom. In the center of the room next to a giant stone tub, the man who was quickly becoming the bane of my existence dropped his swim trunks.
He glanced over his shoulder as my eyes glued to his ass. Of course it was as muscular as the rest of him.
“Ever heard of knocking?”
“No.” I unhooked my bra as I moved toward the shower. With an aggressive turn of the taps, water jetted from the rainhead above. I peeled my wet underwear off and tossed it over the glass door.
“I don’t need a souvenir,” he said acidly. “And you’re already down to two pairs of emergency panties, though if the rest of them look like this, I’m not sure they qualify as clothing in any capacity.”
Spring Fling Page 3