by Lush, Tamara
“Tan lines,” I murmur, tracing the edges of the pale triangles around her tits. “Did I ever tell you they turn me on?”
“About ten times.” She laughs, then her breath catches in her throat when I take her nipple in my mouth. “How was your day?”
I look up. “Long. Frustrating. I’ll tell you about it later. But I missed you.”
Her eyes widen, as if she’s shocked I’d say such a thing.
“Don’t believe me?” I guide her hand to my dick, which is rock hard.
“I missed you, too,” she blurts. And squeezes.
I groan and shift down her body, kissing her stomach. “I need to check the tan lines down here.”
“You sure you don’t want me to shower first?”
I undo the ties at her hips and strip away her tiny pink bikini bottom. Now I smell suntan, coconut, and the musky scent from her sex.
I was wrong before. This is the perfect scent.
“Nope.”
Gently, I open her legs, making sure her broken ankle is safely propped on the nearby coffee table. We’ve had to get creative with positions.
“You’re not going to undress?”
I don’t look her in the eye because I’m too busy staring at her beautiful pussy. “Not yet.”
When I give her a long lick, she squirms away. “I should shower.”
“Please, no. If you want to, you can. But I think you smell and taste fucking perfect. Please? I like the way you are like this. All sweaty and raw. All swollen and pink.”
I eat her pussy like I’m starving, and within a few minutes, she’s gasping and crying out my name. Feeling her come on my tongue is the most satisfying thing I’ve experienced in years.
“Max, how do you do that?” She’s panting, her legs spread, her face flushed. Her hair’s big and disheveled. I’ve undressed and am groping for a condom I’d stuffed in my wallet earlier.
“Do what?” I tear the foil packet open. Even though this isn’t the first time we’ve had sex, I still shake a little during this part. Maybe I’m nervous because she’s so gorgeous. Or because I want to make every second perfect for her.
“Make me come so fast?”
I climb on top of her, guiding my cock into her. She gasps as I fill her.
“Chemistry, cupcake. Chemistry. We’ve got it.”
“Yeah, we do. You feel so good. Max…” she mewls when I enter her sublime, drenched pussy.
And for the next half hour as I fuck her slow and deep, our chemistry tangles, collides and explodes.
* * *
“So I was thinking.”
We’re mashed together on the sofa, naked. Her legs are propped over mine, and the sun is setting, which means the fading Florida sunshine is pouring into the room, giving Lauren’s skin the most beautiful bronze tone.
“Mmm. You want to go watch the sunset from the balcony? We should get dressed. Unless you want the whole beach to see us naked,” she kisses my jaw.
I gather her hair up in one hand. “Nah, we can see the highlights from here.”
“Oh, you were thinking about something else.”
“Yeah. I was thinking about staying here longer.”
“Here, on Paradise?” Her eyes are fully open now.
I nod. “My meeting today didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. The company gave me a lowball offer for the resort, which was insulting. Then Natalia and I talked about possibly renovating and running the place ourselves.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” She’s studying my face as if she’s trying to decipher hieroglyphs. “Don’t you have a company in New York?”
“I do, but I also have a partner. He owns the majority of the shares, fifty-one percent. So I was thinking about taking a leave. Turning things over to him for six months or a year so I could really whip this place into shape. God knows I’ve learned enough over the years about what makes a well-run resort.”
She nods slowly. “And your parents? Your brothers and sisters? It seemed like you were working hard to sell this for all of them.”
“Mom and Dad could still go on vacation and when they return, slide into semi retirement. Natalia and I will continue to run the place.”
“And the others?”
“Well, Damien doesn’t have a say. He’s never been interested in the place. Remy will go along with whatever we want. Tate? I don’t know. I haven’t talked with him. He’s got his own law firm, though. But I’d still ask his opinion.”
“Your family seems really close. I like that about all of you.” She trails a finger over my bicep. “My family’s the complete opposite. Always bickering, never working together. That’s why I don’t go home.”
The shameful look in her eyes is too much to bear. Normally she looks so proud, so confident. Those few sentences about her family, and the tension in her body, speak volumes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pulling her close.
“It’s okay,” she mumbles. “I’ve made peace with it. But I like the idea of you staying. It makes sense, and I’m sure your family would be grateful.”
After a quick kiss to her forehead, I break away. “I was thinking if I stay, you might stay, too.”
“What?” She blinks several times.
Oh, shit. Did I say too much, too fast?
“I mean, I’m not saying we should get married or anything.” I let out a laugh-snort. “But I was thinking you can hang here as long as you’d like. Since we’re officially friends with benefits and all. Might be fun for us to spend the spring together, you know?”
“Yeah, it might be.” She bites her lip. A frisson of worry wrinkles her forehead, similar to when she’d first seen the nasty comments on the viral wedding video.
An awkward silence descends over us, and it suddenly feels weird to be so naked in the waning sunlight. I think I’ve just said the wrong thing. Tried to go too fast, too soon.
“So, about that sunset?” I shift as if I’m about to get up.
“Yeah,” she sits up quickly, as if she’s trying to distance herself. “Maybe we can grab drinks and go watch?”
Of all the reactions I anticipated, this wasn’t the one I thought I’d receive. Then again, my track record with women sucks and doesn’t look like it’s getting any better.
Lauren’s got a bad case of wanderlust. And it’s not like she’s ever mentioned she wanted a relationship.
I need to lighten the fuck up. This is a fling, and I shouldn’t try to turn it into something more because I’m momentarily happy.
After all, happiness is at its most intense when it’s based on lust, and that’s what this is between Lauren and me, right?
Nineteen
Lauren
“Tell me, who’ll be at this party? Any old girlfriends?”
I cringe at my words. I’m not the jealous type, but somehow my nerves about this dinner party have turned me into someone who gives a crap about things like old girlfriends. We’re in Max’s SUV, headed to the home of one of his high school buddies.
It’s our first non-family outing together, and my stomach feels like it’s doing somersaults. I tug at my blue cotton maxi-dress.
“It’s at Jonathan’s, my best friend from high school. He’s a day trader, real smart guy. Works from home. Met his wife in college; she’s pregnant with their first. There will also be four other couples.” Max lists a few names, including a couple I met at Damien and Kate’s wedding.
My stomach settles down. I can do this. I can act like a normal person and attend a simple party with people who don’t care about Instagram metrics. Being Max’s official girlfriend for the night is no big deal, either.
I’m stupidly worried about standing out, seeming young, acting like a screw-up who doesn’t have a job, a career, a future.
Max reaches for my hand. “And, since you asked, yes. Jonathan’s sister, Cara, will be there. I took her to prom.”
I grin. “I knew it.”
“What?” He’s impossibly cute when he smiles and shows his dimples.
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“That eventually we’d run into one of your high school girlfriends.”
He takes a left off Paradise Beach’s Main Street, then a right, and we’re at the waterfront. Large, new homes dot the street, and we pull into the driveway of a sprawling, three-story modern home. Max parks behind a Porsche SUV and turns to me.
“You’ll be great. They’ll love you. Cara and I were just friends. You have nothing to worry about with her. Trust me. And I need to remind you of something.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re the only woman I’ve been with in a long time. Don’t forget that. Had I wanted to hook up with someone when I came here, I would have, long before you arrived. I might seem like I’m a sex-obsessed pervert, but I’m actually quite selective.”
He leans in and plants a soft kiss on my lips, and I grin against his mouth.
“Let’s do this,” he whispers. “Don’t move; I’ll get your door.”
Max comes around to my side. It’s been two weeks since I broke my ankle, and during today’s doctor’s visit, I switched to a walking cast, a contraption that’s less cumbersome than the air cast, but still wraps my ankle and foot in Velcro and plastic.
“I’m doing better,” I grumble, as he helps me out of the car.
“The doctor said you shouldn’t attempt anything strenuous for another four to six weeks,” Max reminds me. He should know, because he took a couple of hours off and went with me to the appointment.
“I know, but I think I can handle the thirty feet from the car to the front door. With your help.” I thread my arm through his, and we shuffle off.
“You’re doing great, cupcake. No need to rush.”
This man has a well of patience, and it’s shocking he’s still putting up with me.
The door to the modern home flings open, and a tall guy with blond hair and a long face greets us.
“Maximus,” he booms, stepping outside and reaching for Max.
“Hey, man. Great to see you.” The two embrace, and Max pulls away, his hand still on the other man’s shoulder. “Jonathan, this is Lauren. Lauren, Jonathan. This guy and I were inseparable in high school, played football together. He would’ve come to Damien’s wedding, but he and his wife were in Berlin. Jon, ask Lauren for tips on your next trip to Europe. She’s quite the traveler.”
“Good deal.” Jonathan glances down at my cast and steps forward with an extended hand. “Oh, damn, what happened to you?”
He and Max help me in, and inside the foyer, I hear voices—and spot the ten polished concrete steps to the main floor, where the voices are coming from. I imagine creeping up the stairs, only to slip at the top and tumble back down.
“I had a little tangle with Paradise Beach’s rock jetty. A couple of days before the wedding.” I plant my good foot on the first step. Wincing, I swing my broken leg to the second step.
“It’ll probably be easier if I help with this.” Max whisks me into his arms and bounds up the stairs before I can protest.
He gently sets me down near an island kitchen counter. Nine pairs of eyes are on me.
My stomach’s stopped doing somersaults because it’s turned into a brick.
“Max has always been the chivalrous gentleman. I can see he hasn’t changed,” a woman’s voice calls out.
As he introduces me to everyone—I forget all the names almost immediately, there’s so many people—I conjure a smile and shake hands.
I focus on two women.
Cara and her wife, Amy. My brief worry about Max’s high school flame was unfounded.
Probably like all of my other worries.
“White or red?” Cara catches my eye and calls from the far end of the kitchen island. A few people have clustered around Max, who is a few feet away, and it’s evident he hasn’t seen these people in years from the way they’re talking and joking.
“White,” I say gratefully, and I move toward her.
Cara holds out her hand. “Stay where you are.” She points to an empty stool, and I hoist myself on, exhaling as the pain in my ankle dissipates. It’s been hurting ever since the doctor’s visit this morning.
Toting the entire bottle and two glasses, Cara walks over to where I’m standing. “I’m impressed. Max has never brought a woman around. Not in all these years.”
“Really?”
She shakes her head and pours. “I knew he had a girlfriend at one point, but every time he visited, she wasn’t able to come. She always seemed to make excuses, it appeared.”
I sensed a pointedness in her tone. Interesting. Max has rarely mentioned his ex. Mental note: ask him later about this. Cara hands me the glass. “Well, that’s enough gossiping about your boyfriend. Cheers.”
We clink glasses, and a warmth spreads through me.
“Tell me how you two met.”
I launch into the story about Kate’s wedding, and within a minute, Max is at my side, chiming in on the details.
“I tumbled off the rock jetty,” I say.
“And I swooped in and fished her out of the Gulf,” Max adds. “We’ve been inseparable ever since.”
I look up at him and grin. “We have, haven’t we?”
“But where’s your home?” Jonathan asks. “Or are you independently wealthy and can relax here on Paradise like half the island does?”
I laugh nervously, anticipating the reaction of what I’m about to say. God, will everyone think I’m a gold-digger who’s only interested in Max because he’s loaded? “I’m a digital nomad.”
“Lauren is an Instagram star,” Max says. I can’t decipher if it’s a twinge of pride or mocking in his voice.. My judgment isn’t the best when I’m nervous and when I drink, which is why I’m only having one glass tonight.
Everyone stares.
“She works with brands like Hilton and Versace and what’s that other one? Pouch? Pooch? Fooci?” He squints at me adorably. Sometimes he’s such a geek, but I dig it.
I giggle and rest my hand on his chest. “Pucci. He can never remember designers’ names. I wondered why, since he’s always dressed so well, but then I found out he has a personal shopper in New York City.”
“C’mon, Max is a big-time Manhattan businessman,” Jonathan teases. “Of course he has a personal shopper. Because if it was up to him, he’d wear board shorts and stank-ass T-shirts and Vans sneakers to meetings.”
“I’ve seen the Vans,” I tease.
“I don’t have time for shopping crap,” he grumbles good-naturedly. “And I’m hoping Lauren will soon help me on that front, and I can fire the personal shopper.”
Visions of Max and me kissing in a dressing room come to mind, and I grin wide. “He looks best in…” My voice trails off because I’m about to say Max looks best in no clothes at all, but that would be wildly inappropriate. “A tuxedo! You should’ve seen him in the wedding. Like something out of James Bond.”
Everyone titters at my joke, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. Two of the couples cluster together, talking about Damien’s wedding, while Max looks at Jonathan and another guy.
“Yeah, Lauren’s on all social media, branding, metrics, analytics. She blows me away.”
I shrug. “It’s nothing. I travel and accept compensation from brands to advertise products and places and parties.” I wave my hand dismissively.
“Is that a real job?” Jonathan asks.
“It is,” Max interjects. “She kicks serious ass. And she’s an amazing photographer. You should check out her Instagram and the places she’s been. She could write a travel guide to half the world.”
He turns to me, excited. “Cupcake, that’s a great idea. You should write one of those travel guides. You’d be great at it. Seriously.”
“Cupcake?” Jonathan says, and a few people laugh.
My face feels hot. If it wasn’t evident we were a couple before, it’s glaringly obvious now. And the thing is, I love it.
I’m feeling much the same way as I did the night before Kate’s wedding.
Like I’m part of a community. Part of a group of friends. That lump in my throat returns, and as I scan the faces of the people here, I feel that intense yearning once more.
Why can’t I be part of this permanently? Why can’t this be my life, with a beautiful house, a husband who loves me, a stable career?
When I see Max pulling out his phone and showing my Insta account to a few people, I wonder if this could be our life, if I stopped spinning around the globe. He turns away from me, flashing his phone’s screen.
“So how long are you on our little island?” Cara tops up my wine glass.
I hear Max talking about how I’m a talented photographer and how one of the local galleries should display my work. My chest swells with pride and with appreciation for him. It’s like a lightning bolt has crackled through those floor to ceiling windows and struck me in the heart.
This is where I’m supposed to be. Here. Paradise Beach. With Max.
He’s still talking about my photos to the others, but one of his hands rests comfortingly on the small of my back.
“I’m staying for a few months, at least. Max and I haven’t decided where we’re going next. Maybe New York, maybe somewhere else. We’ve got plenty of options, but we need to see how long the renovations of his family’s resort will take.”
Oh, hell. Where did that come from? Did I just declare Max and I were deciding about the future as a couple?
Are we a couple? We’ve barely discussed that.
“It sounds like that between the two of you, you could end up in some fabulous places,” Cara says.
I nod enthusiastically. “Even if he wanted to stay here on the island, I wouldn’t mind.”
What the hell am I talking about?
Tiny pinpricks of sweat make the back of my neck itch. I don’t know what inspired me to make that brazen announcement. Maybe because Max has repeatedly asked me to stay.
He’d mentioned in a text the other day that we should chill and enjoy each other while we’re both on the island. He says he’s monogamous, and I believe him. But it’s not like he’s ever called me his girlfriend or anything.