by S. R. Grey
Jaxon snorts, “I think that’s called foreplay, sweetheart.”
He looks directly at me then, and help me, sweet baby Jesus, the smolder in his eyes almost breaks me. Good thing I’m down on the other end of the sofa where I can gather myself.
Still, I stand so I can put more space between us.
“Jaxon…”
“Yes, Cara?”
Wringing my hands, I say, “Don’t you get it? This isn’t something that can happen. It would never work out with us.”
“Why not?” he wants to know.
Ugh, he’s making this so hard, sitting there with his muscular, tan arms crossed over his smooth, wide chest.
He is so freaking hot.
Why can’t this happen again?
Oh, yeah, because I doubt he wants to fuck Mr. Hockeypants. Fuck him over, yeah. But be with him as close as two people can get, probably not.
But he’s not buying this vague talk. I’m going to have to go full-bitch on him. This is going to suck, because from here on out things are going to be awkward as hell. We’ll be back to hating one another.
“Here’s the thing, Jaxon,” I say as snarkily as I can. “I am just not all that into you.” Biggest lie ever! “I haven’t been with a man in a long time”—truth there—”and well, I lost control is all. A little like the other night. But believe me when I tell you that I really don’t want you.”
Oh, when his face falls, the pain that I feel. It’s like his heart is in my chest. I hate myself right now.
Bristling, he jumps up from the sofa, his eyes flashing emerald fire as he turns to me.
Softly and—make no mistake about it—dangerously, he hisses, “Is that so, eh?”
I squeak out, “Uh-huh.”
He takes a step toward me. “Then maybe you should think about leaving the island, Cara,” he growls. “I’d hate to see you lose control a second time and not have any outlet. It could happen too, seeing as your sex drought clearly has no end in sight.”
“Uh,” I flounder. I don’t even know how to respond to something like that.
Turns out, I don’t have to.
Jaxon breaks into a wicked grin and snaps, “Do you want to know why you’ll not have an outlet if you ever lose control again?”
“Um, I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but okay, I’ll bite. Why?”
“Because, Cara…” He closes the gap between us with one long stride, making my breath catch in my throat. “Let me assure you that after today I will never, ever lay a finger on you.” He leans forward and breathes in my ear, sending delicious shivers down my spine. “Not even if you’re the last woman on this planet.”
“Jaxon,” I try to protest.
But he’s having none of it as he says, “Just remember, you chose this. And you will never have my cock.”
My chest heaves, my nipples grow taut. My body is practically begging for his touch. This closeness, his words, I want him now more than ever.
Too bad I just fucked up my one and only shot.
This is War
This is war. I’m done being nice. She doesn’t fucking want me? Bullshit. Her body tells a different story, even now.
Like I can’t see her nipples hardening or feel her quickened breaths.
“It’s too late, sweetheart,” I say, smirking before I turn and walk away.
“W-where are you going?” she calls out from behind me.
“Wherever you aren’t,” I lob back, like a grenade, over my shoulder.
I swear I even hear my words exploding behind me.
Wait, that’s something shattering for real.
Shit, Cara just threw something at me, and thankfully missed.
I spin around to find the decorative bud vase that was on the coffee table less than a minute ago lying in pieces on the hardwood floor.
“Noel will expect you to pay for that,” I snap. “He’ll probably want money for the planter you destroyed too. You sure are a destructive houseguest, aren’t you, Cara? Bet you never get invited back.”
“Oh, shut up, Jaxon.”
As she drops to her knees to clean up the broken glass, I can’t help but remark, “That’s a good look for you, by the way. You on your hands and knees like a good little girl. I like it.”
Harsh words, yes, but this is war, remember?
Hey, at least I only throw verbal shots, not actual projectiles that could do real damage.
I expect to have some other breakable item tossed my way, but instead Cara spits out, “Go to Hell.”
“Already there, devil woman.”
Ooh, if looks could kill.
“Asshole,” she murmurs.
“So,” I taunt, “are you finally ready to call the airline and book that flight out of here?”
“I’m not leaving.” Ooh, she’s digging in. “Why don’t you go? After all, who’d want to be stuck in Hell with a devil woman, right?”
I laugh at her sugar-sweet yet venomous tone. I’ll give her credit, she can spar. But I can too, with the best of them.
“Don’t worry, honey, I like it hot. Remember when you asked me that? Well, hell is fine with me. Hate to break it to you, but I’m not going anywhere.”
Does she really think I’d capitulate so easily? No way. There’ll be no white flags going up in this camp, not on my watch.
And sure, I suspect there’ll be some battles lost here and there, but make no mistake about it—I will fucking win this war.
The next morning, I make an interesting discovery. Mr. Hockeypants has removed the post bashing me. Plus all the comments on the new post have been removed. Even better, the commenting function on the whole shitty blog has been disabled.
That puts me in a better mood.
Still, erring on the side of caution, I decide to contact my attorney.
I won’t go after the site for removal, but I’d like to know who is behind the mask of anonymity.
I just need to know who Mr. Hockeypants really is so I can confront the prick when I get back to Vegas.
Sunburned and Burned
The next few days pass with me and Jaxon pretty much avoiding each other. It’s worse than that short period of time when we weren’t speaking. Now we eat at completely different times and sit yards apart when we’re down on the beach.
I even start turning my big yellow and black striped umbrella so it hides him more than it shields me from the sun. I get a certain satisfaction in viewing it like it’s a big imaginary bee aimed at him, poised to sting.
Too bad I’m the one who ends up getting stung.
Not by a bee, but by the sun.
Despite applying copious amounts of sunscreen, and having a solid base tan, I end up sunburned all to hell.
Back inside the house later that day, I’m dancing around my bedroom in pain, hissing, “Ouch, ouch, ouch.”
Yep, I just peeled away my bikini top to reveal two brightly burned shoulders and a mean red streak running down between my boobs, spots I neglected to apply enough sunscreen to.
Damn Jaxon.
If I hadn’t had to point my umbrella in his direction, I would’ve been fine. But I really had no choice in the matter. He was looking way too hot today, and not because it was close to ninety degrees.
His body is already a beautiful bronze shade, even though he sits under an umbrella himself most days. But today I swear he looked like a damn god sitting there, sculpted and wet after emerging from an impromptu dip in the ocean.
Fuuuuuck…
I need a cold shower just thinking about him. Since it’ll help my sunburn, I go ahead and take one, keeping the water turned to ice cold. That helps both of my problems, sunburn and horniness.
After drying off, I throw on a pair of skimpy navy boy shorts and a sky blue tube top. Then I cautiously head downstairs for a much-needed snack.
I stop at the base, listening for signs of Jaxon.
Hmm, there’s no noise coming from the kitchen. I think I’m safe.
“Thank God,” I m
urmur. “I can eat in peace.”
Then again, maybe not. Just as I’m rounding the corner, I run headlong into my enemy.
“Damn it, Holland.” I jump back like I’ve been burned with a hot poker. “Could you make your presence known? You’re like a freaking ninja some days.”
Looking surprised, and dare I say kind of pleased, he says, “Shit, Milne, that may be the nicest thing you’ve said to me in days.”
“It’s the only thing I’ve said to you in days,” I remind him.
He looks at me then.
And I look at him.
Oooh, there’s still a war waging for sure.
But then it’s like we both suddenly realize what we have on.
Or more like what we don’t have on.
Thin sweat shorts for him and nothing else—gah!—and that tube top and boy shorts for me.
I stand quietly and just blatantly gawk at the man.
Doesn’t matter, he’s doing the same to me.
This is the closest we’ve been in days, and it’s like I can smell every delicious thing about him, enemy or not.
I give in a little bit and inhale.
Mmm, Jaxon is spicy and male and full of the promise of delicious sex—
“Jesus, what the hell happened to your shoulders?” he blurts out, ruining my budding fantasy.
The look of lust that was percolating in his gaze turns to concern.
Noooo, don’t be nice.
My resolve is strengthened only through our unrequited sexual tension and anger at each other. Let that fall away and I might cave.
But no, no, no, I can’t lose when it comes to him. Losing would mean more than simply him winning. It would mean I’d be free—to want him, to touch him, to kiss him.
And it wouldn’t stop there.
But we all know why that can’t happen.
Despite our battling, he doesn’t really hate me. But he would if he knew the truth. He’d find out too, as I’d have to tell him if we grew any closer. I just couldn’t keep my blog identity a secret if we were intimate.
So yeah, hating each other like this is better.
Huffing indignantly, I cross my arms—ow!—and snap back, “I clearly have a sunburn, genius. And for the record, it’s your fault.”
“Oh”—he crosses his arms too—“this should be good. Do explain how it’s my fault.”
“Well, if you hadn’t insisted on lying out on the beach at the same time I chose to be there—”
“What? You mean when the freaking sun is out? Because if so, that’s when most people lay out, genius.”
Ooh, throwing my words back at me. Clever, but not effective.
I wave him off. “Irrelevant. You could always lie out on the patio.”
He chuffs, “You’d still have to pass me on your way down to the beach.”
“I’d just run. And maybe even close my eyes.”
“Pfft, and take the chance that I’d trip you.”
“Oh, you…you…”
I place my hands on my hips. That’s much better than having them crossed over my sore chest. Scrunching up sunburned skin is not a good idea.
Now where was I?
Ah, yes, he threatened to trip me.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare, Jaxon Holland.”
He smirks. “Would you really want to take a chance and find out, sweetheart?”
“Grrr, I hate you so much right now!” I stomp my foot and shiiiit—my tube top slips down!
Now I’m totally flashing him, not that he seems to mind.
“Help,” I squeak out.
Jaxon doesn’t help. He’s too busy staring hungrily at my boobs.
Huffing, I yank up my tube top and…fuuuck!
“That hurts like Satan’s fury!” I bellow.
Now that my boobs are covered and no longer a distraction, Jaxon magically regains his voice.
“Makes sense,” he sneers, “seeing as you are a devil woman.”
“Jaxon,” I sigh. “Just shut up already.”
I drop my hand from where I’ve just abraded the tender skin between my boobs. And when I wince, he finally seems to get it that I’m really hurting here.
Softening, he says, “You should put some ice on that sunburn, plus maybe rub in a little aloe vera gel.”
Typical of him, trying to be all helpful after the damage is already done.
“I don’t need your input,” I snap.
Immediately, I feel bad. He’s only trying to help now. And I could kind of use a friend. I mean, how else am I going to get aloe vera on the backs of my shoulders?
“Can we call a truce?” I whisper.
He raises a brow. “Sure you want to do that, soldier?”
“It’d only be temporary, just for tonight.”
“Okay.”
I’m relieved, but why does it feel like I just lost a battle?
Side Boob Action and a Thong
I can do a truce. Only for tonight, though, just like we agreed.
I wouldn’t want it to last any longer, anyway. Cara hasn’t earned any more reprieve than that.
Maybe I still feel slighted that she rejected me. I guess I do since, bristling at the memory, I squeeze the tube of aloe vera gel I’m holding a little too hard and a big glop of goo lands smack-dab between Cara’s shoulder blades.
Shuddering, she murmurs, “Ooh, that’s cold, Jaxon.”
“Sorry,” I say.
Not really, I think.
“Mmm, it feels good, though, where I’m sunburned.”
Eh, so much for that victory.
And then it kind of hits me, the scene before me.
Damn, I deserve a pat on the back for my incredible restraint. Not only is Cara lying facedown on the sofa with her tube top pulled down to her waist, she’s sporting some serious side boob action. Plus, her ass cheeks are hanging out of those skimpy boy shorts, tempting me, taunting me.
God, give me strength.
I need to think of something snide to say. It’s easier to hate her when we’re fighting.
Luckily, I do think of something, and it’s such a good one that I have to laugh.
“What’s so funny, Jaxon?” Cara murmurs into the back of the sofa. Her head is turned that way.
Here we go…
“I was just thinking how you really do look like a devil woman right now, what with all the red skin. You just need some horns and a tail and you’re good to go.”
It backfires on me right away. She doesn’t even seem that mad. And now I can’t stop staring at her ass and those perfectly rounded cheeks without thinking of a tail.
Damn, she’d look hot in one of those sexy devil costumes at Halloween.
Focus, Jaxon!
“Ha-ha,” she snorts. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”
Gruffly, I snap, “Like you thought you were funny when you turned your umbrella toward me? Look at where that got you.”
Ooh, that pisses her off.
“That’s it. I’m out of here.” She sits up, turning away so she can pull up her tube top without me catching a shot of her tits.
I do catch something, though—her wincing in pain. And that makes me feel like shit.
“Hey, hey, don’t leave. I shouldn’t have said that,” I say.
She turns around, her hurt eyes meeting my apologetic ones.
“Then why did you?” she asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I forgot that we called a truce.”
“Clearly.”
“Hey, just lie back down. I promise to be nice.”
Huffing, she resumes her position, shimmying down her tube top to her waist once more.
Great, the side-boob action now includes some bouncing. Fuck me. I’m glad she doesn’t turn her head and catch me adjusting my junk.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she murmurs into the cushions.
Yeah, so am I, I think, adjusting myself once more.
Sighing, I pour a big glob of gel onto my palm, then st
art rubbing it gently onto her sunburned shoulders.
After a minute of that, she says, “Wow, you really do have a way with your hands, Jaxon. Guess that’s why you’re such a good hockey player, huh?”
Wow, a rare compliment.
“Guess so,” I mumble.
That’s nice, but she really needs to experience the “way” I have with my hands when I’m doing other things. She thinks this feels good? Ha.
Well, it’s her loss. She chose this path.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I told you I could be nice.”
She turns and peers up at me with hard-to-read hazel eyes. “I like when you’re nice. It’s been tough with us lately, hasn’t it?”
“It has,” I concur.
Crap, I have to break the eye contact, as the spell it weaves, even while we’re at war, is too intense and disconcerting.
“Hey, this truce is only temporary,” I remind her.
“Yes.” She hides her face back in the cushions. “It’s only for tonight, I know. We can get back to hating each other tomorrow.”
Is that regret I hear in her tone?
I don’t know, but now is not the time to get into it, in any way, shape, or form. She has sunburn and I’m simply trying to help.
The fact that I can’t keep my eyes off her boobs and ass as I continue to apply aloe vera to her skin is irrelevant.
Yeah, dude, keep telling yourself that.
After Cara goes up to bed, I stay downstairs, lounging on the sofa. It’s still warm from her body, which I like.
Needing a distraction, I take out my phone and check for messages.
There’s nothing in the form of voice mails or texts, but there is an email from my attorney. He’s closing in on Mr. Hockeypants. Seems the dude is hiding behind a phony IP registered in a state up north.
Hmm, it may take a little while longer, but I know nothing will stop my guy. He’s ruthless.
Just like I plan to be once I find out the true identity of Mr. Hockeypants.
A Worthy Adversary
My sunburn feels much better the next day. Still, I know I should stay indoors.
Hunkering down in my bed with my trusty tablet, I get set to spend the day catching up on novels.