“Is that from personal experience?”
“No. I’ve heard some horror stories.”
“Right, okay.” He pulls up my profile and frowns.
“What?”
“That can’t be right.” He turns his phone toward me. “Is this you?”
I chuckle, but part of me is disappointed. We have a two out of ten. “Yup. That’s me. Guess we’re about as incompatible as two people can get.”
“You must’ve filled out the questionnaire incorrectly, then.” Pierce slips his phone into his pocket. “If you’d done it right, we’d be a ten out of ten, and Terry would be a one at best.”
“You’re unreal, you know that?”
“I’m just saying … you and me? There’s something here. But you and Terry? Not even a little bit of anything.” He’s so relaxed and confident it’s infuriating. And a turn-on, but mostly infuriating.
“Chemistry and compatibility aren’t the same thing,” I argue.
“Ah! So you admit we have chemistry.”
“I’ll admit that you’re attractive, although I’m sure you’re already highly aware of that.”
He ignores the semi-compliment. “You know what your issue is? You’re going about this all backwards.”
“How so?” If nothing else, I’m entertained by his persistence and his ridiculous arguments.
“Physical attraction is half the battle, you have to have chemistry before you worry about compatibility.”
“Maybe in the short-term, if you’re looking for random hookups. But if you want a relationship to last, then you need to be compatible, or it’s doomed to fail.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
I shrug. “People either grow together or they grow apart. It’s a lot easier to grow together if you’ve got more than orgasms to get you through the tough times.”
He regards me with curious intensity. “Well, you said you weren’t looking for anything serious, so the whole compatibility thing shouldn’t be your top priority anyway.”
I’m relieved when our food arrives and the tension is interrupted. I hate that he has a point. I’m terrible at meaningless sex, unable to separate attraction from emotional connection. But at the same time, I don’t want to let anyone get too close. It’s a conundrum.
I arrange my utensils beside my plate and smooth my napkin over my lap. I’m actually starving, not having eaten since before noon, apart from a few of Pierce’s calamari, so I have to make a conscious effort not to start shoveling food into my mouth. Instead, I carefully twist the noodles on my fork before taking a bite. It’s delicious. Probably the best food I’ve eaten in years, to be honest. Maybe since my grandmother passed away and my father took off with almost all the money and left Marley and me with a ton of debt.
I glance at Pierce, intending to ask him how his steak is, but he isn’t eating his dinner. Instead, he’s staring at me. “What?” I set my silverware down and dab at my mouth with my napkin. It comes away clean.
“You have nice etiquette.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“My mother would approve.”
I hold up a hand. “Whoa. Slow your roll, big man. This isn’t even a real date, and you’re already talking about introducing me to your mother?”
“I made no mention of introducing you to my mother. I just said she’d approve. Not even remotely the same thing.”
“Okay. Good. Just making sure. Am I going to be able to eat this without you staring at me the whole time?”
“I’ll try to minimize my visual observations.”
“Thanks.”
“Anything for you, Rian.”
I pop another forkful of noodles in my mouth and give him the eyebrow, to which he responds with a wide grin. Despite my reservations, I think I might actually like him.
We eat our respective meals in relative quiet, me trying not to inhale mine, Pierce apparently enjoying the heck out of his steak based on the speed with which it disappears.
I don’t want to admit it, but under the cocky front, he might be a nice a guy, and I’m a little sad that he’s only a two in the compatibility department. I also don’t want to acknowledge that he’s right about there being something between us. Some kind of frenetic energy that seems to heighten all my senses and put me on alert—in my pants.
“Rian?” Pierce dips his head and snaps his fingers. “You still with me?”
“Yeah. Yes. I’m here.” I sit up straight and lean back, so he’s not quite in my personal space anymore. “We should get the bill. I should head back.”
I need some distance from this man, especially after consuming half a bottle of wine. I check my phone, but there are no messages from my sister, so I assume she’s still sleeping.
Pierce signals the server and asks for the bill. I should’ve stopped at one glass of wine and it probably would’ve halved my portion.
When the server arrives with the bill, Pierce already has his credit card out.
“I would like to pay for half of that.” I hold out my card but he covers my hand with his.
Pierce addresses the server, “It’s fine. Thank you. I have it.” He turns his smile on me. “Please let me.”
I don’t want to start an argument in front of the server, so I wait until he’s gone before I pull out my wallet.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’m giving you cash for my part of the bill.”
“I’ve already got it.”
“Yes, but we’ve established that this isn’t a date. And I owe $112 of the $274 bill, and I’d like to pay my portion.”
Pierce frowns. I don’t know how it’s possible, but his serious face is as attractive as his non-serious face. “You didn’t even see the bill.”
“I don’t need to see the bill to know what I owe.”
It takes Pierce a moment to understand. “You did that in your head.”
“It’s simple math.”
“What’s the square root of pi rounded to the sixth decimal place?”
I roll my eyes. “That’s too easy.”
“I only know what it is rounded to the second decimal place because that’s what they taught us in school. How about the square root of 700,051?”
“How many decimal points do you want?”
“Two?”
“836.69.”
Pierce sits back in his chair with his jaw hanging open. “You’re a genius.”
“I’m just good at remembering numbers. It’s mental math, that’s all.” Internally, I berate myself for showing off. I used to catch so much heat in high school. Teachers thought I was cheating on tests, and sometimes they hated it when I was right and they were wrong.
And that very skill set is what took us from the top and sunk us all the way to the bottom all those years ago, when I unknowingly helped my father swindle countless families out of their hard-earned money to pad his bank account.
Pierce bites his knuckle and leans forward, forcing me out of my head. “Do you have any idea how sexy that is?”
“You think it’s sexy that I can do math in my head?”
“Yes. You’re gorgeous, outspoken, and intelligent. It’s a hard-on-inducing trifecta.”
CHAPTER 9
SEAWEED ATTACK
PIERCE
Okay, so maybe I should’ve left out the hard-on-inducing part, but seriously, smart, gorgeous, with a spicy personality. She’s everything I want in a woman. I’d like to think eventually I would’ve met her without the little grocery store incident, but I’m actually thankful now for the scratched paint.
Rian seems to give in regarding the dinner bill, slipping her wallet back into her purse with a frown. I make a small adjustment in my pants before I pick up the bag of Rian’s leftovers and stand. I use the manners my mother instilled in me and pull out her chair. “I’ll walk you back.”
“You don’t need to do that. I’ve taken up most of your evening. You’ve been more than generous.” She motions to the bag of food. As if I’d l
et her pay for dinner when I invited her to eat with me. “And it’s just a few minutes down the beach.”
“Would it make a difference if I tell you it’s as much for me as it is for you?”
“Why? To ensure my sister isn’t throwing a kegger?”
“Well, that’s one reason, but mostly it’s because I like you, and I’ll take as many extra minutes with you as you’re willing to permit me.”
She blinks a few times, possibly taken off guard by my frankness. “I really never know what I’m going to get with you.”
“I’m pretty transparent most of the time.” That’s not entirely true. But in this circumstance, with this woman, in this particular situation, I’m definitely transparent.
I shoulder my messenger bag and motion for Rian to go first. The sun is about to drop below the horizon, the sky streaked with wisps of clouds that hold onto the colors, deep orange shifting to stunning shades of pink and purple.
“It’s so pretty here at night.” Rian’s gaze sweeps over the shoreline and holds down the beach.
“Would you like to go for a walk?” I point in the direction of Mission Mansion rather than the beach house.
“Oh, no. I should check on Marley. We can head back.”
I’m a little disappointed. Dinner conversation was easy when she finally let her guard down.
I’d offer to take her to my place for a drink, but Lawson already has his own friend over and I have my doubts they’re doing much in the way of talking, hence the reason I was out eating dinner alone.
Rian slips her shoes off as we make our away across the white sand to the shoreline. The water laps at her feet, and she stares out across the horizon, captivated by the sliver of sun sinking into the water. The waning light reflects in her hair and on her face. Her cheeks are pink from too much sun, but the golden glow frames her face.
“God, the view is gorgeous,” she murmurs.
“It really is.” I tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing when she looks my way and rolls her eyes.
“Please hold your cheesy lines.”
“You really are beautiful.”
“You can stop now.” Her cheeks flush further, and she moves deeper into the surf.
Dusk has settled, sending a gray cast over the beach and darkening the water. Rian stumbles and then shrieks. She flails, her vigor creating a wide splash radius that manages to reach me. “Something’s touching me!”
It’s too dark to see what it is, so I drop the bags on the beach and rush to remove my shoes.
“Ow! Oh my God! I don’t know what that is! What if it’s a shark? I stepped on something slimy and it’s moving!”
I laugh. She’s standing in less than a foot of water. There’s no way it’s a shark, at least not one that could actually do any damage. It’s more likely something harmless, or a jellyfish at the very worst.
She launches herself at me as soon as I’m close enough. She’s not all that graceful about it, and her aim is off, so I have to rush to catch her before she falls face-first into the shallow water. She scales me, wrapping her legs around my waist while slapping at her ankle. Her chosen position isn’t a great one, my right arm is pinned to my side—by her crotch.
She’s a lot stronger than she looks, considering the way she’s hanging off me. The side of her face is pressed against my chest as she reaches around to pull at whatever has her so tangled up. She sets me off balance as she continues to kick and flail, causing us to both go down.
I spin so I’m the one who lands on my back in about six inches of water. She drops onto my chest with a grunt. “I got it!” she yells, victorious, thrusting her arm in the air.
I check out the offending attacker. “Some lethal seaweed you got there, huh?”
She glances at the green slippery leaves in her hand and frowns, then looks down at me, still half lying in the water. My pants and shirt are soaked through the back. Her jeans are wet, and her shirt is splotchy with water.
She cringes and bites her lip, one hand planted on my chest. “I’m so sorry.”
“You know, if you wanted to get your hands on me, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t need to pretend you were being eaten by the plankton.”
“That wasn’t … I didn’t mean to…” She doesn’t make a move to get up, despite the way the tide rushes in rhythmic sweeps every few seconds, covering her calves and licking at my elbows.
Now that I have her this close and unguarded, I’m fully prepared to take advantage of the situation. I sit up in a rush, upsetting her balance once again. She grabs my shoulders as I bring a knee up to prevent her from toppling backward, and wind an arm around her waist.
We’re face-to-face. Her eyes lock on mine, full lips parted. I want to know what they feel like. I want to find out if she kisses like she’s fighting or submitting. Or maybe both.
I brush her cheek with mine, breathing her in, mouths close but not touching She stills. I wonder what’s going through her head in that suspended moment. Whatever the conflict, she must resign herself because the hand on my chest slides into the wet hair at the nape of my neck and she turns in instead of away, nipping at my bottom lip.
First kisses are powerful. This imperfect situation has all the right components. Romantic with a setting sun backdrop and a beach—not ideal that I’m mostly soaking wet, but definitely memorable.
Her lips part in expectation, but I don’t claim her mouth. Not yet. Instead, I sweep my lips along the edge of her jaw. She shivers, fingers flexing against the back of my neck, nails biting in as she tips her head back, exposing the long, gentle line of her throat. I run my nose down the expanse and press my lips against the sensitive space where her neck meets her shoulder.
Threading my fingers through the long silky strands, I cup the back of her head so I can adjust the angle. I nibble along her throat until my lips are almost at her ear and suck on the sensitive skin there, smiling at her soft gasp.
“Rian.”
She makes a sound, more of a moan than anything, really.
“I’d like to kiss that pretty mouth of yours.”
I get another moan, this one lower, and she attempts to turn toward me.
I duck my head, lips moving along her collarbone and up the other side of her throat. Then I follow the edge of her jaw, slow, soft brushes interspersed with light nibbles the closer I get to her chin.
She must realize I’m not rushing this, because she stops trying to twist her head toward my mouth. Instead, she readjusts her position, settling her weight on my thighs, edging closer until her chest meets mine. One hand stays against the nape of my neck, while the other begins to wander, sliding down my bicep. I feel a slight squeeze before it drifts along my forearm to where my hand rests on the dip in her waist.
Her pinkie slips under mine, possibly in a subtle attempt to encourage me to touch more of her. While that’s definitely something I want to do—eventually—I also don’t want her attention divided.
I want her wanting.
Drawing out the anticipation heightens the experience, it’s a sensual torment, a sensory override. I need her focus on my mouth, on where it is and where she wants it to be.
When I finally get to her chin, I bite, not hard, but enough that she sucks in a breath. I tip her head down and flick my tongue out, skimming her top lip. Her hand tightens on the back of my neck again and I loosen my fingers in her hair. As soon as I do, our mouths connect like two meteors colliding.
Any thought I had of finessing my way through this disappears when Rian sucks my bottom lip between hers, dragging her teeth across the skin. She presses her body against me, legs spreading wider in the sand as she shifts forward.
I’m achingly hard. I’ve been halfway there since dinner. And suddenly I have friction to complement the hardness. She runs an aggressive palm up my arm and over my shoulder, fingers back in my hair. She angles her head to the side, opening wider, tongue searching for mine.
I
wonder what sex with this woman would be like. Definitely not soft, she’s too much of a battle in the middle of a storm. When I finally stroke inside the warm softness of her mouth, she groans and tries to bite my tongue.
She clambers up when I retract, both hands on my shoulders in an attempt to push me back. So I grip her waist and flip her over. She sucks in a shocked gasp when she finds herself on her back in the sand and the surf.
“What the heck!” She pushes on my chest with one hand, the other arm hooks around my neck, as if she’s fighting to force me back up but keep me close at the same time. “I’m soaked!”
“Oh yeah?” I settle between her thighs, and she stops pushing away as soon as she feels me there.
“That wasn’t very nice.” A tremor runs through her.
“The part where I saved you from the dangerous seaweed, or the part where you dragged me into the water? Or are you referring to me kissing you? Because I thought that was very, very nice, actually.” I glance up when I hear voices in the distance. I didn’t realize we’d already made it back to beach house sixty-nine. It’s only a hundred feet away, to the right.
“The part where you made me as wet as you are.”
She rolls her eyes as soon as the grin starts to form on my lips. I dip down and brush them over hers again. Her knees press hard against my hips, arms tightening around my neck.
Those voices grow steadily louder.
“Hold on.” I push up until I’m on my knees. She keeps her grip on my neck, but she doesn’t react quickly enough to keep her legs around my waist.
“I hear people,” she whispers.
I unhook her arms, turn around and crouch down. “Hop on.”
“What?”
“Hop on. I’ll carry you back.” There’s a moment of hesitation before she climbs up and links her ankles at my waist. I nab the takeout, my messenger bag—which thankfully didn’t get wet—and our shoes, and jog across the beach.
It’s mostly dark inside the house, apart from the light on the second-story deck and a faint glow coming from the kitchen.
“Do you think your sister locked the sliding door?” I ask when we reach the stairs to the deck.
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