“What kind of bites? How many is a few?”
“Um, judging from the look of them, I’d say sand fleas.”
“Fleas?” Her shriek echoes in the confines of the bathroom. She spins so her back is facing the mirror and cranes her neck to see over her shoulder. Her mouth drops. “Oh my God! Oh my God. A few bites?”
“It’s not that bad.” It’s actually worse than that bad.
She checks out the back of her legs, which are a mass of tiny, raised red bumps. She reaches behind her, likely with the intention of scratching. I grab her hands and clasp them in mine. “Don’t do that. It’ll make it worse.”
“But I’m so itchy. I need to get out of this dress. What if there are sand fleas stuck under it?” She starts hopping from one foot to the other.
“Let me help you out of it, then you can get into the shower. I have antihistamines and I’ll draw a bath. I have salts I use when I have allergic reactions. They’re holistic or whatever.” I don’t know why I’m explaining, other than I feel bad and I want to fix it. I also don’t want this to be the last time Rian and I have sex—selfish of me, I know.
I get Rian out of her dress. Thankfully, most of the bites seem isolated to the backs of her legs and her shoulders, although a few managed to get under the fabric. I’ll inspect her better when she’s done with the shower.
I find the antihistamines, both in pill and cream form—I’m definitely going to take the opportunity to rub it all over her body in penance—then start the bath.
“There’s so much sand in my hair,” she calls from the shower. “It’s like half the beach is in here. God! Are there fleas in my hair? I’m so itchy! I hate you so much right now.”
“I promise I’ll fix it, hotness,” I call back, dumping the oatmeal, Epsom salts, and lavender pouch into the giant Jacuzzi tub.
She sticks her head out of the shower and glares at me. “You do not get to call me pet names, a-hole.”
“Is that my pet name?” I don’t even bother to fight my grin as she shoots me the bird and disappears back into the shower.
The glass is foggy, but I can make out her silhouette, all soft curves and long hair streaming down her back. I fill a glass with water and strip out of my own pants. Gathering our discarded clothes, I drop them in the washing machine and put it on the sanitize cycle.
Now that I’m naked too, I see that I haven’t escaped unscathed. My forearms have suffered the same fate as Rian’s back and legs, and I have a few scattered bites on my chest. Nothing compared to her, though. I wrap a towel around my waist so I’m not swinging free when she gets out of the shower.
I’m going to have to take excellent care of her if I want to get back in her good graces tonight. I have a few ideas on how to accomplish that. The shower turns off, and she steps out onto the mat, nipples tight, body covered in a flash of goose bumps as the cool air kisses her skin.
I wrap her in a towel and hand her the glass of water. “You should take this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s an antihistamine.”
She inspects it, the name is stamped in the pill, so that must appease her, because she pops it in her mouth and drains the glass of water. She scans the bathroom floor. “Where are my clothes?”
“I put them in the wash. It’ll be about thirty minutes before I can put them in the dryer.” I motion to the tub. “I poured us a bath. It should help with the itch until the antihistamine kicks in.”
She regards the tub, and then me, skeptically.
“I don’t have to join you. Whatever you prefer.”
Her gaze moves over me, assessing, considering. She drops her towel. “You can join me.”
Stepping up to the tub, I hold out my hand and help her in. She sinks into the water on a groan.
“Where do you want me?” I ask.
“You can go sit in the corner.” She motions to the other side of the tub. I get in and spread my legs so they frame hers, running my hands up her shins under the water.
“I’m blaming the dress for this.”
Rian snorts. “Nice apology.”
I shift, water sloshing over the edge of the tub as I straddle her thighs and brace a forearm on either side of her. I get right in her face, rubbing the end of my nose against hers before I back up far enough that I can see her clearly. “I’m sorry you’re so irresistible. I’m sorry I was an asshole. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait to until we were here, with access to a comfortable bed, before I got inside you. Is that better?”
She bites her lip and ducks her head. “A little. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m still itchy as heck, though.”
“Give the bath a few minutes to work its magic.” I settle back against my side of the tub. “Tell me how you got into real estate.”
Rian’s eyes shift away from mine, moving to where she swirls the bubbles on the surface of the water. “When our grandmother passed away, she left us a duplex. Marley and I moved into the upstairs and rented out the main floor. I guess that’s when we started to see the value in property.”
There’s something in her voice, and the tension in her shoulders that makes me want to push for more. “I’m so sorry she passed. Were you close to your grandmother?”
“Yeah. She was a special woman. Smart, savvy. She would’ve been a force if she’d been born in this generation.”
“Kind of like you, then?”
She laughs. “I don’t know about that, but I hope one day I can achieve even half of her success. What about you and your brother? You said this was his hobby, but it seems like he takes it pretty seriously.”
I run my fingers absently up and down her shin, under the water. “He’s been dabbling for a year or so. I think we’d both like it to be more than a hobby, eventually anyway.”
“Well, everyone needs a place to live, and there are always people with money looking to buy beachfront. Most people either don’t have the vision or the interest in fixing up a place. You have both. When you have capital and the ability to see the beauty in possibility, you can do well in this industry.”
“Wouldn’t flipping houses be more lucrative than selling them?”
Rian lifts a shoulder. “If you can buy the right place at the right time for the right price, you’ll get the most return on investment, but you still need the capital to do that.”
“If you could have one house on this beach, which one would it be?” I ask.
“The Mission Mansion,” she replies without hesitation.
“Why the Mission Mansion?” It’s gorgeous and eclectic, one of the largest homes on the beach, but it’s in need of some serious renovations and repairs. From what I understand, the owners spend most of their summer in Europe, so it’s gone mostly unused and ignored for the better part of the last decade, which is sad.
She drags her fingers along the surface of the water, creating ripples. “Marley and I used to spend a lot of time there in the summers when we were teenagers.”
“Really? You knew the previous owners?”
She’s quiet for a few seconds before she replies, “My grandparents did.”
I’m only semi-surprised by this answer. There’s something refined about Rian that I can’t quite pin down. “It must’ve been amazing inside.”
“It is. Or at least it was.” Her smile is wistful, almost sad. “It holds a lot of special memories for me. I’d hate to see it get any more rundown than it already is.”
“Do you think it will ever go on the market?” From the little I know about the property, the last time it changed hands was about a decade ago, but I never paid particularly close attention to the place other than to admire it. It’s unfortunate that it sits vacant now.
“Maybe one day. It’s a pipe dream, anyway. I’ll never have the capital for that place.” For a moment she looks so forlorn, before she gives me one of her soft, questioning smiles. “What about you? What property are you most interested in?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought. I
think the more rundown the better, though. I like fixing broken things.”
She mutters something I don’t catch.
“What was that?”
“I’m turning into a prune.” She rises from the tub, water sluicing down her gorgeous, naked body. “And I’m still itchy.”
Fifteen minutes later Rian is facedown on my mattress. No, we’re not having sex. I’m atoning for my sins by rubbing Benadryl cream on her bug bites. The sheer number is insane. They cover her shoulders, her calves, and the back of her thighs. I keep running my palms up and down, and then higher, up the back of her legs. She moans when I knead her ass. There are bites there too, so it’s an area that needs attention.
“What’re you doing?” Her voice is raspy, groggy.
“Trying to keep you comfortable.”
“I think you’re trying to cop a feel.”
“I can do both, can’t I? I think they call it multitasking.”
She snorts a tired laugh.
My pillow is going to smell like her tomorrow. My whole bed is. And tonight I’m going to bask in the scent of Rian, because she’s going nowhere. She’s half asleep already, body languid, arms loose at her sides.
When I’m done taking care of the bites, she snuggles into me, tired and spent, I consider that this is moving way too fast. We’re like two trains on the same track, heading for each other. A collision is imminent. But I can’t find it in me to care.
CHAPTER 16
RELATIONSHIP GOALS
RIAN
I’m floating on a cloud. A warm cloud. A very cozy, warm cloud that smells deliciously of aftershave.
I open my eyes and remember that I’m not in my own bedroom. But then I realize I’m also not in the bedroom of the beach house rental either. It takes about three seconds for all the pieces to fit together. And then memories of last night slam into me; sex on the beach, the sand fleas, the bath, talking, his bed, a rubdown that did not include sex, and then sleep, blissful, blissful sleep.
I’m using Pierce’s arm as a pillow. Slowly I turn my head to the right. The sheets hang low on his hips, his hand is under the covers, possibly cradling his junk.
I can’t believe I stayed the night. I can’t believe he was actually serious about the post-sex cuddling. Or that it appears it lasted through the entire night.
I check the clock on the nightstand. It’s already eleven thirty. I haven’t slept this late since I was a teenager.
“Morning.” Pierce’s deep, raspy sleep voice draws my gaze back to him. His one visible eye is barely a slit.
“Hi.” My stomach twists a little, uncertain as to how this is going to go.
He smirks, tongue peeking out as he wets his lips. “I cuddled the fuck out of you all night.”
I laugh. “That you did.”
“You know what that means, don’t you?” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer. “It means we’re dating.”
I tip my chin up so I can see his face. His hair is a mess and he has pillow lines on his cheek. “How do you figure?”
“We had a sleepover and we spooned pretty much the entire night. Plus, we had a bath together, and I’ve taken care of you and all your bug bites, so that totally qualifies as dating behavior.”
I settle a palm on his chest and feel the steady thump of his heart. I’m surprisingly not freaked out by this thought. “I suppose that makes logical sense.”
His sleep-heavy eyes crinkle at the corners. “So you agree that we’re dating?”
“You didn’t really give me much of an opportunity to disagree, did you?”
“Since when does that stop you?” His lips meet my temple. “You know what we should do to celebrate this milestone in our relationship?”
“What’s that?” I throw my leg over his, fully expecting him to say morning sex.
“We should have Naked Sunday.”
“Naked Sunday?”
“Yeah. You know, where we spend the day hanging out naked.”
“Is this something you do often?” I imagine spending an entire twenty-four hours sans clothing with Pierce. I can’t imagine getting anything accomplished, apart from wearing out my vagina with whatever parts of his body he felt like sticking in there.
“No. I’ve never actually done it before, but I figured it could be our thing.”
“Our thing?”
“Yeah, you know, like the thing we do together, just us. On Sundays. We can make it a weekly standing date from here on.” He nods, maybe to himself, like this is the best idea he’s ever had.
He’s adorably persistent. “Except you don’t live alone and as much as I don’t mind looking at you naked, I’m not so sure I’m all that comfortable wandering around like this in front of your brother. Also, I have a lot of work to do today since my sister and I sold a house yesterday.”
“Hmm. You make a good point about my brother. We’ll postpone Naked Sunday, or we can pick an alternate day of the week. Why don’t I make you breakfast instead?”
“Oooh, I like breakfast.” My stomach growls.
“Awesome.” He pats my tummy. “It’s settled. I need coffee, how about you?”
“Um, sure?”
Pierce finds some of his sister’s clothes in the spare bedroom. Nothing says walk of shame like eating breakfast in last night’s dress.
I’m relieved that Lawson doesn’t appear to be awake yet. Or if he is, he’s not hanging around the kitchen to witness the morning after my beach romp with Pierce. I take a seat at the island, while Pierce makes coffee and then checks the contents of the fridge. “I can make pancakes, waffles, or French toast. Oh, wait. I have cinnamon rolls. I can make cinnamon roll French toast.”
“That sounds ridiculously unhealthy.”
“We probably burned a thousand calories apiece competing for orgasms on the beach last night. I’m pretty sure unhealthy is acceptable.”
“Cinnamon roll French toast it is, then.” Pierce has just started cracking eggs when the doorbell rings.
“Who stops by this early on a Sunday morning?” he grumbles.
“It’s already noon.” I point out.
“Oh. Still. This is our time, and someone is rudely interfering. I’ll go tell them to shove off, shall I?”
I can’t tell if he’s serious or not as he tosses a dishtowel on the island and heads for the door.
“Took you long enough!” The female voice makes me bristle, until I realize it’s familiar.
“Uh, not that it isn’t nice to see you guys, but what are you doing here?” Pierce runs a hand through his hair and gives me an I have no idea what’s going on look.
“Law invited us. He said you got the house you were after and that we should come by for lunch.” Amalie waltzes into the kitchen, looking fabulously flawless in contrast to my appearance. Her blond hair falls in perfect waves over her shoulders. She’s wearing a butter-yellow sundress and has a huge orange beach bag slung over her shoulder. Her nails boast a French manicure. She exudes polish and poise. And I exude last night’s sex on the beach.
I’m sure my expression is electroshock-like. I can feel exactly how wide my eyes are and I’m gripping the counter in order to keep me from doing something rash—like bolting.
I glance frantically over her shoulder at Pierce, giving him a what in the actual heck look. Because I’m covered in bug bites, wearing her borrowed clothes, after having been screwed six ways from Sunday by her brother.
A wide grin breaks across Amalie’s face and she does jazz hands. “Oh my God!” She turns to her brother. “I was so right!” Then she turns to another man. One I hadn’t noticed until now, although I’m not exactly sure how I missed him, considering he looks like a cross between a model, a mobster, and a superhero. “Remember how I told you about that woman who gave Pierce shit at the restaurant? This is her! This is Rian!”
The man in question has dark hair, almost black, and eyes so blue they look like they can’t possibly be that color naturally. What is it with these guys and their eye
s?
He’s as tall as Pierce, and just as broad. Maybe even a little broader. Built like a linebacker. He’s wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a T-shirt that shows off a very intricate, colorful full-sleeve tattoo.
His eerily perfect blue eyes dart questioningly to Pierce and settle on me as his eyebrow quirks up. A small smirk pops a dimple in his left cheek, and he lifts a hand in greeting. “Hi, Rian.”
“This is my fiancé, Lex.” Amalie rests her cheek on his bicep and pats his chest then flits around the island and pulls me into a hug. “I had no idea you were going to be here today! I’m so excited to see you! I told Pierce he should ask you out and here you are.” She cocks her head to the side as she takes in my outfit, her teeth catching her bottom lip. “I think I have a shirt exactly like this.”
I close my eyes and will myself to sink into the floor, but when I open them, I’m still sitting on the stool and she’s put two and two together. “Oh my God!” She claps her hands. “Oh my God! Did you two”—she looks back and forth between us—“Oh! Look at how red your face is! You so did! Are you two dating now? Can we do double dates?” She’s back to clapping. “This means you might actually have a plus-one by the time we set a date for the wedding!”
“Amie, baby, you’re scaring her,” Lex says, but he looks highly entertained. He turns that panty-incinerating smile on me. “You probably shouldn’t give my fiancée your phone number. She’s a little obsessed with you, if you couldn’t already tell.”
“She’s not alone,” Pierce says from the other side of the kitchen, a warm smile locked firmly in place.
I’m not sure what exactly I’ve gotten myself into, but I think I might like it.
CHAPTER 17
WHEELING AND DEALING
RIAN
Brunch with Pierce’s sister and her ridiculously hot fiancé is an entertaining experience. Amalie is a talker, and I learn about their very interesting beginnings. It’s kind of like a soap opera. She was married to Lex’s cousin for less than twelve hours before he cheated on her—which is insane, because she’s not only gorgeous, but funny and sweet and generally awesome.
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