by Zoe York
“Oh, no…I know that. I just mean…maybe this isn’t what you thought you were getting down here. But maybe it could be good anyway? No matter which way it goes?”
“Would you still…” His eyes were hot and scratchy. Fucking emo bullshit. He squeezed her hip, then palmed her ass. The teenage boy deep inside him gave him a fist bump. It wasn’t whether or not she’d still want him. Fuck that noise. It was his job to be worthy, no matter what. “Yeah. It could be real good. I’ll land on my feet, kitten. Don’t worry about me.”
~
SHE DID, THOUGH, AND EVEN AFTER HE FELL ASLEEP, she thought about their conversation over and over again, looking at it from all sides.
When he started snoring lightly, she slipped out from under his arm and lightly twisted her way out of the hammock.
Inside the house, she found her phone and plugged it in. Then she pinned a note to Mick’s shirt say that she’d gone into town, and went in search of dinner supplies.
And condoms.
After hitting the market and the pharmacy, she swung past Daphne’s boat, but her friend wasn’t home. Arielle would be at the school for another hour at least.
Cara chewed on her lower lip. She needed to tell her friends that the situation had changed. That Mick wasn’t anyone’s enemy, and surely they could find a way to…
But she didn’t know how to finish that thought
She wasn’t sure what they were going to do after today. Today’s plan, though, was to get Mick out of whatever funk he’d slipped into. With condoms. And her mouth. Whatever other part of her body might please him, too.
When she got back to the plantation, Mick wasn’t in the hammock. The lunatic had found a ladder from somewhere and he was on the roof, slowly moving around, stopping occasionally to poke at the shingles.
“What are you doing?” she hollered, shielding her eyes as she stared up at him.
“Checking the roof damage from last night,” he called back. “Why?”
She held up the box of condoms. “No reason.”
“I can’t tell what that is,” he said, planting his hands low on his hips. “But if it’s condoms…”
“It is.”
“I’ll be right down.”
She braced the bottom of the ladder, and as soon as he hit the ground, they were kissing.
And laughing.
She tipped her face up to the sun as he spun her around, his mouth on her neck and his hands…everywhere. This was good. This was very, very good.
“Hammock sex?” Mick mumbled as he slipped his hand inside her t-shirt.
“No,” she panted.
“Bed?”
“Too far.”
“Tent?”
“Too stuffy.” It was muggy and humid, the damp of the storm lingering in the air. “Upstairs.”
Mick stopped her as she turned to go inside. He pressed the hard, flexing bulk of his front against her back, and she shivered. “What’s upstairs?”
She grinned. “The most amazing balcony…I haven’t shown it to you yet.”
There were two balconies, actually, one stretching across the front of the house, matching the full length of the verandah below.
But in the back, there was a smaller one, off what once had been the master bedroom. Empty now, like all the other rooms in the house, it seemed nearly as cavernous as the ballroom below.
The balcony, however, was small, covered, and had the most amazing view of the ocean.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” Mick rumbled behind her.
“You going to punish me?” she whispered, glancing back at him.
He shook his head slowly as a feral grin curled up his face. “Not my style, kitten. I prefer sweet rewards.”
“Oh yeah?” She turned and moved all the way across the balcony until her back touched the thick wooden railing. She dropped the condom box to the floor, spread her arms wide and gave him a coy look. “What do I need to do for a reward?”
He braced his hands on either side of her hips, his feet set wide too, and somehow managed to loom over her without really touching her. Sure, his arms brushed her waist, his legs glanced against her calves as she shifted restlessly in the cage of his body and the railing, but it wasn’t enough.
It was a cruel tease.
He gazed down at her, his eyes crawling slowly over her face. “Tell me what you like. I’ll reward honesty.”
“I…” Her skin was too hot. She wanted to feel his eyes and his hands and the wind on her flesh. “I like to be naked.”
“I like you to be naked, too.” He dropped one hand to her waist and rucked up her tank top. "You have the most gorgeous skin."
"Take it off…please.” She was begging, and he’d just touched her belly. He was so, so good at this.
“I don’t think so.” He dropped the fabric of her shirt and ran his knuckles up her torso, between her breasts. When his fingers got to the neckline, he hooked over it and tugged it down. “Pretty bra.”
She didn’t say anything as he worked her shirt beneath her breasts, then continued his lazy exploration of her skin with the tips of his fingers. Along her bra cups. Over her collarbone. Up her neck and into her hair, until he found just the right spot to hold her head, and then he kissed her.
He said he liked to reward, but this felt punishing. Pent-up feelings poured out of him. Maybe he wasn’t punishing her so much as them, together, for causing such a complication when he wanted nothing of the sort.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth, commanding her to take him. At the same time, he worked his hand into her bra, squeezing her breast almost to the point of pain.
Almost. Not quite.
No, it didn’t hurt in the least.
“More,” she gasped against his mouth. He fondled her more roughly, giving her an edge that made her thighs ache. “Yes…”
“God, Cara, you feel so good.”
She let go of the railing and tugged at his clothes, needing to touch him the same way he was touching her. “I want you.”
“You’ve got me.”
“I want you, now. I want you inside me.”
“We’ve got all night.”
She groaned as she found his erection, hard and ready. She stroked him twice, then spun around, pushing her shorts to the floor as she spread her legs. “All night is for rounds two and three.”
Slow and controlled, he took off her top, then unhooked her bra and replaced the satin cups with his hands for a fleeting second before he released her.
She sagged against the railing as he leaned down and grabbed protection, then stood and wrapped himself around her from behind. “Your wish is my command.”
He kissed her shoulder, her neck, scrapping his teeth along a spot behind her ear she had no idea made her wet, but it did now. Then he squeezed her hips, lifting her onto the tips of her toes as he slid his sheathed cock between her legs.
“Don’t tease me,” she gasped as he rubbed the tip against her clit.
“Breathe,” he whispered. “Feel that? Feel how hard I am for you? If you’re not wet enough, that’s gonna hurt.”
“I’m ready.” Jeez, she was whining now. But she wanted to feel him— “Oh.”
“Okay?”
“Ahhhh…” She tried to breathe. Wow, he was big. He’d just worked the head inside her, but she was already stretching around him to the aching point.
“It’s the angle,” he said, his voice strained.
She shot him a look over her shoulder that she hoped was equal parts accusing and appreciative. “Pretty sure it’s your size, not the angle. But don’t you dare stop.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He bent his legs and tugged on her hips, lining them up a bit better. And he sank in another bit.
“Oh, yes.” Yes! She swallowed her next moan and closed her eyes as he worked himself in and out, in and out, until he was all the way in.
Blissfully, achingly, solidly inside her.
Mother of…
His mouth touch
ed her back again, her shoulder, as he folded over her and started moving. His hands crept up her front, stroking her belly, then settled on her breasts, cupping and squeezing the hot, achy flesh.
He had her trapped, pinned for his pleasure, and he was giving just as much as he was taking. His thrusts were steady and strong, making her cry out as he heated her up, making her stretch for him. It felt like he was tunnelling deeper and deeper into her body, discovering erogenous zones she’d never experienced before.
The G-Spot? Check.
The magical, mysterious sweet spot a bit further back? Oh, yes. In both directions.
The blindingly good rub against her cervix? More, more, more of that.
“Your accent gets stronger the closer you are to coming,” he said in her ear, his own voice thick with lust.
“Oh, does it?” Shit. It did. She tried to laugh but he was pounding into her now, nearly lifting her off the ground, and all she could do was wrap her arm back around his neck and close her eyes as the fireworks started low in her belly.
“Cara,” he growled. “Come for me.”
And she did, spectacularly, as he pistoned himself two, three, four more times into her, then froze. His grip tightened as they were both wracked by tremors, their orgasms continuing as they found their breath again.
She blinked her eyes open.
It really was an incredible view. “Wow,” she said.
“So gorgeous.”
“I know.”
He kissed her shoulder, and she turned, slowly, as he slipped out of her body.
She’d been looking out at the ocean.
But Mick only had eyes for her.
Oh. “Wow,” she repeated, barely a whisper.
TWELVE
THE NEXT DAY, CARA WAS TAKING PICTURES OF THE MESS OF FLOWERS AND WEEDS IN THE FRONT GARDEN, trying to document everything so she could upload the photos to her heirloom plant expert and find out what could safely go, when a limo pulled up to the gate, then slowly crawled toward the house.
There weren’t many limos on the island. Like everything that fancy people brought in with them, she had the knee-jerk, not the island way reaction to the shiny black car. But the license plate was Miralandian, so that was just her bias showing.
Go away, fancy people.
But it wasn’t a Parry that stepped out of the limo, at least not one she recognized from her internet snooping. The man approaching her was older, with a full head of silver hair. There were only two men left in the Parry family of this age, and neither looked like a bulldog who ate caviar for breakfast.
She straightened up and marched straight toward the visitor. A good offense, and all that. “Hello,” she called out. “I’m the temporary caretaker of the estate. Can I help you?”
“Ms. Cara Levasseur?”
“Yes.” She smiled with a polite welcome that she didn’t feel beneath the surface.
“Frank Dewiller.” The name rang a bell, and she placed it at the same moment he smiled broadly and blinded her with his brilliant white teeth. “I’m a senior partner in the law firm handling the estate of Mrs. Gwendolyn Parry.”
The firm who handed Mrs. Parry’s will. Oh, shit.
Her first instinct, crazy as it was, was to turn and call for Mick.
But whatever this was about…one of them would be happy, and the other would not.
That’s what they’d been circling around for days now. Down-right fighting about at times. Ignoring when they were making love, but that didn’t mean that it had stopped existing as a problem that would need to be dealt with.
And now the help they’d both sent furious emails and placed international phone calls to demand, seemingly to no avail, was standing in front of her.
Help had shown up, and in the form of a senior partner no less…and Cara just wanted him to go away. Don’t tell me, she thought, ridiculously. Go away and let me stay here, locked in endless combat with the blockhead. I like his secret handyman skills and his curiously laid-back way. I love the way he looks at me and how he brings me endless pleasure. Go away and leave us to our fantasy.
But there wouldn’t be any relief. Dewiller turned on the charm and moved them toward the building like he owned the place.
Maybe he did.
Maybe that’s why he’d shown up. Joke was on both of them, and there was yet another will, breaking both their hearts.
She’d almost rather that, really.
They could rebuild their lives together.
She shook her head. This was ridiculous. She cleared her throat, too, because talking was proving a challenge. “Right. Yes. I’m sorry. Of course. Would you like something to drink?”
“Water would be great.” He nodded toward the building.
“Yes. This way, please.”
She set her camera down on the kitchen table, then fetched him a bottle of water from the fridge.
She glanced out the back window. Mick was nowhere in sight. “Would you like to see Mr. Parry’s agent as well?”
“Is he here? I expected to find him in town.”
She tried not to blush. “He’s staying in the out building. There are beds and a bathroom there…”
“And the tent in the ballroom we passed…is anyone staying there?”
“Ummm…” She busied herself finding another bottle of water. “Not at the moment, no.”
The last two nights she’d slept on top of Mick.
Beneath him, at least once in the middle of the night. Although that wasn’t strictly speaking sleeping.
“Perhaps we should wait for Mr…” The lawyer trailed off.
“Mr. Frasier,” she offered.
“I apologize for the confusion, Ms. Levasseur.” He kept going, ever so formal, and she nodded, pretending to listen. But he was saying nothing, really. Just niceties and empty almost-excuses. “But it hasn’t been too difficult with the…dispute. Between the two of you?”
Difficult. No, it hadn’t been difficult. Not really. Not even at first.
Frustrating, fiery, and more than a little distracting. But not difficult.
“It’s been fine. He speaks highly of Mrs. Parry’s grandson. And I’ve had an opportunity to impress on him the historical value of the property,” she added, because there was being kind and there was committing professional suicide, and she wouldn’t do the latter.
One way or another, she’d have to stand in front of her board of directors and explain how this conversation went down, and she would be able to honestly say she defended their position.
If it even mattered.
“Hmmm,” the lawyer said.
Go away, screamed her primal self.
“What’s going on here?” Mick asked from the doorway, and she practically sagged with relief. He glanced warily between her and the lawyer, who introduced himself, and Mick’s gaze swung immediately back to her. “You okay?” he asked, more quietly, as he moved to her side.
She nodded. “Mr. Dewiller has just arrived. He hasn’t said anything about the estate yet.”
Mick rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms. He’d gotten a lot of sun while he was here, she noticed inanely, like that was the most important thing going on at the moment. He looked like he belonged, though, and maybe that was an important realization for her to be making.
It all depended on what the lawyer said.
“Right, about that,” Dewiller said, opening his briefcase. He pulled out two sheets of paper.
A letter, it looked like, the same one printed twice.
He hesitated. “A situation has arisen, and once again, we really are quite sorry for any inconvenience that either of you have faced because of this.”
“What situation?”
Cara glanced sideways at Mick. He’d asked the question that was on the tip of her tongue.
Dewiller gave them a pained look. “It seems Gwendolyn Parry may have signed two wills on the exact same day. Unfortunately, none of the witnesses are available.”
None of them? Cara co
uld feel her eyebrows hitting the roof.
“It’s quite unusual. More to the point, we believe that…well, we cannot proceed in good faith under such conditions. It is our belief neither will would stand up to a legal challenge.”
“What?”
“Excuse me?”
They were talking over each other now, both firing questions at Dewiller, but he raised his hand, and like errant school children they sullenly quieted.
“As the executors of Mrs. Parry’s estate, it is our legal obligation to assess her intent, and provide a well-documented probate plan to the court in New York City.”
That didn’t sound good. It sounded messy. It sounded like it would take a long time.
“And in the mean time?” Cara’s heart pounded in her chest.
He shrugged. “That’s up to you. The plantation property isn’t such a significant part of the entire Parry estate, and we won’t be assigning a property manager to it. On the other hand, I must unfortunately make it clear that neither Will Parry nor the Miralinda Historical Society rightfully owns this property. I’d advise both of you to cease any and all renovation plans until this matter is resolved.”
THIRTEEN
MICK KNEW THAT CARA WAS REELING. He was, too.
This changed everything.
But it also bought them some time.
He wasn’t a mind reader, and she didn’t react much at all while the lawyer continued to speak to them. She listened, took his card and the letter that explained the executor’s formal notice of something or other, nodded a lot, frowned a few times, and watched silently as the limo pulled away.
The whole time, Mick just watched her.
He’d been handed a letter, too, because apparently Will couldn’t be found again.
And then they were alone, and she still didn’t say anything.
Finally he went for it—in completely the wrong way. “This is good, don’t you think?”
“No.” She pressed her lips together, and blinked at him. “This is awful.”
Damn. “But no decision is better than—”
“Maybe for you!” She burst out, flailing her arms wildly. “You just want to be a beach bum and wait a few months, so this is actually perfect for you. Meanwhile I’ve sunk thousands of dollars into this project on behalf of the Historical Society and now that’s in limbo!”