by Zoe York
But frankly, his brother’s sex life wasn’t any of his business.
And this whole interaction was interfering with his own sex life, which was none of his brother’s business.
Ergo, Dylan needed to leave. Gracefully or not, he didn’t really care.
So when his phone went off and it was a message from Astrid, he made some excuse and jetted out of there, leaving a lovely woman totally confused.
He figured Garrett could help her untangle the mystery of the disappearing best man.
He was halfway across the resort before that gave him a great idea. Spinning around, he headed for the lobby.
The clerk at the reception desk gave him a warm smile. “Dr. Van Doren, how can I help you?”
“Hey.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin. “So…I don’t know if it’s come up yet, but my brother and I switched rooms.”
She gave an understanding nod. “Yes. And don’t worry about that.”
“Oh, I’m not worried, exactly.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “But I’ve met someone. And it’s awkward to bring a date back to the honeymoon suite. You feel me?”
Her next nod was faster. “Oh, of course.”
“So I was wondering if you might have another room. Maybe one that my brother doesn’t need to know about.” He slid his credit card across the counter. “Something I could rent on the quiet.”
She tapped at her computer. “We’re pretty full, but we do have a couple of villas open. It would be…” She bit her lip. “Hang on a second.”
He watched as she picked up the phone. Her side of the conversation was mostly limited to understanding sounds, mm-hmms and oh-yeses.
When she hung up, she handed him a new key card. “The Blue Casbah is yours, courtesy of the management.”
He made a mental note to buy the Barefoot Bay staff a giant pile of flowers. With a wink and a wave, he was off down a new path.
* * *
Dylan: Change of plans, pretty girl.
Astrid: Oh?
Dylan: Want to head into town?
* * *
It was quite clever, she had to give him that. As everyone who’d come to Mimosa Key for the wedding was focused on the beach and the resort, the rest of the island was theirs to explore.
He’d asked around and gotten a couple of dinner recommendations. Nothing fancy—they had the resort for that—but they found a quiet place to grab burgers.
“You want fries?” he asked and she laughed.
“What kind of a question is that?”
“An extra large order of fries,” he said to the waiter. “To share.”
“And malt vinegar,” she added. “If you have it.”
Dylan pressed his hand to his chest and grinned. “A girl after my own heart.”
“Yeah?” She hadn’t been sure about asking. But then she’d thought…screw it. She was going to be herself, vinegar preferences and all. “How do you prefer your pickles?”
“Dill, or with garlic, but frankly I’m not picky.” He took a sip of his soda. “Ice cream?”
“Vanilla, always, but load up the toppings.”
He shook his head sadly and made a buzzer sound. “Sorry, wrong answer. Chocolate and plain, always.”
“No,” she gasped, slapping her hands to her cheeks in mock-horror. “But we were food twins for ten seconds! Whatever will we do?”
“At least we won’t fight over the ice cream.” His eyes twinkled. “Besides, I’ve already got a twin.”
She nodded more soberly now. “How’s he doing, by the way? I haven’t seen him.”
“Honestly? I don’t know. But I think he’s going to be just fine. I saw him briefly tonight.”
There was more there, Astrid could sense it. Was Dylan holding back because she was Simone’s friend?
Did she want him to hold back because she was the maid of honour? Had been, no longer was.
“And?” she probed. “Look, I’m not going to say anything to Simone. If he’s bounced back to his old self, that’s good.”
Dylan shrugged. “I think so. Anyway, he looked distracted in a…good way.”
“Nice pause.”
“Some distractions are good in the end, but maybe not in the beginning.”
“He shouldn’t feel badly about having a little fun. He’s single again.”
Dylan’s eyebrows hit the roof. “Pot, kettle. You weren’t even the one who had the wedding fall apart at the last second and you feel badly about kissing me.”
She gasped. “You kissed me!”
“And you hated every second of it.” He leaned back in his chair and gave her a heated look. “You both could take a lesson from me in not giving a fuck.”
She giggled. “Are you an expert at that?”
“Sure am.”
Maybe she did need lessons. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Now, let’s stop talking about Captain America and go back to the ever-so-important comparison list of food we both like.” His eyelids dropped, hooding his gaze. “Whipped cream?”
Chapter Seven
Dylan woke up alone, at least in the physical sense. But he also woke up to the sound of an incoming text message.
* * *
Astrid: I can’t sleep
Dylan: I see that. You texted me before my alarm went off.
Astrid: Sorry
Dylan: Don’t be. I like you a lot more than my alarm. Want to go for a walk?
Astrid: maybe
* * *
He couldn’t ask her if she wanted something else. Not by text. She’d turned him down, put on the brakes, enough times now that he knew he was pushing too fast. After dinner the night before, they’d gone to the public beach in town and walked along the sand for a while, but when they got back to the resort, all he got was another good night kiss—well, a whole pile of them—at the edge of the parking lot. Then he’d gone to bed, alone, which felt just as wrong in the new villa as it did the honeymoon suite.
* * *
Dylan: I think the coffee place in the lobby might be open
Astrid: meet you there
* * *
It was early, sunrise was still another forty-five minutes away at least, but around the resort staff were moving quietly and efficiently.
Astrid was in the lobby already, chatting with the barista.
“Morning,” he said softly, letting his hand brush across the small of her back. She was wearing shorts and a tank top, with a wrap pulled around her shoulders. Her legs were bare all the way down to flip flops. She looked soft and touchable, and he wanted to pull her into his arms.
Easy, cowboy.
She turned and gave him a smile that blew that warning right out of his mind. There was no easy when it came to Astrid. No slick, no control. She stripped away all his jaded layers and made him want to make wild pronouncements of affection that would surely scare any sane woman way.
“What are you going to have?”
You, naked, in my bed was not the right answer. He gave his head a little shake and turned to the barista. “A regular latte is fine.”
Once they had their drinks in hand, they headed down to the water as if there’d been some silent discussion and they’d come to an agreement. The main building overlooked the bay, and it reminded him of Coronado in a lot of ways, although quieter.
His brother had just shrugged when Dylan had asked him why they were flying to the east coast for the wedding. Easier for family to travel to, he’d said. But there was something special about Mimosa Key, and Barefoot Bay specifically. Take off your sandals and fall in the love, he thought. That was the slogan of the resort, and the speed with which his heart was spinning out of control for Astrid, he believed it.
Not that he was actually in love. But it was the most romantic fling he’d ever had, that was for sure. That they’d only shared kisses so far probably played into that mystique.
Somewhere along the path to the beach, he’d taken her hand. Her fingers were soft, like the rest
of her, but long and tapered and strong, too. He held on to them until they hit the sand, then he let go long enough for her to kick off her sandals—and he did the same.
As soon as they sat on a lounge chair, Dylan leaning back and Astrid between his legs, their coffees on a small table beside them, he picked up her hand again and traced the length of her index finger, the repeated the caress down the rest of her digits.
“Your hands are gorgeous,” he murmured against her temple.
She spread her hand out wide, flexing her fingertips. “I got a manicure for the wedding. First time in a year? Nail polish doesn’t last long with my job.”
He frowned. Did he even knew what she did?
She twisted around and laughed at his face.
Busted.
“I’m an illustrator,” she volunteered.
“Did I know that?”
“Maybe not. I think the only time I mentioned it was during the introductions at the rehearsal dinner. You were flirting with Callie.”
“That’s the other blonde, right?” She elbowed him in the gut, gently, and he squeezed her arm. “No, I know she’s the brunette. And you know I wasn’t really flirting with anyone. Do you want to play the who’s more jealous game?”
She grinned. “I think you might win that, actually. I liked the way you got all alpha yesterday over the sunscreen.”
“If anyone’s going to rub anything on you this week, it’s going to be me.”
“Okay.” She gave a happy little wiggle and leaned back against him.
He grabbed their coffees and handed hers over before taking a sip of his own latte. “Mmm. That’s good.”
“I know,” she sighed. “And this is very nice.”
Down the beach, a couple approached slowly, but they didn’t pay them any attention.
Dylan relaxed back and sipped his coffee as he gently played with Astrid’s hair. This was very nice. A week seemed like not nearly enough time to slowly seduce the maid of honour when the maid of honour was Astrid with the beautiful hands and gentle smile and one-kiss-at-a-time dating philosophy.
“So…” That was as far as he got, because more people were heading for the beach, and Astrid wasn’t nearly as relaxed against him anymore.
She didn’t climb off the chair, but she was on edge now.
He was prepared for her to pull the plug on their early morning coffee date.
He wasn’t at all prepared for what she suggested instead. She turned around and gave him a curious look, her eyes glinting. “Do you want to go somewhere more private?”
His pulse jackhammered in his neck. His chest. Lower. “Yes.”
“Because we could—”
He jumped up and pulled her to stand with him. “How private?”
“Completely,” she whispered, lighting a match. Didn’t she know he was made of kerosene?
With a groan, he buried his hands in her hair, holding her still as he kissed her lips, her jaw, her neck. “I wasn’t sure if you were sure…”
“I’m sure now.”
He kissed her again, hard and fast on the mouth, then laced his fingers through hers and headed toward the path for his new villa. His secret villa.
Where absolutely nobody would even know to look for them.
“Where are we going?” she finally asked when he slowed down.
“I thought you might be nervous about me being discovered in your room, and it’s kind of weird to go back to the honeymoon suite, so…” he spun her around and pointed at the villa. “I arranged a secret liaison spot for us.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “Did you have this place last night?”
He shrugged.
“Dylan!” She laughed and moved closer, all the way closer, and as her body pressed against his, her hands sliding under his t-shirt, his mind went blank. That desperate need that had started on the beach was still hammering in his veins, and she was looking at him, searching his face, like she expected him to keep carrying on a conversation. “Why didn’t you say anything last night?”
Instead of answering, he took her mouth again. This time the kiss was possessive and claiming. More, screamed every cell in his body. He swept his tongue hard against hers, urging her to taste him right back.
She didn’t miss a beat. “Oh,” she breathed against his lips right before she licked her way back into his mouth.
Somehow he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he yanked the key card out of his pocket and blindly let them into the villa.
There was some crashing and banging as he negotiated the way to the master bedroom, because the soft woman in his arms kept kissing him and his dick was way more interested in that than his brain was in proper navigation.
With each awkward bump, Astrid just giggled and rubbed herself against him.
By the time he got her to his bed, his brain had finally kicked into gear with the belatedly helpful suggestion to just screw her against the front door.
Too late, brain.
But hello, bed.
Chapter Eight
Astrid had never had sex before breakfast before.
Unless coffee counted as breakfast. And maybe they weren’t going to have sex—and what a shame that would be.
No, they were totally going to have sex, she decided as Dylan lifted the hem of his t-shirt and peeled it up his torso. And coffee didn’t count.
Today was a first.
Hopefully the first of many firsts.
She licked her lips as he dropped his shirt on the floor and climbed onto the bed, his eyes almost on fire as he looked right at her.
“Dylan,” she breathed as he loomed above her.
“I like kissing you,” he said roughly. “Thought we could try it with our shirts off.”
“Just our shirts?”
He groaned and fell to the side, his hands on her waist as he swung her on top of him. She straddled his hips, delightfully aware of his growing erection beneath her. “Shirts to start. Take yours off,” he said, his voice strained. “Slowly. Torture me.”
He was the one torturing her. But she took some power—okay, a lot of power—from the way he was looking at her and ghosted her hands down her body. “This top?”
He nodded, his eyes big and dark. “That one.”
“Off…” she said, taking a slow, deep breath. “Like this?” She tugged down one strap, letting it expose the top of her bra.
“Sure.”
“Or like this…” she breathed, lifting the hem enough to reveal a wide swath of her trembling midsection, the nip in at her waist and the flare of her ribs up to her breasts.
“You’re killing me. Do you need help?”
“With torturing you? Would you do that to yourself?” She rolled her hips. “You stay right where you are, mister.”
His eyelids hooded and he licked his lips as she slid her hands under the hem of her shirt, then around to the back, jutting her still-covered breasts toward him as her elbows tucked behind her.
This wasn’t her. Gyrating on top of a hot guy, making him beg for her to get more naked?
But when had she ever felt more wanted, more desirable?
Never.
And she wanted this moment to last forever.
But she wanted that hot, hungry gaze on her bare skin even more, so she notched the other strap down her arm, then slid the tank top to her waist, leaving her in just her bra.
“Show me your breasts,” he said, truly hoarse now, and when she shifted back onto her heels, he pushed himself up so he was closer to her. Closer to her skin, with his mouth and his breath and those eyes made of molten onyx.
She didn’t even bother taking it off. She just tugged the cups down, letting him her nipples pop out the top.
The guttural groan he gave in response was totally, completely worth it. She’d recorded that in that special fantasy bank to replay forever and ever and ever.
And when she cupped her flesh together, he latched on, sucking first one nipple, then the other deep in
to his mouth. Like a lightning bolt, hard-edged desire shot down her spine, a direct line from her breasts to between her legs. She spread her thighs, opening herself for him, and rolled forward.
His hands landed hard on her hips, tugging her closer still. They quickly found a rhythm. This is what she’d wanted to do that first kiss, climb into his lap and find out just how dirty he could be. She’d stopped herself then, but there was no stopping now.
His fingers worked deftly behind her, and her bra fell away. His hands replaced hers in holding her breasts together, and she stroked her fingers through his hair. Between her legs, and still through a few layers of fabric, the thick ridge of his erection pulsed as she tugged on his thick waves.
Emboldened, she tightened her grip and tugged him back by the hair.
He gave her a surprised look, and that was the last bit of dominance she got to show for quite a while. He flipped her onto her back, pinning her against the bed with both of her wrists above her head, one of his hands holding them down, while he quickly stripped her out of her shorts and underwear with his other hand.
Magic fingers, she thought, and then he proved that to be very true when he touched her between her legs.
She was wet, slippery under his touch, and he used that to his advantage, gliding over her swollen flesh with ease as he found the spots on either side of her clit that made her shiver, then worked them like hot buttons straight to her soul.
"Tell me that's good," he said roughly.
"So good." A thrill ran through her at how easily that honesty came, how heady it was that he wanted…no, needed to hear he was pleasing her. "Oh, yes, right there," she added, her own voice catching.
He moved over her, still stroking her, and pressed his erection into her hip. The heavy weight of it made her belly tug hard, deep inside.
He gaze down at her, his eyes bright, his mouth wet. "I want to be inside you."
"Yes…"
"Take off my shorts," he said, releasing her hands, and she scrambled to her knees. Their bodies brushed together here and there, each point of contact licking her with fire as she fumbled with his button, then his fly. His erection strained beneath her hands, bumping her knuckles before popping into view, tenting his boxer briefs.