Summer Romance Box Set: 3 Bestselling Stand-Alone Romances: Weightless, Revelry, and On the Way to You

by Kandi Steiner

  Tucker smiled, and finally the mood was lifted. “You can’t.”

  The conversation stayed light the rest of the way down, and when we finally hit Momma Von’s cabin we all jumped out of our tubes, walking against the icy current to the bank where she had carved out a little beach among the rocks.

  I wrapped myself in one of the towels she’d set up there as everyone made their way up. Tucker and Davie volunteered to drive back and get the trucks along with Zeek, and Julie waved as she trailed behind them. Yvette and Sarah laid out their towels a ways down to soak up the last of the sun before it was gone for the night.

  Momma Von sighed as she sidled up beside me, toweling off her hair as her eyes followed mine to the curve of the mountains in the distance.

  “You know, I’ve lived out here for twenty-three years now, and this view still takes my breath away.”

  I squinted at her with a smile, noting the lines on her face. It was the first time I took the time to appreciate the life that had been lived by the woman who wore them, the stories and memories that etched each one into place.

  “This is a healing place, Wren.”

  Neither of us said another word, but my mind was heavy as we stood on that bank. I thought of Julie and Zeek, their love so fresh and new—so innocent. And of Tucker and Dani, a young love cut short, the flower not allowed to bloom. Momma Von had loved so many, yet really only truly loved one, and now here she stood next to me, both of us single, but I was the only one alone. She’d filled her life in different ways, and I wondered if I could ever do the same.

  I was beginning to realize that there was no one path for love, no right or wrong way. Maybe I wasn’t broken after all, maybe I was only learning to walk on a new kind of path, a gravel road my tender feet had yet to master. And though I knew the night would usher in darker thoughts, ones of failure and uncertainty, I smiled despite them. Because right then, if only for a moment, it felt like everything would be okay.

  I would be okay.

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  The sun had set by the time I made it back to my cabin, and I was exhausted as I waved goodbye to Davie and Yvette, who had been anxious to get back to Benjamin all day. It was cute how excited they were to get home, and I tried to imagine having a child who was my world. It was hard to do.

  My designs had always been my children. I poured everything into each one of them, building them with pieces of myself. The day a new line launched and I saw customers walking out of our boutique with clothes I’d brought to life with my own hands was the closest experience I had to birthing a newborn.

  I’d started my first “line” when I was only sixteen, but it had mostly been a project for me and my high school friends—including Keith. We had just started dating, and he loved to talk to me about my dreams back then. We talked about everything then—our families, our fears, our hopes for our own lives. We used to stay up every night on the phone until after midnight, and at seven in the morning, he’d pick me up to drive me to school.

  But back then, my designs were juvenile and unrefined. I worked on them relentlessly, pouring over magazines and watching not just the live streaming of fashion shows, but the behind-the-scenes documentaries, too. I studied the art of sewing, played with pattern after pattern, bought dresses and shorts and blouses at my favorite stores just to take them home and deconstruct them. I wanted to know how they started, see how they had become that finished product, and ask myself what I would have done differently if it had been me starting with those scraps.

  Still, I wasn’t sure if I had what it took. There were millions of girls who wanted to be fashion designers, and I was just one of them.

  It wasn’t until my junior year of college that my professor convinced me I had a unique talent. She was the one who put the thought in my head that maybe, just maybe, I could really make fashion my career. And when Adrian showed his faith in me by offering to be my business partner, everything just clicked into place.

  As soon as I graduated, I got to work on my designs and forming a business plan for the boutique while Keith started dental school. Those were actually some of the best times, both of us working toward our goals, making the most of what small time we did have together.

  I remembered one night when I was buried in breaking down the finances of renting out retail space, Keith came into the bedroom and cleared all the paperwork off the bed. I’d objected at first, but when I’d looked up, he was wearing nothing but a bow tie, and he made a joke about being the mannequin in my store window before hilariously stripping it off.

  We’d spent the rest of the night in the sheets, not doing anything we actually needed to get done, and it was one night that I’d never forget. Sometimes that was what hurt the most, that our love had started strong and burned bright through so many hard times. I wondered where it all went wrong, where it shifted. I wondered where I’d failed.

  Going through a divorce wasn’t an overnight process. The emotions didn’t stop as soon as the papers were signed. My heart would always hold Keith inside, even if it was just a small or rarely visited part of it. And there was something kind of beautifully tragic about that, holding onto the best parts of our love even after living through the worst.

  I groaned against the ache in both my muscles and my heart and shook thoughts of Keith from my head.

  The day had been long.

  I was surprisingly sore from an activity that sounded so relaxing. It turned out “floating down the river” involved a lot of exertion, and my limbs were heavy as I climbed the stairs with an oversized yawn. It wasn’t until I was halfway up that the motion-censored light flicked on and I saw him.

  My heart thumped once in my chest at the sight of Anderson’s shadowed frame sitting there, his back propped up against my front door. I slowed, noting the hard edges of his jaw, the line of his nose pointed down at his boots. His knees were pulled up, elbows resting over top of them, hands locked tight and knuckles white as he bounced one leg softly.

  “Anderson?”

  He glanced up at me with red, swollen eyes, half of his face still hidden by the night. My throat closed in on itself as I looked down on him.

  I’d never seen anyone so small.

  He watched me for a moment, asking me for something—permission, maybe? Then he stood, slowly, moving away from the door without a word.

  My hands shook as I unlocked it and stepped inside, dropping my towel near a few pairs of my shoes. I tossed my hat on top and turned just as Anderson closed the door behind us. His shoulders sagged with what seemed like the weight of the entire world, and he looked as if he’d aged ten years in the eight hours since I’d seen him last.

  But through his anguish, there glimmered a hunger in his eyes, and it nailed me to the spot where I stood.

  There was something familiar about Anderson in that moment, as if a part of me recognized him. If the eyes really were windows to our souls, then our souls had climbed through those windows and stood face to face in my kitchen, seeing each other for the first time without cloudy glass between them to skew the truth.

  I cleared my throat, ripping my gaze from his to run a hand through my tangled hair.

  “Do you want something to drink?” I asked as I moved to the fridge, reaching in for a bottle of water. I didn’t even wait for his answer before closing it again because I already knew.

  That pull I’d felt between us in my bathroom last night and on the porch this morning had exploded, hot particles sparked with energy buzzing all around us. I couldn’t face him again—I could barely breathe—so I gripped the edge of the sink and lifted the bottle to my lips, drinking half of it in one desperate pull.

  I’d just set it down, lips still wet and the cap not even in place, when I felt him behind me.

  Heat radiated off him, warming my skin and setting off a parade of goosebumps all at once. Fingertips lightly brushed my hip just above the hem of m
y shorts, and I stilled, frozen in place as his other hand swept the hair from one side of my neck. Where my breaths were stunted, his came steady and sure as his fingers tightened, and his lips pressed against the skin just below my ear.

  I closed my eyes, my body so tense that it hurt as he kissed his way down slowly. When his teeth nipped at my shoulder, I hummed, my breath rushing out as the tension between us snapped like a strained electric wire.

  The whole world came back in a rush, all of my senses invaded at once.

  Anderson’s hands gripped me hard, twisting me until I faced him. He crushed his mouth to mine with a need so urgent, so wild. He was cinnamon and pine, warm and earthy, his expert tongue running the length of my bottom lip before he pulled it between his teeth. My eyes flew open just in time to see him close his again and he groaned, pulling me closer, arms wrapping around me completely as he slid his hands down to cup my ass. They tightened, and my breath caught as he lifted me, propping me on the counter to settle between my thighs, the heat of us connecting.

  Every part of him consumed me, his mouth on mine, arms wrapped tight, one hand splayed on the small of my back while the other cradled my neck, holding me to him. I wondered what he was thinking, but it was hard to really think at all. The feel of him overwhelmed me after so long without a man’s touch.

  I’d forgotten the intensity of a first kiss—the buzz of it low in my stomach, the shock of it stealing my breath.

  He trailed his tongue down the apex of my neck, sucking the skin at my collar bone as he rocked his hips against me. I gasped at the feel of him pressed against the seam of my shorts, rubbing the ache I felt until I winced against the need for relief.

  “Anderson,” I whispered and he groaned as if my voice had pulled him back to reality.

  He slowed, hands still hanging on to me as he rested his forehead against my own, our breaths colliding in the space between us. My hands tangled in his hair, tugging, gripping, unsure if they wanted him closer or to push him to the other side of the room.

  This was dangerous—we both knew it.

  I wanted to shut my brain up, be like my friends who didn’t think about how they’d feel about having sex until after it was already done, but Anderson wasn’t just a hook up, and I knew that before he even took me to bed. I felt him in every part of me, and I knew we were about to cross a line we could never come back from.

  Anderson’s mouth parted, eyes closed tight like he was experiencing the same struggle, but it was in that moment that I felt the raw demand. I’d had a glimpse of it that morning when he’d been on my porch. I’d seen him hurting, and now he stood in my kitchen with his hands holding on tight, that pain exponentially more present.

  “I need you.”

  His voice was low, the bass of it connected to the blood pulsing through my veins. Those three words unraveled any uncertainty I had.

  I couldn’t be certain that I wasn’t setting myself up for heartache, or that I wasn’t doing the same to him, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

  He needed me.

  I didn’t know why—didn’t need to know why—because the truth was I needed him, too.

  And more than that, I wanted him, so badly it physically pained me.

  So I pulled him in, kissing him with intent, with the permission he needed, and we both let go. We left the questions, the expectations, the fears, all of them shed like clothing on the edge of the cliff we both jumped off willingly.

  He lifted me again, our mouths still tasting as he carried me up the stairs. I felt so light, so small in his arms. One hand found the string of my top when we hit the top stair and he pulled, letting it drop between us before tossing it to the floor.

  He lowered me to the bed and I unwrapped my legs long enough for him to tug his shirt up and over his head. The hard edges of his body were menacing in the shadows, the only light in my bedroom coming from the half moon outside. I kept my eyes on his as I tucked my thumbs under the hem of my shorts, flicking the button open before tugging them down and kicking them to the side.

  He reached for his belt, eyes on where I pulled the strings of my bathing suit bottoms. And when he let his jeans fall to the floor and kicked out of his boxer briefs, I couldn’t stand the space any longer. I reached for him, pulling him down until his lips met mine again. I arched toward him, hands running the length of his abdomen until I wrapped them around him and he groaned, thrusting into my touch.

  Every move he made, every sound from his lips zipped on a hot wire straight down between my legs. A need that had rested like a sleeping giant within me had awaken not slowly, but violently, consuming me with a burn that only Anderson’s touch could soothe.

  He bent, kissing his way down my neck and chest as I threw my head back with a gasp at the feel of him. Then his hands hooked around my thighs, tugging me to the edge of the bed, and I looked down just in time to see his mouth connect where I ached the most.

  The sweep of his tongue was hot and demanding, my toes curling at the sensation where they hung over his shoulder. It was almost too much, finally touching him, him finally touching me. He was just supposed to be a neighbor, a friend, someone to talk to and help around the cabin but now that I’d tasted him I knew we’d never go back to that.

  I never wanted to.

  He sucked my clit as if he already knew the pressure needed to set me off, his fingers dipping down to slide inside me slowly. I gripped the sheets, twisting them in my hands as my back bent from the bed, gasps growing louder. I could have come right then, just from that one motion, but I wanted more.

  I leaned up quickly, tightening my fists in his hair and guiding him up to my mouth. The taste of me was still fresh on his lips as I pulled him back onto the bed, his thighs spreading my own as he settled on top of me. The length of him slid against my wet opening and we both moaned, my heels digging into his backside with a pleading whisper on my lips.

  “Wait,” he commanded.

  It was the first word he’d spoken since I’d given him the permission he asked for, and it was the last word I wanted to hear. I whimpered when he pushed off, hands reaching blindly for his jeans. He pulled out his wallet and fished through it before pulling out a condom. I hadn’t even thought of asking him to wear one, and for some reason it turned me on even more that he was careful, that he was able to think straight enough to be safe with me.

  He tore at the packaging with his teeth and pushed back off the bed, standing on his knees above me. My fingers rounded the swell of my breast and my other hand reached for my clit as he slid the condom on, his hands rolling, the length of him straining as he stretched the condom over himself. It felt forbidden, watching him in the moonlight, every inch of him hard and dark and pulsing with want.

  He fell back on top of me, tongue circling the nipple I played with before moving my hand away and sucking it between his teeth. I arched into him and he slid one arm under me, pulling me closer, the tip of him lined up at my entrance.

  Just a push, an inch, the slightest shift and he’d be inside me, and everything would change.

  He seemed torn between taking his time and exploring me or giving into the need we both felt, so I used my heels to pull him in, just a centimeter, tightening around him as he cursed into my chest.

  I knew just from the sight of him that he was the biggest I’d ever had, which wasn’t saying much since I’d only had two before him, but even still I wasn’t prepared for what he’d feel like. His arms slipped under my shoulders, hands holding on and pulling closer as he slid inside me. I tightened, gasping, vision invaded with a black blur at the fullness of him.

  “Goddamn, Wren,” he breathed, sliding out slowly before rocking in again. I clawed at his back, desperate to feel more as he stretched me open for him. When he pushed up from the bed, grabbing my hips and thrusting inside with more depth, I cried out, hands flying to grip the sheets again. I needed something to hold onto, something to pull into ecstasy with me.

  Anderson’s hands dug into my hip
s, thumbs pressing where my legs spread for him and pulling me into him with each flex. When I reached for him again to pull him down, he wrapped his hands around my wrists and pinned them above my head, pushing them into the pillows as his mouth crushed to mine again.

  I loved the way he took control, the way he made me feel small and desired and irresistible. I’d felt it downstairs, how he’d wanted to walk away but he couldn’t. He kissed me hard, sucking my lip between his teeth before letting it go on a pop and kissing his way down my jaw to my neck, his hips still working in steady rhythm with his mouth. Every kiss was the hot head of a branding iron, marking me, peppering me with burns that would remind me of this night forever.

  Hands still wrapped around my wrists, he flipped us, pulling me to straddle him before he released his grip. My hands weaved into my hair as I moved, thighs tensing as I lifted until just his tip was inside me before pressing back down. Anderson cursed, his voice low and desperate, calling to the orgasm I felt building. He was even deeper this way, my legs spreading wider as I rode, and when his thumb moved to my clit it was too much.

  I buckled, shaking as I moaned out my release. It hit me with the force of a hurricane, Anderson’s voice muffled as he called out my name and sat up, pulling me closer, his arms wrapped all the way around me and my clit still rubbing against his lower abdomen as I rode out the wave. He came with me, head buried in my chest as I moved slower, taking him deeper, and when he pulsed out his release he whispered my name again.

  I threaded my fingers into his hair, both of us breathing heavy as we slowed, our bodies slick where each inch of us connected. He held me there for a moment, still inside me, our hearts calming, then he gently laid me back on the bed.

  I curled into him as he pulled out and wrapped me in his arms, holding me close, like he still needed me. So I stayed, holding him too, letting him know I was there.

  I had almost drifted off when I heard my phone ring from downstairs, and my eyes flew open, heart sprinting to a gallop in two seconds flat. I knew it was ten o’clock, and I knew it was Keith calling, and I knew I should have felt some type of way about that. Guilty? Maybe. But with Anderson’s arms around me, I felt only an uncomfortable sorrow that seemed dull in comparison to the explosion of emotions I’d just experienced. I imagined it’d be in the morning light when anxiety would strike, so for now, I closed my eyes and held onto the night.