by Layla Hagen
If I don’t make it to breakfast in time, there won’t be any left. To my utter disappointment, I was right.
“Summer, come here!” Alex motions me to join him at his table, which is empty otherwise. Claudia, one of the Spanish teachers, and the three other supervisors usually sitting with us are already gone, the kids too.
I grab some ham, tomatoes, and bread before heading to the table.
“Here, look what I saved you.” He points to the plate in front of him, which contains two muffins.
“For me?” I ask unnecessarily, thrilled to the tips of my toes.
“Yeah.”
“How did you know?”
“First day, you gave Claudia the stink eye when she asked if she could have one of your muffins, since you had two and there were none left. And yesterday, you told Billie he had to wash his hands because he’d been patting a stray cat. Then you took the last muffin.”
“That was for his own good,” I protest. “He’d already had five.”
“Liar! You did it because you wanted the muffin for yourself. Admit it.”
Setting my elbows on the table, I drop my face in my hands and whisper, “Okay, I admit it. I know it was selfish, but I just really needed that one bite.”
Kicking his leg playfully under the table, I attack the muffin. The cherry and chocolate flavor melts on my tongue. Parts of me melt too as I realize how much attention he’s been paying to me. Maybe it’s silly to put so much stock in such a little thing, but it makes me feel cared for. Important.
“I’m going out on the water with a Jet Ski in about an hour, want to join me?” he asks.
“Thanks, but no. I don’t like being too far from shore. I don’t like deep water.”
“Why? You can’t swim?”
“Oh, I do swim. But I nearly drowned when I was little, and every time I don’t feel the bottom of the sea or the pool, I panic.”
“That blows. But sometimes pushing against a fear pays off. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
His expression is warm and reassuring, and I believe him. It’s astonishing how much I trust him. I’m sharing things with him I usually only talk about to my family, and I fear I’ve started down a slippery path. Along with trust, I tend to give my heart.
I weigh the pros and cons of taking him up on his offer. I always did want to fight this irrational panic, but I feel a tingling in my neck, like spiders crawling up my throat, at the thought of being surrounded by all that bottomless water. Nope, can’t do it. Not even for the possibility of skin-on-skin contact—in my imagination, life vests or wetsuits don’t exist, and I’d snuggle up right behind him, my breasts pressing against his back, my arms circling his middle, fingers tracing the hard ridges of his abdomen before gripping him for support.
“I know, but... maybe another time. Oh, by the way, we’re organizing a bonfire tonight.” Having finished my muffin, I rub my hands together in excitement. “I’m dying for s’mores. I can roast marshmallows like nobody’s business. I even have my specialty.”
“Oh?”
“Wait and see. It’s delicious.”
He swallows, a playful glint in his eyes. “I bet.”
Holy Pop-Tarts and cupcakes. Is he flirting? Even if he is... I’m handling it.
“I bet everything you make is delicious.”
Still handling it. That slippery path feels like a steep glide. But stop just because I’m going down in flames? Not my style.
“Do you even like marshmallows?” I inquire.
“I’ll love yours.”
Folks, Alex Westbrook is flirting with me. It’s official, and I can’t lie to myself. I’m not handling it anymore. I’m a little hot and very, very bothered. We finish eating in companionable silence, and after breakfast, I use the quiet morning hours to finish a painting for my mom. I prop my canvas on my bungalow’s deck, placing it so I can glance at the water over it.
My hand moves of its own accord, across the canvas, stroke after stroke. Now, that’s what I call having a stroke of inspiration. Those muffins have the most peculiar effect on me this morning.
***
“Summer, this is perfect. Wow. You’re so good at this!” Elise exclaims later that evening. At seventeen, she’s one of the oldest girls at St. Anne’s. She asked me if I could braid her hair after the painting lesson finished. Braggart that I am, I showed her pictures of my nieces during the break, and she pointed out how beautifully their hair was braided.
“Thanks. My sisters kick ass at this, but I had plenty of practice on my nieces.”
She smooths her palm over the braid, her shoulders hunching a little. “It must be nice to be so close to your family.”
I press my lips together, nodding. Whenever I’m with the kids at St. Anne’s, I’m reminded not to take my family for granted. “Come on, let’s go get started on roasting those s’mores,” I say.
Turns out that a bonfire is a dangerous idea when a fourth of the kids running around are under ten, which seems to be the cutoff age for finding the idea of sticking your fingers into an open flame interesting. I also chug down non-alcoholic daiquiris like it’s nobody’s business, thirsty from all the effort.
“No, Bobby, I’ll give you the marshmallows as soon as they’re roasted.” I fend off six-year-old Bobby for the third time. Holy bejesus. I thought I had plenty of practice fending off kids from suicidal missions since I regularly babysit my nieces and nephews, but I’m in over my head. We’re six adults, supervising thirty kids, but I can only take a breather once everyone under the age of fourteen goes to bed.
When I’m done roasting, I take refuge on one of the rattan sofas. Well, it looks more like an apple than a sofa. It’s shaped like a globe, and I appreciate the rattan walls for shielding me from view. I love being with these kids, but I need a ten minute time-out. None of the kids discover my hiding spot, but Alex does.
“You’re right. Your marshmallows are delicious,” he says with a grin.
“Would you believe I didn’t even have one?”
“I know, I was watching you. You were in over your head, roasting for the kids flocking around you while trying to keep them out of the fire.”
“I was. But so were you. Why d’you have so much energy? I feel like I’ve just swam a mile and my arms will fall off.” Not to mention my head is spinning a little.
“I’ve had worse in training.”
“I’m dying for a marshmallow, but I have no energy to move.” I pout, massaging my temple.
“Stay where you are. I’ll feed both of us.”
He walks to the fire, roasting a stick of marshmallows. When he glances at me, winking, I become aware of the sweaty hair clinging to the back of my neck. In fact, my entire body seems to be covered with a thin sheet of cold sweat. I shiver a little but have no desire to go near the fire again.
“Are you cold?” Alex asks upon returning, watching me rub my arms with my palms.
“A little. I got all sweaty roasting, and now my skin’s clammy.”
Before I realize what he’s doing, he climbs in the rattan globe, sitting right behind me, stretching his legs alongside mine, his inner thighs touching my outer thighs, his chest touching my back. A sizzle replaces the shiver, and I keep my hands in my lap, unsure what else to do with them. I’m wearing a knee-length cotton skirt and a neon-pink top with puff sleeves, but for some reason feel as exposed as if I were naked.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Warming you up and feeding you.”
He takes one marshmallow off the stick, holding it in front of my mouth. I bite into it without hesitation, sighing in delight at the delicious flavor. I lean my head back a little, resting it on his chest. I make the mistake of closing my eyes. When I blink them open again, the stars are spinning in front of my eyes. What the hell? Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alex shove the half-eaten marshmallow in his mouth. Oh God, this feels so intimate. Sitting here, sharing marshmallows. His body is cocooning around mine as if he’s
determined I should never ever feel cold.
I can feel his breath on my jaw and the crook between my jawbone and my neck as he leans to pick another marshmallow off the stick. Shit, his hands seem to shake before my eyes. When he brings the marshmallow in front of my face, I have to grip his wrist to stop myself from seeing double. I bite off half of it, then go back for the rest, my tongue swiping the pad of his finger in the process.
“Summer.” I feel a low groan reverberate in his chest. As if through a haze, I feel the fingers of his other hand digging into my thigh. His chest feels so good against my back. So hard and good. I want to lick every crevice in it, drag my tongue over all those muscles. Looking down, I realize I’ve been shamelessly feeling up his thighs.
Whoops. Where on earth are my inhibitions?
“Baby, how much did you drink?” he asks softly in my ear. Panic rises in my throat.
“What do you mean? The daiquiris were non-alcoholic.” But even as I say the words, I know it can’t be true.
“No, the mojitos were non-alcoholic. The waiter didn’t tell you?”
“Oh God, I don’t know. He might have, but I was so busy with the roasting, I wasn’t paying attention. I heard him say non-alcoholic and assumed it referred to both. I didn’t feel the alcohol.”
“You’re not supposed to in a good daiquiri.”
“I had about four, or six.” And now the effect is slamming into me. “Alex, do you think you could help me to my room? I don’t want anyone to realize I’m drunk... and I don’t trust my legs.”
Or my hands... or any part of my body. My licking his finger and feeling up his thighs very well prove I’m not to be trusted tonight.
“Sure. Do you want me to carry you?” he offers.
Yes, oh God, what an epic chance to feel all those muscles, all that hardness. I could rest my head in the crook of his neck, lick him there, just to check if he tastes as good as he smells.
Whoa, shit! I need to pull myself together. A couple of neurons still seem to function outside the alcohol haze. They’d better keep me from embarrassing myself.
“No, just keep an arm around my waist... in case I lose my balance or something.”
“Okay. Up we go, on the count of three. One, two... three.”
Chapter Eleven
Alex
I draw on fifteen years of acting skills and my popularity with the group to make this look like we’re just going for a walk. I walk with her along the shore, thinking the fresh air will do her good.
“Oh, this is better,” she says, “so much better.” A few steps later, she untangles herself from my grip, running right into the water.
“Summer, no, come back.”
Grinning, she launches herself into a series of backstrokes laps. Does she even know she’s fully clothed?
“Summer!” Cursing, I enter the water. This is dangerous for her, and the fact that she doesn’t realize it tells me exactly how drunk she is. I chase her through the water for a good few minutes, pulling her up straight against me when I find her.
“Summer, we need to get out of the water. It’s a dangerous place to be when you’re drunk.”
She purses her pretty lips, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “I thought it might wake me up.”
She’s the happy-drunk type, which is a relief. It’s much more difficult to look after a drunk who’s crying their heart out.
“It won’t. Come on, you’re all wet.”
“So are you.”
Yeah, but I’m not the one who’ll need help changing into dry clothes.
“Come on, baby, let’s get you in your room.”
Before she can escape again, I hook an arm around her waist, the other under her knees, lifting her up in my arms.
“Mmm, this is nice.” She rests her head on my chest, and I’m already on shore when I realize she’s undoing my shirt buttons.
“Summer, stop that.”
I look down to her at the same time she looks up, and the heat in her expression sends a jolt straight below my belt. I’m not just toast, I’m skewered. Instinctively, I look around. Even if someone were to snap a pic of us, there wouldn’t be much to see. The waterfront is dark, the only light source is the bonfire in the distance.
“Skin-on-skin contact will help us warm up,” she purrs. I cross the resort with quick strides, but she’s quicker, undoing all the buttons until I reach her room.
“I need your keycard,” I say. She stops in the act of reaching for my belt.
“It’s in my front pocket. Unless I lost it in the water.”
I put her back down and reach into her pocket because she’s too busy figuring out how to undo my belt. Fucking hell, I need to get her to bed and get out of here!
“Here it is.”
I swipe the card, push open the door and guide Summer inside. She sways dangerously, and I grip her waist from behind, steadying her. She sags against me, her butt pressing against my cock, which is semihard already. “Summer, you need to change into some dry clothes. I’ll bring your clothes. What do you sleep in?”
She grinds her ass a little, whispering, “I sleep naked.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. My semi turns into a raging hard-on. I have to get out of here, right now. Summer’s too far gone to know what she’s doing, but I’m not. But if I leave before she changes, there’s a good chance she’ll fall asleep in her wet clothes, and she’ll be sick tomorrow.
“I’ll bring you a robe. You need to dry off before climbing into your bed.”
I button up my shirt on the way to her bathroom. The robe hangs on the back of the door.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch!”
I hurry back, finding her beside her bed, trying to take off her shirt. Her arms are raised, her head bent at a weird angle, everything entangled in her shirt. All blood pours south when I realize she’s buck naked from the waist down. Her skirt and panties are lying in the center of the room. Her ass is perfect, small and perky.
And when she turns around, gasping, “Alex, I forgot you’re here,” my brain turns blank.
Her pussy is waxed clean, except for a thin strip on the center. The need to bury my head between her legs and kiss her until she explodes on my tongue slams into me. I pull on every ounce of self-control, raising my gaze to the entangled mess of limbs and fabric. Crossing the room, I hold the robe in one hand and disentangle her with the other, throwing the shirt on the floor. She’s not wearing a bra, and her breasts are even more enticing than her ass, just as small and perky. I cover her with the robe, rubbing my palms up and down her arms to dry her off. Her eyes are heavy with lust but unfocused from the alcohol. I need to remember this. That she’d never do this if she were sober. But now I have the image of her sweet naked body imprinted in my mind.
“I feel a bit cold.”
A hot shower would help, but I don’t trust her not to break her neck, and I don’t trust myself to help her shower.
“You’ll warm up as soon as you’re under the covers. I promise.”
“Aren’t you cold? You’re still wearing all these wet clothes. And you buttoned your shirt back. Oh, you threw away all my hard work.”
I laugh because she sounds genuinely disappointed. I push away her fumbling hands when she starts working on the buttons again. Damn woman, why does she have to be so persistent?
“Climb in your bed, Summer. Come on.”
Sighing, she does that... without letting go of me. I lose my balance, barreling on top of her. My erection slams against her thigh.
She giggles, cupping my dick over the denim. “Mmm, is this for me? All for me?”
I try breathing in to regain control, but her smell invades my senses. The delicate perfume of her skin... mixed with the scent of her arousal. She’s wet for me. It takes everything I have not to lower my hand between us, work her clit, slide my fingers inside her. I wouldn’t stop there. I couldn’t.
“Don’t tempt me like this, sweet girl. You’re drunk.”
Another giggle. “Shh, I kn
ow.”
Levering myself on one arm, I lower the other between us, pushing her hand away from my dick. Big mistake. She uses my momentary distraction to plant kisses on my neck, and the tenderness in her gesture nearly shatters my resolve. I want to let this woman kiss me like that all over, and I want it more than I’ve wanted anything else.
Even though the studio would ruin me, even though I don’t want any Hollywood drama to touch Summer, I want her. I fist the sheet to keep myself from fisting her hair and pulling her into a kiss.
“Summer, stop.” She kisses my jawline, moving further down. When she lifts her hips, grinding against me, I nearly explode. “Please, stop.”
“Why?” she asks in a small voice, prying her lips away. I immediately pin her hands to the bed above her head, shifting my ankles so they’re on top of hers, immobilizing her. Every muscle in my body is wound tight. My control hangs on a very, very thin thread.
“Why are you shaking?” she whispers.
“Because you’re tempting the hell out of me, but you’re drunk, sweet girl.” I kiss her cheek, her temple. “I won’t take advantage of you. Not gonna join that list you have of assholes.”
She stills. “You really listen.”
I pull back, watching her straight in the eyes. We didn’t turn on any lights, but the moon is bright, and there’s enough light for me to see that even through the haze of alcohol, she understands what I’m saying.
“Will you let go of my hands and ankles now?” she whispers.
“If you promise to behave.”
She frowns. “Fine, I promise I’ll behave.”
I let go of her ankles first, then her wrists, then move down from the bed. Afterward, she shoves a pillow under her head, crouching on one side, bringing her knees to her chest.
“Thanks, Alex.”
The robe slides sideways, and I catch a glimpse of that perfect round ass before
pulling the cover over her, tucking it under her chin. She closes her eyes, and I sit on the edge of the bed until her breathing slows down and I know she’s asleep.