“Is he going to come down soon?” Tristan asked quietly.
“Kyle?” His question shook me from my thoughts. “He's busy, but I hope so. We’ve never been apart for so long.”
“Must be hard to be separated from someone you love.”
“Yeah, it is,” I murmured. “What about you? I know you’re not seeing anyone, but what about family?”
“Not really much to report there. My dad still lives in Jacksonville, but things with him are… strained,” he trailed off before continuing. “My mom left when I was a kid. Just disappeared one day. She left a note, called once or twice a year after that, sent a birthday card now and again, but I haven't seen her since.”
Tears pooled in my eyes at his admission. “I’m sorry.” He’d talked about his mom before―that she was a literature major and had named him after the story of Tristan and Isolde, but it hadn’t seemed like a sensitive subject at the time.
“Nothing I’m not used to.” He shrugged. “Dad went off the rails after that. Drank too much, trouble keeping a job. He always said true love is fragile and fleeting. He is wise, but broken.”
“He never found anyone else?” I watched the thoughtful, beautiful man next to me. My heart ached for the small, golden-haired boy who grew up without his mother’s love.
“No, it's been hard for him. He loved her, more than himself, I think. He says it was love at first sight. She tore his heart out when she left and he’s had trust issues ever since.”
“Is that why you...?” I couldn't finish my sentence and locked my lips closed.
“What?”
“Don’t make me say it.” A smile lit my lips.
“What are you talking about, Georgia?” His grin grew wider.
“You know,” my voice softened as I held his gaze.
“Drew filled you in, then?”
“Umm,” I averted my gaze.
“Have I avoided finding the right girl and settling down because of my dad?” A flirtatious glint lit his eyes, sending tingles to my lower body. “I s’pose so.” He took a long draw of his coffee.
“Do you think you’ll find her someday?” I asked.
I watched his fingertip trace the rim of the mug as he thought. “Maybe…” A frown twitched across his lips then disappeared.
“Have you ever been in love?” I watched him thoughtfully, trying to figure out the charming, easy-going, alluring man that sat beside me.
“I don't think so,” he answered after a few beats. “Are you in love with Kyle?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Was he your first?” A teasing grin lifted the corner of his mouth.
“That’s personal, Mr. Howell,” I teased back.
His eyes shot up in surprise before his grin grew, revealing his perfect white teeth. “That’s a yes, then?” His eyes twinkled mischievously, sending my body head first into a slow sizzle.
“Yes.” I scrunched my nose up at him before shoving him playfully.
“Is he your only?”
“Are you always so probing?” I winced as the word left my lips.
His eyebrows shot up as a mischievous sparkle lit his eyes. “No comment.”
I sighed. “No, he's not my only. We’ve broken up a few times, dated other people, but we always came back. I guess that's how I know it's true love.”
“Just because you keep coming back to the same person doesn’t make it true love, it might mean you haven't found the right one yet,” he murmured, his eyes trained on mine.
“Well, thanks for imparting your wisdom.” I retorted. “I love Kyle. I’ve always loved Kyle. We’re two pieces of the same puzzle.”
“It's good you feel that way.” He turned to look back out at the water.
“What does that mean?”
“It seems you’ve got it all figured out.” He finished his coffee and stood. “I’ve got to call a client. Later, Georgia.” He twisted a lock of my hair that had fallen across my cheek before tucking it behind my ear and leaving. Frowning, I considered his mysterious words. I knew Tristan was a hopeless flirt and a ladies’ man, but he was also sensual, thoughtful, and emotional.
I trained my eyes on the horizon and inhaled the thick ocean air. I closed my eyes as the sweet sea breeze picked up a few stray tendrils and curled them around my neck. I was sure of two things in my life―that I’d found true love with Kyle, and buying this house on the beach had been the best decision I’d ever made.
Nine
Tristan
I crawled out of bed just as dawn started to peak though the curtains and stumbled to the bathroom. I splashed water on my face and scrubbed with my palms, trying to erase the memory of the beautiful brown eyes that had been haunting me since I’d stepped into this house a week ago.
I took a deep breath and pushed myself away from the bathroom counter and back into the bedroom. Tugging on a pair of jogging shorts, I headed out the door, feet pounding the sand as my thoughts ran wild about the girl I was supposed to spend a completely platonic summer with.
This girl was affected. I could feel it. I could see it in her eyes. I knew I shouldn’t get involved with her. I knew it would only lead to trouble—not something I always avoided—but this girl had been hurt. She’d been broken. She thought she hid it well, but the pain behind her smile, the sadness in her eyes was always there.
I ran down the shoreline and pushed myself harder than I normally did. I ran for miles before I turned and headed back to the house, slowing my pace only marginally, both dreading reaching the sprawling beach house and wanting to get back to see her face as soon as possible. I padded up the stairs to the house just as the sun was cresting over the horizon. I passed the chairs on the deck and thought of Georgia curled up in her cute little sleep shorts and thin tank, thick waves of brown hair cascading around her shoulders, her full pink lips curved in a smile.
I loved how I couldn’t bullshit her. She threw it back at me just as easily as I dealt it instead of getting flustered like most girls. Just thinking of her rolling her eyes; that indulgent smile crossing her lips, had my balls tingling.
Fuck I needed to do something about that. I headed for the shower and let the thoughts of her smooth, tanned skin overtake my mind as I took my dick in my hand and jerked myself off to thoughts of her sweet, pink lips around my cock. I finished in a few short minutes and then soaped up quickly, washing my hair and then jumping out and toweling off. I pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt and then headed to the porch. The overcast skies had opened up and a light mist dampened the air. It was completely appropriate for the mood I was in.
I felt like a fucking teenager beating off in the shower. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had to do that just to relieve some pressure—but then again if this were any other girl I would have fucked her and moved on already.
But she wasn't any other girl. I couldn’t just fuck her and move on. God knows I wanted to—soon and often. As often as she'd let me. Multiple times a night.
But I also liked talking to her too.
I chewed on my bottom lip thinking all of this when I heard soft footsteps on the deck. “Hey.” I turned and smiled up at her. Damn if she wasn’t more gorgeous every time I saw her.
“Hey. I made coffee.”
“Thanks. I'm slacking this morning.” I threw her that grin. You know, that one that had every girl I’d ever met dropping their panties for me.
Except this girl. This girl wasn't interested. At least she pretended she wasn't. And despite the fact that it’d felt fantastic to hold her in my arms when she'd stumbled on the boat—and I was pretty confident that she’d felt the same—she'd still jumped away awkwardly after a few moments.
“I was getting spoiled.”
I could spoil you Georgia, in so many ways.
I declined when she offered to get me a cup and I placed my hand on hers to stop her from leaving. Her skin was so fucking soft beneath my fingertips I couldn’t help but want to run my hands up and down her body. A
n image flashed in my mind of her writhing underneath me. Sliding my hands up and underneath that flimsy little tank top, my thumbs brushing her nipples, her thighs pressing together as I sucked the flesh under her ear.
Fuck me I was hard again. Thirteen. I was a horny, fucking thirteen-year-old again.
I pulled my hand away and muffled a groan in the back of my throat.
“Any reason you’re sitting out here in the rain?” She said softly. The low timbre of her voice went straight to my balls.
“I like the summer rain—the smell of it—the feel of the damp breeze against your face. It’s soothing, cleansing.” Except right now. Right now all I could focus on was touching her again.
She murmured that she liked it too and then we fell silent. The wind whipped between us, the waves rolled up the shore and my mind was consumed with finding a way to get this girl in my bed.
My lips on her skin.
My fingers twisted in her hair.
I shrugged when she asked me if I liked the water. I ran my fingers absentmindedly along the old, weathered wood of the deck chair. I needed to do something to let out this pent up energy that was coursing through my veins. I couldn’t think straight. Every spare minute was torture when I had to live in the same house with this girl.
I heard her shuffle in her seat and I turned, my eyes searching her face. Her brown irises held my own and I couldn’t look away. Her soft lips opened as she inhaled and my eyes zeroed in on the tiny movement. I grinned, enjoying the moment as the energy coursed between us.
Finally she moved, pulling her thick, damp hair off her neck and twisting it to land over her shoulder, exposing the creamy skin to my hungry eyes.
“You’re getting wet,” I murmured before tucking a damp strand behind her ear. The barest of touches had my dick pressing painfully against the zipper of my jeans. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and fuck me if it didn’t send my thoughts into a spiral. I needed those lips. Needed her hands on me. Needed to feel her skin against mine.
I needed her.
All of her.
Now.
“Georgia,” I whispered just before I leaned into her, pressing my lips to hers in a feather-light kiss. She squirmed and I pulled only a breath away to give her an out. I didn’t want to force her. I knew how she felt—or what she thought she felt anyway—and I knew a girl like her couldn’t be pushed. My name escaped her lips on a soft breath and my heart pounded in my chest. It was confirmation that she wanted this. She wanted us. I could feel it. I brought my hand up to her cheek, my thumb caressing the soft skin, damp from the rain.
“I don’t know what this is between us, Georgia, but I want to find out,” I said as my eyes searched her face before landing on her eyes, begging her to let me kiss her again.
“Me too,” she breathed before pressing her lips to mine, firmer this time. Hunger and passion ignited as our mouths opened and our tongues danced together. The blood pumped through my body at full force as I tasted her for the first time. Her soft coconut scent surrounded me, her lips like sweet sugar, the taste of vanilla on her mouth from her coffee creamer.
I wrapped my hands around the back of her neck and threaded my fingers in her hair, my thumbs landing on her cheekbones as I held her face while I explored her mouth.
Both of her hands slid up and tugged at the hair at the back of my neck. A small groan escaped my throat. She was so much better than I'd imagined. Her lips pressed to mine was fucking perfect. A perfect fucking symphony of sensation that hummed throughout my entire body.
Until in one instant her lips were pressed to mine, our bodies pulled together by some unforeseen force, and the next they weren't. She murmured something as she pulled away.
Fuck.
I watched her, my breaths coming out in shallow pants, my dick throbbing painfully in my jeans.
She mumbled an apology, saying that it couldn’t happen again, before she darted back into the house.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
It had to happen again.
Now that I’d had her body pressed to mine, her hands threaded in my hair, the taste of her on my lips, I couldn’t let it go. I was even more fucked than I’d been five minutes ago. I ran a hand through my hair and clenched my jaw as I turned back to the waves rolling up the coast. The sky grew darker and the rain came down harder but I didn’t notice any of it because all I could think of was getting close to Georgia again.
Ten
Georgia
SILAS AND I had spent the week organizing the storage area beneath the house and sifting through the junk left in the detached garage. We'd found outdoor furniture to refinish, and supplies from the last remodel to keep. We had donated things still in good shape, and used Gavin’s truck to take discarded items to the dump.
A melodic pattering of rain woke me Thursday morning, muffling the rolling waves. I could smell the dampness in the air. It was overcast and dreary but still just as beautiful as any bright and sunny day. Every morning, I'd woken up and Tristan was already awake and sipping coffee on the porch. This morning I was surprised to find the coffee pot empty. Maybe that was only his ritual on sunny mornings, or perhaps he'd had a late night. He'd been in a corner of the deck talking on his phone when I'd gone to bed.
I made coffee, picked up the empty bottles from last night, and wiped the counters. I poured myself a cup before heading to the far end of the living room. Pulling the curtain aside, I took in the gray landscape, looking down the beach and seeing a shock of tousled, sandy blond hair out of the corner of my eye. Tristan was awake and sitting on the deck like every other morning, the second story porch sheltering him from the rain.
He was looking off into the distance. I hesitated to bother him, but had grown used to our mornings over coffee, so I opened the door and stepped out. The wood was cool on my bare feet as I made my way to him.
“Hey.” His head turned and a soft smile tugged at his lips. The green of his eyes seemed exceedingly deeper in the overcast light and I couldn't help but smile at the ever-present twinkle.
“Hey. I made coffee.” I tipped my mug to him as I sat down.
“Thanks. I'm slacking this morning.” He smiled sheepishly.
“I was getting spoiled,” I said. “Want me to get you a cup?”
“No. It's okay.” He placed a hand on mine to stop me. “I'll get some.”
“Okay.” I settled back into the chair. “Any reason you’re sitting out here in the rain?”
“I like summer rain―the smell of it―the feel of the damp breeze against your face. It’s soothing, cleansing.”
“Yeah, I like it too,” I agreed, watching him watch the water. His strong jawline and full lips were the first things that caught my eye. High cheekbones and a softly sloped nose defined the contours of his face and gave him a boyish charm.
“You love the water, huh?” I asked thoughtfully. He only shrugged and ran his fingers along the weathered wood of the deck chair, snapping my mind to when I'd tumbled on the boat and his fingers had ghosted across my skin like the gentle caress of a lover. My breathing grew shallow imagining Tristan's hands running down my body―down the dip of my lower back, the hollow of my neck, across my hipbones.
He turned and searing eyes appraised me. I stared back, captivated by his gaze, lost in those startling eyes. I waited for him to say something to break the spell, anything to shake me out of this trance. But he didn’t. The gentle thudding of rain hitting the sand and rolling waves hitting the shore were the only sounds that infiltrated our bubble.
I pulled my damp hair off my neck and settled it across my right shoulder.
“You’re getting wet.” Tristan lifted a finger and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I licked my lips nervously, my eyes locked with his. His touch set my skin on fire. I held my bottom lip between my teeth painfully, willing myself to feel anything other than my stomach rolling and the arousal throbbing between my thighs. His eyes darted down to watch my m
outh as his lips parted lightly with his breath.
“Georgia,” he whispered as he leaned into me. His lips grazed mine and my eyelids fluttered closed.
Why wasn't I pulling away?
God, I needed to be pulling away, like two minutes ago.
I should have moved my chair away from his when I sat down. Being in Tristan's space did things to me, delicious things like the hair rising on the back of my neck and goosebumps dancing across my skin. My stomach flipped, my breathing hitched, and a slow ache settled between my legs.
“Tristan,” I breathed as he brought his hand to my jaw in a light caress, just like he’d been doing a minute ago to the weathered wood of the deck chair. I parted my lips and the air escaped my lungs in a rush.
“I don't know what this is between us, Georgia, but I want to find out,” he said on a breathy exhale.
“Me too,” I whispered and pressed my lips to his. His soft, slightly salty lips tasted heavenly as I ran my tongue along them. He opened his mouth and our tongues brushed together as his hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers threaded in my hair, thumbs brushing my cheeks. He pulled me closer to him and before I knew it I was adrift in the heady sensation of Tristan.
I lost myself for those few blissful moments attached to his lips. I knew there was a reason I shouldn't be doing this, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was. I ran my palm up his arm and over his shoulder to tangle in his hair.
But the hair was too long. It didn't feel right. It was foreign, and yet the pull I felt to continue to kiss and caress was undeniable.
“Kyle.” I pulled away quickly, mumbling the name. I licked my lips where Tristan’s salty-sweet taste lingered. The feelings that were swirling inside my body and filtering through my head were terrifying and new and right all in the same breath. Tristan watched as my thoughts aligned.
“I’m sorry. I don't know what just happened or why I said what I did, but it can't happen again.” I stood and walked back through the French doors and into the house, more confused than I’d ever been.
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