Now it’s my turn to howl. “Holy shit! You did not!”
She gives me a look that lets me know she’s mystified by why I think this is so crazy, But, considering that she knows I sat through a two hour Chippendale version of Swan Lake, I’m not sure why she’s shocked.
“I tried to warn him. And he insulted me,” she says, like that’s the way any normal girl would have handled herself.
“That’s excellent. I’m dead serious. You are badass, and I admire that.”
“Thank you.” Her cheeks go pink and she twines a piece of hair around her finger in a move that’s so innocent and sweet, it doesn’t fit the take-no-prisoners version of her that’s hanging out like a boss in my head. “Most guys would say I’m a bitch.”
“Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.” I make sure my voice is totally serious when I tell her, “That kind of confidence is sexy as hell. If any guy doesn’t like it, kick him to the curb.”
“Are you just saying that because you want to remain on my curb?” she asks, laughing self-consciously.
“I’d be honored as hell to get to hang on your curb, Hattie Beckett.”
“That makes me sound like your pimp.” She looks pleased, and I’ll take it.
“Now that we’ve established your clear dominance in this relationship, is it still okay for me to ask you out?” I position myself so our bodies touch from shoulder to hip, hoping she’ll initiate more.
She looks over at me, her eyes soft and hungry. “Mmm. I don’t know about mixing work and pleasure.” Her hand comes up and cups my jaw. “Pass?”
I shake my head. “I’m nothing if not persistent. I have tons of embarrassing stories about myself. Tell me you’re not interested.”
“I might be. But it’s not your stories I’m after. I like your hands on me.” She never breaks eye contact with me. Her hand finds mine and she lays it on her thigh. I stroke her skin, and her eyes flutter shut.
This is not the way I expected this to go, but I’m not about to say ‘no’ now.
I tug her to me, lifting her so she straddles my lap, my hands pressed hard just above her knees. I push up, letting my thumbs drag over the sensitive skin on her inner thighs. She rocks forward, inching my hands higher quicker than I’m ready for.
I stop short and take my time moving my mouth against hers. She has the best lips, sweet and sure, quick and insistent. Her kissing presses into determined, like she’s mapping my mouth with her tongue. She presses her hands to the sides of my face, catching my earlobes between her thumbs and forefingers and rubbing.
It’s a shocking turn on.
Ears as my weak spot?
I never saw that coming, but I’m not at all surprised Hattie figured out something that simple when every other gyrating, pole-dancing, stripping girl who tried to get me off missed it. She keeps her lips on mine, licking and nipping as her hands abandon my ears and work down to my neck. She kneads her fingers there, and I moan into her mouth as she loosens muscles I didn’t even realize were coiled tight as springs.
“Damn, Hattie.” She kisses me, one sweet, hot press of her lips before she bucks against me again.
It’s like my neck runs a direct line to my dick, and her touch is making it granite hard without her hands going anywhere near my pants.
“Touch me,” she insists, her voice rough and sweet as a jagged piece of hard candy on the roof of your mouth. I do what she says.
My hands ride up. My fingers cup her full ass, my thumbs hooking under the lacey elastic of her panties and trace the v of her legs until they meet in the middle.
I barely brush the tips of my thumbs over her skin and feel she’s soaked.
I moan into her mouth and know all my rational thoughts, all my decisions to do better and take it slower are going to be sorely tempted by this girl.
“Touch me,” she repeats, holding my face close, keeping her eyes screwed closed.
I slide a thumb along her slick folds, running it back and forth until I feel her swollen clit.
“Like this?” I ask.
“Mmm.” She wraps her arms around my neck, and I can smell the heavy sweetness of her perfume over the salty tang of her skin.
I pull a hand up and undo the buttons of her tank top. Five buttons uncover the swell of her tits in a black bra. I let my fingers draw slowly over them, then dip down under the cups. Her nipples are hard. I wedge my fingers between the fabric and their tight peaks, slowly at first, then with more pressure. I squeeze and pull gently, watching her mouth fall open. I use my other hand to part her legs, pressing my fingers inside her slowly.
She’s tight and hot around my fingers, and her hands make quick work of pressing my head down. I try to nuzzle under the cups of her bra, but when it proves too difficult, I suck on one nipple then the other through the lace.
She shifts so I drive deeper into her, and urges me with her little moans to flick my fingers faster. I suck on her hard, and my mouth leaves wet rings on the fabric. She moves a hand between her tits and unsnaps the closure. The cups fall aside, and I kiss and suck her as hard as I can, making it my mission to up her cries and squirms into one long scream of contentment.
“Ryan,” she cries, her body folding into mine as she strains closer.
I move my hand faster while I rub my face against her tits, catching at her with my teeth and mouth as I get more frenzied, ready for her to come undone under my fingers.
She finally shudders against me, hammering on my back with her fists and letting a long, shaky groan out as she does.
Her body goes slack, and I catch her by the shoulders before she slides to the deck of the boat.
“Holy fucking amazing,” she pants, then slides her phone out of her pocket. “Oh shit! I have to go! I told my brother I’d be home for this dinner. I’m sorry.”
She stands up, pressing her skirt down, adjusting her panties, putting those amazing tits back into her bra, and buttoning her tank.
I scramble to my feet, but she’s already headed off the boat.
“Hattie! Wait!” I call, trying to adjust my raging hard-on so I have a chance of catching up with her.
“Can’t! Sorry and thank you,” she says, slowing down once she’s on the pier. “Seriously, thank you. You were amazing.” She waits for me to catch up and stands on her toes to kiss me one more time.
“Do you want to do something later this week?” I ask.
“Um. Maybe,” she says, laying a hand against her face, which is flushed because she just came so hard while she was pressed tight against me. “I’ll call you!”
I watch her run to her car and know she won’t call me. I also know I’m getting addicted fast. I can pull back for a few days, give her some space. But there’s no way in hell I can let her go for long.
8 HATTIE
“I can’t believe that old asshole is putting on this whole song and dance for you,” Deo laughs, pulling up at Grandpa’s house. “He’s a cranky, decaying, mannerless bastard trying to play like a cuddly old grandpa bear. You know this is because you’re a girl, right?” There’s more than a hint of affection in his voice.
“I thought you and Grandpa got along,” I say as we crunch up the gravel driveway.
Deo looks at me, mouth hanging open, hand splayed over his heart. “Get along? Me and that old fart?” He rumples my hair like I’m six and grins. “I want to be him when I grow up.”
“You have weird goals,” I mutter.
“Not everyone can be a brainiac scientific mathemagician like you are, sis.” He holds the door open for me.
“Um, I think you mean ‘mathematician.’” I walk into the small house and breathe deep, loving the mingling scents of pipe tobacco and lemon Pledge.
“I said what I meant. You have gone beyond the simple human study of math with your crazy skills. You’ve moved into supernatural math dorkiness. Hence, mathemagician.”
“Sometimes I think we really should get that DNA test after all. How is it possible you’re my brother?” I
attempt a frown, but frowning at Deo is like trying to lick your own elbow.
“Oh, I’ve got magic. Just a different kind. Whit knows all about it.” He waggles his eyebrows at Whit, who’s checking a dish of something that smells cheesy and homey in the oven.
She blushes and shakes her head. “Hattie, have I told you lately how much I appreciate your attempts to take his ego down a peg? Don’t be sad if it never works. This boy’s head is--”
“As big as my--”
“You’re here!” Grandpa interrupts just in the nick of time. While I embrace him in a warm hug, Deo goes over and nuzzles Whit’s neck and teases her about her cooking attempts. I guess she wasn’t much for cooking before she met him, and he’s ridiculously proud of how her cooking skills are coming along under his tutelage. Master chef tutelage if you ask him, of course.
“I wrote down a few questions for you,” I say, pulling my grandfather over to the scratchy plaid couch that he spruced up by putting some doilies on the arms. So cute. “Do you mind if I record them? I’d love to get them typed up and bound, so we could all have a kind of unofficial family history. Is that okay?”
Grandpa’s eyes are almost as gold as mine and Deo’s, but darker and spiked with more green. I love picking out random facial features in my family members that reflect what I see in the mirror every day.
“I’d love that.” He pats a hand on my knee. “Harriet would have gobbled you up, little girl. And when you’re not too busy with this book of yours, you promise to send your old grandpa some pictures of you growing u--” The words drown in a choked noise that borders on a sob. I link my fingers through his and he talks to our bound hands. “My son has made a lot of mistakes in his life. A lot of selfish mistakes. But not telling us about you? Not giving Harriet the chance to know you? I never thought there’d be something that I wouldn’t be able to forgive him for. This might be it.”
I glance up and see Deo, who is eavesdropping, his mouth slack with shock. We meet eyes and he shakes his head slowly before leading Whit to the dining room.
I swallow hard, shocked at the words I’m trying to assemble in my head.
“Grandpa.” I squeeze his hand and don’t try to make him look at me. I also glance away when he lifts one trembling hand and wipes his eyes with quick, embarrassed strokes. “I feel so angry, too. I’ve had a lot of love in my life, but something always felt like it was missing. I feel annoyed with myself for wasting time. Why didn’t I try to find him when I was eighteen? I thought about it.”
“Nonsense,” he says, pulling a crisp white handkerchief out of his pocket and blowing his nose with a loud honk. “You were just a girl. It’s the adults’ jobs to look out for the children. Even the adult children. He failed.”
“I hear you.” I tug on his arm and try to keep my own eyes dry when he looks at me with his all red-rimmed and damp. “But we have each other now, right? I don’t want to waste a second feeling angry at my father, and I wish you wouldn’t either. Whatever his reasons for keeping everyone in the dark--and I hope they’re good--we’re together despite it all. And I want to enjoy every moment of that.”
Grandpa smiles and shakes his head. “Oh, Hattie girl, you have no idea how like your grandmother you are. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll take a rain check on those questions until after we eat. I’m going to go put some things in order before dinner. Whit has been slaving over that stove all day, and I can’t wait to break bread with all of my grandkids around one table. I’m a lucky old man.” He kisses the top of my head.
As he limps down the hall, Deo appears like magic. It would look like he was half-tackling Grandpa to anyone who didn’t know better. But I can see how he’s actually wrapping his arm around the older man’s waist so he can help him to the bedroom door without stripping away any of our grandfather’s substantial pride.
I ball my hands so tight, my fingernails dig into my palms, one thought in my head: I love my family so much...but I don’t think I can forgive the man who binds us together.
I need to focus on something less emotional. I decide to help Whit set the table when I hear a knock at the back door. I’m not entirely sure if it’s my place to answer, but I can’t imagine Grandpa minding. I swing the door open and see...him.
“Hello.” He presses his eyebrows low over those laughing eyes, and I can tell he’s as confused as I am.
“I...” He glances down at a paper folded in his hand. “I could’ve sworn I had the right address. I’m supposed to be meeting a Donald Beckett. But this is definitely the best wrong address scenario I could have imagined.”
He leans close, so his features are obscured by the dark door-screen and smiles like we’re enjoying some inside joke or private story. The implied intimacy of his look brings me right back to the beach a few days ago. I remember in startling detail the way I jumped him, covered in sand and didn’t let him up for breath. And then the deck of his boat...the way he kissed and touched me still leaves my knees a little buckled.
I realize as soon as those thoughts run through my head, I feel a crazy heat rush over my face that I’m sure he notices. Damn it.
“You’re in the right place. Donald Beckett is my grandfather.” I resist the urge to open the screen door and get close enough to smell that wild, salty scent I know clings to his skin. “Can I help you?” I keep it cool, professional.
Like I don’t even remember him dropping grapes into my drunk mouth or the feel of his tongue on my nipples through the lace of my bra.
“Mr. Beckett has a boat he needs repaired. My boss is an old friend of his, so I’m here to take a look.” His voice dips low and rough. “And there are plenty of ways you can help me. For starters, you can help me get some sleep by agreeing to another date. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
I press my lips together and glance back into the house. I hear Deo and Whit laughing in the kitchen, hear my grandfather singing along to Frank Sinatra as he puts on after-shave and a clean button-down for dinner. I need to get back to them, but I know damn well that Ryan is nothing if not persistent.
And part of me wants it. Wants him. Just as badly as I did when I was on the beach and at his boat. Even if I know that I don’t really like messes or complications, no matter what I pretend when I’m tipsy.
And this--Ryan and I--promises to be a heaping pile of mess and complication.
“If I say yes--to one more date--will you leave now? I’ll tell my grandpa you stopped by but I didn’t want to interrupt dinner.”
I hope my eyes look as desperate as I want them to. It’s not that I’m afraid Ryan will actually say anything about us meeting up before. It’s just my grandfather and Deo think I’m this total overachiever and Ryan is...well he’s a little bit of a slacker. Not my type.
Even if he was as perfect for me as Ashwin was, at the end of the summer, I’m headed back to Connecticut. So this can only be a summer fling. Which isn’t bad. Actually it might be exactly what I need.
I’d just like to keep the details to myself.
But I should know better than to expect things to be easy with all these overprotective men in my life. Deo is already stalking toward the door, and it’s like he can sense every naughty thing my subconscious has been imagining doing with Ryan.
“Hey, man, we’re not buying, okay? It’s dinner time here, so call back later. Or never.”
Deo jerks his head for me to follow, and Ryan’s entire demeanor changes. In the dusky light, I can make out a sudden nervous trepidation. I frown at Deo for coming off so harsh, but Grandpa is actually the one who scolds him.
“Jesus Christ on a cracker, kid, you need to work off some of that testosterone. Did it ever occur to you that you’re not the only asshole who can make a damn plan to meet up with someone? This may come as a shock to you, but my hothead grandson is not the only person in this world that I talk to. Did Darryl send you?” he asks Ryan, nudging Deo back, and--I notice with a sigh--moving me firmly out of the way.
“Yeah. An
d I’d love to take a look at the boat for you, but this is clearly a bad time, so I’ll be on my way.”
Ryan seems really spooked, and I roll my eyes. Deo was a little rude, but who could possibly be intimidated by my teddy-bear of a big brother? Deo is the least menacing guy I’ve ever met in my life.
“I won’t hear it. My grandson knows how to run his yap, but it’s all bark, and this is my castle. Come in, we have a full tray of stuffed shells. There’s no way we could eat them all.”
I think Ryan is going to try to wiggle out of this invitation, but my Grandfather is determined. He reaches for the screen door, flips it open, and tugs Ryan into the light.
He stands in the living room, blinking with this deer-in-the-headlights look on his face and...
Shit. Hits. The. Fan.
I expect Ryan to find my eyes in the room, but he’s staring at Whit. I don’t want to admit the jealousy that wells up inside me. My sister-in-law is a knockout. I’m not bad looking at all, but I can’t hold a candle to the kind of sex appeal she oozes.
Honestly, I don’t think Marilyn Monroe could have.
“Whit. I...I’m sorry. I didn’t realize--” Ryan walks back quickly, and Deo looks from his face to Whit’s and back again before he points.
“What a minute. Hold on just a fucking minute. You? What the hell are you doing here?” he growls.
Whit’s face is splotched crimson, like she’s incredibly embarrassed. Deo’s jaw is cinched so tight, I can see the bulge of the muscles high up on his cheeks. Grandpa frowns, confused and clearly not liking that feeling at all.
“I shouldn’t be here. I swear to you, this was a business call. I had no idea--” He looks at my grandfather and bows his head. “I should leave. Thank you for inviting me to dinner, but--”
“What the hell is this all about?” Grandpa asks, swinging his gaze to Deo.
“This is Whit’s ex,” Deo growls.
My heart catapults from my chest to my throat.
“Before she was with you?” Grandpa demands.
Ties Page 9