by Zoe York
If, if, if.
None of that mattered. What was done was done, and now he had a traumatized wife who felt cornered and scared. Quite the feat given that he’d been single two days earlier.
When they landed, whisper-quiet, the wheels just kissing the tarmac, they taxied to a concierge gate for private jets. There, a customs official and two town cars were waiting for them. One to whisk Gill to her home downtown, the other to take Will and Daphne to his place.
They needed some alone time.
He needed it, and he hoped to God it was the right call for her, too.
“Welcome back to the country, Ms. Strike,” the customs officer said, and Daphne smiled uncomfortably.
It occurred to Will that it may have been years since Daphne had been on the continent. Visiting the Virgin Islands didn’t count in the same way.
He’d ask her about that at some point. Once they were alone.
After clearing customs, Gill didn’t get in her car, though. She looked at Daphne, in the way that clearly signaled she wanted to say something. Will didn’t want her to say anything else, not tonight.
“I’m sorry.” His lawyer gave his wife a cool smile, but it reached her eyes. It was real. “I didn’t need to be as antagonistic as I seemed when I arrived on Miralinda. And I should have said that sooner.”
“Okay.” Daphne returned the polite smile. Fuck, this wasn’t awkward at all. “Thanks.”
“Will has asked me to put all my resources at your disposal in this matter. So whatever you need…”
“I don’t know what I need,” Daphne said. “I don’t have the foggiest. And I feel kind of stupid saying that, so…”
Gill shook her head. “Not stupid at all. Most people don’t have the foggiest. That’s the big secret to life—knowing who to lean on.”
Daphne’s eyebrows hit the roof. He didn’t blame her for wondering if Gill was one of those people for her. But Will trusted that she was, and hoped she’d get to the fucking point before Daphne had had enough. “Okay.”
Gill pursed her lips. But then she laughed, an unexpected and very real chuckle. “Good deal. I’ll be in touch in the morning.”
“Not too early,” Daphne said, her face completely straight.
Will almost thought he’d misheard, but from the angelic look on her face—definitely not authentic—she meant it to sound exactly as it did.
They were going to be up late, and wanted to sleep in.
His dick approved.
The rest of him did too. See ya fucking later, boundaries. We don’t need you suckers any longer. He managed to keep a straight face until he steered Daphne over to the lead car. He opened her door for her, then went around to the other side, sliding in behind the driver. He gave his address in Coronado, then leaned back and looked at his wife.
“You are something,” he said with a smile.
“What can I say? Polite isn’t my strong suit.”
Will laughed and leaned in. “That was perfect,” he said before kissing her right on the mouth. “Fucking perfect.”
“Good.” She inhaled deeply, then let it out. “What’s the plan now?”
“I’m going to take you back to my place, make you a late dinner, and put you to bed. In the morning, we’ll fly to Vegas and sort this all out.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
He cupped her cheek in his hand. “None of this is easy. But it is what it is, so we might as well be comfortable.”
“Speaking of dinner and comfortable, do we need to pick up food?”
“Groceries were delivered an hour ago. All taken care of.”
Her eyes popped wide. “That’s a thing?”
Private plane, town cars waiting at the gate, and the woman was impressed by a twenty-dollar grocery delivery service. “It is. Picked everything on an app on my phone while we were in the plane, too.”
“Damn. We don’t have anything like that on the island.”
“No, but you’ve got the best margaritas in the world and some unbelievable history, plus those beaches, am I right?”
She giggled. “Don’t do am I right. You don’t do it right.”
“I can be cool.”
“You can’t. It’s just not possible. It was bred out of you two generations back. You make up for it by being badass, though. That’s very nice.”
“I’ll take the compliment where I can get it. Fine.”
She smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder.
That was more than fine.
Daphne had braced herself for Will to live in a mansion.
He didn’t. Not really. His house probably cost more than any mansion on the entire island of Miralinda, but by California standards, it was small. A skinny infill house, relatively newly built, with a single-car garage at street level and a couple of stories stacked above it in a stark, imposing tower of shiplap and grey concrete. The only windows on the street side were thin, allowing no real peek inside his space, but the front door had a big transom window above it, and when they stepped inside, the street light flooded into the dusk-darkened foyer.
Clever.
She glanced around the main floor as he reset the front door alarm. It was a minimalist’s dream. A distressed leather couch took center stage, looking at a large TV. At the back of the room was another seating area, this one around a set of bookshelves only a quarter filled with books. A few photo frames and decorative bits took up the bulk of the shelf space.
“I don’t really use this floor,” he said. “But it’s good for Super Bowl parties.”
Her lips twitched. Oh, to have an entire floor for throwing a party once a year. “I bet.”
They climbed the wide staircase, and as they reached the next floor, the lights came on by themselves.
“That’s a fun trick,” she murmured.
This was the kitchen. It took up the entire floor, and looked like it had never been used, but when Will opened the fridge door, it was full of groceries. The delivery service had worked. “Good stuff,” he said, gesturing to the next set of stairs. “Let’s go drop our bags off, then come back down and I’ll get some food into you.”
The third floor was clearly where Will lived. There were two bedrooms off a mini-living room, with another TV on the wall—but the bookcase behind it was shoved full of military gear instead of books. She’d never seen so much tan and green stuff in her life. All of it was labeled with sharp black marker notes on green duct tape.
“That’s my room,” he said, pointing to one door. “The other room, uh, doesn’t have a bed.”
She craned her neck to see, but the room was dark.
He laughed. “It’s full of workout equipment.”
“I can sleep on the couch.”
“I don’t want you to sleep on the couch. If you don’t want to share a bed with me, I’ll tuck you in and then take the couch myself.” She spun around, and his cheeks darkened. “I’ll definitely take the couch. You don’t need to—”
“Buy a girl dinner first, jeez.” She tried to make it light, but did he or did he not want to share a bed? After what happened this morning?
He nodded and put his bag on the couch. She did the same, bringing them close together. He looked down at her, his expression impossible to read, and she wanted to push up on her toes and kiss him.
She’d made a mess of things, but there was something right and simple about pressing their lips together. Like it bypassed everything else.
“Food,” Will said, twisting away.
No kiss. No clarity.
She followed him back to the kitchen.
“Steak? Chicken?” He pulled packets of each out of the fridge.
She pointed to the steak. He dumped the chicken in the freezer, which from her quick measure had a bunch of similar shaped items in it. She wondered how often he did this kind of fly-through, ordering two meals, picking one, and stashing the other away for a second day at home that would never come.
“Salad?”
“Yes,
please.” She moved around the island and he slid a cutting board in front of her. Together they chopped veggies, then he disappeared into a pantry and returned with a bottle of red wine.
Deftly, he added two glasses and a corkscrew to that hand, then picked up the steaks with the other. “Can you grab the salad? We can grill upstairs.”
“Up…stairs?” She followed along.
“I know it’s unconventional, and most people would have their grill in the garden, but I bought this house for the rooftop view, so why not enjoy it while I’m cooking my steak?”
“Sure, why not?” They climbed past the lived-in bedroom floor to a rooftop access door. And when they stepped outside, she understood the question better.
Will’s room had the most magnificent view. San Diego Harbor stretched in the distance on one side, framed by the bridge they’d driven across to get to Coronado, and when she turned around…there was the ocean.
“Oh,” she breathed. “This is gorgeous.”
“Mmm.” Will moved quickly to the grill and set everything down. After he got the charcoal lit and heating up, he brought her a glass of wine.
She was still staring at the ocean.
This was crazy, because she’d grown up in Florida and lived on the ocean now herself. But there was something unexpected and lovely about this rooftop terrace on the edge of a city. And there was the Pacific Ocean, which she’d never seen before in her entire life.
California.
She should have come here instead of Vegas. How her life would have been different…
When she turned around, Will was watching her.
“I guess you’re over the view now.”
He shook his head. “I know it’s special. But lately it feels…cold. Empty. I prefer Miralinda.”
“I can appreciate that. But I would live here in a heartbeat.” Her cheeks turned pink. “Not here, here. I mean…” She gestured at the beach below them. “Here. Ish. General statement about the…space.”
“Noted. And you are welcome to stay here, specifically. Here, here. Any time you want. I’m glad someone appreciates it. And my bedroom is right below us—so you can hear the surf. It’s a hell of a way to wake up.”
“Nice. I look forward to that tomorrow.” She took a sip of his wine, which was excellent.
“How do you like your steak?”
“Medium-rare.”
“Perfect. Me too.”
After they ate, and finished the bottle of wine, Will changed the sheets on his bed, because he drew the line at having a housekeeper. He was a grown-ass man. He didn’t need someone to do his laundry and touch his shit.
When he came back to the kitchen, Daphne was drying the last plate.
“You didn’t have to do that. I’d have washed up.”
“You cooked.”
“You’re a guest.”
She laughed. “One who has caused so much drama we’ve had to fly across the continent unexpectedly.”
“That’s a regular day at the office for me. Don’t stress about it.” He took the tea towel from her and pushed her toward the stairs. “Time for bed.”
She exhaled roughly, then nodded. “I’m going to get some jammies on.”
It didn’t take long. He watched the clock. She was gone less than two minutes. It felt like a lifetime, though. When the door upstairs creaked open again, and her bare feet appeared on the stairs, the mounting feelings inside him—hard to name, hard to ignore, definitely unusual—twisted and crashed into a crater low in his belly.
She was wearing the world’s tiniest panties and a cropped tank top.
There was a hell of a lot of skin he could see.
A hell of a lot of skin he could kiss.
“Those are… Are we…”
“Bare skin rule is in full effect.” She stayed on the bottom stair and held his gaze for a long, steady beat. “I want to share a bed with you.”
He was across the room in a shot. “Tell me to stop whenever you want.” He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t taste enough of her, until he lifted her in his arms and she swung her legs around his waist.
Yes. Yes, fucking hell. That was right. Her rocking against his cock, her thighs squeeze his hips. He felt her all around him and up against him, and they didn’t stop kissing until he had her flat on her back, stretched out on his bed.
“I was wondering if there was a giant California King bed on the plane,” she murmured, holding on to the back of his neck.
“It’s right here.”
“Take off your clothes.” She closed her eyes and laughed, a lovely, reckless sound that was music to his ears. “Leave your boxers on. We need to have some boundaries still.”
Did they? Sure. Why not. He could be damn creative around a few scraps of clothing.
“What are the rules around orgasms?” he asked, his lips against her ear, his breath hot on her skin. All of him was hot against her. Hot, hard, ready, eager.
She groaned and rolled beneath him, giving him her back. Her spine, which he was happy to kiss. Her ass, even happier to grind against.
“Feel how hard I am?”
She whimpered. “We need boundaries for your mouth.”
“Give me something to do with it,” he growled.
She spun again, tugging down her tank top.
He dove on her bare breasts like a starving man.
“It’s been a crazy day. A long day,” she whispered. “So, if you have condoms, we can throw the rules out the window…”
He lifted his head, releasing her nipple with a happy, wet pop. “Therapy sex?”
She looked at him in wide-eyed wonder. “No?”
“Fuck yeah. Never heard of a better idea.”
She hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and paused. “You sure?”
He stood up, right in the middle of his oversized bed that he’d never really used to its full potential, and stripped out of his boxers like one of the stars of Magic Mike. Yes, he was sure. Yes, he’d be a goofball to prove it.
But there wasn’t anything goofy about how Daphne sat up and tugged at his hand.
“Come here,” she whispered. “I want to feel you against me.”
He grabbed protection on his way down, gripping it like a lifeline in his right hand as she wound her legs around him again, this time nothing between them. Her wet, warm slit pulsed against his cock, and he wanted nothing more than to sink inside her.
Take your damn time. He was a high school kid all over again, getting a taste of something he’d thought forever out of reach.
He kissed her, tangling his left hand in her hair, holding her still as he pushed and plundered and promised as much as he bodily could. She touched him, too, all over, and the best/worst strokes were the ones on his hips, his ass, as she pulled them together.
Maybe they’d come like this, so close and yet not nearly close enough. Never close enough.
“I’m so ready.” She brushed her lips against his cheek, her tongue along his jaw. “Get inside me, Will. Stretch me open. Make me—”
He didn’t need another invitation. He ripped the foil open, rolled the condom onto his heavy, throbbing cock in a single, rough tug, then notched the crown against her slick opening and pressed.
She clenched around him immediately, shuddering as he thrust slowly. Tight, warm, and deliciously wet. He could still taste her, and now he was inside her. Taking up an obscene amount of space in her tiny body, making her his.
She was his. His wife, his co-conspirator, his friend. “Daphne,” he groaned, and she rolled her hips.
“Yes,” she gasped. “More. Harder.”
He stroked in and out, finding a rhythm that made her cry out. He loved watching her come undone this time. A dark pink blush bloomed across her upper body as she got closer to release, her noises louder, too.
“Look at me, Daphne,” he said. Not a command. A plea. He wasn’t above begging. He needed to see her eyes.
She rolled her head and blinked up at h
im, and that nearly broke him. She smiled, her lips parting as he thrust harder still. “So good…” she whispered. “I’m close.”
So was he, God damn it. “Fuck.”
“Come for me, Will.”
He would. He fucking would. As often as she wanted. “You first, baby. Show me how you do it.”
She reached between them and he could feel her fingers rolling quickly against her clit. That was so fucking hot.
“Good girl.”
“I’m close,” she whispered again.
“Good.”
“Harder, Will.”
He slammed into her, moving his entire body as his cock strained inside her pussy. He was going to explode the second she went.
“Yes….yes…oh, yes!” The last syllable was a scream, and the spasms deep in her core grabbed on to him and milked his release at the exact same moment. He buried his hips against her body and dropped as much of his weight as she could bear, bracing himself just on one arm.
Once again, they were both breathing hard.
Once again, it had been fucking amazing.
He rolled away, ditched the condom, then returned to her side.
“That was fun,” she murmured, her eyes drifting closed. “Hey, I can hear the ocean.”
He buried his face in her hair. If he listened hard enough, he could still hear another ocean, the one that bumped waves against the side of her boat. “Yeah.”
But she was enamored with the Pacific Ocean right now, and he wasn’t going to take that away from her.
Chapter Seventeen
Will was already awake when Daphne stirred in the morning. The first thing she did was turn her face to the window. “I can still hear it,” she whispered as she rolled over and snuggled into his chest. “The surf. It really is amazing.”
Man. That surf had nothing on her sweet wonder.