Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads

by Nicole Morgan

  “What’s wrong?” Finn, quick to drop the playmate role for that of protector, comes up close behind me as I peer down into the water. It’s too dark to see anything, including my feet.

  “Something touched me.”

  “Probably a piece of seaweed.”

  “That wasn’t a weed,” I say, though I hope it was. “It was long and smooth and cold. Maybe an eel.” Finn is close enough that I can feel a hint of warmth against my back. And when I let my hand drift downward, it closes over the long smooth length of him. “Now that’s not cold,” I say.

  “Because that’s not an eel.” He pulls me back against him, his hands firm and warm on my waist. One descends to brush between my legs, to where I’m already aching for him.

  I gasp. “And that’s not a clam.”

  Finn is laughing as he turns me to face him. “God I love you, Liv. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I love you, too.” Our lips and tongues meet in a tangle of salt.

  I’m not fooling myself. Finn plays the long game. At some point he’s going to press me for an explanation about why I refused Wakefield’s generous offer. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he wants me to move in with him while I figure out my next steps. But I’m entitled to a few hours of carefree fun. I need this. I deserve this. Maybe Finn needs it, too.

  Then he’s tugging me out of the water, and I spare a thought for the staff who are going to come across our clothing and the sand we are tracking into the house.

  We leave the lights off and make it as far as the darkened kitchen before Finn pulls me to him for a hot, liquid kiss. Then up the stairs, trying not to slip on the hardwood as he cups my breasts and makes me gasp.

  I think Finn meant to take me to the shower—maybe even take me in the shower—I know that’s where I was headed—but once we’re across the threshold of the bedroom, we don’t get that far. He leans against the closed bedroom door and pulls me to him, kissing me until I forget to breathe.

  It’s heaven to be held tightly like this, my breasts pressed against his chest. Heaven to be able to nip his earlobe, his shoulder. Then to hear his gasp when I take the firm nub of his nipple into my mouth.

  I let my tongue follow his happy trail down his belly and I drop to my knees.

  “Uh, n-no, Liv,” he says, when I take him into my mouth. “I’m not going to last if you d-do that.” But I notice he doesn’t move, both vocal cords and muscles seemingly paralyzed when I cup him with my hand.

  Can there be a more powerful feeling in the world than this? Finn’s fingers are splayed on the wood of the door. His eyes glitter down at me from within a handsome face flushed with desire.

  For years I would awaken, hot and aroused, from dreams in which he looked at me like this. Said my name hoarsely, just as he did now. He tastes like I remember, too. Of Finn, and musk, and the promise of forever.

  Then I am on my back on the carpet, with Finn braced on his arms over me. His smile is full of sin. “Your turn, my Liv.”

  And god, he’s so good at this, laving my nipples until they are hard and aching. He cups my breasts with both hands as he kisses his way down my body. His shoulders push my legs apart and he gives me a mischievous smile as he drapes my knees over his shoulders, opening me to him. His hair brushes my leg as he starts at my left knee and nibbles his way up my inner thigh. He dips for a quick taste that has me moaning. Then begins the same process on the right. By the time he fastens his warm mouth on my core, I am shaking and ready to beg.

  And the desire swirling in me begins to take shape, until everything within me focuses on his clever tongue, on the finger which is filling my emptiness, until an orgasm slams into me, pulling me into fragments. It begins low in my abdomen and migrates outward, like a wave pulling at my skin, until it envelops my toes, even causes a warm tingling around my mouth.

  I lie there panting, boneless, dimly aware of Finn setting my feet down on the floor. Just as I’m expecting the welcome weight of him to cover me, there’s a sudden coolness on my front, and a few seconds later, from somewhere to my left comes a banging, and a, “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

  I manage to prop myself up on my elbows. “What’s the matter?” I don’t recognize my voice. Maybe I shredded it when I screamed?

  Finn is over at the bedside table, his hands gripping his hair.

  “Condoms,” he says, dropping his hands and visibly reining in his frustration. “I had them in my pocket.”

  Down at the beach, then, at the edge of the sand.

  He forces a smile as he reaches for the bedspread and jerks it off the bed. He wraps it around his hips before pointing a finger at me. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head.

  “No?” He looks like he’s been poleaxed.

  “No. Come here. I’m safe. I’m on the pill and I haven’t been with anyone since I’ve been checked.” Which has been years, though I’m not about to mention that right now.

  “Me, too,” he says. “I mean, I’m safe.” And because it’s Finn, and I can trust him implicitly in this, I nod and pull him down to me. And then he’s finally where he belongs, his hips between mine, his lips fused to mine. His tongue a slick warmth in my mouth. And then his hand comes between us and he guides himself to my center, and he enters me in a thrust that has us both groaning.

  “So good, Liv,” he says.

  I wrap my legs around his waist, allowing him to get deeper with the next thrust. He hits something wonderful, making me arch. Hits it again. His back grows slick with sweat and I move my hands lower, feeling his muscles flex as he pumps into me, and another orgasm draws near. And then I’m falling, crying out as I splinter again, and he crushes me to him, his hips moving frantically until he’s groaning into my mouth with one final thrust.

  After a long time, when our skin has cooled and I can smell something delicious wafting up the stairs, Finn lifts his head and kisses me softly on the mouth.

  “Thank you.” One corner of his mouth crooks upward. “I mean, thank you for everything, but especially for saving me there at the end with the condoms. I thought I was going to die.”

  I laugh and turn my head to nip his arm. “You’re welcome. Now show me your gratitude by taking me to the shower and feeding me.”

  He climbs to his feet and helps me up, flicking a light switch at the door. In the dim light that comes on near the headboard, I can see the discarded bedspread, the sand from our feet, and the large wet spot where we were just entangled.

  Finn catches me smiling. “What are you thinking?”

  “About sexual anthropology.”

  I have to laugh as his brows climb. “Don’t you wonder if the hotel staff get good at sex scene reconstruction?” I point to the wet spot by the door, which is shaped like a subtle figure eight. “Here’s where she gave him oral, there’s where he returned the favor.”

  “You have a strange brain, Prosser,” he says, then drops a kiss on my forehead before pulling me to him for another embrace. “A strange brain that I happen to love.”

  Though I know it’s only a matter of time until it causes us trouble, I love his brain, too, plus the body that houses it. The truth is I never stopped. At this point, I doubt I ever can.

  CHAPTER 20

  LIV

  A fter an amazing dinner, we share a bath in the tub and then we make love again, this time on the king-sized bed with its thread count of roughly two thousand. When we are done, Finn lies on his back and his shoulder pillows my head as I rest one hand on his chest, my fingers idly stroking the crisp hair. Without any warning, my eyes begin to leak tears.

  I try to be discreet, but Finn notices right away, of course. How can he not?

  “What’s this?” he says as he brushes the moisture from my face. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Not at all. I—” It’s hard to explain how I’m feeling, it’s such a tangle of emotions. Pleasure, exhaustion, nostalgia, joy. The best I can manage is, “We finally made it to a bed.
A real bed.”

  He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “So move in with me,” he says casually—too casually. “I have a California king. We can have bed-sex any time you want.”

  By way of answering, I press a kiss to his shoulder and then his lips. I roll over and slip out from under the covers. “I need a drink. Want one?”

  He shakes his head.

  In the bathroom, I blow my nose and avoid looking at myself in the mirror. I know what I’ll see: a well-loved woman with whisker-burn on her neck and cheeks, a swollen, bee-stung mouth, and love bites everywhere. But my eyes will also telegraph my dread. I don’t want to have this conversation—not ever, and especially not tonight—but I guess it is inevitable.

  I grab a bottled water and drain it, bring another back into the bedroom. When I offer it to Finn, he shakes his head, so I leave it on the side table.

  He has plumped the pillows against the headboard. When he lifts the covers and I slide in beside him, we both remain sitting in a subtle acknowledgment that playtime is over.

  “Tell me,” he says. He’s trying so hard to remain optimistic, it pinches something in my chest.

  I take his hand and play with his fingers. “Before you told me about your fight with your dad, and where you lived and your background and everything, know what I used to think?”

  He shakes his head.

  “I had a bunch of stories in my head.” A snort escapes from me. “Some of them are pretty laughable.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, this one isn’t funny.” From what Finn told me, it’s actually too close to the truth. “I told myself you were running away from an abusive foster home. But as for the funny ones, I pictured you as a runaway heir to a crime syndicate family. Or an escaped convict.”

  He sits up and looks indignant, pulling his hand from mine.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “Your crimes were strictly white-collar.”

  “Oh, that’s vastly reassuring.”

  I can’t help but laugh. He’s miffed because I don’t think he has the heart to be a major prick. “But because I didn’t know who you were, do you remember what I used to say to you to keep you at arm’s length?”

  “How could I forget.” He rolls his eyes. “‘A man without a past has no future with me.’ Or my personal favorite: ‘A man without a last name doesn’t deserve to get to first base.’ Course, I got you to forget them in no time flat…” He waggles his eyebrows before angling his body toward me. He dips his head to nuzzle my breast and takes my nipple into his mouth. “But what does this have to do with anything?” he asks a moment later, when I’ve almost forgotten what we were talking about.

  “Because now…” I take a deep breath. “Now I’m the woman with no last name.”

  He shakes his head. “You lost me.”

  “You know how my mom’s hoarding always gets worse when she’s feeling ashamed?”

  He nods.

  “After we broke up, and I knew I blew it forever with you, that’s how I felt. Ashamed. I got really low, Finn.” I have to clear my throat. “I doubled down and did something I’m not proud of.”

  “Okay,” he says cautiously. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  I purse my mouth. “Not like this.”

  “So tell me what you did. Just…blurt it out.” He rolls to straddle me. He does a quick pantomime of the old-fashioned rescue breathing by seizing my wrists and moving my arms. “Out with the bad air, in with the good.”

  “I…can’t.” I shake my head. “I just can’t.”

  He releases me and sits back on his haunches. “Why?”

  “You see? This is one reason I didn’t want to discuss it. You’re going to keep coming at me with questions and solutions until I want to scr—”

  “Why, Liv?”

  I sigh. “Because, for one thing I’m not the only one caught up in it.”

  He squeezes his eyes closed while his hands curl into fists. “Fucking Tucker. I knew it—”

  When I put a finger to his lips, his eyes pop open. “Shhh. I won’t deny he’s tangentially involved, but only tangentially. And I won’t talk about this with you if we’re going to fight about him, okay? Just take that topic right off the table.” I stare him down until I think he’s heard this point, because he finally nods. “I did this thing. Me. I’m responsible. And it’s been eating at me ever since.”

  I climb out of bed and locate a bathrobe, knotting its belt about my waist. “In a way, Yolanda and her ultimatum did me a favor. This secret—” I say, swinging back to him “—it’s like it tainted all my time at my job. It’s to the point I’m not even sure I like what I do.”

  “I’m not seeing a problem here,” Finn says. “Move in with me. Take all the time you need to figure out the career stuff.”

  I climb up onto the foot of the bed. “I can’t.”

  “Because you don’t trust me,” he says flatly. “You think if you tell me the truth I’m going to turn on you again and call you crazy.”

  “No. Not at all.” Then an image swims before me of how he looked that day outside the jewelry store. “Well…maybe a little.”

  He nods and clears his throat. Shakes his head. “Okay. I can work with this. Don’t tell me, then. Just be with me. Keep your secret until the day you trust me, or the day it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “That’s no way to begin a relationship.”

  “A marriage, Liv. If I have my way, we’re going to be married.”

  I swallow. “Be honest. Do you want a partner who’s hiding something? Is that good enough for you? Because it wouldn’t be for me.”

  He looks away. And I think he’s feeling rejected when the truth is I love him so much it hurts. There’s nothing wrong with him.

  “Finn…” I crawl into his lap and pull his face to mine, willing him to understand. “You know how you needed time and space away from your dad to figure out what you wanted to do? I—I need the same.”

  “But I took my time away with you, Liv.” He looks so hurt, so bewildered, it’s making it hard for me to breathe.

  “I know. I just—I can’t be with you and figure this out.” Maybe it’s dumb, and maybe it’s just stupid pride, but when I tell him the truth, before I see the disappointment on his face, I want to be part of the way toward having my mistake fixed.

  “How long, Liv?”

  “I-I wish I knew. But I can tell you this: when I’m done, if you still want me, I’ll come to you.”

  He pulls me close, then. We end up making love again. But I notice he hasn’t committed to waiting. And I don’t know if his quiet is because he agrees with my plan or because I’m asking too much. And I don’t press him. I’m not sure I can bear to hear the answer.

  CHAPTER 21

  FINN

  F rom the bedroom window, I watch Liv slip out the villa’s front door. She winds past the mango trees and stops to wave, looking like a sad but determined flower in her yellow dress.

  I wave back, aiming to project love, composure and total acceptance. Bye, honey. See you later at the send-off party, where I’ll kiss you goodbye and hope you’ll remember me during our unspecified number of months apart.

  Yeah, not freaking likely. Not when that would be replicating exactly the mistake I made a decade ago.

  I smile and wave, and the minute she’s out of sight I place the first of two calls.

  “Got any idea why Olivia Prosser would be regretful over something involving the word ‘fraud’?” I demand of Darcy.

  “Uh, no,” he says. “Do you have any idea what time it is here? I’m not even done digesting my dinner.”

  I’ll probably feel guilty later, but right now I decide I pay him enough not to care. “Did you do a background check on her?”

  “Of course.” He sounds more awake now. “She’s squeaky clean.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “At this point I practically know her freckle distribution,” he says irritably. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  �
�What about Acheson?”

  “Him? He had a few speeding tickets over the years but nothing else. Why?”

  “Nothing. Go back to sleep,” I say, and hang up.

  My next call is to Reginald, whose smooth baritone sounds no different at 6:30 a.m. than at midnight. When I tell him what I have in mind, he raises no objection other than the need to find another discreet party.

  “I don’t really trust any of the younger staff,” he says.

  I think back to the spiked drink, the pool dive, and the involuntary piercing that set off my whole conversation with Darcy. “I agree,” I say. “No younger staff. But I know someone who might be willing to help.”

  Fortunately, Reginald has access to the guest registry.

  CHAPTER 22

  LIV

  Despite my promise to attend I nearly skip the morning debriefing. I don’t care to be publicly shunned by the white team again, or be put on the defensive about the prior day’s decisions. And why should I go through that when the alternative is extra time on the beach?

  But Finn must be caught in a work situation because he doesn’t answer my text, the beach alone holds less appeal, and ultimately, I’m dying of curiosity.

  Inside the ballroom, the atmosphere is electric—a mixture of anticipation, exhilaration, and pending farewells. All around me, formerly stiff colleagues embrace, exchange personal phone numbers and dirty jokes. Yolanda has planted some good seeds here, and a significant part of me wishes I could be around to watch them bear fruit.

  I have just decided to grab a chair at one of the emptier tables toward the back when Princess approaches. I brace myself. What now? A rebuke? A Biblical quote about betrayal?

  Instead she greets me with a soft, “Good morning. I’ve been sent as team ambassador. Will you come sit with us?”

  I blink. “I don’t think so.”

  “Please,” she says. “We want you to join us. Look.”

  She points to a banquet table near the front, where the rest of the white team is seated, minus Finn. They beckon with expressions of real friendliness, so when Princess seizes my hand, I allow her to pull me forward.