Unbound (The Men of West Beach Book 2)

by Kimberly Derting

  True to his word, Lucas just slid his strong arm around me, anchoring me to him in way that told me: We’re okay.

  Our bodies fit easily too—my limbs were the fingers to his glove. He covered me. Consumed me.

  My only response was to relax against him.

  One more month, I told myself. It would have to be enough. If I was lucky, we’d grow tired of each other by then. I’d get bored of his ridiculously perfect body, and even more ridiculous sense of humor . . . and maybe even of that thing he did with his tongue.

  Crazy, that’s where my head was. That I was hoping to get sick of the guy who made my body zing with every touch. Sometimes with just a glance. But it would be better if the two of us could just drift apart before the clock ran out on us.

  I couldn’t let myself think about that right now. Until it was time for me to leave, all I wanted to do was have a little fun. With Lucas Harper.

  It felt good having his head on me now, his arm locked around my waist. He hadn’t officially invited me to stay the night, but I was planning to anyway. I didn't want to go back over to my place . . . alone.

  Lucas’s breathing grew heavy, and my eyelids even heavier. Somewhere, as I started to drift away, I became aware of the most delicate sensations whispering over the ridges of my rib cage. I might have ignored them—they were deliciously sensual. Like I was being caressed by downy soft feathers. I might have gone to sleep like that if not for the sudden jolt in my core, as the stroking intensified and continued along my waist, traveling past my hips and down the length of my thigh.

  Apparently, Lucas Harper had been playing possum. The fog cleared from my brain in an instant.

  His hand reached up then, and his fingertips brushed my nipple. It tightened beneath his touch, and his fingers closed around my breast. He was gentle, firm, and possessive, moving slowly, deliberately. He wasn’t in a rush to awaken me.

  But God, was he awakening me.

  My body reacted to every feathery touch, every stroke, every pinch and graze. He was stoking a fire in me. Starting a spark and fanning it until, soon, it would be a full-blown blaze.

  He stayed where he was, head buried in the soft center of my belly. His breath was hot against my skin as one arm kept me pinned, while the other had its way with me, exploring, searching.

  “Lucas,” I moaned impatiently. I was wet for him. So goddamned wet.

  But he didn’t give me what I wanted. Instead, he turned his face into my navel and bit me. I yelped as a thrill shot straight to my toes. Lucas followed the nip with his tongue, which set off a five-alarm fire between my legs.

  I threw my head back into the pillow and moaned. Lucas would be the death of me.

  Restlessly, I parted my legs and wrapped them around his chest. It wasn’t exactly where I wanted him, but I needed release . . . and soon. He glanced up at me again, and I could see the passion fanning in his dark eyes.

  But Lucas had always been more restrained than me.

  “Please,” I begged, not wanting to wait another second.

  His brow creased as he said, “You win. You always win.”

  A smile tugged at my lips as I relaxed my legs so he could move up to join me. The feel of his body sliding over mine, his hard muscles against my soft flesh, was sinfully decadent. When he was poised above me, I met his beautiful brown eyes.

  There was something there today, though. Something that hadn’t been there before, and it weighed heavily in my gut.

  Like he was storing me in his memory.

  He kissed me hard then. In earnest. As if I’d just told him this would be our last time. His mouth was hungry as it slashed over mine, saying everything he hadn’t—maybe never would—say out loud.

  I reached down to feel him then, and even though I’d done this, touched him so many times before, when my fingers closed around him, it was exactly like the first time. Lucas was nothing like the other men I’d been with. I’d seen my share of naked men in my lifetime. I’d been less than virginal when Lucas and I met. Plus, I’d grown up in a houseful of brothers, none of whom were shy about their bodies. But the first time Lucas and I had been together, I’d seriously wondered if it were actually possible for a man to split a woman open—he’d been that impressive.

  But I’d more than survived our first encounter together. In fact, after Lucas had finished with me, I’d been begging for more.

  And from the feel of him right now, he was as ready for me as I was for him. I shifted restlessly, imagining his rock hard tip sliding inside me as my fingers worked him, stroking him up and down, around and around.

  He inhaled sharply, his jaw clenched.

  After the end of this month, I would never do this again . . . feel him.

  Lucas ripped open a condom as I lifted my hips to welcome him. “Lucas,” I begged, a junkie in need of her next fix.

  Lucas knew what I craved, and in one swift motion he shifted until he was poised against me. I was trembling all over, my entire body aching . . . throbbing for him.

  And just as he was about to thrust inside of me . . . just as he was about to give me . . . give both of us . . . the release we burned for, a burst of knocks came from his front door.

  “Ignore it,” we both panted over the top of each other.

  My fingers dug into his hips. I was desperate. I needed him inside me . . . now.

  Now.

  Now!

  But there was someone out there who refused to be ignored. The knocking came again, and when we waited a second, it kept coming. As much as I wanted to pretend there was no one out there, the relentless pounding was a serious buzz kill.

  I let out a sigh, my nails biting into his shoulders in defeat.

  “Jesus Christ,” Lucas said, his forehead collapsing against mine.

  And when neither of us moved right away, both of us hoping against hope that whoever was out there would just . . . go away, that someone began shouting Lucas’s name.

  Not once. Not twice. But over and over and over again.

  In a shrill, not-to-be-ignored female voice.

  Lucas bolted upright and shot out of bed as if the mattress had suddenly caught fire.

  There was a reason the person shrieking for Lucas had a female voice: she was most definitely of the female persuasion.

  And her presence had thrown a huge bucket of ice water on our sexy times mood.

  “Stay here,” Lucas insisted. “We’ll pick up where we left off.”

  Pretty sure that ship had sailed the moment he told me to stay hidden. But he’d been so freaked out that I gave him a little rope. Just this once.

  I had to hope he wouldn’t hang himself with it.

  A better person might have stayed on the bed and at least tried to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping. If only I was that better person.

  But I was a terrible, terrible person. Dying to hear every juicy detail of what was happening on the other side of that door . . . of what was so important that we had to be interrupted. And why I’d been requisitioned to the bedroom.

  So there I stood, wrapped in just a sheet, with my ear pressed so hard against the door I was probably giving myself a face full of splinters.

  From my side, I could only make out bits and pieces of their muffled conversation. Mostly, I heard her. As if Lucas was intentionally going out of his way to make it impossible to spy on them . . . which only made me more suspicious than I already was.

  “O. M. Goodness sakes, Lucas Harper! I’ve been trying to reach you all day!” The girl’s words tumbled, one over the other. “What in the Sam Hill? For all I knew, you could’ve been dead.”

  I heard him say something that could have been the girl’s name, something along the lines of Astra or Astrid, or possibly Aston, none of which sounded like run-of-the-mill names. But this was California, after all, so for all I knew her name could be Asteroid.

  Lucas mumbled again. I was at least 90 percent sure Astra-Astrid-Aston had no clue I was in here, because she cut him off with something al
ong the lines of “ . . . can of worms . . . laughingstock” and then finished off her tirade with a high-pitched “mother ruining everything!”

  Her panties were definitely in a twist, but about what? And who in the hell was she to Lucas?

  His sister? Maybe.

  A friend? A definite possibility.

  She may even have been some ex, come crawling out of the woodwork.

  Lucas was trying his best to calm her down, but this Astra-Astrid-Aston chick didn’t seem to have an off switch. Her voice continued to dip and rise. The girl rarely took a breath.

  Whoever she was, she wasn’t the only one who was upset. I was starting to get a crick in my neck, and I wondered when, if ever, Lucas planned to ditch the other girl.

  I leaned harder into the door, and that was where my impromptu eavesdropping went sideways, as I lost my balance and my head thunked against the cheap wood that separated us.

  My heart lodged in my throat as I waited to see if I’d been busted.

  From the other side of the door, I heard a not-so-subtle shushing sound. Then Lucas muttered something low and garbled.

  The girl’s response, though, wasn’t low and garbled at all. Her words came through loud and clear, a ringing accusation. “Heavens! In there?”

  Shit. She definitely knew now.

  When the footsteps started my way I hurled myself back onto the bed—no way did I want to get caught in the act.

  The door was flung open wide then, and I flashed my most innocent expression at the both of them as I got my first glimpse at the mystery Astra-Astrid-Aston.

  If she was Lucas’s sister, I didn’t see the resemblance. This girl had Goody Two-Shoes written all over her. Her nails were perfectly manicured, her hair was the most flawless, not-natural shade of chestnut money could buy, and she was wearing the kind of white linen suit that did not come off a rack. I’d never seen Lucas in anything but board shorts and flip-flops.

  That, or nothing at all.

  For her part, the girl didn’t seem at all surprised to find me on Lucas’s bed, bare-ass naked beneath the snarl of sheets.

  For his part, Lucas looked shell-shocked. He stood behind Astra-Astrid-Aston, looking like he might have a chicken bone lodged in his throat.

  “So this is her?” Astra-Astrid-Aston sounded so much shriller without the door to muffle the sound of her voice. “This is what you’ve been doing all this time?”

  I flinched.

  This.

  I was the “this” in question.

  “Aster, stop.” Lucas finally found his voice. He tried to wrench her away from the doorway, but she was already shoving into his bedroom. “This has nothing to do with her.”

  But Not-Astra-Astrid-Aston’s cold gray eyes looked right through me. I recognized the look in them—aloof and superior. I’d grown up in a world of people who had that look down to an art. It was the look they gave their housekeepers and gardeners. The people they paid to wash their cars and serve them food and raise their children.

  People they considered less than. And this Aster chick definitely thought that of me. That I was less than her.

  My teeth clamped together.

  “This has everything to do with her. When you moved out here, I figured you’d fink a couple of beach sluts and get it out of your system. But it’s been three months.” She smoothed a hand over that too-glossy chestnut hair of hers. “Three. Months,” she emphasized. “That’s long enough. It’s time for you to stop finking around and find your way back home.”

  Fink? Was that a thing?

  I glanced from Little Miss Priss back to Lucas who’d gone from choking on a chicken bone to looking like he’d been slugged in the gut. His mouth hung open as he struggled for the right thing to say.

  I wasn’t struggling though. I’d had just about enough of this—I was through with hiding in the bedroom and being talked about. I climbed off the bed and plucked my phone from the nightstand as I started rummaging for my clothes. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck is happening here—”

  Aster raised one eyebrow at me and made a tsking sound. “My, my, my.” She reached up to finger the gold cross dangling from her neck. “Aren’t you just dripping with class? I guess he really was slumming it.”

  I tightened the sheet around me, deciding to abandon my clothes and leave the two of them to it.

  “Em, wait. Let me explain,” Lucas started, but I shot him the evil eye, letting him know we were way past the point of explanations.

  Then I stood directly in front of Aster and gave her a warning look, letting her know she could either get out of my way willingly, or I’d happily move her. “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t need this shit.” I emphasized shit, because, regardless of her weird euphemisms, I doubted there was any way to sugarcoat that one. “I’ll come back to get my stuff later,” I called over my shoulder to Lucas. “After you two sort out . . . whatever this is.”

  But Aster decided this was her chance to get in one last shot. “Oh, didn’t he tell you?” She smirked. “I’m his fiancée.”

  “Fiancée?” I whipped around, my face suddenly on fire. Lucas had a fiancée? How had that never come up before—the pesky fact that Lucas was engaged? I might have been planning to leave at the end of the month, but he could have at least had the decency to warn me. “You know what? Whatever. No need to explain.” When I glanced back at her, Aster had the good sense to sidestep me and I slipped past her. I had no intention of coming back—clothes or not. “How ’bout you both fink off.”

  LUCAS

  I’d started to go after Emerson, so I could explain myself out of this fucked-up situation, but Aster had blocked me before I could even take two steps.

  Jesus. I’d forgotten how bossy she was.

  “She’ll be fine,” she said, looking me up and down, and reminding me I’d been about to head out the door wearing nothing but the boxers I’d managed to locate before answering the door. “Girls like her always are.”

  I’d also been rock-hard when I’d answered the door. Not now, though. Seeing Aster had been an instant cold shower.

  I grabbed for my discarded shorts.

  “We need to talk,” Aster insisted. Bossy, just like I said.

  But talking was the last thing on my mind. I couldn’t stop picturing Em when she’d stormed out of here.

  She might’ve told us to fuck, or rather to fink off, but the look on her face—damn if she hadn’t been hurt. I’d never seen her like that. That wasn’t the Em I knew. My Em was feisty and fiery. Always quick to laugh, and even quicker to punch me in the shoulder if I said something stupid, which apparently I did on the regular.

  That was half the attraction—that whole emotions on her sleeves thing.

  I’d never been like that. I’d grown up in the shadow of a domineering mother who dictated exactly what I should feel and when I should feel it. Being with Em was refreshing. Being around someone who didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought of her.

  The other half of the attraction . . . well, you only had to have two eyes to figure that part out. Em was blonde and had legs for miles.

  Plus, there was that Texas twang of hers. There was just something about a Southern girl that always did me in.

  Sometimes I wondered what had ever drawn me to someone like Aster in the first place.

  Of course, I knew what. But that was the old me. When would Aster get it through her head that I was no longer that same person?

  Heading out the door, I headed straight up the walkway to Emerson’s place. Her lights were off, but she was in there. I banged on the door. “Em, open up! It’s me! I know you’re mad, but let me in. I can explain all this.”

  Aster was right behind me and I wanted to tell her to just go away. Her presence wouldn’t help my case, but all I could think about was Emerson.

  What must she be thinking?

  I knocked again and again. “Em,” I called, louder this time. “Emerson, please!” The neighbor who lived on the other side
of her came out and grumbled to keep it down. It was late, and I didn’t blame the guy, not really, but I still told him to mind his own fucking business. I was past social pleasantries.

  I felt Aster’s hand on my shoulder from behind and I shrugged it off. “Christ, Aster. You can’t just bust in on me and expect me to fall back in line,” I hissed under my breath, never turning around to look at her. “I’m not one of your fucking minions.”

  “Language,” she reprimanded in a terse voice. God, I hated that voice. And then she added, “I wouldn’t have come, but it’s the gala.” This time, I whipped around. Just in time to see her run a hand over her already perfect hair, a habit that verged on a tic, and one that had always irked the shit out of me. “I know I promised you more time,” she went on. “But you need to come back. Everything’s gone to Herbert Hoover in a handbasket.”

  I clenched my teeth so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if my jaw busted.

  The gala. This was the last thing I wanted to deal with right now, not while Em was in there wondering why my long-lost fiancée had landed on my doorstep. While all I wanted was to go in there and do some damage control, so we could get back to square one.

  But this time when I knocked, my attempt was half-hearted. I still hoped Emerson would answer, but now there was something else I needed to deal with too.

  The gala.

  Shit. If Aster had slummed it all the way here—no one hated the beach more than Aster—it must be important.

  I exhaled loudly, letting my fist fall from the door. “Jesus, what . . . what is it now?”

  And just like that, the floodgates opened. “I think your mother is starting to suspect something. She hasn’t come right out and asked me directly, but she’s starting to meddle in the details of the gala. I think it’s her way of keeping me around more. Maybe she thinks I’ll slip and reveal some detail about what you’re doing out here.” She gave me a reproachful look and I could practically read her thoughts—it wasn’t just my mother who wanted answers. “The other day I caught her trying to overrule the catering menu. Fortunately, the manager called me to confirm.”