Chapter Thirteen

Okay. Wow. Gus blinked. She hadn’t expected that. “A little too late, though, right?”

“Nah.” Marshall shrugged. “Jeremy got a full scholarship, so it worked out okay. And the old man’s name did open some doors for him after he finished college.”

“So why’d he do it, do you think? Leave Jeremy the money after denying it to your mom, your family, for so many years?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he felt guilty at the end of his life. Maybe he felt some remorse as he was about to meet his maker and Jeremy didn’t have any monetary association for him. Plus, he was already a successful lawyer, so maybe that played to his giant fucking ego.”

“How’d that make you feel? Being left out of the will?” Gus could imagine something like this compounding old hurts.

“Honestly, I didn’t give one single fuck. I didn’t want his money or his damn island. Neither does Jeremy. We gave it all away. To charity. Women’s shelters and underprivileged kids and a fund that helps uninsured people pay medical expenses.” He tipped his torso slightly and bumped his shoulder briefly against hers. “No bunny homes, sorry.”

Gus laughed. “You’re forgiven.”

He grinned, and for the first time tonight, the tight ball of tension in her gut eased a little.

“And we came up with this idea for the island. He’d always kept it as his own private retreat, so we wanted to do the thing he’d have hated the most—open it up to the public. Turn it into a place for families and kids, to have it echoing with their laughter and teeming with love and family and togetherness.”

“But hang on, wait.” Gus frowned. “If you were estranged from your grandfather, how did you and Jeremy and your mom come to spend vacations here?”

“Vacation. Singular. Once. For three glorious days, not long after my father died. It was magical. We couldn’t believe our grandfather owned an island. And Mom…” His voice grew wistful. “She told us all these stories of coming here as a kid with her parents, and she was laughing and smiling for the first time in months and it was wonderful.”

“Sounds like there’s a but coming.”

“Yup.” Marshall nodded. “My grandfather found out we were staying on the island and sent the cops to evict us.”

“Oh no.”

Gus cringed just thinking about that scene. Thinking about how mortified his mom must have felt and how bewildering it must have been for two young boys to be hauled off the island by the police.

“Oh yes. Apparently we’d been squatting. Mom obviously knew, but…I guess she thought we’d slip under the radar. He made her cry that day, too. I think that’s when I hated him the most.”

No wonder he and Jeremy wanted every last trace of their grandfather razed to the ground on Hitchkin.

“She just had…such a hard life.” He shook his head, his voice suddenly thick as he stared out over the lake. “He could have made it a little bit easier for her, you know?”

He turned to her briefly, appeal in his eyes before returning his gaze outward. The anguish in his voice slayed her and the tension that had eased off pulled tighter.

“But he chose not to. His own daughter. If he’d accepted my dad, maybe she’d have become the lawyer he’d always wanted her to be. And she might not have died from a cerebral aneurysm at thirty-four—” His voice cracked and he stopped, dragging in several deep, ragged breaths.

Gus felt his anguish twisting like a knife between her ribs. It might have been nineteen years, but Marshall’s hurt felt raw and fresh, and tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, a lump in her throat as her hand slid onto his shoulder. He seemed so far away, caught up in the loss and the injustice. Alone in the loss and the injustice, and she couldn’t bear it.

Just because his shoulders were broad didn’t mean he should have to take on that kind of burden by himself.

Nobody should have to.

His skin was warm and smooth as she anchored her palm over the ball of his shoulder. He tensed beneath her touch, the flesh and bone beneath her hand hard and unyielding. There was such strength there, such power, and she stroked her thumb absently along the taut muscle funneling toward his neck.

Sometimes it was okay not to be strong.

Even now, as she inspected his profile, she could see him clenching and unclenching his jaw despite the covering of scruff.

God…she just wanted to hug him.

“Marshall,” she murmured, her hand sliding up farther to the point where his neck met his shoulder and squeezing.

“Augusta.” Her name left his lips as little more than a whisper and his eyes fluttered closed. “You shouldn’t touch me right now.”

His husky voice felt like sandpaper against her skin. Gus’s breathing shifted to a lower gear. She knew he was right, knew by the sudden change in her pulse, the heating of her blood, that this was becoming something else.

That comfort had taken a decidedly sexual turn.

She dragged in a breath, nodding, willing her hand to move away. Fighting the urge to move it closer, to move it up, to slide it into his hair, to dig her fingers into his scalp and hear him groan at the sensation.

Blinking to rouse herself from the quagmire sucking her in, she let her hand slide away. But he caught it, engulfed it in his own, the roughness of his palm prickling up her arm and heading straight for her nipples.

Before she knew what was happening, he was pulling her closer. Slow and steady but closer and closer and closer, their arms touching, the heat of his body pressing into the side of hers. All the noises of the lake melted away until there was nothing but the sound of their breathing.

His face loomed nearer and nearer, his mouth stopping an inch from hers, his breath warm on her lips. This close she could see his eyes, see them dark with emotion and desire.

Oh God.

Her breath was thick as fog in her lungs and hot as steam in her throat. “We…” Gus’s pulse tripped at her wrists and her temples and the base of her throat as she tried to hold on to her convictions. “We said no kissing.”

She might feel wretched for him, but Gus wasn’t that far gone—not quite—to remember this was a no-go zone.

And why. She was big on self-preservation.

He smiled. It was bleak, but somehow sexy as fuck. “Who said anything about kissing?” he murmured, his lips almost brushing hers as they edged closer.

And closer.

Gus waited for the soft press of his mouth, her heart beating, her eyes glued to his. It never came. His lips shied away at the last second, his nose rubbing against hers before moving off to the right, drifting along her cheekbone, down to her earlobe, down the side of her neck, seeking the hollow at the base of her throat, inhaling there, deep and rough before tracing the indentation with his tongue, hot and wet.

She sucked in a breath and it came out again in a husky pant.

“Marshall.” It was supposed to be a warning, but it came out far too wanton, laden with lust and surrender.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his lips so close to her throat they brushed against it with every word. “I’m not going to do anything that breaks our contract.”

But if she thought that meant he was going to stop, she was wrong. With one sweep of his hands, the straps of her one-piece were sliding free of her arms, the material bunching at her waist, her breasts spilling free, the knot of the towel loosening and falling away.

Gus gasped, momentarily taken aback at the move, at her exposure and how…shockingly wanton it felt, bared to him like this. She should protest, cover herself up. Anyone could stumble onto the beach and see her like this. See them like this. And she was sworn off men and he’d been engaged three times and they had a contract, damn it.

But his gaze was hot and devouring and his breathing was uneven and her nipples were tightening and her pulse was throbbing through her body, and the truth was the Bunnyguards were well and truly occupied enjoying their downtime on the other side of the island and this dark, moonless night was perfect cover for clandestine debauchery and she had never wanted a man so hard and so quickly in all her life. Not even Rick.

Gus just didn’t act recklessly where men were concerned.

“Jesus,” he muttered, making her throat dry and her breathing ragged.

And then his head was lowering again, his nose nuzzling from the hollow of her throat straight down, deviating right to graze over the top of a nipple before heading left to graze over the other. His tongue joined in the action, flicking out to stroke at the aching tip.

Gus couldn’t stop the moan falling from her lips and he glanced up at her, his mouth parted. “Lay back,” he said on a low rumble.

God…she panted once, twice. What was she doing? She should be telling him no, that this was not the spirit of the agreement. But then his palm slid to the middle of her chest, urging her back. His touch was light and gentle; she could easily have held her ground. But she didn’t. Instead, too far gone for any sensible thinking, she let him press her all the way back, let him look his fill as she settled against the warm, hard boards, barely registering the discomfort or the potential for splinters. She was aware only of the thunder of her heart as it pulsed through her chest and rushed through her ears and throbbed right between her thighs.

Her legs swung around automatically to accommodate him, her right leg sliding in behind his back, knee bent, her left foot gliding over the top of his closest thigh, grounding itself on the boards between his legs, splaying her thighs.

Marshall took full advantage, twisting slightly to insert his torso, his left hand flattening near her ribs. “You look like a water nymph.”

His voice was low and reverent, and Gus’s belly tightened at the compliment and the way his gaze devoured her nudity. Men had flattered her a lot over the years. They’d told her she was beautiful and sexy and gorgeous.

That she was hot. A babe.

But always in the context of them. Of what she could do for them—their dicks, their reputations, their social cred. Marshall was looking at her like she was a goddess, and he wanted to worship at her temple.

He placed his right hand flat between her breasts, and she shivered as his callused, construction-worker palm smoothed in a line all the way down to her navel. Goose bumps followed in their wake, and her nipples hardened to pebbles.

His nostrils flared and he used both hands now to caress her breasts, his roughened fingertips swirling around the achy points, making her squirm and arch and pant. Making her nipples tingle. Making her slick and tingly between her legs.

This wasn’t kissing. This was so much better.

He lowered his head to take a nipple into the hot cavern of his mouth, groaning as he drew it deep. Oh yes, there. Just there. Just like that. Gus cried out, her shoulder blades bowing off the deck, her eyes closed tight as her fingers twisted and knotted into the back of his still-damp hair.

He sucked hard then swirled his tongue and sucked again, grazing the nipple with his teeth with each suck before soothing it with the hot, wet flat of his tongue. When Gus couldn’t bear it any longer, he switched sides, torturing her other nipple, groaning again as it hardened in his mouth, laving it with attention until she was panting and moaning and he switched again.

And switched and switched and switched, leaving the abandoned nipples screamingly sensitive to the night air and her a writhing, drooling mess, her head spinning, her body melted to a puddle of goo on the wooden boards.

When he stopped abruptly, she was too insensible to think—to protest, even. She just watched as his hands slid to the fabric bunched at her waist. Raising her eyes, their gazes locked, his searching hers for long moments. His chest heaved in and out; hers heaved in and out, too. When he yanked at the fabric, she lifted her hips.

Resistance never crossed her mind.

She’d become a total slave to the intensity of purpose burning in Marshall’s eyes as he slid her swimsuit all the way down and off one leg. The warm air felt cool against her heated body, delicious against her naked flesh, caressing the inside of her thighs already slick with passion and need.

Leaning in, Marshall lowered his head again, and Gus shivered as the fine waves of his hair fell soft as feathers against her chest and his warm breath fanned across her skin. His eyes found hers and she was lost, drowning in the heat and purpose she saw there as his tongue got in on the action.

She raised her head a little to watch. Watch as it dragged south in a straight line from her sternum to her navel. Watched as it circled the indentation three times before continuing to slide, his gaze locked steady on hers.

Down, down, down.

All the way down to the first dusting of hair and holding there for long seconds, his intent clear but waiting anyway.

For what? For her to object? Protest? Pull away?

Ordinarily, Gus didn’t let guys she barely knew go down on her so soon. Hell, she never even kissed a guy on the first few dates. Consequently, not a lot of men had stuck around for the cunnilingus part of the relationship.

But everything was screwy with Marshall. A broken heart, common sense, and years of self-protection had totally flown out the window, and Gus could no more have denied Marshall what they both wanted right now than reached up and plucked a star from the sky.

She wanted him between her legs. Licking there. Feasting there. Worshipping there.

She needed it.

“Please,” she whispered, allowing her knees to flop sideways, offering him everything.

Marshall wasted no time using his all-access pass, licking a path straight down her middle, his tongue parting her in one slow, sensuous lick. Gus moaned long and low, her head making a thunk noise as she became incapable of supporting it. It hit the boards as everything inside her contracted in pleasure.

Holy. Jesus. She was a dead woman.

If the man could do that after one lick, what kind of state was she going to be in after he’d really gone to town down there? She’d never actually climaxed from oral stimulation alone—a lot of women didn’t. But she had a feeling this time, she just might.

His second lick was better than his first, and she actually cried out, her hands scrabbling at the boards for purchase as her whole world shifted on its axis. They finally found his head as he licked a third and a fourth and a fifth time, and she twisted them up in his hair and held on for dear life, her body one huge throb.

A big, rough finger slid inside. Her back arched. Her breath hitched. She shivered. Another joined the party and she gasped, writhing against the intrusion, needing more than just fullness. Marshall obliged, sliding in and out of her as his teeth found the swollen nub of her clitoris and scraped over it, alternately sucking it in then soothing it, building her so damn fast she was sobbing for release.

And then more fingers found her impossibly taut nipple, mimicked his actions with her clit—squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing—and everything coalesced in one supersonic rush of heat and lust and energy and slammed into her in one massive firestorm of pleasure.

Gus moaned, bucking under its impact, half sitting, watching him watching her as he tongued her clit, before the climax swept her away and she fell back into its vortex, panting and gasping into the maelstrom. It tossed her around and her hands wrung tighter in his hair as it flung her higher and higher.

It was too much, too pretty, too intense. Her heart was beating too fast. Her breathing was too labored. But Marshall did not relent, his mouth and hands working her from inside and out—penetrating and licking and squeezing—taking her right to the edge and holding her there.

Holding and holding and holding until her body collapsed in on itself and the orgasm released her from its grip, leaving her spent and gasping like a newly landed fish on the boards of the pier.

But she wasn’t the only one.

Marshall was spent, too, panting just as hard, his forehead pressed to her belly, the harsh rush of his breath warm on her skin.

It took a while to come back to herself—to float back down to earth. For her pulse to settle and her breathing to return to normal. The first thing she registered was her hand cradling the back of his head and the soft silk of his hair. At some stage, she must have released the death grip she’d had on it, but her fingers were still furrowed into the damp mass.

The next thing was the noises of the lake. The light lap of the water against the jetty and the shift of it against the beach. The sway of the trees, the flap of a wing, the call of insects.

The final thing was deeper, more complex. Her thoughts clashing around her head in a confused jumble. How had she ended up like this? With a guy she hadn’t even known a few weeks ago?

But that seemed to be par for the course with Marshall. She’d seen him naked on day one. Kissed him on day two. And let him strip her, perform oral sex on her, and finger-fuck her after a week.

Who even was she right now?

“I don’t know…what to say,” she said, looking down at his dark head.

A low chuckle escaped his mouth, his lips brushing her belly as he levered himself into a sitting position. His hand was big and warm on her thigh as he looked down at her, his eyelids at half mast. His amusement was irritating.

“That’s depends.” He gave her a lazy smile. “Did you like it?”

Gus rolled her eyes. “I’m sure the entire island knows how much I liked it.” What was the point in denying it? She’d just had an orgasm that had probably moved the needle on the nearest seismic instrument.

He laughed again, a self-satisfied kind of sound. “I think the good people of Doak probably do, too.”

Gus would have said Denver, but she glared at him for his conceit anyway. “You’re going to be unbearably smug now, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely not, that would be uncouth.” His gaze drifted to her breasts and lower before returning to her face. “But if you’re after a repeat performance, I’m very good at replicating success.”

Of course he was. He’d probably practiced night and day on his three ex fiancés!

Crap. Why the hell was she just lying there, letting him look at her? Apart from the fact her bones had not yet returned to their solid state?

Drawing her legs up, Gus brought her knees together—or as much as she could with a big, broad chest between them. His hand slid off her thigh. “Let me up,” she said, rising onto her elbows.

The only way she could get herself upright with any kind of grace was if he shuffled over. He complied without hesitation, giving her room, but she was still pretty much buck naked, her swimsuit bunched around her right knee, and she had no desire for an audience as she righted herself.

“Look away.”

His eyebrows shot almost to his hairline as he gave a half laugh. “What?”

“I want to get up and get dressed without you…staring at my business.”

“Goldilocks…I’ve just had my face all up in your business.”

“What was that about being uncouth, Elmer?”

He laughed again but said, “Fine,” and turned his cheek to look in the opposite direction.

Gus scrambled to her feet, shoving her left foot into her one-piece then yanking it up. Within seconds she was fully covered, but she swiped the towel up and secured it tightly around her waist for good measure.

He started to hum, and Gus rolled her eyes. “I’m done now,” she said. “You can look.”

His head turned slowly, his gaze making its way up her body in no particular hurry. It was a scorchingly hot appraisal. How her towel didn’t burst into flames, Gus had no idea.

“I’m going in,” she announced.

Marshall held her gaze for a beat or two then nodded. “Okay.” He turned away, returning his attention to the lake, darkness shrouding his head and shoulders.

Gus hesitated. “About before.”

“Can we leave the analysis and recriminations until tomorrow?” he asked, his voice bleak as he stared at the water.

The words she’d been trying to assemble in her head scattered. She hadn’t been about to accuse him or berate him—hell, she’d all but begged him for that orgasm—but perhaps some distance was warranted before they had a discussion. Because they really should. There were boundaries that needed reinforcing.

“Okay…sure.”

“Thank you.”

Gus hesitated. “Are you going to be okay?” She didn’t say out here by yourself on the anniversary of your mother’s death but that’s what she meant.

“Yep.” He nodded. “I’ll be fine.” When she dithered some more, he turned and smiled. “Really, it’s okay. I’ll be in soon.”

Reassured, Gus turned and walked away. The fact she was a different woman now to the one who’d walked onto the jetty an hour ago nipped at her heels all the way to the cabin.