Chapter Seventeen

How the hell was he supposed to leave now?

He was what she wanted. He was what she ached for.

She’d laid it out there—honest and fearless. Now she was waiting on him. All the logical reasons he’d stopped himself, again and again, from calling or dropping by were impossible to remember.

He smoothed the auburn curls slipping from the knot on her head, silky-soft, wrapping around his finger. Her lashes fluttered against her cheek as he slid the clip from her hair, running his fingers through the mass of curls.

She leaned in to his touch, her emerald green eyes locking with his. “Stay,” she whispered.

His hand drifted on its own, tangling in her hair and pulling her against him. “I’m not going anywhere.” Her lips parted beneath his, welcoming him, hungry for him. There was no way he could deny her. His tongue dipped inside, tracing the velvety softness of her mouth.

Her soft moan ended any hope of sanity returning. She, this, consumed him. One minute they were standing in the middle of the foyer, the next, he had her pressed against the front door. The kiss went on, deepened, and caught fire.

She broke free long enough to tug his shirt loose, her fingers flying down the buttons and pushing the fabric aside. His shirt was gone. Nothing felt better than her touch—except the light kisses she pressed against his throat. While he was bowled over by sensation, she managed to grab his belt and began leading him to the stairs.

But once they reached the steps, her towel slipped to her waist. Her breasts shook in time with her ragged breath. Cheeks flushed. Lips parted. Auburn hair mussed around her shoulders. And those blazing green eyes. He couldn’t look away. Or breathe.

“Felicity,” he whispered, his hand smoothing the hair from her shoulder. “You are beautiful.”

She shook her head, her hair falling forward as she tugged her towel back up.

He leaned closer, grasping her face. “You are.” He waited, wanting her to hear him.

A long, slow breath slipped from her lips, and her gaze focused. The doubt there was a kick to the gut. She didn’t know? Didn’t believe him? Matt had no idea what he’d done to her.

But she was looking at him now, a small smile on her face. “Thank you.” Her hands slid up his arms and around his neck, crushing her breasts against his chest.

“Dammit,” he hissed, sliding his hands up her bare back. “You feel good.”

Her fingers twined in his hair and pulled his head down so she could kiss him. Between the cling of her lips and the brush of her nipples on his skin, how they got to her bedroom was a mystery. There was a lot of bumping into furniture and bouncing off walls before he wound up sitting on the edge of her mattress kissing her as she stood between his legs. He couldn’t get enough.

He kissed his way across her clavicle, his hand sliding up slowly to cradle her breast. She arched into his hand, her fingers raking through his hair. He took his time, stroking the satin roundness and nuzzling the tight nipple before drawing the tip into his mouth.

She moaned, her grip on his hair tightening.

Tongue and lips, the spare rasp of his teeth, he loved her breast until her breathing grew uneven and wavering. When she climbed onto his lap, her towel fell to the floor. Now she sat, straddling him, and there was no way she could miss just how much he wanted this—wanted her.

He stood, lifting her to roll her onto her back. She gasped as she landed on the mattress, staring up at him, the fire in her passion-glazed eyes mesmerizing. She smiled, her eyelids fluttering as she arched against him.

“Felicity,” he ground out.

Her hands slid down his side, gripping his hips and holding him still as she rocked against him. This time, he arched forward, grinding them together. Her broken moan was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard.

She reached between them, fumbling with his pants. But her fingers were shaking, and she ended up giving up with a giggle.

He smiled, holding her gaze as he unfastened his pants. “One second.” He stood, stepping out of his pants and boxers. With an impatient sweep of her arm, she sent the pillows flying. She pushed him flat on his back, and then she was climbing on top of him.

He ran his hands over her, exploring every dip and curve. The feel of her, skin on skin, stopped him from saying anything else. This was an intimacy he’d forgotten. A shared silence. A soft touch. Tender and sweet. Real and deep. She was all those things. And his hands were driving her mad. He watched every quiver, soaked up every whimper, and ached to be inside her.

He wasn’t prepared. “I don’t have…anything.”

“Anything?” she murmured, distracted by his hold on her breast.

“Condoms.” He cleared his throat, lifting his hand. “Protection.”

“Oh.” Her eyes flew to his. “Right.” She blinked. “Do we… I mean, I’ve only slept with Matt.” She shrugged. “And, you know, I can’t have any more kids. Unless you need to wear…something?”

“No. I’m clean.” He was still stuck on the fact that she’d only slept with Matt. Before Julia, he’d had several girlfriends. After, well, there’d been no interest.

Her smile was back as she bent forward to kiss him—with enthusiasm.

But the kiss grew fierce. He rolled over her, loving the way her fingers tugged his hair, loving the way her leg wrapped around his hip. Nothing prepared him for the feel of her body hot and tight around him. The slow, broken sigh that spilled from her lips when he slid deep rocked him to the core.

She moaned, staring up at him—stunned and lost.

He felt it, too. Lost. And found.

But her legs wrapped around him and her fingers, tangled in his hair, tugged him close until their lips sealed together. Gripping her hips, he thrust into her, a groan tearing from his throat.

She moved without restraint or inhibition. It was incredible to watch. So incredible that he knew he wouldn’t last long. But, dammit, he would make her happy first. He concentrated on breathing—on her—anything but the dangerous tightening inside. Thrusting and withdrawing, teasing her until she was breathless and grinding against him. But the second she tore her mouth from his and her cries rang out, he let go—thrusting into her as his climax slammed into him.

He gasped for air, and she was smiling and beautiful and reaching up to smooth the hair from his forehead.

He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want this to end. The sex was incredible, but the connection, the tenderness she stirred in his blood, was more potent than he’d anticipated. Or been prepared for. He’d always cared for her. Known she was important. But now—

“You okay?” she asked, her hand pressed to his cheek.

That was the question. If she was talking about this? Yes. “Okay” didn’t begin to describe it. Everything about tonight had been incredible. “Yes.” He smiled, lying by her side and pulling her close.

If she was talking about his heart? He wasn’t so sure. It had taken a hell of a long time to piece it back together. He couldn’t give it away, not without a fight. No matter what it wanted.

…

Nick did his best to act like he didn’t give a shit about the fact that Lane’s hand was sliding along Diana’s skinny legs. She wasn’t his problem. If she was, she wouldn’t be glaring at him like that or giving him the cold shoulder. So why did he feel so damn protective? It’s not like she was Honor. They were not family. Thank God she was not his sister. Having Diana as a sister would be like waking up daily to being kicked in the balls.

“Nick?” Fran offered him her half-charred marshmallow.

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t drop this one.” She giggled, leaning against him. “You want a beer?”

Hell no. He was done drinking. Forever. “No. This is good.” He leaned forward to bite the melty-sticky marshmallow from the skewer.

“Oh my God, Nick!” She squealed as he leaned in to kiss her. “You are covered in marshmallow.”

He hesitated. They’d kissed before, once or twice, but never in public—surrounded by their friends—and never when she was in a bikini. But she was in a bikini, and he was having a hell of a hard time ignoring that fact. Or the fact that her overflowing top was pressed against his arm. And he had some view. His gaze slipped from her face to her cleavage. Damn it. Fran’s breathing picked up, her gaze falling to his mouth—and shooting blood to parts of his body that could make this whole thing way awkward and potentially embarrassing.

Just fricking awesome.

She was kissing him. That was a first. “Missed you,” she whispered, winding her arms around his neck, which put those hella-soft curves against his bare chest.

“Wanna walk?” he asked.

But her eyes went wide. “Oh? You… Walk where?”

He shrugged, draping his beach towel around his neck for camouflage, and stood. “Along the shore.” At least until he wasn’t pitching a half tent.

Fran glanced around the fire, her knees drawn to her chest. “Just you and me?”

He frowned. “Yeah?” That’s when he realized they had an audience. And why Fran was freaking out. Some people might be cool hooking up in the woods when there was a crowd of people close by, but that wasn’t him. Cheesy or not, he wanted his first time to be…cool. But he wasn’t going to tell her that here—now. “For a walk.”

She didn’t believe him. From the giggles and whispers around the bonfire, nobody did. Not that they mattered. Fran did. She couldn’t look at him—she was too busy pulling on her swimsuit cover-up.

What the hell? Didn’t she know him? He wasn’t out to screw her. Is that what she thought of him? That he was like…like Lane?

“Okay.” Fran stood, red-cheeked and nervous.

“Looks like someone’s getting lucky.” Lane laughed.

It took everything he had not to say something. His jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it. But he wasn’t going to pick a fight, because Lane was an asshat. He’d want to fight here, in public. Make a scene. Make Nick look like a tool. Not happening.

“You okay, Fran?” Diana asked, coming around the fire. She stood there, looking back and forth between him and Fran like Fran needed rescuing.

Is Fran okay? What the hell? He glanced at his girlfriend—sort of girlfriend. She didn’t look okay. She looked freaked out.

And it irritated him. A whole hell of a lot. “Fran, just forget it.” He sounded pissed. And he was, but not at her. Not really.

“Cockblocked!” Lane laughed, louder this time.

“Are you kidding me?” he snapped, rethinking the whole restraint thing. Using Lane as a punching bag sounded pretty damn good at the moment.

Fran grabbed his hand. “Come on, Nick.” She stood, tugging him away from the fire. “Let’s walk.”

But Nick was seeing red. “It’s fine.”

“No, Nick, come on.” Fran yanked on his hand. “Please.”

Nick blew out a long, slow breath. “Fran…”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Come on. We’re walking.”

He resisted for a few seconds, then let her lead him away from the fire, the crowd around the bonfire, and Lane. After ten minutes of walking, he said, “All I want is to walk.” He cleared his throat, hoping he’d sound less like an asshole. “Not…that. What he thought.”

“That guy really gets to you.” She threaded her fingers with his.

He nodded.

“Because he’s a jerk?” She paused. “Or because of Diana?”

He stopped walking then. “What?”

“You seem sort of really hung up on her,” she whispered.

“No. God, no. We grew up together.” He shook his head. He frowned, unable to think about Di that way. “More like the pain-in-the-ass sister I never wanted sort of thing.” All true. He didn’t want to think of her that way…so why did he? Dammit. Because unlike Honor, she didn’t have someone looking out for her. And, clearly, she needed someone looking out for her. And, for some reason, he felt like he was that person. Fuck. “She’s a screwup. She and her dad have had a rough time. I don’t get why she wants to make it worse.” Didn’t he though? He hadn’t exactly been easy on his mother.

“That’s all?” Fran stared up at him.

She was seriously gorgeous. “That. Is. All.” Maybe she didn’t get how into her he was?

“Okay.” She was smiling. “I’m glad.”

Now who’s the asshole. He tugged her close. “Believe me. You’re the reason I’m out walking in the dark. Your bikini?” He shook his head. “Seriously dangerous.”

She was smiling. “You like it?”

“I like you, Fran.” He swallowed. “And, yeah, maybe the bikini, too.”

“Good.” She rested her head against his chest. “For the record, I didn’t think you wanted to, you know, out here. I was freaking out because my bikini strap broke. That’s why I had to put on my coverup. And fast.” She tugged the fabric down, drawing his attention to her broken strap.

Nick swallowed hard. “Oh.” So much for walking it off. He adjusted his towel, very thankful for her cover-up, his towel, and that his girlfriend was pretty awesome.