Oh, my. I thought the vodka was why kissing Evan last night felt out of this world. How else could it have been so good? But today, I’m stone-cold sober, and this is still the best kiss of my life. A ruining kiss too, which sucks because labels or not, whatever this is we’re not labeling is going to be short.
After what feels like an hour of bliss, I pull away and look up at Evan expectantly. On the one hand, I want to be invited in, but on the other, I—
“You still want to groom Harry?” Evan absentmindedly touches his lips.
Huh. I pull myself together since it sounds like I’m needed in a professional capacity. “I want to groom Harry and Sally.”
He shakes his head. “Just the dog. You don’t need another trip to the hospital.”
“How about I do Sally tomorrow and Harry today?” I suggest. Yeah. Great thinking. That leaves me more time to do Evan tonight if it comes to that.
“Deal.” Evan grabs my hand and leads me toward his front door, which makes me feel very melty in the region of my panties—something I’ve never felt before a pet grooming.
When the door opens, Harry greets us excitedly.
“Hey, bud.” Evan releases my hand and ruffles Harry’s fur. “You’re about to get a treat.”
Ah. The grooming, right. That was the pretext for coming over. “How do you usually wash Harry?” I ask Evan.
Evan grins. “Hose, outside. Or one of those showers at the beach. But he considers baths a treat, so I think that might be the way to go in this case.”
Aha. Bath. “Want to help me?”
Evan nods. “Come on, bud, let’s take a bath.”
Harry is so happy you’d think Evan told him he’s just inherited a peanut butter factory.
As soon as we get Harry into the bath and turn on the shower, the dog looks blissed out—but then he performs a shakeout his kind is so good at.
Evan laughs. “This is why I don’t do this often.”
Yeah. Evan and I are now wet, with me in multiple senses of the word courtesy of Evan’s bulging muscles peeking through his wet shirt. My own shirt is soaked and therefore sheer, which Evan clearly notices and is happy to see. That, or he must bring a rather large flashlight to all of his pet-grooming sessions.
Gritting my teeth, I do my best to stay professional as I proceed with the wash.
Nope. This is not even close to professional. Evan is so adorable with his fur baby that it makes me think of the one thing Reagan has never gotten to experience—having a dad. And picturing Evan in the role of a dad is a bad, bad idea.
Note to self: Avoid doing such domestic crap with flings or guys with whom one is doing stuff with no labels. Granted, this is a pretty useless note because I’m not normally interested in flings or label-less whatevers.
When the bathing is done but before we can properly towel him off, Harry runs around the house like he’s on fire instead of wet, and Sally watches his antics with a sinister expression that seems to say, “Go ahead. Try getting me wet. See what happens.”
Hmm. Could Sally be impervious to my cat tricks? Whatever. For now, I need to finish dealing with Harry, so with Evan’s help, I catch him and start to detangle his fur.
“Wow,” Evan says when I manage to rid Harry of a piece of gum that was stuck in his fur for what looks like a year. “You’re the best groomer I’ve ever met.”
Hey, maybe causing myself to smell like a wet dog was worth it. “Harry seems to be free of any parasites. Want to help me trim his nails?”
Evan agrees, so we do Harry’s mani-pedi and then jointly brush his teeth.
“Your breath smells amazing,” Evan says afterward.
“Thanks,” I say.
“I was talking to Harry,” Evan says with a grin. “But yours smells even better.”
Before I can reply, Harry decides that the compliment is a great excuse to give Evan a doggy kiss.
Hey. Unfair. I had the same idea. Though maybe with less tongue.
Done going to first base with his dog, Evan looks at me sheepishly. “I’ll go brush my teeth… just in case.”
“I don’t find dog kisses gross.” To prove my point, I let Harry place one on me.
“Well,” Evan says. “I kind of do, so…”
“This from the guy who gave me crap about greasy hands?”
Evan rolls his eyes. “I’m brushing my teeth. You don’t have to.”
“No, I will,” I say magnanimously.
“Thank you.” Evan waves for me to follow and leads me into his bedroom.
When I spot his bed, my heart skips a few beats.
We walk into the bathroom together and brush our teeth—another little bit of domesticity that makes something ache in my chest.
Damn. How can someone brush his teeth so sexily? Given the purpose of the activity, you’d think it would be utilitarian at most.
With effort, I focus on taking care of the doggie cooties in my mouth, but I can’t help catching Evan’s gaze in the mirror a few times. A gaze that’s hard to decipher.
“Can I use your shower?” I gesture at my wet clothes. “And maybe get something to wear?”
This time, Evan’s expression is a lot clearer. “Sure…” His voice is husky. “Do you need help soaping your back?”
Before I can give this due consideration, my head is already bobbing in the affirmative.
Smiling crookedly, Evan begins to strip in the same showy fashion that he did yesterday after losing at Scrabble.
Mouth open, I watch the show all the way to the end, where Vitamin D makes its very big comeback.
“Your turn.” Evan turns away and approaches the shower.
Oh, my. Evan’s powerful back and muscular butt are mouthwatering. And pussywatering.
Evan turns on the shower.
I realize I haven’t blinked this whole time, so I allow myself a cat-like slow blink.
Evan turns back to me and frowns. “Look, Brooklyn, if you don’t want to—”
I rip my shirt off my body with such haste you’d think it were acid and not water it’s soaked in.
As I strip off the rest, Evan’s eyes grow ever more hooded. After I slide my panties down, he closes the distance between us and gives me another mind-shattering kiss. Then, without releasing my lips, he carries me into the shower.
When the hot water hits my skin, hormones make things a little hazy for the next few seconds. There are definitely lots of soapy hands all over my body: one on my left breast, the second on my lower back, the third between my—
Wait. Third?
Ah, right. That’s me, pressing firmly on my clit.
“That’s right,” Evan croons. “Make yourself come for me.”
I’m not sure if it’s his words or the pent-up sexual energy brought on by being around him for so long, but a powerful orgasm explodes in my core, making my legs wobble. Thankfully, Evan is there to hold me up.
“Good job.” He puts my hand on the tile wall to the right of me. “Make sure you don’t fall.”
Yeah. Great idea. Wait, where is he—
“I want to taste you.” He drags his tongue down my body as he gets on his knees.
Oh, fuck.
He cups my butt as his tongue flits over my still-oversensitive clit.
I grip that tile wall for all its worth and grab Evan’s hair with my other hand to keep myself stable.
“Just like that,” he croons into my pussy, and the vibrations bring me to the brink of another orgasm.
I’m almost there when Evan slows down. Then he speeds up.
“No,” I gasp. “Don’t tease!” I pull him where I want him, and boy, does he get the message. Flattening his tongue, he presses it against my sex and pulls me toward him, fingers digging into my butt cheeks.
“Fuck,” I moan as I convulse into his mouth.
He gets back on his feet. “Now I really ought to soap your back.”
Oh? As Evan gets behind me, Vitamin D pokes me very intriguingly in the left butt cheek. Then Evan starts to lather my back, making it official: anywhere he touches becomes an erogenous zone.
When my back is done, Evan turns his attention to my butt—which feels amazing… at least until a soapy finger gently circles in the very middle.
“Do you like that?” he whispers into my ear.
“What?” I gasp.
He slides the tip of his finger into my back opening. “This?”
“I don’t know.” I’m intrigued but scared at the same time. “But I’ve never done anal if that’s what you’re asking.”
Until this vacation, I didn’t think I’d ever even consider it, but something about Evan brings out the adventuress in me. Case in point: until yesterday, I didn’t think I’d ever play Strip Scrabble. Not that these two things are in the same league. Anal is—
“Let me try something,” Evan murmurs and licks my neck.
Okay. That’s nice. That I definitely like. More than like.
He gently positions me facing the wall, legs spread, both hands on the tile wall—like he might fuck me from behind.
My heartbeat skyrockets.
Is he going to just stick Vitamin D in my ass? Wouldn’t I need copious amounts of lube before attempting—
Nope. Evan nibbles his way down to my shoulder blades.
Wait. Is he—
Yep. Sliding his hands down the sides of my body, Evan licks down my spine, his tongue passing my coccyx bone and gliding down the crease between my butt cheeks until his tongue ends up where his finger was a moment ago as he grips the sides of my hips.
My entire body turns red hot and tingly with equal parts embarrassment and arousal. The actual sensation is tickly but nice. It’s the knowledge of what he’s doing that makes my heart pound and my cheeks burn. And I mean both sets of cheeks.
He makes a wide circle with his tongue. Then a smaller circle.
A giggle bubbles up in my throat.
Releasing my right hip, Evan caresses my clit with the tip of his finger.
The giggle fizzles out, replaced with a growing tension.
Upon completion of his smallest circle thus far, Evan slides the tip of his tongue into my back opening—just as the finger that was on my clit enters my pussy.
I gasp as my body tenses and all the earlier sensations intensify, with pleasure winning over embarrassment by a wide margin.
His tongue and finger penetrate me deeper, in and out, in a faster and faster rhythm.
A moan escapes my lips.
The rhythm intensifies.
“Yes!” I grip the tiles for all I’m worth.
Encouraged by my outcry, Evan starts fucking my ass with his tongue in earnest, just as his finger mercilessly locates what must be my g-spot—because an intense burst of pleasure explodes inside me, making me come as I scream his name.
“You’re amazing,” Evan croons. “Now turn toward me and lean against the wall.”
I’m too overwhelmed to ask silly questions like “Why?” or “What are you going to do to me now?” Instead, I face him and watch, mesmerized, as he fists Vitamin D until he comes all over my belly.
And just like that, I’m ready to go again. It has something to do with the warmth of his seed on my skin, the expression on his face, and—
Evan grabs the shower gel and washes my stomach clean, then my breasts, paying close attention to my nipples.
I’m not just ready to go—I crave another orgasm like a junky her next fix.
“Here.” Turning off the shower, Evan brings a finger to my mouth. “I’ll need some lube for the next thing I want to try.”
What thing? My mouth is a little dry as I suck the proffered finger, but my pussy is anything but.
Evan gets on his knees again and repeats his cunnilingual masterpiece, but with one crucial difference: the tip of the finger I just sucked enters my butt.
A moan is on my lips again, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. His finger feels very different from his tongue, but also nice, in a hot, dirty way. It’s harder and seemingly thicker—a hint of how Vitamin D would feel.
Speaking of Evan’s tongue, it’s clever enough to file an orgasm-related patent with the USPTO. It makes me feel so good I back my butt into Evan’s finger, taking it up to the second knuckle and loving every millimeter of it.
“Come.” Evan’s command propels my cresting orgasm over the edge, and I do as he says, clenching around Evan’s finger like a Chinese trap.
Sliding his finger out, Evan kisses my neck, then whispers into my ear, “How was that?”
“Incredible.” An understatement of the century. The truth is, if we had enough time to do what we’re doing today for a few months, I think I could work up to anal—but alas, we have a few measly days left, and I plan on having Vitamin D exclusively in my pussy as often as I can.
Evan’s smile is pure male satisfaction. “Want me to wash your hair?”
“Sure.” I’m hoping that getting pampered will reverse the weird post-climax malaise that has just come over me, and it does, to a degree. A much better savior for my mood is the sleepiness that turns my body into wet papier-mâché.
“Take me to bed,” I beg Evan when the suds are gone from my body. To punctuate my request, I yawn. Loudly.
Nodding, Evan gets me out of the shower, towels me off, and wraps himself around me on the bed—which is when I pass out.
When I wake up, Evan is not in the bed with me, and his side is cold.
Well, I’m not spiraling this time. Instead, I reach for the note on the nightstand.
Went to get breakfast. Will be back at 11.
Eleven? I check my phone. It’s ten. I know it’s silly, but I feel proud that I’ve managed to wake up while it’s still considered morning. And I’m way more refreshed than when I slept to almost noon yesterday. I guess imbibing less gives you more restful sleep, as do multiple orgasms.
At the thought of said orgasms, I blush and get up.
After I make myself presentable, I prance over to the kitchen in order to greet Evan as soon as he returns. And that’s where I witness an interesting scene: The cat meows pointedly at the sliding door. Harry waltzes over and paws at the locking mechanism, unlocking it. He then slides the door open with his nose just a small smidge, but it’s all Sally needs to squeeze her head through, which she does. As soon as she’s on the screened porch, Harry closes the door behind her, like nothing has happened.
“Is this how Sally gets into my rental?” I ask Harry sternly.
Harry wags his tail, eyes gleaming with seemingly genuine innocence.
“But that can’t be,” I say. “Unless you go with her to open the doors at my place?”
Harry cocks his head.
“Never mind.” I reopen the door to the porch and try herding Sally back into the house.
Yeah, no. There’s a good reason we compare impossible tasks to the herding of cats. It’s a nightmare.
Returning to the kitchen, I rummage through all the drawers until I hit paydirt: dry catnip in a bag.
My grin is evil as I ready the stuff. If Sally is one of the many cats who respond to nepetalactone—which is a great Scrabble word and happens to be the chemical in catnip that gives felines a high—I will not only get her back into the house, but I will probably be able to groom her without risking life and limb. Hell, I could probably get her to use the bane of every cat’s existence: a cat carrier.
Armed with the bait, I walk out onto the porch. “Hey, kitty. Your friendly neighborhood drug dealer is here.”
Yep. Sally is clearly a junky already, which makes sense. Why else would Evan have it? Then again, if he has this, why can’t he use it to give Sally a bath?
Soon, I find out why. Though Sally wants catnip enough to return to the house, she doesn’t want it badly enough to get anywhere near the bathtub. All I manage to do with the catnip is brush and trim her fur in a few places—which, hey, is still grooming.
“I guess it’s a good thing you don’t actually need baths,” I say to Sally when she hisses at my final attempt to give her a wash. “Not unless you fall into cold soup, like one of my client’s cats did.”
“You’re lucky her claws didn’t come out,” Evan says from behind me. “I told you she doesn’t like baths.”
I spin around. “I didn’t hear you come back.”
“Sorry about that.” He puts a shopping bag on the table. “In my defense, I wasn’t being stealthy—you were just so preoccupied with grooming Sally that an elephant could’ve tumbled in.”
“A sexy elephant.” Wait, what?
Evan’s forehead wrinkles. “Thanks?”
“What’s for breakfast?” I demand grumpily.
Evan tells me, then prepares a Japanese-style omelet as I watch and drool.
When we start eating, I stare at his mouth, wondering if it was always this fascinating. I also blush every time I get a glimpse of his tongue because it reminds me of the dirty things he did with it last night. Things that—
“What are your thoughts?” Evan pours me some tea.
“I’m not going to be ready for anal,” I blurt. “Not anytime soon.”
“Good to know.” Evan grins. “But I was asking as to your thoughts on whether we should drive to St. Petersburg or Miami today.”
Even when he played with my butt last night, I don’t think my cheeks turned this shade of crimson.
“Either one is fine,” I mumble, wanting to sink through the floor. “Your choice.”
“Then how about we head to St. Petersburg?” Evan says. “We can swing by the Salvador Dali Museum there. My grandfather was a big fan of his, so who knows, maybe that will somehow help you get a clue.”
Get a clue is what I need to do before I talk about readiness for anal again. “What else was your grandfather into?”
Evan stands up. “Can I tell you on the way?”
“Sure. Do you have any photo albums, or anything else involving your grandfather?”
He smirks. “If you want to see baby pictures of me, just say so.”
Rolling my eyes, I help him fill the dishwasher—another domestic task that leaves me feeling unsettled. Afterward, I swing by my place to change, and when I join him in the car, he hands me a photo album.
Score! There are uber-cute baby pictures of Evan. In some, he is with his mom, and in others with his dad—whom he resembles quite a bit. I know how much his mom means to him, so I ask questions about the memories captured in these photos, and he tells me all about the many special moments he shared with her growing up. The grandfather pics are a minority here, but I do locate some, including one at some formal event where he is hugging Evan.
Damn. My mouth waters as I take in Evan in a tux, tie, and what looks like an obscenely expensive watch on his wrist.
Looking at this image, it’s easy to believe that Evan is a billionaire, which is funny since at the time of this event, I don’t believe he was.
Is it shallow that this picture makes me like Evan even more? Does it mean I like Evan being a billionaire? That would make me one of the gold-digging types he’s been avoiding—yet another reason for us not to be together, not that we need more.
Actually, I’ve got to give myself a break. I don’t really care about his money. I just find him hot in a suit, not to mention my perception of him is now colored by what happened in the shower. And during all the dates. And the—
“Did the pictures reveal any clues?” Evan asks.
“Not really,” I say, snapping back to reality.
“Oh, well,” he says. “It was worth a shot.”
I close the album. “Can you tell me something about your grandfather?”
He concentrates. “I got my love of the ocean from him.”
“Did he surf too?”
Evan shakes his head. “He just liked to watch the waves. It calmed him.”
For the rest of the ride, he tells me about his grandfather, but nothing really gives me any clues. What I get instead is an aching in my chest. I’ve been estranged from my family for seven years, but even prior to that, I never had as good of a connection with them as Evan had with his grandfather. And his father. And his mother.
“We’re here.” Evan turns into a parking lot, and we take a stroll through the gorgeous gardens—one of the oldest roadside tourist attractions in the US.
As we scour the grounds, my enjoyment of the day fights with frustration because once again, there are no clues. Additionally, a double dose of guilt tugs at my insides. Firstly, Reagan would really enjoy this place. Secondly, I still haven’t told Evan about Reagan’s existence.
“Maybe we’ll find some in Miami?” Evan suggests when I voice my annoyance at the lack of clues.
“Maybe.”
He gestures at the nature around us. “Wasn’t this place worth visiting, even if there are no clues?”
I take in the greens of the plants and the pinks of the flamingoes nearby. “It’s a nice place, but—”
“No buts.” Evan grabs my hand. “Let’s go through it again, forgetting about clues altogether.”
At first, I walk to indulge him, but soon, I do forget about the treasure hunt and start to feel like I’m on one of the best dates of my life.
“Want to take a seat?” Evan gestures at a bench that seems lost in the greenery.
Take a seat? I guess we did walk a while. I glance at my tracker to see how many steps I already took, and it’s a whopping ten thousand.
My dear Precious, your majestic glutes are getting firmer as we speak, and your thighs are becoming adamantine. You’re also producing rich sweat and delectable lactic acid all over the sacred shrine that is your body.
I guess I could relax my feet for a second.
I plop on the bench, and Evan cozies up right next to me.
Wait. Is he—
He wraps his hand around my shoulders, his nearness intoxicating.
“We seem to be alone,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear enticingly.
I scan the paved path in both directions. It’s true that at the moment, we’re alone. But why do I have a feeling that he has something very naughty in mind that—
His lips clash with mine.
There it is.
Saw it coming, but that doesn’t make it any less hot—or welcome.
As his tongue explores my mouth, I experience déjà vu. I either had a wet dream that started just like this, or saw a couple kissing on a garden bench in a movie. But then Evan’s hand slides between my legs, pressing on my clit through my yoga pants. That’s not from a movie, that’s for sure. Not unless it was porn.
I give my brain a command to say something about us being in public, but a soft moan escapes my mouth instead.
“Yes.” Evan kisses my neck. “Lean into the feeling.”
Lean in? More like I’m about to drop off a cliff. A tension starts to coil in my core and—
A male park employee who resembles a Neapolitan Mastiff appears on the path nearby, frowning at us.
All the blood from my clit rushes into my face as I leap to my feet.
“Why don’t you get a room?” the employee says gruffly with such annoyance that it makes me wonder if his job happens to be chasing would-be lovers from this exact bench.
Evan stands up to his full height, towering over the newcomer. “Why don’t you watch your tone?”
Is this like that time he was upset with Dr. Hugo? Something to do with the Y chromosome?
“I think you should leave.” The park dude reaches for his walkie-talkie as if it were a gun.
Before Evan does something even more male and therefore stupid, I grab his hand. “I want to see the Dali Museum anyway,” I whisper in his ear. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Calming instantly, Evan nods, and we head out.
“Here.” I grab Evan a Snickers at the gift shop. “I think you’re in a hangry mood.”
“You might have a point.” Evan stuffs the whole bar into his mouth and chews as we get into our car. “Sorry about that,” he says once we’re on the road.
“Don’t apologize.” I grin. “I find it flattering that you can’t keep your hands off me.”
“Yeah.” The corners of his lips lift. “I’m just that turned on by how modest you are.”
“Do you want to grab some more food to make sure you don’t kill someone at the museum?”
He shakes his head. “We’re almost there, and they have a very nice café.”
Turns out, nice is an understatement. Café Gala, named after the Russian woman who was Dali’s wife and muse, features Spanish food and an amazing ambience.
“These are actual tapas,” Evan says when we get some. “Notice how little they resemble a Japanese breakfast?”
“Well, then, eat your tapas and fast.” I dump spiced almonds and mixed olives onto his plate. “Hanger is still making you too prickly for my liking.”
“I’ll get you for this,” Evan says and stuffs his mouth.
After our bellies are full, we walk around, looking at surrealistic art—an activity I really enjoy, though more due to Evan’s company than any real appreciation of the nuances of Dali’s work.
Then a small piece catches my attention for some reason. In it, a woman’s body seems to be melting next to a violin, a horse is jumping out of a barrel, and an angel is looking at all this and rubbing his eyes.
“Ah, this one,” Evan says. “You should see it upside down.”
I drag my gaze away from the painting. “What?”
“This piece is famous for looking completely different when turned upside down. Half the time, they hang it that way, and half the time this way—the inferior way.”
Really? I tilt my head, but the sideways view doesn’t show me what Evan is talking about.
“Do you need help?” Evan asks.
“With what?”
He pantomimes turning a beach ball in his hands—that or milking a giant cow. “Help getting upside down. So you can see it.”
I blink. “You can do that?”
He flexes his bicep. “What, you don’t think I’m strong enough?”
“It’s not that…”
He walks up to me. “Enjoy.” He grabs me around my knees with one arm and around my midsection with the other, and then, without any effort, he’s got me upside down, dangling like an idiot.
“What do you think?” He lifts me up a little and points me at the painting. “Can you see the secret image?”
Hmm. The melty face looks more like a face, and there’s a spider on her cheek, but I could’ve seen that standing upright. I just didn’t get the chance.
“What are you doing?” someone demands.
Evan turns, allowing me to see one of the security people—a lady who strongly resembles a Brussels Griffon.
“I’m just looking at the painting upside down,” I explain matter-of-factly.
The Brussels Griffon frowns. “Why?”
“This is a special painting,” I explain.
“No. It’s not.”
Evan chuckles.
Glaring up at him, I demand that he put me down, which he does and starts cracking up in earnest.
“Please behave with some decorum from now on,” the Griffon says sternly.
“Sorry,” Evan says. “She will.”
The Griffon leaves.
I glare at Evan. “Not cool.”
“I told you I’d get you,” he says with a smirk. “And I did.”
“Whatever.”
He chuckles again. “You realize you could’ve taken a picture of the painting and turned that upside down.”
I punch him in the shoulder and walk over to check out more paintings. Soon, we run out of art to gawk at, so we go outside and get lost in a hedge maze—and kiss when we find the center, though Evan keeps it PG this time on account of the voices of children nearby.
“Where to now?” I ask when we exit the maze.
He shrugs. “Want to check out downtown?”
I do, so we head there before touring a gallery, followed by dinner and a walk on the beach.
“The sunsets are gorgeous here,” Evan says. “The sun sets into the ocean.”
“Yes, yes,” I say mockingly. “This is the most romantic date of my life as is. Now you’re just overselling it.”
Wait, can I call it a date with the whole ‘no labels’ business still in play?
Evan smiles at me, but then he frowns at something at his feet.
What the hell? He seems to be upset over an empty plastic water bottle. Muttering a curse, he picks up the bottle and a plastic shovel that a kid must’ve left behind after making sandcastles.
“This sunset will really up the bar in the romance department,” he says, resuming our walk while holding the garbage like nothing is amiss. “I guarantee it.”
“You missed something.” I point at an ice cream wrapper a few feet away.
“Ah.” Evan picks up the wrapper. “Thank you.”
“A billionaire who doubles as a beach cleaner?”
He shrugs. “I’d rather be that than a beach bum… a moniker I’ve gotten in the past.”
Spotting something in the distance, he strides there intently, and I follow.
The something turns out to be a trash can. Evan deposits his haul into it, then picks up a candy wrapper that missed the trash and drops it where it should’ve gone.
When he resumes our walk on the beach like nothing’s the matter, I blurt, “Do you have OCD?”
His house was pretty clean. As was my rental.
He shakes his head. “I just don’t like to see the ocean polluted, that’s all.”
Ah. Makes sense now that he mentions it. “Given your money and all, wouldn’t it make more sense for you to hire people to clean the beaches instead of doing it yourself?”
“I kind of do,” he says. “Not directly, but some of the causes I donate to do that.”
Now that he’s reminded me, I’m curious about the causes he supports, so I quiz him about it for a while. There is a definite pattern to his philanthropy, and even when the cause isn’t directly related to the ocean, it’s still tangentially related. For example, he donates to research projects that work on biodegradable materials.
“Want to have a seat there?” Evan points at a pristine patch of white-as-snow sand.
“Did you call ahead and get someone to clean up this spot?” I plop down and luxuriate in the feeling of warm sand on my toes.
As Evan joins me, he sits so close that our elbows brush each other—which wakes horny butterflies in my belly… and lower too. Despite all the sun exposure I’ve had today, I’m still in desperate need of some Vitamin D.
“That’s the Palace.” He gestures at a castle-like structure behind us. At my confused expression, he says, “It’s part of the most expensive hotel chain in the world, so its portion of the beach is kept pristine.”
Before I can reply, the sky catches my attention and renders me momentarily speechless. The setting sun has painted the clouds with a glorious mixture of purple and orange that belongs more in a surrealistic Dali painting than in the real world.
“You weren’t kidding about the sunsets,” I gasp.
He puts his arm around my shoulders. “It would’ve been worth the drive just to see this, right?”
“Yeah.” But I’d take that logic a few steps further. It was worth going on vacation—with a flight from New York and everything—just to experience this moment of pure contentment in Evan’s embrace.
But that special moment is fleeting because I remember that my vacation is ending very soon. And my time with Evan. And—
“So beautiful,” Evan murmurs.
I turn his way and realize he’s looking at me, not at the sunset.
I moisten my suddenly dry lips. “If you hadn’t gotten there already, I’d suspect you’re trying to get into my pants.”
A charming smirk is his reply. Then he closes the small distance between us and claims my lips in a searing, heart-stealing kiss.