Like Lovers Do

by Tracey Livesay

  Furrows of concern creased his brows. “Why?”

  “Did you apply sunscreen earlier?”

  He flicked a glance at the sky. “It’s cloudy.”

  “Clouds block the sun, not harmful UV rays.” She bit her lower lip and gazed up at him beneath the thick curtain of her lashes. “I think you might need a little . . . coverage.”

  He arched a brow. “Is that right?”

  She nodded and moved into his personal space, caressing his lower back.

  His hands settled lightly on her hips. “I’m willing to take whatever you’ve got.”

  “I’m so glad you feel that way.”

  Peering around his body she was pleased to see everyone’s attention was momentarily diverted. Nic took his hand and quickly led him to the secluded spot and setup she had waiting. A quick glance back confirmed that Tinsley was still talking to Bronwen and the guys had continued their game. No one appeared to have seen them leave.

  She gestured to the yellow-and-white wide-striped beach towel she’d lain beneath the bluff. “Have a seat.”

  He did, pulling his legs into his body and wrapping his arms around his knees.

  She dropped to her knees behind him and grabbed the bottle from the sand. Pouring some sunscreen out into her palm, she rubbed her hands together and transferred the cream to his strong back. The muscles in his shoulders bunched as her hands glided over his warm, smooth skin. In their secluded hideaway, the sounds of the beach were muted, allowing her to enjoy his heavy breathing and pleasure-filled moans.

  She let her fingertips travel up the back of his neck and tangle in the crisp hairs located at his nape. He leaned into her touch, so open and trusting and she couldn’t resist nibbling on his earlobe. He straightened his legs and a hand came up to bury itself in her curls, holding her tight to him.

  The hardened buds of her nipples pressed into his back as she whispered, “Lean back.”

  He complied, the muscles in his torso contracting and then releasing as he stretched out on the oversized towel. She shifted her position to kneel next to him and her mouth watered at the sight. Forget the fine grains of the sandy beach, the crystal clear aqua blue waters, and the vastness of the overcast sky; she was privy to the more impressive view. She trailed her fingers along his body, mournful when she had to break contact and reach for more lotion.

  “Am I good?” he asked, his eyes closed, a flush settled high on his cheeks.

  She spread sunscreen across his chest, down his sides, and along his flat belly, allowing her fingers to dip beneath the waistband of his shorts. “Oh yeah. You were last night. And this morning. And again about two hours ago.”

  His lids lifted and his heated gaze melted her insides. “I was talking about the lotion.”

  “I know,” she said, her heart pounding in her chest, as if it, too, wanted to break free to be near him. “But I wasn’t.”

  Looking around and confirming they were still alone, she straddled him, settling herself on the hard ridge of his cock.

  He hissed and gripped her hips, pressing up against her. “Then I’ll do my best to keep the streak going tonight.”

  She tossed her curls back and moaned at the friction against her clit. “I can’t wait.”

  Did she have to? It would be so simple to ease aside the fabric of her bathing suit, slide down his hot length, and ride him until they were both out of—

  “There you are,” Davis said, his voice shattering the mood, like a dirty finger popping a bubblegum bubble.

  Nic froze, her hands braced on Ben’s chest.

  “I must’ve missed the notice that christened me as your official cock-blocker.” Davis laughed and waved his hand. “Come on. Palmer’s designed a sandcastle town and we’ve been drafted to help build it. It’s all hands on deck.”

  “Dammit, Davis,” Ben muttered.

  “You’ll thank me later. Nothing screams unsexy like getting sand in all your sensitive nooks and crannies. Talk about chafing.”

  He shuddered and grimaced before hurrying back to the others.

  Ben exhaled audibly then scrambled to his feet. He took her outstretched hand and pulled her up next to him. “You’re coming, right?”

  She’d planned to.

  God, why did everything he say make her think of sex?

  “I’ll be there. Just give me a minute to wipe my hands.”

  “Hurry,” he said, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth.

  An unfamiliar but refreshing giddiness took hold of her as she stared after him and she pressed the only clear spot on the back of her hand against her tingling lips. If she had only three more days of this—of him in this way—then she planned to wring pleasure from every second of it. And that included showing all of them how to make a stellar sandcastle. Nic strode over to the lounge chair, grabbed the towel draped over its back, and hurriedly wiped the surplus lotion off her hands and the bottle.

  “You’re good,” Tinsley said, the tone of her voice making it clear that the words weren’t intended as a compliment.

  Behind her sunglasses, Nic rolled her eyes. It must’ve been too much to hope the other woman would keep her distance. Especially after her earlier display. “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve got that whole exotic”—Tinsley gestured at Nic’s face and hair—“damsel-in-distress thing going on. Ben never could resist helping someone in need.”

  Exotic? Damsel in distress?

  It was obvious Tinsley had always been allowed to spout off at the mouth without retribution. Only someone who’d never experienced the imminent danger of having their ass kicked would feel free to be such a rude bitch to another person’s face. Tinsley had already done it twice . . .

  Nic’s hands curled around the towel she held. She needed to walk away. She had no reason to engage with Tinsley. She absolutely believed Ben when he said he wasn’t interested in his ex. That he wanted to spend the remainder of their days on the Vineyard enjoying what had developed between them. But something about Tinsley irritated her. Like a mosquito bite she knew she should ignore but had to scratch.

  Nic pursed her lips and tilted her head. “What do you want?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I want Ben,” Tinsley said, shifting her weight onto one foot and cocking her hip to the side in a stance meant to intimidate as it showed off her gorgeous figure and legs that seemed to be as long as Nic was tall.

  The sorority where her mother worked. The girls at UVA. In that moment, the recognizable feeling of being different, of not belonging, seeped its way between them, swirling around Nic’s ankles, like an ominous fog threatening to overwhelm her.

  Then her inner Caila stepped in to prop her up.

  Snap out of it, Nicole! You’re not that little girl anymore. You’ve worked hard to make a name for yourself. You’re an orthopedic surgeon! You do belong! And you will not let this woman get the better of you.

  Reinforcing her resolve—and her spine—Nic scoffed and discarded the towel on the chair. “You would’ve had a better chance asking for world peace.”

  Tinsley’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’re so funny and clever. It’s clear Ben finds you amusing. But it won’t last. He’ll tire of you and come back to me, where he belongs.”

  Nic shook her head. She refused to participate in a reenactment of some tawdry scene that could be found on every nighttime soap from Dynasty to Melrose Place to Empire. Although if there was ever someone begging for a bitch slap . . .

  “You need some new material,” she said, spinning to go join Ben and the others.

  “You’re new. There’s something to be said about a shared history. Ben and I have that.”

  Don’t respond. Don’t respond.

  Nic turned around. “Because your relationship is in the past! You broke up with him.”

  Tinsley waved a long-nailed, manicured hand. “A mistake. I plan to get back what’s mine.”

  Her proprietary attitude grated. Amazing sex aside, Ben was her friend. And he was a good man. She might not
have a say in who he eventually dated after her—the thought caused a lance of pain to spear her chest—but he couldn’t end up with Tinsley.

  “Ben’s a person, not a possession.” A thought occurred to her. “You don’t think much of him. Why do you want him back?”

  “Because he’s a Van Mont! His family is very important and influential. I thought he’d lost sight of that.”

  Uh-huh. Nothing like striking out on your own and being mentioned in Kiplinger’s, Bloomberg Businessweek and Forbes to suddenly make someone take a second look in your direction.

  “Ben and I come from the same world. What’s the point in growing more attached to him, only to be devastated when he breaks up with you after realizing you’ll never fit in?”

  “So, you’re doing this for me?”

  “Exactly.” Tinsley’s bright smile was malicious. “I’m a philanthropist. I often give back to charity.”

  Strike three.

  Nic took a step toward the other woman and let the pleasant veneer she often wore slip from her face to reveal the outrage and resentment that had fueled a young girl to fight her way past low expectations and institutional and structural barriers to take her place in a very formidable profession.

  “You’ve been skating by with these little racist taunts of yours. You might be surrounded by people who tolerate it and think it’s cute, but I don’t.”

  At “racist,” Tinsley opened her mouth, probably to refute the label being applied to her and to argue about Nic bringing race into things. A common technique.

  “What did I say?”

  “I never used that word!”

  “Why are you so sensitive? Can’t you take a joke?”

  Not today.

  Nic allowed her intent to infuse her expression as she eyed Tinsley from the top of her windblown hair to the tips of her polished toes. “So you can keep trying me if you want to. I promise, you’re not going to like my response.”

  Tinsley flinched, a visible sign that the message had hit home. Then she swallowed, threw her shoulders back, and flipped her hair. “Do you think you’re special? You’re not. Ben thinks he wants a nice, regular woman who’ll fit into his cookie-cutter idea of what a family should look like. He’s wrong. He needs someone who understands our world. Someone who knows all the right people and all of the best connections and can push him to the top.”

  “Shouldn’t he decide what he wants?”

  “Oh please,” Tinsley said, one corner of her mouth curling in distaste. “Men don’t know what they want. They’re easily confused by ‘grass is always greener’ syndrome. They can never make up their mind. That’s where we step in. They want what we tell them to want.”

  Damn. Nic pitied the person who ended up with her. Although . . .

  Hadn’t she thought the same thing? Not about telling men what they wanted, but about the type of women Ben dated? Hadn’t she wondered why he seemed to pick women who seemed nice but were . . . unchallenging? Especially for someone as smart, funny, driven, and dynamic as he was?

  What was she doing? Why was she even lending credence to this claim? Especially when this fight didn’t technically involve her. She and Ben weren’t a real couple. They were only pretending.

  Not anymore.

  True, but their sexual relationship would soon end and they’d go back to being friends. It wasn’t her business and she wouldn’t like it, but if Ben decided he wanted to be with Tinsley—

  Yeah, the sour, palate-obliterating taste in her mouth wouldn’t let her brain complete that thought.

  “Look, if Ben wanted you, he’d be with you. But he’s not. He’s here with me. Which reminds me that I have better things to do than to stay here in this conversation.”

  Without a further word, she left Tinsley and started down the beach toward the spot the others had set up for their sandcastle showdown.

  Tinsley’s final taunt chased after her. “That history you laughed at? It matters. I know Benji’s soft spots and I know what makes him tick. I will get him back.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nic snuggled next to Ben on the loveseat, enjoying this new dimension to their friendship. They’d never shied away from exhibiting their affection for one another, a brief squeeze of a hand, a hug when needed. But now that their relationship was more intimate, she felt a freedom to do more. Like lean over and give him a kiss if she wanted.

  And she wanted. So she did.

  Outside, a steady rain was falling, prompting them to stay indoors. After a chef-prepared meal of barramundi en papillote, mussels in white wine sauce and linguine with grilled shrimp and peppers, they’d retired to the great room to relax.

  Except relaxing wasn’t on Bronwen’s agenda. In that way, she reminded Nic a lot of Caila.

  “Let’s play a game where we get to know each other. Kind of like an ice breaker and a way for Nic to get to know us.”

  Tinsley looked up from her phone. “Is this trip about spending time with you or making newbies feel welcome?”

  Their conversation on the beach had finally convinced Tinsley to keep her distance. She’d ceased her racist comments and blatant come-ons, but it hadn’t stopped her from uttering smart-ass remarks on a continuous loop. But Nic ignored her because Ben did. She was pleased to see he had eyes only for her. And hands and lips. They both seemed to be all in on spending this time together, separate from their ruse to dissuade Tinsley.

  “For someone who invited herself at the last minute, you certainly have a lot of opinions,” Davis said, an ever-present tumbler of some dark liquid in his hand.

  Tinsley flipped him off.

  Nic eyed the two of them. Their constant bickering almost had her thinking they were fighting off some sort of sexual attraction, except their utter dislike for each other was as deep and consistent as the ocean waves that crashed onto the beach.

  Bronwen glared at them. “As I was saying, this should be fun. If all else fails, we have a fully stocked bar. Nic, can you help me?”

  “Sure.” Nic stood, laughing as Ben reluctantly released the back of her shirt.

  Bronwen handed her a stack of legal pads and a fistful of pens. “Hand these out to everyone.”

  Nic did as she was asked, and mentally patted herself on the back for not responding to Tinsley’s smirk.

  “I’ve put everyone’s name in this bowl and some numbers in this one,” Bronwen explained, holding up two glass basins. “When it’s your turn, you’ll pick a name and a number. Each number corresponds to a question on this list. You’ll ask the question to the name of the person you pick. That person will write their answer on the pad. When they’re done, you’ll try to guess their response to the question. If your answers match you win a point. The person with the most points at the end wins.”

  “I’ve seen complex engineering drawings that were less confusing,” Palmer said.

  “That’s not funny,” Bronwen pouted.

  “But it’s true.”

  “What do we win?” Ben asked.

  “Choice of which movie we’ll watch later,” Bronwen said with a flourish, as if offering a prize on par with the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes.

  “Yes!” Davis pumped his fist. “Which will I choose: Terminator or Billy Madison?”

  Nic sat down next to Ben and shot him a look. You’ll be on your own, buddy. She wouldn’t allow the collateral damage to her brain cells from watching something so silly. He threw his arm along the back of the sofa and tickled her shoulder with the tips of his fingers.

  “Over my dead body,” Tinsley said.

  Nic frowned. Had she missed the arrival of the four horsemen of the apocalypse or some other sign of impending doom? Clearly, the world was coming to an end if she and Tinsley actually agreed on something?

  “I appreciate you offering me more motivation, Tinns,” Davis said, an ugly twist to his lips.

  Ben’s quad muscle stiffened beneath her palm. “Knock it off, Davis.”

  Nic’s brows rose in surprise.
Ben rarely used that hard tone. Was it wrong that him doing so now sent desire spiraling between her thighs? She wondered what scenario they could role-play later where he could use that tone of voice on her . . .

  Davis clenched his jaw but he didn’t say another word.

  “Thanks, Benji,” Tinsley said, her blue eyes soft and luminous.

  Irritation threatened to burn through her desire but Nic forced herself to remain calm. Ben’s speaking up didn’t have anything to do with Tinsley and everything to do with the type of man Ben was.

  An uncomfortable silence settled in the room, filling all the air and space around them with the heaviness of an insulation-like foam. Bronwen bit her lip and turned a furrowed brow on her husband.

  The secret spousal signal worked.

  Palmer stood and reached into one of the bowls. “I’ll go first. Davis. Number six. What’s your dream car?”

  Davis straightened and immediately started scribbling on his legal pad. “Done!”

  Palmer adjusted the frames of his glasses. “That’s too easy. He just bought it. The Lamborghini Aventador SVJ.”

  Davis whooped and lifted his sheet to show his answer. “Lambo, baby!”

  Tinsley rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that the stupid car you’ve wanted ever since you guys have been in college?”

  “It’s not a car, it’s an experience,” Davis said with reverence. “It has a 760 horsepower V12 engine and goes from zero to sixty in two point seven seconds. They only made nine hundred of those babies and I got one.”

  Cars weren’t Nic’s thing, but she knew Lamborghinis had to be expensive. She wondered how much a car like that would cost but knew asking would be extremely gauche. Grabbing her phone off the side table, she did a quick google search and almost choked on her silent gasp. Base price started at over half a million dollars! And she had the distinct feeling Davis wasn’t the type of man who bought “base” anything.

  Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe you got it. What did I tell you? You’re just wasting money. The car depreciated the moment you drove it off the lot. If you had to have one, you should’ve bought used.”