“Seems like it would be a shame to waste it,” I agreed. “Didn’t you ever have dreams about the two of us here? In your bed? We could make that one come true.”
“We could.” Nicky stood up and lifted me into his arms again, the towel falling away altogether, leaving both of us nude. Carrying me around to the pillows, he laid me down carefully before stretching alongside my body. “And you know what? This is perfectly right, that we’re making love for the first time here, in this bed. I’ve never been with anyone else here. This is where I dreamed of you all those years ago . . . and this is where we really begin.”
I rolled to my side and touched my lips to his. “This is where I want to love you, Nicky. Let me show you how much.”
Sliding one leg over both of his thighs, I ranged my body over him, smiling when his eyes went molten with need. He gripped my hips, his fingers kneading into my ass.
“How did you know?” he whispered as I lowered my mouth to kiss his lips. “This was exactly what I used to imagine you’d do. You were always so strong and so sure, Ky. I knew you’d be the same here as you were everywhere else.”
“Too strong and sure?” I paused. I didn’t want Nicky to feel that I was taking control if he wanted to be in charge.
“Never.” He lifted his hands to cup my breasts. “It’s part of your charm and your beauty, Kyra—being confident. Knowing who you are. It’s what draws me to you.” He pinched both nipples between his fingers, sending trills of sharp want down my body. “Take your pleasure. Make yourself feel good.”
“What brings me pleasure is sharing it with you.” I wrapped my hand around his jutting erection, moving up and down, watching his face to see the need there. “I want you to feel my love in every touch.”
“Mmmmmmm.” Nicky thrust himself into my fingers. “I always do, Ky. Every time you touch me. Every time you look at me.”
Running my free hand over his chest, I hummed a little in satisfaction. My heart was pounding in anticipation and desire, but my mind was clear enough to remember to be smart. “Do you have condoms? I have some in my bag, just in case, but—”
His smile was slightly distracted. “In the drawer. I put them in there, not assuming, but hoping.”
“No judgement here. Convenience is everything right now.” I crawled to the side, rolling my eyes when Nicky took the opportunity to give my backside a swat. I found the brand-new package of condoms right where Nicky had said, and I pulled out a handful. Optimism never hurt anyone.
Tearing open one square packet, I settled myself over him again, positioning the rubber over him and rolling it on. Nicky watched me, and once I’d covered him, he took my hands in each of his, our fingers knitting together.
“Ky . . .” He murmured. “My Ky.”
“Always,” I replied. Rising up on my knees, I hovered for a moment. “I love you, Nicky. I always have.” Before he could respond, I sank down onto him, hissing in a breath at the feeling of fullness, of being linked to him not just in this moment but for all time. There was a sense of marvelous inevitability, as though we’d always been fated to find each other and to be together like this.
We were both still for a beat, our eyes locked. And then I lifted my hips, finding a rhythm that overtook us both, building into an intensity that sent me spiraling once again into an endless current of bliss.
“Kyra.” Pushing himself up with one arm, Nicky hooked the other one around my waist, holding me to him as I ground down, so that when his muscles all tensed into one hard, long thrust, I was as close to him as I could be.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, and he pulled me down to sprawl over him, our hearts thudding against each other. I felt his hand tangle in my hair, skimming down my back, and his lips brushed my forehead.
“Ky.”
I smiled, my lips curving against the skin of his chest. “Hmmmm?”
“Twenty-six-year old me just had every expectation blown completely out of the water. Sixteen-year old me thanks you for fulfilling every dream or fantasy I ever had.” He rolled over, caging me in with his arms, grinning down. His forehead touched mine, and he kissed me deeply, with heart-rending intention.
“And all of me . . . loves you so much.”
“I TOTALLY DISAGREE WITH YOU.” I dug in my heels, both literally and figuratively, tunneling a double trench in the sand in front of me.
“Kyra, love, you can’t disagree with me when I’m presenting you with facts. Indisputable, non-debatable facts.” Nicky used one finger to drag my sunglasses down so he could see my eyes as he spoke in his I’ll-be-patient-if-it-kills-me voice. It took everything I had not to stick out my tongue at him.
“They are not facts. It’s your opinion, and I’m allowed to think you’re completely wrong.” I pushed my sunglasses back up my nose. “When you are.”
“Uh huh. Well, let’s not debate the facts, then. Let’s talk about results. Refresh my memory, sweetheart. Who won the sand castle contest?”
I scowled. “That’s not relevant to this discussion.”
“How is it not relevant? I believe it’s actually the whole point. The contest was based on the structure of the sand castle. And the judges—”
“Were totally biased. Obviously.” I sniffed and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Wait a second—now you’re claiming that I won because of who I am? The judges gave me an unfair advantage because of my family?” Nicky sounded slightly outraged, and I had the good grace to feel slightly guilty.
“Well . . . maybe. But maybe not. Probably not.” I was positive the judges back then had given the first prize to Nicky because they all knew he was a prince. But I wasn’t going to push this issue, because I also knew how hard it must be for him, never being sure whether or not he had earned something on his own merit. “I still think mine was the superior design.”
“Yours was definitely prettier.” Nicky brushed the hair out of my face, winding a curl around his finger. “Your design choices made for a more attractive sand castle. I’ll concede to that.”
“But that didn’t win me any prizes. I didn’t get the ribbon or the ten-dollar gift certificate to the five and dime store.” Yeah, it was petty, but even a decade later, the loss stung. Mostly because Nicky and I had been meant to enter the contest together that year, but our argument over strength versus visual appeal had ended that plan.
“I’m sorry, Ky.” He murmured the apology against my neck, just below the lobe of my ear. “I’m sorry that we didn’t enter together. I’m sorry that you didn’t win. Would you like me to see if I can find the ribbon so I can give it to you? And I could take you down to the five and dime and let you pick out whatever you want.”
“Hmph.” I tried not to shiver from pleasure, since now Nicky was nuzzling the crook where my neck met my shoulder. “You’re humoring me. I’m not going to fall for it.”
“I’m not humoring you. I’m trying to make it up to you. I was a selfish, mean kid, and I should make it better.”
“You weren’t selfish or mean.” I tilted my head to give him better access. “You just thought you were right. And that you knew better than me.”
“Hmmmm.” The tip of his tongue darted out to touch my skin. “Do you forgive me, Ky?”
“I’ll think about it.” I sighed, smiling and letting my eyes close. “Do you know how good it feels when you touch me?”
“I know how good it feels when you touch me.” Nicky drew me closer to his side. “I can’t believe the sun is setting already. And I can’t believe I have to leave you tomorrow.”
“Why does the time when we’re together fly by, and the time when we’re apart drag on forever?” I snuggled against him.
“If I had the answer to that, I’d solve it. I’d slow down time for our days together, and I’d put it on fast forward whenever we had to be away from each other.” He kissed my cheek and ran his nose along my jaw, sniffing. “You smell like hyacinth growing on the beach.”
I laughed. “They don’t grow on t
he beach. Too much sand.”
“Now you need to humor me. I’m saying you smell good. It’s a mix of your perfume with the sand and salt.” Nicky slid our fingers together and lifted our linked hands to his lips. “When can we be together again? It helps if we know how long we have to make it until next time.”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “My next semester begins in three weeks.”
“And my schedule is insanely booked for the next two months. I’m traveling—but in the wrong direction. I’m going to be in Asia and in Europe. No North American trips planned for the foreseeable future.” He sounded as glum about that as I felt hearing it.
“It’s all right, isn’t it?” I turned my head to look into his eyes. “We can make this work even if we have to be apart for a bit. We’ll just . . . we’ll video chat, a lot. We’ll text and call, like we have been.” I nudged him in the ribs. “You could write me letters.”
“Good God, Ky, when will you get over the letter writing deal?” He grinned at me, his expression softening the words. “And don’t try to use Shakespeare again. It won’t work.”
“Fine. But the other stuff will. Won’t it?” I was more anxious than I wanted to express.
“It will.” He stared out into the ocean. “We just have to trust that it will. We have to be patient.” He turned to glance at me. “Like with your plants, with the experimental plot. You let things happen naturally. No manipulation. We’ll wait until the time is right, and something will happen to give us a chance to see each other again.”
“That sounds incredibly passive. It sounds like we’re just going to sit back and let fate take control. Nicky, I’m not very good at that. I’m more of the jump in and take-charge kind of woman.”
He snickered. “Color me surprised. Remember, I’ve known you for a long time, Ky.”
I tightened my grip on his hand. “I’m well aware of that. One of the things I love about you is that you know me. And I do understand what you’re saying, that we can’t force things. But I wish we had at least an idea about when we might be on the same continent again.”
“That sounds like a fair and reasonable request.” Nicky narrowed his eyes. “Do you have any kind of holidays in the fall? A break in your school schedule?”
“Yes. In late October or early November, we have a week off. And then another week for Thanksgiving.” That sounded like a very long time away.
“You’ll want to spend Thanksgiving with your family, won’t you?”
“In a perfect world, sure. You could come, too. You could enjoy the wonders of a Duncan family Thanksgiving in Maine. It’s lots of fun—we’ll eat turkey and pies and watch Christmas movies and tell stories about each other. Oh, and we watch football. American football, not what you call football. It’s very intense, but it’s also wonderful.”
“Sweetheart, I’d love to spend the holiday with you and your family, but remember, we don’t celebrate it in the UK. I’ll have a full schedule that week.”
“Well, then, I guess we’ll need to aim for the earlier break.” I liked that idea better, anyway. Sooner was definitely preferable than later.
“All right, then. When I get back home tomorrow, I’ll check and see if I can move some things around for that time. Send me the exact dates. We’ll figure it out.”
“It’s still a very long time from now.” I sniffled, knowing full well that I sounded petulant. “Two and a half months.”
“It is.” Nicky nudged my chin up and touched his lips to mine. “Too long. But maybe something will happen between now and then. Something good. That’s our compromise, Ky. We’ll plan for the next time, but we’ll also stay open to the possibilities of sooner.”
“Possibilities, huh?”
He ran a finger down my cheek. “Yes. You and me, Ky, we’re all about the possibilities. Hold onto that, and I will, too.”
“You’re moping again, aren’t you?” Shelby nudged me with her toes. “I can tell. You get all quiet and introspective. I can practically feel you falling apart.”
“I’m not falling apart.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m just . . . thinking. That’s allowed.”
“No, it isn’t.” She shook her head. “We’re sitting on the beach. On this beautiful private beach, on this gorgeous sunny day, and we’re two totally hot chicks. In a couple of weeks, we’re going to start our last year of grad school, but for now, we’re on a little vacation, and so that means we have an obligation to think about nothing serious. We are morally and practically obliged to be frivolous and crazy and have fun. The only thing we have to consider are which umbrella drinks we want next.”
“Uh huh. All right.” I adjusted the wide straw hat I was wearing. It was ostensibly to protect my face from the sun, but really, both Shelby and I knew the hat was to hide me from the photographers who were probably lurking nearby.
In the three days since Nicky had gone back home to England, I’d tried to focus on relaxing and having fun, just as Shelby said. She’d shown up forty-five minutes after he’d left, and I knew her goal was to cheer me up, to keep me from being sad now that the man I loved was an ocean away.
I was trying to be a member of team fun and frolic, but it was hard. All I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and sleep. I wanted to close my eyes and pretend that Nicky’s arms were still around me. I wanted to relive every moment we’d spent together. I didn’t want reality—stupid, painful, hard reality. I wanted fantasy and pretend. I wanted to bask in the world where Nicky and I lived together—the place of possibilities, as he’d called it.
But because Shelby, assisted by my sister Bria, was trying so hard to keep me smiling, I played along. I laid out here on the beach every morning, lounged in the pool in the afternoon and spent the evenings watching mindless chick flicks and eating junk food.
And although I’d intentionally avoided checking on what the media was saying about me, I’d snuck in a few peeks here and there. I’d read the stories about how I’d evaded reporters in order to get down here to Florida undetected. I’d seen the fuzzy pictures of Nicky and me on the beach, walking hand-in-hand. We had made the decision not to let them bully us into hiding, realizing that it was likely photographers would be able to snap pictures from the public portions of the beach.
“We can’t let them dictate how we live, Ky,” Nicky had reminded me. “Once we do that, we run the risk of becoming virtual prisoners. Let them take their photos. We won’t do anything outrageous . . . and if they happen to catch us holding hands or kissing, I don’t give a damn.”
“Speaking of drinks, here comes your sister with our next round.” Shelby waved to Bria. “Perfect timing! I hope you went heavy on the rum.”
Bria set down the tray on the small table between our lounge chairs. “I don’t understand why I’m allowed to bring you drinks, but I can’t have any myself.” She scowled at me. “I didn’t sign up to be a glorified cocktail waitress.”
“But you do it so well.” Shelby patted her arm. “Listen, kid, I feel your pain. I’m a little sister, too. The thing is, we can’t have you drinking out here where someone could take a picture. We’d all get busted. So while I know it’s hard, just remember that you’re serving the common good by helping out Kyra and me.”
“I think you’re both full of shit.” Bria perched on the end of my lounge chair. “Who’s to say that I’m not drinking water or juice? Or a virgin sex on the beach? The reporters can’t tell.”
“First of all, by its very name, a virgin sex on the beach is an oxymoron. You can’t be a virgin and have sex on the beach.” Shelby took a long sip of her drink. “Clearly.”
My sister smirked. “Well, there was this one time on the beach when I—”
“I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to know!” I clapped my hands over my ears. “Stop right there.”
“Second,” Shelby went on as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “You’re right that the photographers couldn’t prove you were an under-age drinker, but with the media, it’
s all about perception. It’s not always the truth—it’s how they choose to make it look.”
“You’re right about that.” Bria nodded. “For instance, some of those pictures of Kyra they’ve published make her look like a slob. She’s not. But it’s how she’s standing in the moment they snap the photo or the angle they take it from.”
“Exactly.” Shelby lifted her drink in salute to my sister’s observation. “Which brings up a good point. Kyra, I think it’s time to revisit how we handle the press attention. Now that we know this isn’t going away any time soon, we should be proactive.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Personally, I preferred my own ignore or evade methods. They worked well and didn’t stress me out.
“It means that you should be more aware of how you’re being portrayed and try to take control. Remember, the reporters might be stalking you, but ultimately, you make the big choices in how they see you.”
“Right.” Bria lay down alongside my legs, look at me upside down. “Maybe think about dressing a little nicer when you know the press is going to be there. We could go shopping before you fly back to Maine and get you some cute outfits.”
“And we can work on your expressions, how you are carrying yourself,” Shelby added. “I’ve been doing some research. If you look at pictures of the royal family, they all seem to have this look they wear on their faces . . . it’s kind of bland, but it shows up better in photographs. Try to keep your mouth shut because they also seem to capture you with it open.”
“What do you think about her hair?” Bria cocked her head. “Maybe if she cut it just a few inches—”
“Stop.” I struggled to sit up straight in the lounge chair. “Stop it now. I’m not cutting my hair. I’m not changing how I dress. I thought you two were supposed to be helping me relax. Instead you’re stressing me the hell out. So just stop talking. I don’t want to think about reporters, photographers or how I show up in pictures. I’m sitting on a beach, and I’m drinking away my sorrows because my boyfriend is several thousands of miles away and I don’t know when I’m going to see him again. We’re not strategizing or making me over. Got it?”
The Anti-Cinderella Page 15
