Hamptons Heartbreak: A Sizzling Summer Romance (A New York City Romance Book 4)

by Tara Leigh

  “Are you saying yes?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Lance, come on. I did what you wanted in the pool—”

  “Do you regret it?” His straightforward question is softened by the concern swirling inside his gaze.

  “Not even a little bit.”

  The tightness of his features eases. “Fine. Then yes. I’ll do it, within reason.”

  I don’t bother protesting the qualifier he’s added. Because what I’m about to ask for is perfectly reasonable. “I want a good night kiss.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  He exhales a sigh and presses his lips to my forehead for a moment before pulling back. “There. Good night.”

  “That was a kiss you’d give a four-year-old. It doesn’t count.”

  “Vivienne, you’re playing with fire here.”

  “Good,” I shoot back. “I want fire. I want excitement. And if you’ve been listening to anything I told you tonight, you’d understand why.”

  A flicker of something crosses his face. Empathy, maybe.

  But then he angles himself further, shifting so that the front of his body is flush with mine. My breasts are pillowed against his pectoral muscles, my knees edging between his legs, the hard length of him like a hot poker against my belly. Proof of his desire.

  I asked for this, but it’s obvious he wants me, too.

  One hand weaves into my damp hair, fingers cupping the curve of my scalp. Lance’s other hand brushes the line of my cheekbone, his thumb sweeping over my lips.

  Our faces are so close that my exhale becomes his breath. His exhale becomes mine.

  “This is what you want, Vivienne?” His voice is a throaty rumble, a gritted husk of sound that makes me shiver.

  I manage the slimmest of nods, my whispered “yes” barely more than a sigh.

  Lance inclines his head, his forehead resting against mine exactly where he kissed me a minute ago, the tips of our noses touching. I close my eyes as another tremor blows through me like hot wind across the beach, bits of sand and saltwater trapped in the air abrading my skin, amplifying every sensation.

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I pulled you against me half a second before you almost fell into that fire you started.”

  I open my mouth to protest. It was Lance’s fault I lost my balance, after all. But he shakes his head, our noses brushing against each other. Eskimo kisses.

  “And maybe we were both standing a little too close to the fire because, I swear, when my hand closed over your wrist, when your body touched mine, I heard a sizzle.”

  I can barely swallow past the heavy knot wedged deep within my throat, a tangle of want and awe. And there’s an ache in my chest and between my legs.

  I need Lance to kiss me, to touch me, to soothe me. I’ve known this man for less than forty-eight hours, and I want him more than my next breath.

  How is that possible?

  But it is. It is.

  Because I do.

  Lance has awakened a part of me I didn’t know existed. A wild, wanton, reckless part of me that wants what she wants now. Not in two months. Not with a geographically convenient, socially acceptable guy whose history I know as well as my own. I want Lance. And I want him now.

  To hell with my list. To hell with my rules. Where have they gotten me, after all?

  Here. In a hammock. With Lance.

  So, maybe I’m right where I’m supposed to be. With exactly the right person.

  “Look at me, Vivienne.”

  My eyelids flutter open, and I’m falling—maybe even drowning—in twin pools of melted butterscotch.

  “I’m going to give you your kiss, a good night kiss, and then you’re going to fall asleep. No more talking, no more asking. Because I swear to God, my willpower is hanging by a thread and the first time I explore your body will not be in a fucking hammock that was probably installed by a drunk kid after a keg stand. Do you understand?”

  Desire pelts me like rain, each drop absorbed into my bloodstream until my body is swollen with it, full to bursting. “Yes.”

  One corner of Lance’s mouth quirks up, and I see the slice of his dimple for a split second before he angles his head to the side and presses his lips to mine.

  That sizzle he mentioned, I feel it too. An energy so intense it burns.

  Every nerve in my body erupts in a riot of stimulation. An onslaught of lust.

  Lance is kissing me.

  And my body is celebrating. New Year’s Eve and Fourth of July fireworks blaze against my closed eyelids, every cell and synapse exploding with color and light.

  His tongue glides against the seam of my mouth, seeking entrance. I moan again as his tongue tangles with mine. He tastes so good. So, so good.

  Lance’s hand fists in my hair, tugging with just the perfect amount of pressure. I relax into his hold as our breaths collide, air that we’ve created together.

  Our kiss deepens, mouths opening wider, tongues rhythmically exploring.

  Lance makes a sound deep in his throat. Not a groan exactly. More like a satisfied growl. It’s possessive and visceral. Sexy as hell.

  His free hand rides the ladder of my spine until his fingers are curved over my ass, squeezing and manipulating my flesh as I’m brought even harder against him. My hips buck instinctively, desperate to ride the pulsing thickness pressing into my belly. There is a hollow space between my legs that needs to be filled, to be claimed.

  Conquered by this Viking.

  But it’s not to be. Not tonight.

  Lance ends our kiss abruptly, wrenching his mouth from mine. I gasp at the suddenness of it, unable to hold back a whimper of disappointment.

  His breaths are heavy, chest heaving. And when I dare to look at his face, it’s pained. “Lance,” I begin, not knowing what I should say after his name.

  I have no idea how I’m going to live with him after this. What we just did, the way my body reacted to what we just did, feels like a blaze I’m not sure I can control.

  Just because something is unplanned, unexpected, and more than a little unconventional, doesn’t mean it can’t work out for the best. Right?

  Sure, if I examine all of the little pieces of him, of us, they’re like a cloud of little red flags. Before tonight, I was merely attracted to him. I mean, who wouldn’t be?

  But now, I actually like him. And it feels like he likes me, too. If he didn’t, wouldn’t he be pushing me to have sex right now? Taking what he wants from a willing, very willing, woman?

  So maybe, just maybe, Lance likes me, too.

  “Good night, Vivienne.” Lance’s words ring with finality. But his stare . . . it’s a little uncertain, too.

  Chapter 16

  Lance

  60 DAYS UNTIL LABOR DAY

  Milky morning light is just beginning to seep through the trees overhead when I wake up. Vivienne is cocooned against me, her hair cascading over my shoulder and pooling against my neck. The breeze has strands swaying over my skin.

  If we were in a bed, I would roll over and stare at her, study the expression on her face, the geography of her sprawled limbs, the pattern of sun and shadow on her skin that shifts with the wind.

  But there is no way to extricate myself without waking Vivienne up, too. And I’m not enough of a masochist to deprive myself of the pleasure of her naked body draped over mine. I already deprived myself of enough last night.

  That kiss.

  That motherfucking kiss.

  The simple, four-letter word isn’t enough to describe what that was. One kiss shouldn’t make me feel like I’m being pulled through a vortex, spinning and spinning with only the woman in my arms to cling to.

  One kiss shouldn’t make me want to savor and devour and consume the woman in my arms.

  But Vivienne makes kissing, something I’ve done thousands of times with plenty of women, feel new. Different. Deeper.

  “What am I going to do with you, Vivienne?” I whisper the words softly, not intending the
m to actually be heard. But I feel her smile grow against my chest, and she shifts her head back to look up at me, blinking sleepily.

  “For starters, you can kiss me again.”

  For starters. I like that. Open-ended, plenty of room for improvisation. I slide my arm further beneath her, shifting her so that she’s lying on top of me, the ends of the hammock jutting up on either side of us. Vivienne’s lips are sweet and ripe, her tongue playful.

  Her red hair falls over me in a silken curtain, swaying against my face. I know this can only go so far—I don’t have a condom. But Vivienne’s legs are straddling mine, her naked pussy just inches from my painfully swollen cock. I wanted her last night, and I want her even more now. Which makes it next to impossible not to shift my hips up and slide her body down.

  My hands rove over her smooth skin, from her shoulders down her spine, along the curve of her waist and the rounded globes of her ass. Kissing Vivienne is like exploring a new world. New sights and tastes and textures. A new language to decipher: all those sighs and moans and groans, the little hitches of her breath, the myriad ways she says just one word—my name.

  I don’t want to admit it, don’t even want to think it, but this is a girl I could fall for.

  She might have reminded me of Missy at first, but I was entirely wrong about that. Vivienne isn’t looking for a sugar daddy to take care of her. She’s working her ass off—and what a fine ass it is—to take care of herself.

  Most of my closest friends have found someone who makes their lives better, happier, more complete. Tripp has Jolie, Tristan has Reina, and Nash has Nixie.

  But Bryce is still screwing every puck bunny that lands in his lap. And Holt is bouncing around all over the world, hooking up with whoever he meets while they’re vacationing at one of his family’s hotels. They both say they’re living the dream.

  I’m still not sure which path is meant for me. But right now, the woman in front of me just feels right.

  I place my hands on either side of Vivienne’s face and end our kiss. Her clover-colored eyes are dreamy and unfocused as she blinks at me, confusion in the pout of her lips and the furrow between her brows. “You said if I still wanted you in the morning, I could have you.”

  I chuckle at her plainly spoken words, confident there’s no ulterior motive behind them. “Do you?”

  “Yes, Lance. Are you going to make me beg?” She punctuates the question with a roll of her hips, her pussy grazing the crown of my cock.

  I bite down on a groan and fist a hand in her hair, tugging just enough to watch her eyes darken with desire. “I just might.”

  “Well, then. Please, Mr. Welles. Pretty please, will you finish what you started last night?” She nibbles on her lower lip, her tone husky and teasing. “Of course, if you promised something you can’t deliver, maybe—”

  A growl creeps up my throat. “Oh, I’ll deliver, all right.” I pull her face back down to mine, invading her mouth with a searing kiss as I run my fingers between the crack of her ass, then lower, my fingers slipping easily inside her damp folds. She gives a sigh of pleasure, arching her back to allow me better access.

  I pull my hand away, slapping her ass twice on each cheek for her impertinence. And from the way she grinds her hips against me, she likes it.

  Yeah. I could definitely fall for this girl. And then, I do.

  There is no warning, no groan of trees or snap of a metal clasp.

  One minute we’re firmly cocooned inside the hammock. The next, we’re airborne, weightless.

  And the next, we’re slammed to the ground.

  Thankfully, Vivienne lands on top of me, so I bear the brunt of it. “Are you okay?” I ask, feeling her body for any sign of injury.

  “Me? I’m fine. What about you?” She rolls off me, peering beneath my head. “Did you hit anything, a rock or something?”

  Satisfied that she isn’t hurt, I sit up. We were only a few feet off the ground, and the rich soil is covered by a thick carpet of grass. “I’m fine, too.”

  Vivienne grabs one of the towels we used to cover ourselves last night and wraps it around her shoulders. “Are you always so injury prone? First the broken glass, now the hammock. This house isn’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat for you.”

  I shrug. “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “What’s another?”

  “It kept us from doing something we shouldn’t.” At the flash of hurt that streaks across Vivienne’s face, I reach for her hand and pull her to standing. “Condoms, Red. I don’t have any on me.”

  Her frown quickly transitions into a shy smile. “Oh. Okay.”

  “Come on, let’s go check out the house. The painters said we could open the windows and air it out this morning.” In a few hours, I’ll have my choice of beds to fuck Vivienne on. Not to mention all the other things that will be arriving today. Tables and chairs and couches, plus the freshly painted walls I wouldn’t mind backing her up against, that enormous tub I cleaned myself, and . . . so many options.

  My house looks nothing like it did two days ago. Everything is neutral, with clean lines and a modern feel. In the kitchen, the cheap plastic table has been replaced with a one-of-a-kind piece of carved walnut. Instead of a lumpy sectional in the living room, now I have a deep, tufted sofa studded with pewter nail heads, an armless bench, and a pair of leather chairs.

  My office is fully functional, with an enormous executive desk, several bookcases, and an inviting seating arrangement. Upstairs, the master bedroom is a retreat I can’t wait to explore.

  Unfortunately, Vivienne and I won’t be testing out the king-sized mattress right away. After I finish signing paperwork and tipping the delivery guys, I find her in one of the smaller bedrooms down the hall. Hair done, makeup on, dressed like she’s going somewhere.

  And she is.

  “You can’t call out? Maybe an injury sustained during an unfortunate fall from a hammock?”

  Her laugh is like wind chimes, gently tinkling through the house. “They’re counting on me. I can’t just flake at the last minute.”

  “Oh, come on. There’s got to be someone at the restaurant who can cover for you.” Christ. Am I begging?

  “I’m not working at the restaurant. There’s a pop-up shop opening this weekend, and they’ve hired me to coordinate the set-up.”

  “A pop-up shop?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “A temporary store. Basically, if a designer or retailer notices a vacant storefront, they ask the landlord to lease the space for a short time. A week, a month, maybe a season. The landlord gets cash, and the designer can test out new products or a location they’re not sure about. And consumers get a taste of something new.” Her eyes slide away from mine to frown at the bed. Walking across the room, she begins rearranging the pillows. “It’s a win-win.”

  Coming up behind her, I slide my hands around her waist and pull her toward me. “Sounds like a lose-lose for me.”

  “Well, they’re great for me. The pay is decent, and I can photograph them for my portfolio. I have another one booked for next week.”

  She turns inside my arms, her wide smile making my pulse pound. “That reminds me—I’d like to take a few pictures of the house once it’s all accessorized and everything.”

  “Accessorized?” She’s speaking an unfamiliar language, and it’s hard to focus on her words when all I want to do is kiss the gloss right off her lips.

  “Artwork, vases, rugs. Kind of like ornaments on a tree, you know? There’s no such thing as a naked Christmas tree.”

  Still, no idea. Although there’s nothing wrong with naked, in my opinion. But when Vivienne’s smile starts to falter, I nod like I do. “Absolutely. Accessorize, photograph. Go for it.”

  Vivienne rolls her eyes. “I should really ask your friend first. It’s his house after all. Would you mind giving me his contact information, so I can reach out to him directly?”

  “He’s pretty laid back. I’ll run it by him while you�
��re working and if he has any concerns, I’ll give you his number.”

  She makes a little squeak of happiness and wraps her arms around me. Our kiss starts playfully but quickly turns into something else altogether. Vivienne is soft and warm and yielding. Her hands climb up my back, fingers plowing into my hair until it feels like she’s cradling my skull in a precious grip.

  Like it might break.

  Like there’s something fragile about our kiss. About us.

  There’s not a fragile bone in my body, but I know exactly what she’s doing, and why.

  And I wish I knew how to make all this uncertainty go away.

  But I can’t. Because I feel it too. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. I’ve been burned before, and I’m not sure I want to stand so close to the flames again.

  I end the kiss gradually, with a very disgruntled growl. But I take solace in the blissed-out look on Vivienne’s face. Her eyes are all soft and unfocused, her lips pouty and swollen. “Come on, I’ll drive you to the pop store.”

  She laughs. “Pop-up.”

  “Whatever. As long as I can pick you up when you’re done, I don’t give a fuck what it’s called.”

  Chapter 17

  Vivienne

  “Hey, there. Sorry I’m late,” I say, feeling almost giddy as I slide into Lance’s car.

  He’s been on my mind all night. I’ve been dying to talk to Savannah about Lance, but she’s still away, and this isn’t the kind of conversation I want to have over text or while she’s distracted with work. When she’s in the research phase of a book, she’s totally consumed.

  And I barely know the women I worked with today. The shop was sort of an upscale pet store, and we made idle chit-chat as we unwrapped doggie beds and kitty houses, organic treats and handmade sweaters. It didn’t seem appropriate to say, apropos of nothing, So, there’s this hottie I’m crushing on and I don’t know what to do about him.

  I had no idea what to expect when I got into his car tonight. Would Lance slide me onto his lap so we could make out in the front seat? Would he talk dirty to me all the way home and tear my clothes off in the driveway? Would we go skinny-dipping in the moonlight again?