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

by Tara Leigh

  Every inch of Vivienne is sweet. I cover her face with kisses. Her forehead and nose, the high swell of her cheekbones and the concave hollows beneath. The line of her jaw, the shell of her ear, the subtle jut of her chin. She releases a quiet sigh as I continue downward, along the pulsing vein that leads to her collarbone, and then the sensitive, fluttering valley between.

  Her breasts are two perfect mounds capped by pale pink nipples, the color at the edge of her areolas barely darker than the skin surrounding it.

  Groaning, I suck one into my mouth, cupping her other breast in my hand. Vivienne’s hips buck against me as I play with her swollen flesh, touching and pinching, biting and licking. Her back arches, her pelvis grinds, her feet kick helplessly against the smooth sheets.

  I could feast on Vivienne’s body until the end of time and never get enough.

  But there is something we both want. Vivienne is begging me for it with every gasp and whimper. An insistent demand in every breathless “Lance.”

  Finally, I pull away from her long enough to grab a condom from my nightstand drawer. I tear the wrapper with my teeth, sheathing myself in latex as I take a moment to appreciate the woman spread out before me.

  A riot of red is strewn across the pillow, surrounding Vivienne’s head like a fiery crown. Her gorgeous face, molten eyes, and swollen pout of a mouth. Creamy shoulders. Tiny waist. Generous breasts rising and falling with each shallow, wanton breath.

  Vivienne’s thighs are spread open, knees falling apart in invitation. Her pussy is bare except for the faintest hint of a landing strip; short, silky curls, as red as the hair on her head. And her swollen clit peeks out from between glistening pink folds like a secret waiting to be discovered.

  Fisting my cock, I drag the tip through her slit, watching Vivienne’s face as she feels me against her for the very first time. “Fuck Vivienne, I—” But I stop, because I don’t know what to say.

  I can say she’s beautiful, but any mirror would do that.

  I can ask if she still wants this, but the answer is written all over her face.

  I can tell her I’m feeling things for her that I’ve never felt before with anyone, but that would bring the past into this bed.

  She blinks up at me, a puzzled grin slowly curving her lips. “I know,” she says. “Now shut up and fuck me senseless.”

  Shut up and fuck me senseless.

  That, I can do.

  The surprised gasp of pleasure Vivienne makes as I push the fat head of my cock into her entrance slams into the base of my spine, radiating tingles to every extremity. Slowly, so slowly, I sink into the sweet clutch of her pussy. Tight and hot and so very wet, it’s a heavenly embrace. There is something solemn in the rounding of her lips into an awed O. Something spiritual in the way our bodies are finding pleasure in each other.

  It’s intense.

  Exquisite.

  Unexpected.

  I’m halfway inside her when Vivienne gives a restless roll of her hips. “Patience, Red,” I say, pressing my hand over the flat slope of her belly to keep her still, the base of my palm just above her clit, my fingers nearly at her belly button.

  She sinks her teeth into her plump lower lip, drawing it into her mouth, emerald eyes blazing with the same kind of heat that’s clutching my cock.

  Finally, I bottom out inside her. Vivienne moans as her ankles lock behind me. “So tight, so perfect.” The words are just an audible rasp as I pull out, all the way to the tip.

  Let the senseless fucking begin.

  With a snap of my hips, I slam back into Vivienne, her flushed face and bouncing breasts a sight I want to see every night for . . .

  I stop myself before I think too far into the future.

  I want to fuck Vivienne, in every way, in every room, in every position, for the rest of the summer.

  I move my hand lower until I’m pressing against her clit, the friction of each thrust making her thrash beneath me like a leaf trapped in a windstorm. Thrust by thrust by thrust, I torment her. Because I’m the storm. Vivienne is held captive by me.

  But there’s a storm that originated inside Vivienne herself. A storm that has her quivering and clenching, has her fists clutching at me, at the sheets, at whatever is within reach.

  She finally gives in to the sheer force of it, succumbing with a sharp cry and then a sweeter sigh. Her toes curl, her back bows off the bed, her thighs clamp down on my still pistoning hips.

  But it’s the expression of satisfaction that comes over Vivienne’s face that sends me over the edge, my guttural shout filling the air as I spurt and jerk inside her.

  The primal urges racing through my veins, ancient instincts to rut and conquer and breed, finally subside as the last of my seed leaves my body. I pull out of her slowly, get rid of the condom, and come back to bed, drawing Vivienne against me, her skin dewy from exertion.

  Chapter 22

  Vivienne

  53 DAYS UNTIL LABOR DAY

  It feels like Lance and I are playing house, living a magical, make-believe life. Since Sunday, I’ve spent every night in his bed. I fall asleep in his arms, with the hypnotic sound of waves crashing just beyond the windows and a swirling fan overhead.

  In the morning, or sometimes in the middle of the night, Lance wakes me up with teasing kisses at my neck and a possessive caress at the curve of my hip. Sometimes it’s from his scruff dragging over the tender skin of my inner thighs before his mouth latches onto my already weeping sex. Twice, he was already rocking into me from behind before my eyes opened, the rhythm of his thick shaft between my legs mimicking the push and pull of the tide. But always, always, his gruff, still-raspy voice is in my ears, whispering deliciously, devilishly dirty things as he unravels me. I cling, I cry, and I come apart.

  All before sunrise.

  I’ve found heaven, and it’s right here in the Hamptons.

  During the day, while Lance is mostly shut in his office, eyes glued to a computer screen, his phone on speaker, I putter around the house and the yard, occasionally taking his car to work, run errands, or check out local shops and artists.

  We eat dinner together every night, usually outside. And we have sex. Lots and lots of sex.

  And it is—chef’s kiss—amazing.

  But now it’s Thursday, and after spending the afternoon weeding in the garden, I drop a bath bomb in the tub of the master bathroom and fill it with steaming hot water.

  I settle in, feeling completely content. Then Lance ups the pleasure quotient by deciding to join me. Now, my back is pressed to his chest, his legs surround mine, and there are suds up to my collarbone.

  I am drowning in bliss.

  “So,” Lance says as he runs a loofah down the inside of my arm, sending tiny goose bumps rising up along my skin like the wake from a boat, “there’s a party Saturday night I’d like to bring you to.”

  I look over my shoulder to meet his eyes. “Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s kind of a networking thing for me, but it shouldn’t be too bad. A couple hours, max.”

  “You’re really giving it the hard sell, huh?”

  He shrugs. “Honestly, I’d rather be working or hanging out here with you. But I have a lot of things lined up this summer. Social things. Keep your weekends free for me.”

  That warm, fluttery feeling in my stomach recedes. “I can’t do that—I just told the restaurant to put me on weekend shifts. I can join you this Saturday, but starting next weekend I’ll be working Friday, Saturday, and every other Sunday.”

  A frown works its way between Lance’s brows. “Tell them you changed your mind.”

  I pull away from him, warm water rushing to fill the space that’s opened up between us. “Lance, I’m sorry. But I need the work.”

  “Why now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been here a month and a half, why are you only asking for weekend shifts now?”

  “I didn’t feel like I could. Once I saw what a typical weekend was like, I kne
w I’d need to stay on site.”

  “What happened on a typical weekend?”

  “The usual for a share house, I guess. Everyone inviting their friends over and friends of friends. Parties with a hundred people. Drunken back dives into the shallow end of the pool. Accidentally leaving a shower running or a curling iron on. I didn’t want to see anyone get hurt, or this gorgeous house ruined.”

  Lance’s lips press into a firm line, brackets of irritation forming at the edges of his mouth. “You kept your schedule clear to babysit grown adults acting like idiots, but you won’t for me.”

  I hate the disappointment filling his eyes, but I’m not willing to admit that this house was the first place that felt like home in years. That I’d been entrusted with a job, and my ego was so battered by my failed relationship that I clung to my new responsibilities like a lifeline. I convinced myself that if no one broke their neck or died of alcohol poisoning on my watch, and if this house was still standing at the end of the summer, then I would land on my feet, too.

  Instead, I give him the simplest explanation. Shallow and easy to accept. “Unlike you, I don’t have a black card and deep pockets. On a Saturday, I’ll make five times what I can make on a Tuesday. And I need the money.”

  It’s also true. The clock is ticking for me. I have less than two months to earn enough to afford my own place and maybe, hopefully, build a little cushion to make working for myself a possibility. I need to take advantage of every opportunity to make money. I’m having a great time with Lance, but if I don’t put myself first, no one else will.

  And I don’t understand why he’s making such a big deal out of this. We’re living together, for God’s sake. I’ll still be in his bed every night.

  “So, what you’re saying is—you’re choosing to be unavailable.”

  My jaw sags a little as I study Lance’s face for signs that he’s kidding. Can he really be this obtuse? “This isn’t exactly a choice for me. If I don’t take on more shifts, I’m going to be screwed when Labor Day rolls around, and I don’t have a place to live anymore.”

  “Fine. I’ll pay you. Call the restaurant and tell them you took a different job.”

  “Pay me?”

  The annoyed look on Lance’s face fades, and I can see him warming up to the idea. “Yes. The most valuable asset we all have is time. That’s what I’m asking you for and you’re saying you can’t afford to give it away for free. So I’ll pay you for your time. Problem solved.”

  My body goes still, my muscles recoiling at his suggestion. “What? No. Absolutely not, and I can’t believe you would even—”

  But I can. He said it himself. There are some problems money can solve. And when that’s the case, I take full advantage.

  Lance’s hand slides up my arm to curve around my shoulder, his grip possessive and uncomfortable. I shrug him off, water sloshing over the edge of the tub. He sighs, like I’m a child having a temper tantrum. “Look, I don’t really give a fuck about filling up my social calendar. I’m here for the summer to increase the visibility of a project that means a lot to me. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Because this place is a meat market. Every time I turn around, someone is trying to set me up. My friends, the wives of colleagues. It’s a distraction. A negative variable I’d like to cancel out.”

  I look at him doubtfully. “And showing up to parties with me will do that?”

  He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “It will if you’re my girlfriend.”

  I give a slow blink. Girlfriend.

  Lance clarifies. “I’ll pay you to be my girlfriend.”

  Whoa. I stand up, water and suds going everywhere as I grab a towel and wrap it tightly around me. “Okay, I think we’re done here. That’s not—I’m not—”

  “It’s an ideal solution to both our problems.”

  “Too bad. I have a problem with your solution.”

  “You’re being unreasonable, Vivienne. You want cash, I want you. Agree, and we both get what we want.”

  “And what we just did, what we’ve been doing all week . . . will that be part of my job?”

  Lance gets to his feet too, though he makes no move to reach for a towel, simply stands toe to toe with me in the tub. Cocky bastard. “What? No, of course not.”

  “Are you sure? Isn’t sex part of the whole girlfriend experience?”

  “Look, a few days ago, you said you were done with men.”

  “After margaritas and tequila shots!”

  Another sigh. “I didn’t plan for this, for you. But somehow, we happened. And I’m glad.”

  Lance’s stare is gentle and searching. I find myself saying, “So am I.”

  “Then, let’s make this work.” He tucks a wet piece of my hair behind my ear, the tenderness of the gesture making me sway toward him. “Pretend to be my adoring girlfriend, and I’ll pretend to be your very committed boyfriend. And after Labor Day, you’ll have a fat bank account and your time will be your own again.”

  Wham.

  Until now, we’ve avoided talking about what will happen with us after the summer is over. Sure, I know Lance won’t have this house anymore, that he lives in California. But lately, I’ve been hoping we’d figure out a way to continue seeing each other, even if it’s only every once in a while.

  But Lance is just another guy already planning to throw me away once I’m no longer useful. Another guy who thinks I’m not good enough for him. Another guy slotting me into a convenient place. Employee.

  “How much,” I whisper, my voice a choked rasp. “How much is all this pretending worth to you?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed. That money would be life-changing for me. “No.” I force the word past the tightness in my throat. I cannot be bought.

  I get out of the tub and walk into the bedroom, to the window that looks out over the side yard where Lance found me. The lawn is a little patchy in places from the fire, but I put grass seed down yesterday. By next week, it will be perfect and lush again.

  Lance comes up behind me. “Smart girl. Never accept the first offer.”

  I spin around, staring at him incredulously. “I won’t accept your second either. And, just so you know, girlfriend isn’t enough to take you off the market. You should find a fake fiancée somewhere.”

  Lance’s amused smile grows wider. “Already asking for a promotion? Ballsy. One hundred thousand dollars to be my girlfriend for the next two months. If we need to level up, I’ll throw in a three-carat ring.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  Lance steps closer, still smelling like sand and sea despite the bath bomb. I draw a deep breath, trapping his scent inside my lungs.

  “One hundred thousand dollars, two months, and maybe a diamond ring that you can keep once this is all over. Say yes.”

  It’s impossible to think with Lance’s musky, masculine scent, infusing every breath of oxygen I gulp down. I take a step back, trying to clear my head. But I only slam my heel into the wall at my back.

  The tip of Lance’s pointer finger slides up my neck, lifting my chin until I can’t help but meet his eyes. I want to blink, to look away, to avoid the temptation swirling within them. Because I want to be his girlfriend. Of course, I do.

  But not this way. Not if it isn’t real.

  “Say yes,” he whispers again, the throaty rumble of his voice an audible caress that travels straight down my spine.

  “Under one condition.” I want to push against his chest, to put space between us. Distance. But I’m afraid if I lay a hand on him, I won’t let go. “This, we—we can’t do this.”

  His brows pull together, creating a vertical slash of confusion, like an exclamation point, above his nose. “Can’t do what?”

  I finally sidestep Lance’s bulk, sliding my back along the wall until I can take a deep breath without my breasts brushing his chest. “This.” I
gesture at my body, wrapped in only a towel and his body wrapped in . . . nothing but tanned skin, solid muscle, and a few lingering bubbles. “I won’t accept a paycheck from you if we’re—”

  Fucking.

  My throat closes completely before I can get out the word Lance had practically growled in my ear our first day on the beach.

  There will be no fucking. No sexy times in the pool or the tub or anywhere else. If Lance wants to make this a business relationship, so be it.

  It’s the only way I’ll know I haven’t sold my soul along with my integrity.

  “So, you want to be my girlfriend for free?”

  A chill that has nothing to do with the air-conditioning blowing through the vents sweeps through me, along with a fresh wave of fury at Lance for putting me—us—in this situation. For ruining something that was real and raw and honest. I snicker. “Your fake girlfriend, you mean? No. I’ll take your money, and I’ll earn every penny. But sex will not be one of my services.”

  He turns away from me, walking to the south-facing set of windows and roughing his hands through his hair as he stares out at the churning sea. The last rays of daylight stream into the room, kissing his broad shoulders and tattooed back, and highlighting the firm curves of his ass. “You’re giving me an ultimatum, is that right?” He looks at me over his shoulder, pinning me with a stare. “I can either have you on my arm . . . or in my bed?”

  Chapter 23

  Lance

  Vivienne nibbles at her lower lip for a moment before responding. Every muscle in my body is tense, waiting for her to scream, Gotcha—just kidding! Except . . . her expression is not at all amused. There’s no teasing lilt to her voice, no grin she’s trying to hold back. This is not a joke.

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “I’ve never paid a woman for sex, and I’m not about to start now. That’s not what we would be doing.”