by J. Daniels
Shit.
He starts chuckling.
Double shit!
I quickly lick the salt that is still on the back of my hand, grab the shooter he’s no longer holding hostage, toss it back, swallow the fire quickly and then exchange the empty glass for a lime wedge, holding it with all of my fingers as I suck out the sour.
“Are you enjoying that?” he asks, watching me as if he’s enjoying the display I’m putting on.
I nod behind my lime, then pull it away from my mouth, lick my lips and reply through a choked voice with eyes watering, “Yeah. Definitely.”
God. I think I just broke all of my taste buds.
“Do you think I would’ve said something to you I don't mean?”
I turn my head and look at CJ after discarding my lime wedge, noting the seriousness in his eyes after hearing it in his voice, and reply with honesty, “Maybe, if it was just the alcohol talking, which it could’ve been. I have no idea how much you’ve been drinking. Everyone could look like a pretty girl to you right now. Even the bartender.”
“Well that sure as hell isn’t the fucking case,” he says, pointing at his beer. “It’s not the alcohol, babe. That’s my third.”
My stomach clenches again.
“Okay,” I reply with a quiet voice.
“I meant what I said. I do think that.” CJ slides closer, his one hand flattening on the bar as he tips forward until he’s practically hovering on top of me. Then he bends down and drops his head next to mine, tickling my cheek with his breath. “I probably shouldn’t be thinking everything I’m thinking. You being Reed’s sister and him being a good friend of mine. It’s fucked up, darlin’, but I’m having trouble concentrating on anything else right now. You want to know if I’m serious and I don’t mind telling you, you look really fucking pretty sitting here next to me, Riley. On top of thinking that, I’m wondering how the fuck I’ve gone years without knowing about you.”
I am no longer breathing. I have completely forgotten how to breathe.
CJ leans back but doesn’t step away, so he’s still hovering, his legs still pressing against mine and his large body shadowing me while he waits for my response.
And I want to give him one. It’s just there’s a lot to focus on at the moment. CJ gives me plenty of information to respond to, like the thinking parts—him thinking things he shouldn’t be thinking. What things? I want to ask about that but instead, I decide to explain his last inquiry.
Forcing air into my lungs, I look up into his summer sky-blue eyes and say, “I don’t usually spend time with Reed and his friends. Him and I are close, but we don’t hang out like that. We never have. He’s older than me, so—”
“How much older?”
The tone in CJ’s voice grows more serious and dips lower. I know why he’s asking this.
At least, I think I know.
“Five years.”
“Which makes you . . .”
“Twenty-two.”
I watch his eyes move over my face. He stares at my nose and my lips and my cheeks. I swear he can see every freckle I thought I hid with my makeup and is taking the time to count them.
Every. Single. One.
“How old are you?” I ask, sounding as nervous as I feel but hoping a question will distract me from it.
“Thirty.”
“That’s a good age. I like thirty.”
God, what am I saying? I like thirty? I’ve never cared about a number before.
The corner of CJ’s mouth lifts.
I half expect him to turn away now and find someone else to look at since I’ve clearly lost my mind, but he doesn’t. He keeps looking at me.
And I suddenly realize how crushed I’d be if he did look somewhere else.
I like this. I like that it’s him looking. There’s something about CJ—something familiar and warm. I hardly know him, but I feel like I do.
Crazy. This is crazy. I’m crazy.
I’m probably imagining all of this. He’s being friendly. That’s it. And I’m nervous and my heart is pounding. He isn’t counting my freckles. God, what am I thinking? I need a distraction. I need to get the subject off me and my very legal age, and I need to do it before I go imagining anything else.
I decide on throwing out the first thought that pops into my head.
“Do all palm trees have coconuts?”
CJ blinks several times, jerking back. “Say what?” he asks, looking at me like I’ve suddenly grown two heads and he isn’t interested in counting the freckles on either one of them.
Okay. There’s more space between us. I can breathe a little now. This is good.
I feel my shoulders relax, then I lift both with a shrug and repeat, “Do all palm trees have coconuts? I’ve always wondered that.”
“And you’re wondering that right now?”
“Well, we are surrounded by them.” I gesture at the tropical enclosure around the bar. “I honestly don’t think they all have coconuts. Just the island ones, like where Tom Hanks got stranded. But I don’t know for sure and thought maybe you knew the answer. I’m a naturally curious person.”
CJ stares at me, then smiles through a shake of his head. “You're a naturally curious person,” he repeats.
I nod, replying, “Yep.”
“And you’re curious about palm trees.”
I feel my lips curve up. “Yep.”
He steps back and looks around the bar while gripping the back of his neck. I watch his white tee ride up a little, exposing a hard, tanned stomach.
Would it be weird if I reached out and touched it?
Good Lord, what is wrong with me? Yes! Of course it would be weird. What am I thinking?
Rule number two when in the presence of CJ Tully: Do not touch anything. Don’t even think about touching anything. And don’t imagine he wants you to touch, because he doesn’t.
After surveying our surroundings, he drops his arm and extends his hand to me.
“What?” I ask, looking between his hand and his face.
“You wanna know so bad, let’s go find out.”
I blink at him. “Really? You . . . you want me to go somewhere with you?”
I do a quick glance around the bar. Did anyone else hear that? I’m not imagining full conversations now, am I?
CJ laughs, drawing my head back around. “Absofuckinlutely,” he says, wearing a smile full of mischief. “Come on, darlin’. Go somewhere with me.”
I debate for a solid second about leaving the bar with CJ, and it might’ve been a longer debate if he wasn’t smiling like he has some big secret he wants to share with me and dropping darlin’s while offering his hand like a gentleman, but he is. I’m not dreaming this. I’m not crazy. And as much as I want to think maybe I shouldn’t like the idea of holding this particular hand so much, I can’t. I like CJ. And I want to know what this feels like.
Even if he only holds my hand for a second.
“The shots were on the Tennyson tab,” I inform the bartender before taking the hand being held out for me and getting to my feet.
CJ moves us through the crowd, and he does this while keeping hold of me.
I can’t stop smiling.
And that only quickens my steps and makes this decision that much easier.
CJ doesn’t let go of my hand until we get to the other side of the resort and make it to a large grouping of palm trees separating the villas from the beach.
“I don’t see any coconuts,” he says, standing directly underneath one with his head tilted way back and his hands on his hips. “But I can’t really see shit from down here. Hold up.”
My eyes widen.
“Oh, my God,” I giggle, slapping a hand over my mouth as CJ grabs one of the low hanging branches and uses it to hoist himself up the tree. I move closer and watch him climb up. “You’re crazy! I don’t think you’re allowed to do that.”
“What are they going to do? Call the cops? I am the motherfuckin’ police.”
My smile grows bigger. “And it
would be a crime if we didn’t crack this case, right?”
“Fucking A, babe,” he calls out.
I press my hands to my cheeks as my heart races with excitement. The risk of getting caught quickens my breath.
When was the last time I had this much fun?
“Anything yet?” I ask after a couple of minutes pass.
CJ mumbles something I can’t make out, then after a quick maneuver between branches he drops down, brushes his hands off on his shorts and moves to stand in front of me.
“They do not all have coconuts,” he shares. “I think this is a date tree.”
My mouth stretches into a grin. I tilt my head up and announce, “Then I guess I should’ve climbed it since I don’t have a date.”
His brows lift and his eyes brighten. “Wow,” he laughs, looking down at me. “That was terrible.”
“No. It was funny,” I argue, knocking my fist against his chest. “Besides making me pretty, tequila also makes me a comedic genius. Admit it. You’re finding me irresistible right now.”
I move to lower my arm and step back, but CJ wraps his hand around my wrist, keeping me there.
“That’s got nothing to do with the tequila, babe,” he shares.
I lick my lips. Breath moves slower in and out of my lungs. “Did you follow me to the bar?” I ask, growing bolder now.
CJ slides his free hand around my hip. “Yeah.”
“And have you been looking at me like this, this whole time?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not imagining it?”
“No.”
“Okay.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “That’s good to know.”
CJ stares down at me, lips parted and eyes scorching hot.
I stare up at him.
“Tell me a secret,” I request, thinking back to that look in his eyes before we left the bar.
He presses closer, lowering his gaze to my mouth. “I’m having a real hard time not kissing you right now,” he reveals.
Thank. God.
A burst of air leaves me as my skin warms and tingles all over.
“You?” he asks, lifting his eyes to meet mine.
I swallow thickly.
Right. My turn. I can do this.
Feeling my heart rattling inside my ribcage, I fist the material of his shirt and step closer, pushing up against him. “I really want you to kiss me right now.”
Nostrils flaring, his chest heaves against my knuckles. “Two shots. That’s all you had tonight, right?” he questions.
I nod. “Why?”
His entire arm curves around my back, jerking me forward until we’re pressing together, his solid against my soft, then he cups my face and brushes his thumb along my cheek. “`Cause I want to take you to my room and do all those things I’ve been thinking about doing since I first saw you storming across that dance floor, but I won’t if you’ve had more than that, darlin’. I want you remembering this tomorrow.”
I start breathing faster, so quick it’s like I’m being chased. I wet my lips.
I’m not drunk, not at all, but I do feel a little mindless and wild and daring enough to roll up onto my toes, place my mouth a breath away from his and reply, “Then I suggest you make it good enough to remember.”
I cannot believe I just said that. That wasn’t me. It’s the tequila talking. Honest.
Only . . .
It isn’t. Not even a little bit.
His eyes flash with heat, then he’s on me and we’re kissing with hungry mouths and greedy tongues, and it’s unlike I’ve ever kissed anyone before because I can’t remember feeling a need like this burning through me. Not ever.
I’ve had passionate kisses. Ones that make my skin flush and my breath quick but nothing like this.
Nothing even close.
It’s long and slow and unrestrained.
CJ keeps one arm curved around my back as his other hand slides along my face to my neck, breaking goosebumps out along my skin, then his fingers are delving into my hair, twisting in my messy practice wedding-day updo.
I want him to ruin it. I don’t care that I’ve spent forty-five minutes getting it perfect. I want to look undone.
He tilts my head to deepen the kiss and does this thing with his tongue that has me gasping and groaning, then standing taller and pressing closer on shaking legs. I could stand here forever and kiss him, openly and witlessly.
But I don’t.
My feet shift blindly beneath me as CJ moves us away, and I don’t care where we end up, his room or mine, a remote spot or somewhere public where anyone could see, I don’t care. I’m lost. So far gone to this kiss. I’m not thinking about anything besides his soft mouth and his rough hands and the scratch of his beard as it burns my skin and hopefully leaves evidence of tonight.
Whatever happens, I want to remember this.
His taste saturates my tongue. His frenzied touch squeezes my hips and presses low to my back as he heaves me closer and carries me when I’m doing nothing but dragging my feet and slowing us down.
And he never stops kissing me.
It’s the hardest, deepest, most incredible kiss of my life, and I just want time to stop right now or the world to end so this is the last kiss I’ll ever feel.
I’m shaking and moaning and making sounds I’ve never made before, and this is before we even make it to his room. And once that door shuts behind us and we separate long enough to look at each other, really look—his hair, wild from my fingers and my lips swollen and kiss-bitten—reality washes in to slow us down or stop us all together.
But it can’t touch us.
Nothing can touch us. Nothing can stop this from happening. We both know it.
CJ moves first but only a second before I reach out to grab him, then we’re stripping each other of clothes and kissing skin we’ve never seen, gripping and stroking while moving each other across the room until the bed catches us.
I cling to him as he moves on top of me, running my hands up and down the hard planes of his back and wishing I could see what I look like beneath him.
Small and a little nervous and inexperienced. Are my eyes wild and are my hands shaking and do I look as fragile as I feel?
He sucks on my throat and the tops of my breasts. He teases my nipple with his tongue and lets me feel the sharp edge of his teeth.
I gasp and hold him tighter.
“Do you like that?” he asks, moving up to my neck and whispering there.
“Yeah.”
My voice is breathless, quiet under the noise of my pounding heart.
I arch my back and spread my legs as he slides the palm of his hand down my body. Breasts, ribs, belly, hips. He touches and spends time on everything before he’s moving over my clit and pressing lower.
“Oh, God,” I pant, turning my face against the pillow as he pushes a finger inside me.
“You’re fucking wet,” he growls, kissing along my jaw. My cheek. I feel him smile. “I like that, darlin'.”
Darlin’.
God . . .
I can’t believe this is happening.
I can’t . . . believe . . . this is happening.
And it happens again, and again . . . and again.
CJ spends his time on me and I spend my time on him, touching and learning what the other person likes. We’re slow until we can’t stand another second of waiting and wondering, and then we’re desperate. It’s unreal. He’s everywhere, all over me, his mouth and his hands and the needy, broken words he presses into my skin as we explore every inch of each other. I’m dizzy and delirious before he even fucks me.
And then he fucks me.
And if it’s possible to look inside another person’s soul, I swear CJ doesn’t just peer at mine. He stares and studies it like I mean something to him. Like this is important.
Between the rough and the dirty he gives me sweet as if he really cares and this really matters, and my little naive heart believes it.
It believes all of it.
Five orgasms and two condoms later, CJ is sound asleep and snoring quietly, and I want to stay curled up against his side with my head on his chest and his arm curved around my back, liking the way it feels, but I can’t.
If Reed catches us, I’ll die.
CJ could die. Or Reed could die because CJ is a mountain and sports muscles unlike any I’ve ever seen.
So I quickly get dressed and tuck my wedges under my arm as I slip out the door, ready to make the dash to my villa.
Until I lift my head and see Mia standing there, holding her kid and staring at me.
Busted.
I gasp, pulling my wedges against my body as my eyes go round.
Shit!
Nonononono.
Mia is close with Reed. She could tell him she saw me.
Oh, God . . .
She could tell him whose villa she saw me leaving.
Double shit!
I look at her with pleading eyes and hope she reads my panic, shake my head and silently beg her to keep this between us, then before I risk running into anyone else, I turn on my heel and take off running down the path, getting to my room and bolting the door shut behind me.
And just in case she does tell Reed and he comes looking for me, I take my pillow and the soft, down feather comforter into the bathroom, lock that door too, and spend the night in the large soaking bathtub.
Dreaming about tequila kisses.
I WAKE TO the sound of my phone alarm blaring and blink against the pillow.
Why the fuck . . .
Then it hits me.
Right. Got shit to do today. That’s why it’s going off. Sure as fuck wouldn’t have set it if I didn’t.
Staying on my stomach, I reach out with a blind hand and smack along the top of the night table, searching for the phone so I can shut the damn thing off. My hand brushes against a condom wrapper. Then another.
My mouth twitches.
Fuck yeah. Riley Tennyson. What a sweet little surprise she turned out to be.
A sweet little surprise I should be feeling right now pressing close, only I don’t.
Dozed off last night with her soft, warm body curling into mine, head on my chest, her leg thrown over my hip and her arm draped across my waist. I did not imagine that. So, what the fuck?
Brow furrowed, I silence my alarm, then I push up onto my elbow and turn my head.
