Wrecked (Sons of San Clemente Book 2)

by Sinclair Jayne

  Kadan relaxed in the Adirondack chair in the shade of a palm tree outside Morning Glory, a favorite Leucadia hang out. Hollis was inside ordering their drinks. It was strange to have her take charge. He was used to making the decisions and to paying. He made far more money than many of his friends so it was natural to buy drinks and whatever when they were out.

  Hollis had tossed her head making her hair fly when he had tried to hand her money. He wondered if the same thing happened to Hollis because she was rich. Did everyone around her expect her to pay for the good times, too? He frowned and sat up, a little too quickly as he felt his ankle throb. Trying to hide his wince, he settled back in the chair and pulled his beanie lower when he noticed two longish-haired, young teenage boys eying him.

  Great.

  “You order coffee like a girl.” Hollis startled him out of his incognito sulk. “I could barely get all the words out. High maintenance.”

  “Bet your ass, herbal tea girl.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the crutches. They’re awkward.”

  He couldn’t disagree with that. He sipped his caramel macchiato and as the sweet heat coated his throat, he sighed. He rarely drank this. Too many calories and too much fat and sugar, but every once in a while he indulged. As he watched Hollis, sitting upright in her chair, googling something on her phone, he wished he could indulge in something else. He’d always loved her breasts. They were small, but high, and she didn’t always wear a bra so he’d usually had easy access and had been able to imagine himself sliding his hands under her shirt and secretly caressing her pale pink nipples to peaks that he could then roll his tongue around until she thrashed under him, wrapped her legs around his hips and insisted now, now, now!

  He closed his eyes and willed his imagination under control. He was pathetic. He had to stop thinking about sex with her. She’d always made him go from zero to sixty with a look or a laugh or a flip of her hair. He was thirty-five. He should have more control than this. She was bad news for him. Yeah, he could get her in bed again, but then what? She’d want more, which would make him moody and unsettled and longing for something that he couldn’t or wouldn’t want to give her. A family? Was she finally done with school and ready to settle down? Christ, he’d be a shitty father with the dearth of role models he’d had Then if he healed enough to compete again, she wouldn’t travel with him, so she’d get jealous and demanding, and instead of talking about anything, she’d run out on him. Again.

  How could he even be thinking about starting anything with her again? Masochist. Wasn’t that the definition of insanity, doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result?

  Just stop, But he knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t.

  “Look at this.”

  Presumably she shoved her phone under his nose. He ignored it and her.

  “It’s a scooter,” she said. “Way more mobile than crutches. You should get one of these. There’s a medical supply store in Carlsbad and one in Mission Viejo. We could get you hooked up.”

  He sipped his coffee. Anger roiled in his gut. Hooked up. Like a machine. Or a junkie. Like he hadn’t thought about a scooter. But the pressure on his bad hip would be worse because he’d be more mobile. More Speed. What he craved. Waves, road, any sport always needing speed. And then his knees. Shit. He was falling apart. Alone. And way too early.

  “I’m good.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re stubborn and secretive and...”

  “And?” He sat up, leaned into her, seeing his frustration reflected in her sunglasses.

  “Ummmm...” She trailed off. “Kadan?”

  He had to do something to release this tension and energy that jangled through his body like a discordant church organ.

  “Duchess?” He mocked her breathy reply and leaned over her, inhaling her scent, seeing her permission before she even realized what he intended.

  What the hell? He’d spent so many years trying to resist her and what had that done for him, except amass a reputation as one of the biggest players on the circuit. A joke when all he’d ever wanted was her. He was tired of driving so hard only to end up circling back.

  He kissed her.

  Chapter Six

  He had to. With the first brush of his lips, hers parted and she breathed his name. He caught it and deepened the kiss, spearing his fingers through her hair and cupping her face. She responded like she always did, throwing herself into the kiss.

  Her arms came up around his body, slid up to loop around his neck, one hand pulling off his beanie so she could tangle her fingers in his hair. She sighed into mouth, and he caught that too as her body relaxed against his. He could feel her breasts mash against his chest, and he wanted to rip off their shirts so he could feel her warm, silky skin pressed against his where it belonged. Why the hell had he started this in public anyway? He knew what she did to him.

  Her breathing was as ragged as his. He dragged her out of her chair and onto his lap, needing to feel her body imprint on his more than he needed to take another breath.

  “Kadan, wait, your ankle.” Her words were swallowed when he captured her mouth again.

  He didn’t want to think about reality. Only about how she made him feel alive, whole in a way he was no longer whole. In control. He wanted more, way more. His tongue played along her soft, sensitive lips and then thrust in and out of her mouth like he wanted to do to another part of her body.

  He groaned and whispered a command in her ear as he cupped her butt and pulled her tightly against him savoring her heat,

  “Kadan.”

  Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it, and her hands continued to run over the planes of his chest as she spoke, her mouth moved under his so as a protest, it barely registered.

  “Kadan, we are in public.”

  He so did not give a fuck.

  She rested her hand on his stomach and he wished it were lower.

  He moved in to capture her mouth again. He had to have her. He was desperate for the connection, needed her to wrap her long, slim legs around him. Just in time he stopped himself. He’d lost his head with her again. No need to prove once again to Hollis that she retained all the power.

  “Okay, that should work.”

  “What?” She looked up at him, her amber eyes, golden with passion still glowed with heat and a hint of confusion.

  It took all his willpower to maintain the pretense instead of pulling her back into his body.

  “A diversion. Two teens with a cell phone taking our picture.”

  “What?” She sat up slowly and leaned away from him, her eyes sparking now with temper.

  And that turned him on even more.

  Sick bastard.

  “I don’t want to announce the extent of my injury to the world and you want to fly under the radar.”

  “So you kissed me?” Her voice rose.

  God, she was hot when she got pissed.

  “So,” he said casually as if he were in total control of his libido when he so totally wasn’t. “I think the fanboys have lost interest.”

  “What?” Her eyes, still flared with passion, darkened in anger. “That’s why you kissed me? Two teenage boys.”

  “With a cell phone.”

  He stood up fluidly, holding her and then putting her on her feet beside him, feeling cold where moments ago he’d been a seething cauldron of heat. He smiled and shrugged reaching for the crutches when he really wanted to break them in half and hurl them into the street, but instead he swung his battered body around so they could walk to the car. He was nothing if not disciplined. His entire childhood and his career had been honed by the need for discipline. Control. Power and determination that would cut through the pain and exhaustion.

  “Why else?” He grinned at her, not a care. “Well, it was fun.” He dropped a kiss on her head. “See, I was right. We still got it.”

  The short outing must have taken a toll on Kadan, Hollis thought, trying to beat back bitterness. She was relieved
he’d stopped the kiss. Over the moon happy because not only would she have happily pulled down his shorts, she would have ridden him in public, probably been arrested, and charged a bail she could no longer afford. And then she’d be a felon. Hard to reinvent herself after something like that. What kind of a job could she get after that? Seemed like only rappers and rock stars could come back after prison. Or a sex tape.

  And now he was sleeping while she was creeping around like an interloper in what should be her beach guest house. Kadan sucked. He really did. How could he possibly sleep while her mind had jammed on an infinite loop of the kiss and her overly enthusiastic reaction to it as if six years broken up meant nothing—let-me-ride-you-like-a-bike. And now she was making dinner for the idiot. Chopping vegetables so he could have a healthy diet while he recovered from surgery.

  And how bad was his injury? She felt her stomach bottom out at the thought of him permanently damaged. He had always been so strong, so daring, so intensely physical and sensuous and sexual in the way he threw himself into life. The way he rode a wave was as graceful as any principle ballerina.

  Stop!

  She was worse than an idiot.

  “You can stop banging around,” he said from the bed. “I’m awake.”

  “Have a nice sleep?” she asked as sugar sweet as possible.

  “It was fantastic.” He pulled himself into a sitting position and stretched.

  The comforter slid off him and she could see his tanned, cut chest, the tattoos that formed sleeves down his arms, from his massive shoulders down to his wrists with only the bare oval peek-a-booing, waiting for further art. She wondered what it would be. Her mouth went desert dry and she turned away. Why couldn’t he even remotely look debilitated? And not wearing clothes should be outlawed.

  She finished shredding the cabbage, radishes, and golden beets. The sweet potatoes were already sautéing.

  “Hollis, I’m not expecting you to cook for me.”

  He came up behind her without her even realizing he’d risen. She could feel the heat of his body. She gripped the counter top, so afraid she would let herself melt into him, turn into his body and let her hands smooth over his skin, feel him, memorize every muscle again, read the story of his life in his tattoos. Find the new ones. Ask about them. She wanted to touch him so much her hands shook.

  “It smells delicious.”

  He smelled delicious.

  “And even though I keep telling you that you don’t have to cook for me, I am grateful. Grateful and hungry.”

  She was starving for him. She squeezed her eyes shut against the wild desire that flared through her blood.

  No. No. No. No. Her mind chanted while her body shouted yes over and over, a drum beat that started in her womb and pounded out until she felt she would shake with the sensual rhythm.

  “Yes,” she said and scooted around him. “Me, too.” But she couldn’t even remember what she was answering.

  She just had to get away from him. Breathe something that wasn’t him.

  “I thought you might like fish tacos,” she said, feeling clumsy and inane. “I thought we’d grill the tapia I bought today and...” She trailed off as he followed her.

  “Running away, duchess?”

  “Ah, no,” she said resisting the urge to press herself against the hand-painted hutch just off the kitchen that lent the cottage the impression of a dining nook. “Just...um...going to check the grill. See if it’s hot enough.”

  Like she was. Burning up.

  “I’ll join you.”

  “Okay.” She barely could breathe the word.

  Without a shirt. He was going to sit on her grandmother’s deck without a shirt and eat a meal. How was she going to manage? She’d burn the fish for sure. Tapia only took a minute or so per side, and no way would she be able to concentrate on anything except the play of light on his muscles.

  “You want to grill the fish? I seem to recall you had some grilling skills.” She tried for playful, but thought she sounded close to hysteria.

  “Among other skills.”

  She hurried back into the kitchen, blindly, with the vague intention of bringing out the rest of the food.

  “Where’s the fish?”

  She’d set the table, brought out the salad, the warmed tortillas she’d made, the sides and the sautéd sweet potatoes with kale.

  “Oh, yeah.” Flushing, she ran back and grabbed the plate with the marinated fish just waiting for the grill. “Here.”

  She retreated to the house and grabbed two glasses and the pitcher of juice she’d blended. By the time she had everything situated, he was turning the fish. She handed him a clean plate to put the fish on.

  “Beautiful, perfect.” She breathed, not really looking at the fish at all but instead at his hands as he deftly scooped the tapia off the grill. She carried the fish to the table, not wanting to watch him limp after her. She knew it bothered him to not be in peak form. Not on top of the world, cutting fearlessly through fifteen to twenty foot waves like they were ripples.

  She poured out the juice. He sat across from her at the round, red picnic table, angled so they could see the sun dangle at the edge of the Pacific turning the ocean air a shimmering silver and pinkish orange.

  “Never get tired of this view.”

  “Me neither,” she agreed automatically and then realized he was looking at her, not the sunset.

  Her heart flipped.

  Don’t be stupid.

  Kadan flirted like other men breathed. His comment meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  They made their tacos in silence. Hollis tried desperately to think of something to say, but her brain just spun around and around on empty.

  “This is so healthy my body might go into shock.”

  Hollis found a smile.

  “What’s in this?” He sniffed at the pureed juice.

  “A touch of avocado, cucumber, and cantaloupe.”

  “No tequila?”

  Hollis shook her head. He stared at her, hard.

  “Aren’t you drinking anymore?”

  “It’s not that,” she said softly, not wanting to upset him, but...she took a deep breath. “Your body needs to heal.” She put out her hand to stop him even though he hadn’t interrupted. “And alcohol has a lot of sugar, and sugar causes inflammation and makes it so much harder for your muscles and tissues and joints to function. And then red meat causes your blood to be so much more acidic, which contributes to inflammation throughout your body and more risk of cancer and other diseases.”

  She stopped abruptly, thinking she’d probably sent him over the edge like she did everyone else when she got going. He continued to look at her.

  “So you are looking out for me.”

  She nodded.

  “No cheeseburgers.”

  “Dairy’s really bad, too.”

  He laughed. “So, no sugar, alcohol, red meat, and...” he shrugged, which she found completely disarming.

  “Wheat.”

  “And by the end of a few weeks I’ll be able to, what, leap tall buildings in a single bound?”

  She laughed. He didn’t sound mad at all. He sounded amused and Kadan amused was deadly for her restraint. She squirmed a little in her seat, feeling a rush of heat and dampness at her core. Kadan had always been hell on her panties.

  “You might feel like you can.”

  He went back to his taco.

  “What the hell are these?” he demanded about the tortillas. “I know they aren’t corn because corn probably causes something really destructive like the plague or sterility or herpes.”

  “Unprotected sex causes that,” she said.

  “I’ve always got condoms. Always.”

  “Thanks for the intel, boy scout, but totally unnecessary.”

  He smiled. His real smile. The one that reached his eyes and made them bluer and the crinkles reached half way down his high cheek bones and made her fingers itch to touch.

  “Very necessary, and you know I
was never a Boy Scout.

  Something seemed to be wrong with her breathing. He took a bite of taco and regarded her thoughtfully.

  “And I would imagine you probably have an aversion to latex and whatever chemical process condoms undergo.”

  “They have non-latex ones,” Hollis said.

  “I’ll make sure I have some.”

  “Spelt. And quinoa. I made them.”

  “That’s an interesting non sequitur. The condoms or are we back to the tortillas?”

  “Tortillas,” she said breathlessly.

  “I knew corn was wicked,” he drawled conversationally. “Something about the shape, remember?”

  Hollis stood up so fast her glass dumped. He caught it before it rolled off the table. His eyes glittered and she could see the devilish smile play around his lips. Corn. How had she blocked that out? One of their first real dates, she guessed, had been to an outdoor market. He’d been planning to make her dinner. She’d been home from college and she’d found this young, white corn and had been admiring its perfect shape and symmetry, quite innocently, and he had stood next to her at the stand whispering the most suggestive and erotic things while his finger stroked her spine the same way she’d been admiring the corn.

  She’d been so liquid and boneless, and she’d been unable to wait for him to drive them home before she’d... Hollis walked to the edge of the deck and stared hard at the sun as it began to dip beyond the horizon. Why was she remembering that now? And more memories flooded. When they’d finally made it home he had played with that corn and her until she’d shivered and moaned and begged before he’d finally taken her virginity. Although she hadn’t told him that. Even at almost nineteen she’d been smart enough to know that Kadan wouldn’t welcome that information.

  “I need to go for a swim.” He stood up restlessly. “Join me.”