by Nicole Snow
“Go have some fun! We'll link up again later,” she says, giving me a gentle push.
I'm too upset to turn around until I'm sure they're gone. It's not just my friend's too loud to live attitude, or her taste in the dumbest man candy around.
Everything here reminds me I'm stuck being the good girl again, and I don't want to be.
I'm tired of playing third wheel. Just once, I wish I could be somebody's number one, just for one night. I wish a tall, dark, and mysteriously kinky man would swoop in from nowhere and blow my hair back.
But the boys out here tonight don't fit the bill. Not one of them, not even close.
College is hell when your standards are too high, and luck won't even shake your hand, much less push a girl into the strong, sexy arms of a man with a brain and an attitude.
A couple hours after sunset, and it's just like every other party I've hosted for Marnie. I watch the sun sink below the roaring waves, and every building lining the Bay Area's coast comes alive.
I'm several hundred feet from the nearest party couple, sitting on a big, smooth rock, my fifth drink of the night halfway drained, an extra tall Long Island Iced Tea.
The liquor drowns my feelings, keeping me out later than I intended. I should go soon, but I don't.
I'm running behind on my senior project for Professor Thosser, the most arrogant, picky slave driver in the entire journalism department. He's also the teacher with the hottest connections for landing an internship or maybe a full blown career after school, and I'm determined to impress him.
Unfortunately, that means turning in a rough draft before summer's over, hopefully something interesting enough for him to cite in his Op-Eds to the big papers and endless seminars. A few simple citations for other students over the years landed them gigs with some serious money and mobility. One guy even wound up working in the White House.
I'm also supposed to meet my brand new stepbrother tomorrow. When dad tied the knot for the second time in his life last month, it turned my whole world upside down.
Well, technically it was still upending itself right now. I'd only spent two days in bizarro land back home since moving out of my dorm for summer.
Weird is an understatement. His new wife, Evie, looks exactly like the hot, prestigious trophy girl a high powered airline executive ought to have.
She's also a washed up Hollywood bombshell with three ex-husbands and at least two bankruptcies behind her. If the tabloids are to be believed, she's been struggling to get her career back on track, and hasn't had a major role since she played lead on a romantic comedy about ten years ago.
I'd barely been around her for a day total, and I still don't understand it. Maybe I don't want to.
It's not like dad to elope with a stranger. Much less an aggressive, high demand Hollywood babe with a lot of baggage. The looks are all she's got. It's hard to believe he's fallen so fast, so hard.
I don't want to believe dad is just another shallow, overworked rich guy with a hard-on for a beautiful younger woman, but...
My thoughts stop the instant I see the man standing on the rocks overlooking the ocean. He's only there for a second before he leaps, plunging into the dark Pacific.
Is he crazy? I'm ready to rush over and find out if he's been cut to pieces by rocks when I see him emerge, apparently in one piece.
His big arms rise above the waves, like black flames in the darkness, huge and powerful, pushing the water aside like Moses.
No, he can't be hurt. He wouldn't be swimming like a total pro if he were. Then I get a better look, and I realize he's not just some kid out for a swim.
This dude's serious.
He's wearing a full body wet suit, complete with a snorkel mask and oxygen tank. At first, I'm fascinated, wondering if he's just a diehard swim fanatic, or maybe a hobby diver who's gotten off course. His feet kick up sand as he comes ashore, heading for a rock further down the beach, where I notice there's more gear carefully stored, like a little campsite.
I frown. I'm not crazy over-protective of dad's private property, but he's definitely screwing around on our family beach. He must've somehow missed the bright red PRIVATE PROPERTY signs lining the cliffs every twenty or thirty feet.
Finishing my drink, I slide off the rock and start to approach him, getting a better look in the last summer sunlight fading red over the Pacific.
He's got his back turned to me, focused on his diving gear like it's the most important thing in the world. His mask and oxygen tank are off by the time I'm a few feet away, and he's working on the suit. He peels it off quickly, as effortlessly as shedding a second skin.
Oh God, is he completely naked under there? I'm a little relieved when I see the navy blue trunks as he kicks off the rest – but only a little.
He's...magnificent.
His back looks powerful, just like a hardened swimmer's who's been at it for a long time. Muscular creases collide with long, dark stripes permanently inked on his flesh. He's big, but he's smooth, sculpted, and his skin looks totally natural, healthy and real in a way Tangerine Man will never be.
Sure, it's silly to prefer ink all over his body instead of too much UV tone, but I can't help myself. Then he turns around, and my eyes almost pop out.
His chest looks like an underwear model's, if they put their perfect bodies under the world's most skilled tattoo artists. More dark stripes spike up his arms, like flames licking his biceps, and something dark and menacing lines his broad chest.
It's some kinda dragon. The beast surrounds an anchor or multi-pronged pitchfork, a lot like my grandfather's old Navy patches that dad keeps hanging proudly in his office.
He's mature, several years older than me, but young and alive, like he's fresh out of college.
Our eyes lock. His are bright green, set in a strong face, with just the right amount of dark, sandy stubble. His jaw looks like it's home to the most capable mouth in the world, able to kiss or spit so much fire he can burn whatever the hell he wants.
Maybe even who he wants.
Oh, God. I'm supposed to give him a polite warning about diving on our little stretch of land, but now I can't even think. I'm starting to feel like a bitch for inwardly rolling my eyes at Marnie and her boy toys after all.
“Didn't know I had an audience,” he growls, giving his rubber suit a swift kick behind him and marching toward me. “Where the fuck did you come from, princess?”
Jesus. The tone in his voice makes it sound like I'm the intruder here.
“You're not supposed to be diving here.” I swallow weakly and point to the nearest PRIVATE PROPERTY sign behind me, wondering if he can even read it in the creeping darkness.
Mystery Man focuses his eyes through the darkness before he looks at me. “Aw, shit. I thought this whole stretch was public?”
I shake my head. “No, my dad owns it.”
Damn! Why is it so hard to form words? It's not like he's going to grab me and throw me in the water for saying the wrong thing.
The man cocks his head and smiles. “What did daddy do to buy himself such prime beachfront? Hell, who'd he fuck to make a sexy thing like you? The rich guys I know all look like something I oughta find under the ocean.”
I'm floored at the crude, half-complimentary things spewing out of his mouth. Then the big, beautiful bastard closes the last few steps between us and throws his arms around me, pulling me close.
Despite being beneath the cool waves only a few minutes ago, his chest is warm, dangerously hot and tempting. Finally, I'm thankful for the shorts. If I had bikini bottoms on right now, I'm sure he'd see them soaked, and then I'd probably drop dead from embarrassment.
“You know, I normally don't take orders from little girls standing on the beach in their PJs,” he whispers in my ear, his breath so hot it matches the fire rippling in my blood. “But I normally don't fuck up and drag myself onto a billionaire's private beach club either. What's going on over there? Big party?”
Tilting his head, he looks over my shoulder, noticing
the light and noise from all the partiers. Just the perfect angle for his sandpaper stubble to rake my shoulder, ruining any urge to fight him off for at least another ten numb seconds.
“I'll be damned.” He pulls back, staring me straight in the eyes. “You don't look like much of a party girl, princess. Then again, I've fucked enough girls in my day to know the quiet ones are always the wildest. Go on, get back to your fun. I'll be on my way.”
His hands slowly slide down my body as he releases me, driving me temporarily insane.
This can't be happening, getting felt up by a total stranger. Why am I letting him?
Some crazy instinct flips on and my hand flies across his face.
Before I know what's happened, there's needles on my palms, and I realize I've just slapped Mystery Man. My jaw drops.
“Oh, crap. Jesus. I'm sorry, sir, I really didn't mean to hit you like that. I just got carried away when you started feeling around for –“
What, exactly? Maybe I screwed up, misread him, even if he was getting way too close for comfort.
“For what?” he says coldly, reaching down to a huge bag at his feet to start packing up his gear. “You've got nothing to worry about. I said I'm on my way out. I'm used to partying on these beaches too when I'm stateside. It's fucking hard keeping my hands to myself when I see a firecracker.”
He flashes me a smile, complete with dimples that bend in on his cheeks. My heart sinks as I watch him stuffing his scuba gear away.
Yeah, he's been rude, but I haven't exactly been an angel. Clearing my throat, I step up to him again, gently reaching for his shoulder.
He stands up, a fresh change of clothes in his hands, turning to look at me when he feels my touch. “What?”
“Hey, I didn't mean to just brush you off. I'm not as rude as I seem. You probably think I'm a snob, but if you want, we've got an open bar and some music tonight. It's no big deal if you want to hang around and have a few drinks. This isn't like an invite-only thing.”
He quirks an eyebrow, moving his eyes up and down my curves. “Yeah? You're serious?”
I nod. I'm not sure what's pumping my heart harder – the awkward guilt, or seeing how hard his tattooed muscles flex when he drops his pants and boxers, ready to roll them on.
“Sounds a helluva lot more fun than being slapped by a party girl. Turn around while I get dressed. Unless, you know, you wanna rake those little nails across somewhere else on my body.”
I'm not sure what's pounding more hot blood as I spin around. My nipples are like hot, wild buds beneath my tank top, but the heat in my cheeks is almost enough to burn me alive.
I lead Mystery Man to the small private bar and watch as he orders a dark beer and another martini for me.
“So, what the hell were you doing out there diving this late at night?” I stare at the neat white button down shirt he's changed into. It clings perfectly to his slab of a chest.
“Work. Fitness. Pleasure too. You'd be amazed at all the things you can see along this stretch of beach. This place is pretty damned pristine by Bay Area standards.”
I sip my martini, unable to keep my eyes off just how sculpted he really. He sounds too smart to be a beach bum bodybuilder like Marnie's new fling. Only one possibility comes to mind.
“Are you Navy, or something?”
“Yeah, you can say that,” he says with a wink, taking a long pull from his beer. “I didn't really come here to talk about business. Listen to that music.”
He holds up a finger, and I sit up straight, listening to the booming speakers. There are only a few couples left swinging drunkenly around the fire, occasionally collapsing into the sand underfoot with bawdy laughter.
“I didn't get your name,” he says, standing up and darting his eyes over my top.
I try not to flush. “Cordelia. Everybody calls me Delia.”
“Fuck, for real? I've never heard that name outside the Johnny Cash song.” He snorts, and then smiles. “Love it. Does Delia like to dance dirty?”
I'm stunned. Is he seriously asking me to dance? Nobody's done that since high school prom, and the skinny geek I danced with there didn't have anything on this god.
He gestures toward the open fire, polishing off his drink. Before I can answer, he slams his empty glass down with a clink, and grabs my wrist.
“Come on, babe. This is supposed to be a party.” He pulls me along, picking me up with one arm under mine, carrying me across the sand toward the dance around the fire. “My name's Chris, by the way.”
I'd say 'pleased to meet you,' but I'm yelling instead when she swings me completely over his shoulder and flings me around, before pushing my bare feet into the sand with ease. Right where he wants me. It's hard to keep up, and he does most of the work.
I catch flashes of his eyes on me, checking to make sure I'm not going to freak out and walk away. Once his hands wrap tight around my waist, jerking me close to his chest, it's not even a possibility.
“Too rough for you?” he asks, pushing his hot breath into my ear.
My brow furrows. I'm tired of being the boring good girl at all these parties. I want to act out, and the perfect opportunity just landed in my lap – or is it up my skirt?
My panties feel like they're about to melt, but I force my hips to grind into him, wrapping my arms around his thick neck.
“No. Show me what you can do.”
His green eyes light up and he grins. “I knew you'd be fun, Delia. I'm gonna move fast, swift, hard. I'll take you every goddamned place I see you begging for in your dark little eyes. I'm in control. I've got you.”
Everything about him screamed powerful before. But once he's moving me effortlessly across the sand, around the fire, tangling our shadows together like rich black waves, I know it's true.
Something visceral tells me I'm clinging to a real man, an alpha male with an edge to him that's so sharp I want him to cut me to pieces.
Chris handles me with strength and elegance. Total control. Everything he promised.
He flings me through the air and rips me back, dangerously close to his heat, his temptation, before tearing me away again.
He makes me want. I'm dying to feel his mouth on mine, his hands on my hips, his strength between my legs. His power wants to conquer, and I want to submit.
His hands are everywhere – long enough to tease, but never lingering so long it wins him another slap across the face.
I'm glad I slowed down on the drinks. Some of the strange tango movements he leads me through are so quick, so vibrant, they'd upset my stomach if I'd had a little more. So would the swarms of butterflies he's stirring up from head to toe.
Mostly, I'm drunk on the adrenaline, the hellfire coursing through my blood, filling all my tender parts with crazy admiration, wanton desire, ruthless excitement.
Obsession, in a word. Crazy fucking need.
We dance for what seems like ten minutes, and I'm breathless by the end. Toward the last spin, his hands sweep across my ass, grab it hard, and pull me into him. My legs part automatically. I'm only against him for a second, but I swear I feel something hard and wild in his jeans, something electrifying.
The current hits and makes my whole body tingle. My head spins as he finally settles me in the sand for good, still holding me close.
There's a clapping noise. I look up, and realize some of the drunken partiers are applauding us. Chris waves, brushing it off like it's nothing. It doesn't take them more than a few seconds to go back to their private revelry.
“Wow. Holy shit. Where'd you learn to do that?” I gasp, trying to recover precious oxygen.
“A man learns a few things when he's been around the world like I have. Tonight, I only care about this beach.”
The way he's looking at me makes me feel like it's not just the beach. There's a hunger in his eyes, a feral look I've only seen on my short-term boyfriends a few times before. The big difference is, for the first time in my life, I'm sure I'm beaming back the same desire.
&
nbsp; “You're a bigger party girl than I thought, Delia.” He pushes his chin against my shoulder, moves his lip to my ear, and growls. “You move like a fucking angel, when I make you. Will your lips twist like they were made to kiss me, or am I gonna have to lead them too?”
Oh, God. God! He doesn't waste any time. His hips grind against me, giving me another rough, wonderful feel of that huge, angry hardness he's sporting beneath his denim.
My hand slides down between us, checking if I'm completely soaked through my shorts. Not quite, but there's definitely a heat; a raw, wet craving so bad it makes me want to rip my clothes off.
I have to taste him. Craning my head, I pucker up, moving in for a kiss.
He preempts me, driving his firm, strong lips against mine first. Bastard.
Wonderful, arrogant bastard.
Masculine warmth floods my mouth. Chris takes my mouth in a heartbeat, blitzes my lips. His kiss is intense, decisive, and so is the way he parts my lips, shoving his hot tongue into my mouth.
I can't hold back the moan that washes over me. It comes from deep in my belly, pulses into his mouth, like I'm sharing the horny fire deep inside me.
His breath quickens. His chest bows up, pushes against mine, giving my buds the perfect friction.
So much for regaining my breath. By the time he breaks the kiss, I'm panting, struggling not to pass out from the wild thunder in my blood, plus the surreal realization that I want to fuck this strange badass.
“You like my taste, baby?” His eyes burn me down as I nod shyly. I can't deny it.
He smiles before he leans in again, stamping his mad lips up my throat, working his way to my ear. “Good. I want to feel your hungry little lips wrapped around every fucking inch of my cock. Now.”
He's got me by the wrist again, and we're heading for the bar, but we pull past it. It's like my feet have turned into dumbbells, and I trip all over myself, trying to keep up with him.
Hell, trying to decide if I'm really going to go all the way and get my V-card punched by this wild animal tonight.
I don't have long to decide. My body does it for me when he slams me against the wall, covering my mouth with his again, picking up where we left off.
