My heart pounded, but I kept my voice calm. "Go ahead."
"I'm kind of a nerd."
I waited for more, but that seemed to be the big confession. Relief whooshed through my body. "You're a very sexy nerd," I said.
Her lips twisted in a half-smile. "I'm serious. I'm lame. I don't get off on drinking hard, parading myself around, and making endless conversation with people who don't care. I'm sorry. But if you want me to go, I will."
It didn't take me long to make my decision. In fact, the moment I accepted what I was about to do, I was completely at peace. I didn't want to hold these parties anymore. I wanted to spend the day alone with Quinn and let it take us wherever it would. I was done with that part of my life, and it was about time I did something about it.
"I'm canceling the party, Quinn. I've been trying to get out of them for a while now. Hell, I don't even enjoy it. Time for someone else to take over."
She gnawed on her lip. "Don't do it for me."
I smiled and ran a thumb over her now swollen mouth. "I'm doing it for me. Will you spend the day with me alone?"
Her face lit up and my heart stopped. "Yes. And I have a long list of activities for us."
"More?"
Her eyes danced. "Yeah. But tomorrow we'll keep it all horizontal."
The blood whooshed to my other head. "My kind of activities."
"Thought you'd like that." She studied my features, and her hand lifted to push my hair back from my brow. Her gentle touch burned like charcoal against my skin. "You remind me of Gatsby."
"F. Scott Fitzgerald? Didn't they make a bunch of movies about Gatsby? Wealthy guy with a mansion, lusting after a girl from his past?"
She continued her caress, smoothing her fingers down my cheek, across my jaw, and touching the center of my lips. Her sweet scent carried on the ocean breeze and tangled me in its spell. I'd never be able to smell coconut without thinking of her. "Yeah. He has all the money in the world, and holds these lavish parties that everyone flocks to. Handsome, smart, mysterious. He's a celebrity everyone wants a piece of. But inside, he's lonely. Separate from the crowd. He ends up pinning all his hopes on Daisy because she made him feel something."
I felt as if we were on the verge of something huge, and if I said the wrong words, the moment would pass forever. The boat pulled to the dock, and the crew scattered to begin debarking. "Do you feel sorry for Gatsby?" I knew I'd walk away if she said yes. I could take anything but this woman's pity, or becoming one of her pet projects.
She cocked her head. A touch of a smile rested on her bow lips. "Of course not. Gatsby had all the power. Daisy never did." Her dark eyes shimmered with heat and truth and possibility. "He just didn't know it."
A couple bumped into us. I took her hand and led her off the boat, wondering what she meant.
THE SUNSET festival was like a circus with the backdrop of water and sky. I held tight to James' hand as we weaved our way through the staggering crowds and watched performers take turns dazzling us with their talents. Trained dogs doing flips and acrobats were in the right corner; the middle had a man on a unicycle juggling; and the left boasted a woman who seemed to have no muscles or bones, bending her body into insane positions for the approval of strangers.
I munched on popcorn, safely past my seasickness, and the glowing sun began to sink. Music pounded around us--Jimmy Buffett again--and people merged into one group. I enjoyed watching public events for the way separateness merged into unity. Usually, people tried to avoid one another, heads bent to our phones for email, texts, and video games; ears covered by headphones, ducking down to avoid contact. But today, waiting for sunset, there was magic in the air and everyone sensed it. We laughed and bumped into each other and didn't try to hide.
Excitement built as the three performers melted away and welcomed the sword swallower. He perused the audience, boasting a dangerous tale, and asked the crowd for silence and meditation to avoid injury. His mouth opened and the sword slipped down his throat. I gasped along with everyone else, stunned at the display. I knew James had seen it countless times, but I clung to him in sheer fear that something terrible would happen.
The sword sank in deep, and he slowly pulled it out to the thunderous applause. I jumped up and down and James laughed, his face open and soft as he gazed at me. My heart turned to mush, and my gut churned. I was getting very attached. The fact he'd cancel his big party to spend alone time with me affected my firm position not to feel anything past sex. There was a piece of a lost soul beating within him that called to me. Probably the classic cliche of fixing the wounded, one of my weaknesses. I couldn't walk away from someone who needed me; it was my calling card. But James gave me something priceless, that I've never experienced before.
Magic.
When I was him, I became someone else. Someone better. I was sexy, and confident, and silly, and just me. I'd never felt comfortable enough to shed my outside skin and show a guy my real self. I knew he wasn't faking liking me to get me into bed, we were past that part, but stuck at a crossroads where neither of us really wanted to define what was happening.
"Here's the finale," James pointed out. A tightrope was strung across the dock, over the water, and the performer was climbing the ladder and getting himself settled on the left landing. The sun sank inches lower, hovering on the edge of the horizon. He held a long stick and wore some type of ballet slippers.
The audience fell quiet. He ventured onto the rope, step after step, making his way to the middle. Filled with poise and grace, his movements flowed into one another as he hit dead center, and the sun dropped out of sight, scattering the skyline with sparks of vibrant orange and blackness.
His shadow was beautiful as he completed his ballet dance over the water, then with a flip, he steadied and reached the right landing.
I whistled and clapped hard until my hands stung. "Do they do this every night?" I asked, craning my head up to look at James.
"Every night," he confirmed. "And it's always crowded."
"Such a beautiful tradition," I murmured. How badly I craved routine in my life. I lived consistently wondering what disaster would await me at home, trying to control things I couldn't. But tradition was sweeter than routine, and brought elements of family, love, or comfort. "I wish we had something like this in Chicago."
He stole some popcorn and fed me first, then himself. "Smaller towns and islands have more unique events like this. Bigger cities are great, but you can get a bit lost."
"Which do you prefer?" I asked curiously.
He paused in the act of chewing. "I'd prefer to settle in a big city and take side trips. I grew up in New York."
"How long did you stay there?"
He shrugged. "Till about ten, I think. Then we moved to Florida. My father runs a big banking empire, so every time there's some type of merger, we follow the trail. We've been in Chicago for a while too, and California."
I tried to be casual, but I was hungry for more information. "Your father didn't try and recruit you for banking?"
A shadow of pain passed over his face. "Yeah, he did. Declared me incompetent for such a career. When I made my first mistake, he pointed it out in a big meeting and humiliated me. Basically told everyone I'd never step into his shoes, but he couldn't reject his son because it was a family business. Then took me in his private office to tell me how worthless I was."
I winced. My dad was a drunk, but I always knew he loved me, even when he screwed up. I couldn't imagine being with parents who were cold. "And your mom?"
"Mom runs charity functions and has little to say in Dad's business. She runs in high society groups, throws big parties, that sort of shit. I tried to be what my father wanted for almost a year, but it was a fucked-up mess, and I finally quit. He insisted I try out some Ivy League careers then, probably by greasing some palms of bigwig assholes, so I flunked out." He shrugged again. "No big deal. They both leave me alone now so I can do what I want."
It sounded good, but realizing your
own parents didn't care about you was bound to cause some issues. "What do you want to do now?" I asked.
He stared at me, seemingly surprised by the direct question. A glint of hunger sparked in his ice blue eyes. Oh yeah, he did want to do something. Art? I leaned in, greedy for any information he'd share. Finally, he answered. "More."
So much vibrated within his one-word answer. "Like?" I prodded.
A half-grin tugged at his lips. "Wanna know all my secrets?"
"Yes."
He paused, as if trying to choose his response carefully. "My parents made me feel like a loser for not being what they wanted. I don't even think they meant to do it. They just had an idea of what I'd do, and never cared to see if I disagreed. I was drawn to the artistic field. Painting, drawing, music, acting. Anything that seemed to strip off the surface. I'm so fucking tired of appearances." My heart lurched. He looked so sad, lost, and a tad vulnerable. "I tried taking these classes on sculpture once. Worked my ass off for weeks for a gift for Mom's birthday. It was a takeoff on a Madonna and Child, which was supposed to be us. When I gave it to her, she looked so shocked. I thought she'd finally give me a compliment and see what I really wanted to do."
"What did she say?"
His face lost all expression. "Thanked me, of course. She's always polite. Told me the best present in the world would be for me to get a respectable job and stop fooling around with stuff. And that was it. I found it buried in the back of the garage a few days later."
I sucked in my breath. I knew he didn't want my pity, so I did the next best thing. I stood on tiptoe and kissed him, long and deep and gentle. I didn't care about the crowds around us or anything but soothing a bit of that pain he was trying so hard to hide. His arms snagged around my waist and pulled me hard against him, and I lost myself in the kiss until the ground seemed to sway beneath my feet. My breath cut out and I held on hard, desperate to have him fill me between my thighs and take my mouth and swallow me whole. I shook, completely helpless under such raw need, and then he raised his head and stared into my eyes.
"I want you."
My voice broke. "Yes."
"Stay with me tonight, Quinn," he whispered. "Sleep in my bed and let me fuck you for hours, until we don't care about anything anymore."
My blood boiled and I clutched his shoulders. "Yes."
I don't remember how long it took us to get back to his villa. It was different in the silence and the dark, a majestic, multi-level structure hidden in the trees. The pool gleamed an eerie blue, and the endless windows were like eyes peeking out at the world. He led me upstairs without pause, both of us so driven by hunger for each other we didn't need to do any polite routines.
He shut the door behind me. I glanced quickly at my surroundings. His room was a huge suite, with a king-size sleigh bed and majestic food board in dark cherry wood. French doors led out to a balcony, and I glimpsed a huge master bath with a Jacuzzi tub off the open door to the right. The colors were rich brown, dark blue, and creams.
"I want you naked." His blue eyes were so hot they blistered me, roving over my body and probing beneath my clothes. "Take everything off." Oh God, my knees weakened at that sexy, domineering tone. My hands paused on the edge of my T-shirt, but I was trembling so bad I couldn't work the material. He took a step forward. "As much as I'd love a naughty strip show, I can't wait, Quinn. So, let me help you."
His hands covered mine. He helped guide the shirt up over my chest and threw it on the ground. The white lacy bra was simple but pretty, and my nipples hardened under his hungry stare, trying to escape their confines. He cupped my breasts, murmuring beautiful words that lulled me into a trance, and unhooked the front clasp. I arched, and he stroked me, lowering his mouth to tongue my nipples and rub them until I was swollen and tender. In seconds, my denim shorts were gone, along with my lacy bikini bottoms, and I was naked, standing in front of him.
"Fucking gorgeous," he said, his hand already sliding down my belly to touch my pussy. I was wet and ready, as if my body was a robot that turned on a switch set only for him. I panted as my arousal notched higher. He was fully dressed still, and it turned me on. I felt helpless and naked under his control, and I wanted him to do anything and everything to me for his own pleasure.
He seemed to sense my surrender, because he growled a curse and kissed me. Forcing my lips wide, his tongue thrust in and out of my mouth, taking and claiming, the same way his fingers slipped deep inside and teased me to the edge. He bent down and inserted his knee under mine, then lifted. One thigh was draped up and over his, holding my pussy open for his exploration. Never giving me too much pressure, he stroked around my labia, my clit, and inserted three fingers deep, moving back and forth in a rhythm that turned me into a wild animal. I was so wet, I soaked his hand, but he wouldn't let me climax, and the brutal anticipation almost killed me. I bit down on his tongue and twisted, and he gave it to me rougher, shoving me into a pit of sensual depravity that I welcomed. "Come against my hand. Show me how much you need me, how bad you want me. Only me."
"Yes," I moaned, desperate for him, desperate for release. "Only you, James."
His thumb massaged my clit as he thrust his fingers deep in my pussy and bit down on my nipple. The pleasure/pain shocked my system and threw me into orgasm. I clenched around him and cried out, holding on for dear life as my body bucked and shattered with release. I gripped him to keep myself from completely falling apart, and when I opened my eyes, he was watching my face with a fierce satisfaction and possession that almost made me come again. "So hot for me. So wet. I love watching your face when you come. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
"I can't, I can't--"
"We just started." He lowered my leg and smiled, those sinful lips promising me more delights than my body could handle. My legs shook, but he guided me to the bed, and I sat on the edge of the mattress while he removed a few condoms from his pocket and stripped off his clothes. I was past shyness now, and deep into a craving for more from him. When he was finally naked, he stood before me and let me study him. Dear God, he was so gorgeous. Like David, an elegant, sensual statue of beauty I wanted to touch and lick and bite. His skin was a deep brown from the sun, covered lightly with hair, and his cock stood straight up--thick, hard, and ridged. My mouth practically watered to taste him. I'd never enjoyed oral sex, but James was different--from his clean, ocean scent, to his spicy taste that danced over my tongue.
He made a move to join me on the bed, but I needed more, needed to know I could make him beg and weep with pleasure the way he did me. I stood up and dropped to my knees. His blue eyes burned and pierced mine. "Quinn."
"Let me," I said. My hands shook as I reached out and touched him. Hot skin stretched over iron muscle, soft and smooth. I fisted his erection from the base and slid all the way to the tip, where a few drops of his come covered his head. "Jesus, Quinn, I may die."
Bolstered by his words and reaction, I grew braver and lowered my head. My tongue darted out to taste and lick like it was a delicious all-day sucker. I learned what parts brought a helpless groan to his lips, learned the way his muscles locked down to stave off his orgasm, learned the dirty words that broke from his lips when I drove him to the edge.
He grabbed my hair and dragged me upward. I rose from my knees, loving his loss of control, and then he was driving his tongue into my mouth and pushing me back onto the bed to spread my knees wide. "I can't wait," he panted, sucking my bottom lip. He fit himself with a condom and slid in with one long, quick thrust.
He owned me in that moment--body, heart, soul. Driving out every thought and emotion I'd ever had under the burning hunger of belonging to him, his cock filled me, his eyes locked on mine, his fingers dug into my hips, and I was his, only his.
"So fucking tight," he gritted out. Sweat beaded his brow, and I wantonly arched up for more, deeper, letting him take and command everything.
"Take me," I begged. "Take me hard."
He did. Over and over he drove his co
ck into me, rolling his hips to hit my G-spot and cause shimmers of pleasure to spark along my nerve endings. His gorgeous face poised above me, taking in every broken whimper and plea, never slowing his pace until I clenched around him and held on with all my might and gave up.
The climax swept me up, higher and higher, and tossed me into a dark pit where I became only sensation. And still he never slowed, keeping the pleasure coursing through my veins until I rolled into another orgasm until it was too much, and I wondered if I could die from such beautiful agony.
He came and shouted my name. When he slumped beside me on the mattress, I needed his warmth, feeling as if a hole in my soul had been ripped out. Stupid tears blurred my vision, but he sensed my vulnerability and whispered my name, holding me close.
"I don't know what's happening to me," I whispered.
His arms tightened, and I rested my cheek against his chest, our limbs completely intermingled so his body heat seeped into me and I finally stopped shaking. I closed my eyes, overcome by too much emotion, and he lay silent, holding me, for a long, long time.
As I drifted in a fog, I heard his words.
"I don't know either. Just don't leave me."
I fell asleep before I could answer.
Wednesday
WHAT THE hell had I done?
I sipped a cup of scalding black coffee and thought about last night. The brew burned my tongue, but I hung on to the brief pain to try and reach sanity. With a few uttered words, I opened myself up for a mess of complications.
Just don't leave me.
The phrase haunted me, way after she fell asleep, until I could only hold her, stare at the ceiling, and wonder how it happened. How did sex get turned around so quickly? I was the master at compartmentalizing physical and emotional demands, but after two lousy days, I was hooked on Quinn Harmon. Her body was like crack, but her smile and intelligence and kindness wrecked my defenses to rubble and left me bleeding. She was everything I dreamed about in a woman, and for these few days, she belonged to me.
Beyond Me Page 9
