“So, one night we were having a little cocktail party at a family friend’s house. My mother had too much to drink and…” Cora shut her eyes for a minute. “She cornered my ex in a hallway and came on to him. She tried to convince him that she ‘knew’ he’d secretly had a thing for her the whole time we’d been together. Then she tried to kiss him.”
“No!” Maddy clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Yep.” Cora swallowed back against the bile that rushed up her throat, like it always did whenever she thought of that night. “The worst thing was, everybody could hear her. The main room was only a few steps away, and they were all staring at me…”
She’d wanted to sink into the floor and die. It had easily been the most humiliating experience of her whole life.
“Alex brushed it off at the time, but a week later he told me he couldn’t do it anymore. He said I was so desperate for my parents’ approval that I let them treat me badly and that I never stood up for myself or made my own decisions. He said I was…weak.”
“Oh, honey.” Maddy pulled Cora in for a big hug, squeezing her hard. “I don’t even know what to say. You poor thing!”
Tears sprang to Cora’s eyes, but she blinked them away, tipping her face up to the ceiling so they wouldn’t fall. She’d shed enough already.
“I was furious that he wanted to punish me for what she did. It’s not like I can control her. And…who else do I have besides my family? My social circle is small because my mother scares people off. I work at my father’s business.”
It sounded so pathetic when she laid it out like that. She had zero control over her life. Zero agency. All because she’d tried for decades to be the glue that held her family together. All because she’d been desperate to recreate that “happy family” scenario that she saw on TV.
“Is that why you came here?” Maddy asked. “To get a break from it all?”
“A much-needed one.” She sucked on the inside of her cheek. “I thought parents were supposed to put their children first.”
Maddy made a snorting noise. “Uh, not in my experience.”
“Sometimes I don’t even understand why people bother having kids if they have no intention of loving them. If you want to worship yourself, get a mirror.”
Since the breakup, she hadn’t talked to anyone about what she was feeling. Instead, she’d bottled it all up and tried to soldier on. Unfortunately, emotions didn’t work like that. You could try to keep them down, but eventually the pressure would become too much. It was like shaking up a bottle of Coke and expecting it not to explode.
Confessing to Maddy was surprisingly cathartic.
“Tell me about it,” Maddy said. “I’ve wondered that, myself.”
“Are your parents the same?”
The other woman laughed. “Well, my mother isn’t going around hitting on anyone’s boyfriend, that’s for sure. But is she overly opinionated and controlling? Yeah. She thinks I should be settled down now and having kids. I’m not even thirty yet, but she acts like I’m an old spinster who’s squandered my youth. What decent man would want to marry someone as old and wrinkled as me?”
It was hilarious, because there wasn’t a damn line in Maddy’s flawless skin.
“But that’s her opinion and I don’t need permission from her or anyone else. I love her, but we’re very different people. It’s taken me a long time to be able to understand why she says the things she does and that I shouldn’t place my worth in her opinion of my activities.”
“That’s very mature.”
“See aforementioned comment about being an old spinster.” Maddy laughed. “Seriously though, it took a lot of work. There was a period of time that we didn’t speak at all, and it was hard. But the time apart made me see that I didn’t want to lose her from my life. We needed to find a middle ground.”
“I’m not sure there is a middle ground with my mother.” Cora sighed. “I feel like I’ve tried everything—confronting her, avoiding her, trying to play nice…”
“Finding middle ground only works if both sides are willing to try. If you’ve given it all you have and she’s still not meeting you halfway…” Maddy shrugged. “As you said, you can’t be responsible for her. You need to live your life at some point.”
She nodded. “You’re right. I came here to do exactly that and I feel like I’ve spent the whole time thinking about relationship troubles.”
“Maybe you need some more distraction, then.” Maddy tapped the books in Cora’s hands. “A little steamy romance should do the trick.”
But the way she said it, with a twinkle in her eye, made Cora wonder if her new friend was talking about more than romance between the pages of a book. Maybe Cora needed some real romance. A true no-strings vacation fling. Who knew? Maybe it might even help get her creative juices flowing for her manuscript?
Perhaps it was time to woman up and stop overthinking everything.
And so what if it was a bit of a rebound? She deserved some fun for all the heartache she’d been through lately. And really, it’s not like there would be any consequences—she wasn’t going to stay in Australia past the end of the month, and it didn’t seem like Trent was looking for anything serious. Nobody had to know, either. It wasn’t anyone’s business.
What are you waiting for?
Cora would put her perfect family dream on hold—for the next few weeks there would be no TV-family fantasies. No white-picket-fence visions. No imaginary husband to give her perfect imaginary babies. No desperation to get her father to believe in her.
None. Of. That. Shit.
All that mattered was the here and now and doing stuff that made her feel good. She’d earned it.
Chapter Thirteen
Cora made her way back to Liv’s house, eager to see Trent after making her decision about collecting on their sexual chemistry. Anticipation burned through her veins, churning her up inside. So what if this was about scrubbing the memories of her bad relationships away? So what if it was for nothing more than feeling good and wanted and desired, even if it meant absolutely freaking zip in the long run?
As she drove, her eyes widened at the darkly shifting shapes overhead. Trent had told her summer storms could sneak up quickly, shattering the sky and drenching the earth before disappearing as quickly as they came.
This is not a bad omen. This is not a bad omen.
She barely made it to the house before the storm hit. It was incredible to watch the sky shift from vivid blue with fluffy marshmallow clouds to roiling shades of inky navy and rich, deep purple split only by streaks of pale gold lightning. She jumped out of the car and made a break for the front door, head bowed to the pelting rain. The cool droplets were almost a relief from the heat, but they came so thick and fast that she was drenched in seconds.
Cora gasped as her sandals skidded on the wet concrete, and when she looked up, she saw the front door was open and Trent was standing there.
“Come on,” he said. “It caught me, too. I only just beat you home after picking up some tools from Nick.”
“This rain is no joke.” Cora’s breathing came a little hard from the shock of being wet and cold after a long day of bone-melting heat. Her white T-shirt was all but glued to her skin, and her hair trickled chilly droplets down her back as she stepped into the house.
“One of the quirks of the weather here,” Trent replied, raking a hand through his hair and shaking off the excess water.
His T-shirt was also glued to him. It clung to every muscle in his work-honed body, from the broad “carry the world” shoulders to the hard pecs, rounded biceps, and rippled abs. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was desert dry. Even his shorts were clingier than normal, the light tan fabric dark in patches. As Trent bent over to take off his boots, Cora couldn’t help but stare. She’d never really been sure why exactly people used the peach emoji to represent an ass; he
r flat butt certainly didn’t look like a peach.
But now she knew. Trent had peach-ass perfection.
“You all right?” he asked, looking up as he yanked one boot off and then the other.
“Uh-huh.” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I feel like you’re staring at me.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Have I torn my pants or something?”
This was it, her crossroads. They were alone in this house, shielded by the bad weather—and really, what was more romantic than a thunderstorm? Was she going to chicken out again and go hide in her room? Or was she going to seize the opportunity to be wild and carefree and totally not like herself?
“Your ass looks like the peach emoji,” she blurted out. Immediately, she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. “That…didn’t come out right.”
Maybe she was doomed to be celibate. Whatever gene other women had that made them sexy and sultry and all those good things was obviously lacking in her. No amount of etiquette school had ever really drummed the awkwardness out of her.
“How was it meant to come out?” Trent stood and nudged his boots to the wall with his foot. Water dotted his skin—highlighting the corded muscle in his neck and arms.
“Umm…” Cora smoothed her hands down the front of her stomach, something she tended to do when she was nervous. And right now she was more than a little nervous.
Trent was hot. Like, stick him straight on a magazine cover without any photoshopping kind of hot. His bright blue eyes tracked her every anxious movement, and the corner of his lip hovered somewhere between smile and smirk. He knew he was good-looking. Hell, he probably had women with much more finesse and sexual prowess throwing themselves at his feet every damn day.
Women who probably had the first clue about coming on to a man.
“I’m not very good at this,” she said, though whether it was to herself or to Trent, she wasn’t totally sure.
Maybe this was one of those cases where actions should speak louder than words? Her fingertips drifted to the hem of her T-shirt, and she toyed with it for a second—pros and cons dancing in her mind like sprites—before she peeled the fabric up and away from her skin. She bent her arms, hoisting the T-shirt over her breasts and then her head before releasing the wet fabric so that it landed with a thud on the floor.
“I would say you’re damn good at it,” Trent said, swallowing. His eyes were darker now, smokier. Or maybe it was the shifting of the clouds outside, while the rain thundered down, branches scratching against glass and thunder warning them there was more to come. “But I thought you weren’t ready.”
“Maybe I am now.”
Cora slowly toed off her sandals and nudged them to one side, mimicking what he’d done a moment ago. When she reached behind her, feeling for the clasp of her bra, Trent held up a hand to stop her. The disappointment was like a knife to her gut. She could see he was attracted to her—see it in his eyes, in the taut pull of his lips. In the growing outline of his cock behind his wet, clingy shorts.
The sight almost took her breath away. She was a puddle of wanting, of need and desperation and every other type of vibrating energy all twisted together. Her whole body hummed, like each cell was a tuning fork and he was the catalyst for it all.
“Wait.” He came closer, hands splaying out across her hips. His fingertips were cold from the rain, but her body was fiery hot. Molten. “You’re either ready or you aren’t. I don’t do maybe.”
She swallowed, fear and lust and anticipation a tornado of temptation inside her. Why did she feel so stripped back? So raw? Maybe it was because he wasn’t letting her skirt the edges of things. He wasn’t letting her get by without voicing her desires, clearly and distinctly. To speak up for what she wanted, which didn’t come naturally.
All her life, she’d been told what to want, what to chase, what her dreams and aspirations should be. But Trent wasn’t telling her anything.
He was forcing her to be active in her desires instead of passive.
“I am ready,” she said resolutely. The sureness of her words trickled through her body, giving her strength and determination. Fortifying her. It felt empowering to claim her desires, to state boldly and clearly what she wanted. It made her feel like a new woman. “I want to sleep with you.”
“Then I think we’re skipping ahead a few steps.”
“We are?” She tipped her face up to his.
“Yes.” He touched his forehead to hers, warm breath skating over her skin, hands sliding around her back. “We have to start with a sweet kiss.”
He brushed his lips over hers, the kiss so soft and gentle, it had no more weight than a memory. His thumb smoothed over her jaw, and Cora wound her arms around his neck. It was like sinking into a warm bath.
“Then something a little sexier,” he said.
This time when his lips met hers, the kiss was hot and open. Sensual. Exploratory. His tongue swept the inside of her mouth, and his hands tracked slowly down her back to the curve of her butt. He tasted warm and smooth, smelled like rain and salt and wanting. She melted into him, and it was like she was no longer a person, just a manifestation of her desires. She was liquid and floating, drowning in his kiss.
“What’s next?” she gasped when his lips moved to her neck, sucking, nipping, scraping. His chin was rough with stubble, and when he nuzzled the crook of her neck, it was like being showered in sparks.
“Body contact.” He drew her close to him, lining her body with his.
Everything was hard…everything. From the coiled muscles in his arms to his fingers as he kneaded her backside. To the hard ridge of his erection digging in to her belly. To his kiss, which was deeper and more and perfect.
“I like this bit,” she murmured as her head rolled back, letting his hands move over her.
He walked her backward until she hit a wall. No, not a wall. Glass. It was the back window, and she splayed her hands out behind her, palms sliding over cool smoothness as Trent kissed her again. His hips ground against hers and she let it happen, willed it to continue. Begged with her body to go further.
“Are we at the undressing part yet?” she asked, her voice ragged.
Trent laughed, and it was the most gravelly, growly, sexy sound she’d ever heard. “We can be if you want.”
She nodded, heart hammering in her chest.
“Can I do the honors?” He traced a fingertip along the line of her bra, and Cora thanked her past self for having the decency not to wear her “comfy” bra today. This one had a touch of lace at the edge and a little bow between her breasts, like the cherry on top of a sundae. It was sweet and it made her feel pretty, but right now she was sure she’d feel better with it off.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please take it off.”
Trent palmed her through the lace and satin cups, squishing her boobs together and planting kisses in the line of her cleavage. The rough bristles of his stubble were fire against her delicate skin, but in the best way possible. And when his fingers found the clasp at the back—not fumbling and cursing like her ex always had—she almost sighed in relief when she was set free.
The roughness of his fingers was heaven against her hot skin, and her nipples beaded immediately under his touch. They were tight, aching. Like the inside of her belly and deepest part of her sex and her heart and her lungs. Everything was aching for him.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, lowering himself so he could take her breasts in his hands, thumbs flicking over her nipples. “Everywhere. All places.”
“Please,” she begged, not even sure exactly what she was asking for.
When his mouth closed around her nipple, she cried out, her voice drowned by the crack of thunder outside. Her body was a riot of sensations, cool glass at her back, hot mouth at her front. The weight of her shorts felt like too much, and the seam of t
he thick denim rubbed at her most sensitive part when she squeezed her legs together. She rocked back and forth, trying to get the friction she needed there.
His tongue and teeth and lips stoked the fire burning inside her, and when the heel of his palm slipped between her legs, mercifully giving her pressure right where she wanted it, she almost wept with relief.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her breast, pulling his hand away briefly to lower the zipper of her shorts before snaking his hand inside. “Take what you want.”
It wasn’t perfect. Her panties were still a barrier, but she was already running toward the cliff edge of release, and nothing could stop her now. He kissed her and ground the heel of his palm against her sex and she rocked, rocked, rocked against him.
Then she was flying, orgasm splintering and fracturing, and she gasped huge lungfuls of air. Her muscles clenched. They pulsed. They sang. When she came, she buried her face in his hair and screwed her eyes shut, blotting out the senses she didn’t need so that she could feel as much as possible.
When she floated back down to earth, there was nothing but the sound of her own breath and the rain. And the crackle of excitement. Trent’s arms were around her, cradling her, as she clung to him.
“I like that bit, too,” she said softly, feeling her cheeks flush. But there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Didn’t a woman deserve a ground-shaking orgasm every so often? Didn’t a woman deserve to feel wanted and beautiful and powerful?
And she did feel that way. Even if she sucked at knowing the right thing to say or how to be sexy or enticing. Even if her scars and insecurities were deep. Even if she’d had fleeting thoughts that her life was going nowhere and nobody would ever love her again…if they ever had in the first place.
“See, and what if we’d rushed straight over all that?” He stretched up to his full height but kept her tucked against him. Wet T-shirt pressed against her cheek. “That would have been a tragedy.”
“Agreed.” But she wasn’t done, not by a long shot. “Unless you want to stop?”
Her Aussie Holiday Page 13
