When the water was deep enough to swim in, the strength of the waves began to rock her body against his in a torturous rhythm. The need to rock back, grinding into her softness, was so strong he had to stop for a second and get a grip. That’s when he felt it. The subtle shift of her hips as her body pressed closer, pulsing against his, as if driven by instinct. She clutched at his shoulders, burrowing closer, her nipples pebbling against his chest. The blast of want hit him so hard, he had to grit his teeth to keep from groaning.
Clutching at her thighs, he anchored her still. “Stop wriggling,” he said. His voice was low, gruff, and strained.
She froze. “S-sorry.”
The warm puff of air against his ear and the break in her voice almost threw him right over the edge. What would Little Lacey Garrity do if he stripped aside those tiny bikini bottoms and buried himself in her again and again until she screamed?
Not the plan, asshole.
He took a steadying breath and strode purposefully into the surf, reciting his times tables as he went. He wouldn’t think about how soft her breasts were, pillowed against him. Or how her tight little nipples were branding his chest. Or how they’d looked in the morning sunshine, pouty, glistening with ocean water, begging for his tongue.
“Okay, good enough,” he announced abruptly, and released her, stepping back like she was on fire.
She covered her breasts again, dipping low until she was immersed in the blue water.
He averted his gaze and cleared his throat. “We’re the only ones out this far, so if you turn to face the open ocean, no one will see,” he said, his voice almost guttural now. Too bad. He didn’t want to shock her, but he was only flesh and blood, and there was nothing he could do about it.
She didn’t respond to his suggestion and wouldn’t look at him.
“Lacey?” Still nothing. Shit. She was upset. He struggled to find words over the cacophony of his roaring libido. “It’s no big deal. Don’t let this derail you. You came here to let loose, to get away from the drama at home. Now you have a funny story to tell.” He tipped her chin so she had no choice but to look at him. “Talk to me, squirt.”
When she finally met his gaze, he wished she hadn’t. Her pupils were dilated, her nostrils flaring lightly as she struggled for air. The pulse in her neck fluttered, and he stared at it, overcome with the desire to close his teeth over the delicate skin there. The adrenaline rush of the situation may have intensified her feelings, but one thing was clear that hadn’t been the night before. Her body’s reaction to him wasn’t a fluke. She was as hot for him as he was for her.
Bad news for Lacey because, up until that moment, he’d relegated himself to the role of unofficial guardian. But now that he knew the vibe he’d felt from her last night was more than just the alcohol and stress of the situation—now that he knew she wanted him for real?
It was on.
Chapter Five
“You’re a married woman,” she told herself. “At least until the annulment.” Lacey watched her reflection, waiting for it to roll its eyes at her stern reminder.
She muffled a groan. Crap. She was in big trouble. No. Huge, ginormous, major trouble, because she was madly in lust with her best friend’s brother and it was so not okay. She bent at the waist and rubbed the towel vigorously over her hair. Just the feel of Galen’s hard body against hers had her senses rioting in a way that even the whole tamale with Marty hadn’t. If she wasn’t sure she’d made a mistake in her choice of husbands before, she was sure of it now.
Was that what it was supposed to feel like? Wild and crazy and like you would do anything…anything at all for another taste? Or was it the sand and sun coupled with her first taste of real freedom? She’d had some during college, but since her parents had insisted she go to a posh school only forty minutes from home, even that had been tempered by their influence. Now she was free to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and there was no one to judge her for it.#p#分页标题#e#
Except Galen.
She straightened and hung the towel on the hook behind her. Somehow, despite the jabs they’d exchanged over the years, she got the distinct feeling they were in a judgment-free zone. She could act a fool, and he would stand back, watch, and smile. She could drink and dance and act crazy, and he’d be fine with that. Was his only motive to try and help her through this transition, encouraging her to let go a little and enjoy this trip? Or was there more to it? If the hot ridge in his bathing suit had been any indication, she would have to guess the latter.