Sleeping With Her Enemy(9)

The fireworks started then, with a great big cascade of half a dozen red and gold starbursts. Startled, Amy shrieked and jumped. He responded instinctively by tightening his arms around her, drawing her back flush against his front. Probably a mistake: he almost groaned as the very ass he’d been admiring all day wiggled against his crotch. “This is totally the best jilting I ever had,” she exclaimed, looking like a little girl thrilled by the display. As her fright turned into delight, she was doing a little dance of joy, bouncing as the sky lit up, peppered with explosion after explosion.

His cock jumped to attention as if it, too, had been startled by the fireworks. There was no way she couldn’t feel the evidence of his arousal. He glanced around. They were nearly alone on the deck—the summer ferries were large, and there were only a handful of passengers aboard. Two of his neighbors had taken seats inside, and there was a couple he didn’t recognize at the other end of the deck watching the fireworks.

And he was a jerk. And she already knew he was a jerk, so it wasn’t like he had a reputation to mar. So he didn’t move, just closed his eyes and listened to the sky explode while his cock pulsed against her, the thick denim of his jeans the only thing saving him from completely embarrassing himself. As long as he didn’t move, he was fine.

He hadn’t counted on her moving. Before he could get his bearings, she pivoted in his embrace, twined her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him. Oh, God, she tasted like strawberries, too. And suddenly he was gorging himself, finally feasting on that scarlet mouth that had mocked him for years. She’d come at him with her mouth already open, and he didn’t waste any time. She liked sloppy, openmouthed kisses? He’d give her one to remember. Plunging his tongue inside the impossibly hot softness of her mouth, he let his hands fall to her ass and hoisted her up so she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist. She didn’t seem to be objecting, though, judging by the breathy mewling sounds she made as he turned them both around and carried her the few steps across to the interior wall of the deck, so she wasn’t leaning against the railing. He angled them so they were hidden from the other couple on the deck. When her back hit the wall, she didn’t lower her legs, just used them to draw him closer as she kissed him back, giving as good as she was getting.

“Mason never did this,” he rasped.

He hadn’t meant it as a question, but she answered anyway, letting her head fall back to give him better access to the neck he was scraping his teeth against. “No.” She gasped as he nipped her throat, then pressed soft kisses against the same spot to soothe it. “Mason never liked public displays of affection.”

“But you do, don’t you?”

He had meant that one as a question, so when she remained silent, he braced her harder against the wall so he could slide one hand under her dress, returning it to where it had been cupping her ass, but this time they were skin on skin. “You like it with your legs wrapped around me, out here where anyone could see, don’t you?”

He could see her eyes flash in time with a firework. “I’m not sure this is a public display of affection. I think it’s more like lust. But yeah, Dax, I like it.”

He would have said the earth moved under their feet, but of course it was only the lurching of the boat as it docked on the island. It was enough to make him lose his footing for a moment, and he let go of her, making sure her legs hit the floor and she was standing upright on her own before taking a step away.

“What now?” she said, looking around, trying to make sense of her surroundings, as if she’d woken from a dream.

He thought about how to answer: Now I get a grip on myself. Now I remember who I am and what I promised Jack. Now I do right by the jilted bride, even if it kills me.

Now I remember that Amy Morrison and I hate each other.

He didn’t say any of that, though. He just held out his hand and said, “Now we walk.”

…

The minute she stepped off the ramp from the boat, Amy bent over to take off her shoes. She liked heels as much as the next girl, but she had now officially been tromping around in the killer footwear for twelve hours, and enough was enough. She had clearly won over Dax, so she didn’t think it mattered if he saw her bare feet.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone piqued.

“Those shoes are killing me.”

“Those shoes are killing me,” he declared. Then he looked down at her bare feet as she wriggled her toes. “But those might be worse.”

Ignoring him, she turned to look back at the skyline and cocked an ear. “So let’s hear this wave-lapping, blissfully quiet thing you supposedly have going on here.”