Throb(66)

“When did you stop getting along?” She pushes up onto one elbow.

“When Miles was in middle school.” I still remember the first time he lashed out at me as clear as day. “There was a boy that was picking on him. Miles was smaller than the kid, but that didn’t stop him from running his mouth. The kid challenged him to a fight after school. By the time I got there, Miles already had a bloody nose and black eye. I stepped in front of Miles, caught the kid’s punch, twisted his arm, and brought him to the ground. The kid was out of shape and I was five years older … it didn’t take much.”

“And Miles got upset with you for stepping in?”

“He thought I did it to make him look bad to our dad. He actually accused me of arranging the whole thing with the kid who was kicking his ass when I showed up.”

“Why would he think that? It sounds like a perfectly normal event. A brother stepping in for another brother in a fight. At least it was in my school.”

“I have no idea. But that was when it started.”

“Do you think …”

I cut her off. “I think you’ve had your fill of questions. Time to fill you with something else.” I pull her naked body up mine, lifting her until her neck is within reach. I nuzzle her, cupping her breasts as I tighten my hold.

She moans. “That’s not fair. I have more questions.”

“There’ll be more question and answer time later if you’re good. I want my cock filling you now.” I suck my way up to her ear and nibble on her lobe, something I’ve come to learn makes the sexiest tremble run though her. I grin when I feel it seconds later and then spend the next hour not answering any more questions.



The pool, the beach, the dining room table … hell, the bathroom yesterday on the Jolly Rogers. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was leaving no room for her not to think of us when she comes back to Barbados with the show. Today is the guesthouse. It’s where the four remaining contestants will be staying. I’ve already warned Miles that the main house is off limits for anything intimate, feigning respect for our father’s home. The same home I’ve spent four days claiming Kate in as many places as humanly possible.

“It’s beautiful. It’s so cozy in here. Not that the main house isn’t magnificent, but this house …” She looks around. “It just feels homey for some reason.”

I smile, remembering Dad telling me the story of the first time he brought my mother here. He’d bought the place as a surprise and had it completely gutted and remodeled, putting only the best of everything into the main house. When he told her to pick which room she wanted to furnish as the master bedroom, she picked the yellow room in the guesthouse, instead of one of the grand rooms he’d spent a small fortune having redone in the main house.

“You should take this room when you come back,” I say without explaining why as I show her the bedroom with the yellow painted walls.

“It’s the prettiest room in the house.”

I continue with the short tour of the inside and then walk her onto the back deck. There are a few people lingering on the beach in the distance to the west. This portion of the estate is the end of the public property line; the No Trespassing signs just before the beach that aligns with the main house warn that this is private property.

The large deck off the back of the house leads to a long and narrow boardwalk that trails over the sand dunes and down to the beach.

I sit on the padded lounge chair and watch as she looks out to the beach with a dreamy smile. I wish today wasn’t our last day here.

“It may not have the pool, but the view is just as beautiful,” she says.

“You’re right. It is.” I fold my hands behind my head and take in every last drop of beauty before me. We’ve been here for four days and I intend to enjoy the last twenty-four hours doing my favorite thing in Barbados. Her.

“Take off your clothes,” I say.

“You just want to christen the house.” She turns from the water to set her gaze on me.

I shake my head.

“No?” She squints suspiciously.

“I want you right out here.”

She turns back to look at the beach. It’s empty now, but people wander into this area once in a while. “What if someone comes?”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“You know what I mean.” She rolls her eyes.

“Take off your clothes,” I repeat, this time with more of an edge to my voice.

She looks back at the beach again, then to me. “Bossy.” She slips the loose bathing suit cover-up she’s wearing from her shoulders and lets it fall to the ground.