Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (156 page)

I agreed, if only to prove her wrong, and
she
promised to keep me safe.

But I haven’t seen her since she locked eyes with a tall, preppy blonde less than five minutes in, out on the deck.

How she scored us both invitations to a
yacht
party, I’ll never know.

“Over here,” the man continues. “To your left.”

I follow the sound of his voice. I see his dim outline against a corner chaise. He’s lounging on it, one arm draped over the back.

I wish I could see his face, but I cannot. He sounds sober, unlike the scores of men who’ve been sloppily hitting on me outside.

I, on the other hand, am definitely feeling a little tipsy. I told Summer this isn’t my scene
now
, but it used to be. I’m no angel. I’ve had my share of sordid hookups and raucous partying and crazy nights that would make the loosest groupie blush.

But I promised myself I would leave all that behind come grad school, especially since I’d be living with my old best friend. After five years apart from each other, I wanted to focus more on our friendship than on random hookups with guys.

Summer, however, seems to have arrived with the opposite mindset.

“Do I know you?” I ask, swinging my head to clear the hair from my eyes.

He swirls the scotch glass in his hand. “No,” he says. “Not yet. And that is what makes you so tantalizing.”

In a single, fluid motion, he stands. His eyes reflect the light. For a split-second, I am spellbound by a brilliant green. “You will soon.”

I cross my arms, deciding the standoffish approach might cut right through his bullshit. So many men I’ve encountered have been the same. They talk a big game, but when push comes to shove, they scamper off like mice.

“Did you follow me inside?” I ask, perking an eyebrow to show I’m not amused.

He strolls across the room, taking the slowest path toward me. He’s not drunk, just… serene. Measured.

My eyes dart behind him of their own accord. He’s also blocking the only exit from the inner cabin.

He laughs. “No,” he says. “But I’ve been waiting for you… to come to me.”

He stops at my side, definitely too close for a simple stranger. But I’m out to show that I won’t be intimidated by him.

I don’t budge.

He puts his glass on the bar. He’s facing it. I’m facing away. If I turn my shoulder slightly, I won’t even see him.

But my hands are right back on the edge and gripping tight.

His hand comes down to the bar, and he places it a hair’s breadth away from my own. I wait for him to speak, unwilling to initiate anything. But I have to admit: the growing silence is making me uncomfortable.

“Where’s your friend?” he finally asks. He lifts his pinky finger and moves it in a short line along my wrist.

His touch immediately gives me shivers. I pull away, too fast, too abruptly, too readily. He notices. I curse myself.

He leans into the bar, then turns and looks at me directly, for the first time. And—I shit you not—butterflies actually come to life in my stomach.

He’s handsome. No, that’s too generic. Too ordinary. This man, whoever he is, is more than just handsome. He is… magnificent.

His eyes are the clearest green I’ve ever seen. Dark lashes frame them. So dark, in fact, that for a second, I think he might be wearing a touch of mascara.

His jaw has the lightest grazing of scruff. His cheeks are smooth, soft, almost feminine. He has a nose that I immediately want to lick—Weird, I know!—and his hair is cut short on the sides and long on the top.

Maybe
magnificent
was too reactionary. But stunning?

Oh yes, this man is most definitely
stunning
.

“So?” he asks, his hand coming up to trace the outside of my arm.

I stare at him. I blink. Once, then twice, then over and over in a succession of rapid flutters.

Damn him! He’s turned my brain to mush!

“I’m sorry?” I say, struck dumb by his presence and no less appalled at my reaction.

“Your friend,” he reminds me softly. His hand stops at my elbow. He puts his fingers on either side and tightens his grip, a tiny squeeze, and steers me closer. “I want to know…” His seductive voice is almost enough to make me moan, “… whether she’ll be bothering us tonight.”

And
boom
! My defenses are right back up.

I twist out of his grip. “There is no
us
,” I say.

I step back. I glance at the party going on out on the deck. It’s winding down now.

Then, I look back at this mysterious, alluring, albeit very-full-of-himself stranger. “Look, I’m sorry, but I really should go.”

I expect him to protest, or at least try to deny me. He does no such thing. With a surreal grace, he simply pivots on his back foot and offers me an open lane to the door.

“Thank you,” I mutter, grabbing my purse and starting out.

“Of course,” he says. “A gentleman should always respect the wishes of a lady.”

Inwardly, I scoff. I’m no lady. Not by anyone’s standards.

But just as I pass him, he adds, in a casual sort of way, almost a whisper, “Before you leave, however, you should really know whom you’re turning down.”

I stop. He’s baiting me.

I swallow whole, but not in the way he’d expect.

Really, he’s going to pull the fame card on me?

I roll my eyes and make sure he sees it. “Look, you could be the quarterback for the Chicago Bears,
and I wouldn’t give two shits. I’m not that type of girl.”

“Good.” He smiles, revealing a perfect row of white teeth. “I’m not that type of guy.”

“Then why mention it?” I ask. “Are you trying to impress me?”

He gives a deep, throaty chuckle. “My dear,” he says, “you are already impressed.”

“Whatever,” I mumble, and turn away.

He catches my arm by the door. “Kiss me,” he says.

My eyes widen. “What?”

“Kiss me,” he whispers. His eyes clash with mine. “And then make up your mind about where you want to be.”

I look away. I can’t let him know it. But it
is
a tempting offer. I mean, hell, Summer’s off with blow-up Ken doll doing God-knows-what already.

What harm is there in a kiss?

I turn toward him. “Just one,” I start to say, but before the words have a chance to leave my mouth, he’s gripped my face with both hands and sealed his lips to mine.

Wow
, I think.

He kisses me with the thunderous strength of a predator. With the complete abandon only affected by the most virile of men. I expected desire, but not… not like this.

It’s a kiss full of passion and lust and life. It invigorates me. It makes me feel whole. It’s exotic and erotic and damn frightening in its intensity.

In short—holy hell does this man know how to kiss.

We break apart. I’m breathing hard. Blood is pounding in my ears. My hands are shaking with need, and my whole body is abuzz.

He’s affected, too. “So,” he starts to say, in a voice less steady than before. “Are you—”

“I want more,” I cut in over him, running on a hormonal high. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him to me. Our bodies crash together. We kiss again.

He pins me to the exit door. We’re locked there in a frenzy of passion. I moan as his hands move up and down the sides of my torso. Mine go in his hair, tugging him closer, and then drop down to his shoulders, to his back. My hands are greedy, clawing into every delightfully sexy slab of muscle beneath his shoulder blades. He spins us around, his hands on my waist. One of them drops away for a second. I hear a distinct
click
.

He’s locked the door.

I don’t have time to dwell on that as he guides me back, our mouths still glued together. Both our bodies are on fire. I feel the back of my calves hit something soft. It’s unexpected, so I almost fall, but this mysterious, seductive stranger catches me by the small of my back and doesn’t let me go.

The chaise.

His hands move over my breasts, the heated, erotic touch sparking a rush of pleasure through me. He takes the straps of my dress and slips both down my shoulders.

I catch his hands. “Wait,” I say, my head spinning. “This is all going so fast.”

His clear, green eyes sparkle even in the dark. “Do you want this?” he asks. He emphasizes the question by pinching one of my nipples.

“Yes!” I gasp at the jolt of ecstasy that rushes through me. “But—”

“No ‘buts,’” he whispers. “One ‘yes’ is good enough.”

And then he’s lowering me into the chaise lounge where I first spotted him. He makes me sit up. He drops to his knees between my legs. He tugs my dress even lower, so that both my shoulders are completely exposed. The only thing keeping it up is the swell of my breasts.

“No bra,” he murmurs.

“It’s too hot for a bra,” I say, meaning it as a double-entendre.

He smiles and lets the dress fall to my waist.

His mouth latches onto my left breast. I drop my head back and moan. Unbridled pleasure takes me. These breasts were yearning for his touch.

He kisses his way to the other. “These are magnificent,” he says, breathless.

Funny, I think. I had the same thought about you.

He licks a finger and then touches it to my lips. A seductive light shines in his eyes as he trails it down, over my chin, lower, down my neck, lower. He stops it right between my breasts.

“Lie back,” he whispers, and gives me a gentle shove.

I fall into the chair, my back and head supported by the comfortable incline. Cool air rushes over my hard nipples. They’re sensitized by the thin film of moisture his mouth left.

He trails his hands up and down over my body. They move through the gap of my breasts, along the soft skin of my stomach. His touch is electric.

I’ve fully succumbed.

He parts those hands at my waist and draws them over the outside of my hips. My dress is short, oh-so-short, and though I yearn for him to slip his hands beneath the hem, he does not. Instead, he traces them down both my legs, ending at the cute black sandals on my feet.

“I’m going to takes these off,” he says. “
Slowly.
”

Need is pooling in my core. Every extra second he takes makes it so much worse. I need release.

“Please,” I say. “Don’t.”

My voice comes out high and thin. It’s an extension of the absolute puddle he’s reduced me to.

His eyes meet mine. A devious glimmer dances there. He gives the tiniest tug on my foot. I edge forward.

The movement brings my whole body closer to him. It brings the throbbing spot between my legs closer to his glorious mouth, those full, luscious lips.

“Don’t what?” he asks, teasing me with his words. He takes hold of my leg and curls his fingers around the underside of my calf. He pulls back, caressing me with all the tenderness of a long-time lover, of a violinist drawing back his bow.

His touch elicits an unexpected shiver out of me.

“Don’t… take these off?” He runs one finger over the exposed arch of my foot. Goosebumps immediately. “Or—” he props my leg up on his shoulder and turns his head to rub his cheek against the side, “—don’t go slow?”

“Don’t go slow!” I gasp. I’m burning up. Taking the initiative, I plop my other foot on his other shoulder, giving him direct access to where I need him most.

“Mmm.” He turns and looks at me. The look is smoldering hot. The desire in his eyes makes me all the more turned on. His gaze trails up my legs, between my legs—He bites his lip and swallows down his lust when he sees my blue lace panties—then up my body, over my breasts, and finally to my face. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to touch me!”

“Touch you?” he muses. “Where?” His hands start rubbing back and forth on the spot just below my knee. “Here?”

“Higher!” I gasp.

“Hmm.” He scooches forward. His head is right between my knees. His hands are caressing the smooth skin of my thighs. “Here?”

“Higher!” I plead, reckless, all inhibitions forgotten.

“Oh, I know.” He moves even farther up. Tenderly, he lifts the hem of my dress up. Now all the cloth is bunched up around my naval. “You want me to touch you…” He brings his face right next to my pussy, licks his fingers, and presses those fingers against the moist fabric, “…here.”

“Good God, yes!” I exclaim.

He takes a deep breath. “You smell divine,” he murmurs. Then he curls two fingers into the lace waistband. “You want me to take these off?”

I give a muffled moan, and eagerly bob my head.

“Say it,” he hisses, his voice threaded with lust. “Tell me what you want me to do. I need to hear it. So there’s no confusion.”

“I want you to take my panties off, goddammit!” I all but scream, consumed by an absolute torrent of need.

He rips them down and latches his mouth onto my pussy. His tongue darts out to flick my clit. I drop my head back and emit a wordless cry. He sucks and kisses and laps me. Every single one of his motions sends lashes of pleasure whipping through my body.

Holy Christ, he’s good with his mouth!

Then he breaks off and ducks closer to me. I writhe in pleasure. He hears my moans, feels what I like, notices what I don’t, and focuses his attention on the things that make me crazy.

I lift my head for a second to see him and am struck by the sheer erotic force of the image.

This man with the wonderful, green eyes. This complete, handsome, male paragon of a stranger, bowed to his knees between my legs, boxed in by my smooth, tanned thighs and the little blue ribbon of my panties behind his neck. Focused solely on me. Dedicated entirely… to me.

Then his tongue hits a particularly sensitive nerve ending, and all thought is lost as pleasure takes hold.

He brings his fingers into it. He spreads my lips and licks up and down my folds. I buck my hips upward, forward, into him, rolling with the sinful sensation.

His fingers plunge deeper. I gasp. Two becomes three. I screw my eyes shut and squeeze my legs around him. Those fingers pulse into me, in and out, in and out, in perfect rhythm with the tongue that continues lapping at my clit.

I can’t… Oh God! I can’t hold off anymore. I feel the climax coming. My hands tangle in his hair, and I start to gasp. “Yes. Oh yes. Fuck yes. Faster. Faster!”