Wrecked (Sons of San Clemente Book 2) (8 page)

“Am I?”

She shook her head, making her red ponytail dance. He couldn’t resist and reached out and caught it between his thumb and index finger and wrapped it around his fist. He savored the silkiness, the contrast in color against his dark skin, tanned deep from decades in the sun. Even though he now wore sunscreen, the tan seemed burned in, permanent.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?”

“Flirt.”

He angled his body closer to hers, wishing he could toss the damn crutches across the market and take her in his arms and show her that, hell no, he was not wasting time with flirting. He wanted action.

“What makes you think I’m flirting?” He skimmed his finger over her full lips.

They parted, begged to be kissed. He could see her nipples peak under the thin cotton of her tank and it just jacked him up harder, faster.

“Kadan, no,” she whispered not sounding anything like she meant it. She even arched into him.

“Okay, no,” he whispered against her lips, brushing against them. “I’m not flirting.”

Again that small sound of surrender. It was like he was thrown back in time, burning for her all over again, never able to get close enough to begin to settle, to trust. She’d driven him crazy with desire, sexual of course, but for other things that he didn’t want to acknowledge, much less have in his life. Ever.

Flirting his ass. He was serious. But he also wasn’t going to make it so easy for her by falling under her spell again.

“What’s next?” This time he moved away, leaving Hollis, lips soft and ready, eyes closed, startled into realizing that once again it just wasn’t happening.

Her body, which had been so pliant and willing, stiffened up like she’d been slapped. Shoulders stiff, back straight, mouth tight.

“Tea,” she said.

“Forget it. Coffee.”

She blew out a hard breath and shouldering both of the now full totes, she headed for the market exit, this time not moving slowly enough for him to keep pace. Kadan breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. Yeah, that had been close, but he’d pissed her off and seen sparks fly in her eyes so it had definitely been worth it. Plus the view as she stomped off was a bonus, although it burned him that she was carrying the totes not him.
Still an outdated sexist bastard
.

K
adan relaxed in the Adirondack chair in the shade of a palm tree outside Morning Glory, a favorite Leucadia hang out. Hollis was inside ordering their drinks. It was strange to have her take charge. He was used to making the decisions and to paying. He made far more money than many of his friends so it was natural to buy drinks and whatever when they were out.

Hollis had tossed her head making her hair fly when he had tried to hand her money. He wondered if the same thing happened to Hollis because she was rich. Did everyone around her expect her to pay for the good times, too? He frowned and sat up, a little too quickly as he felt his ankle throb. Trying to hide his wince, he settled back in the chair and pulled his beanie lower when he noticed two longish-haired, young teenage boys eying him.

Great.

“You order coffee like a girl.” Hollis startled him out of his incognito sulk. “I could barely get all the words out. High maintenance.”

“Bet your ass, herbal tea girl.”

“I’ve been thinking about the crutches. They’re awkward.”

He couldn’t disagree with that. He sipped his caramel macchiato and as the sweet heat coated his throat, he sighed. He rarely drank this. Too many calories and too much fat and sugar, but every once in a while he indulged. As he watched Hollis, sitting upright in her chair, googling something on her phone, he wished he could indulge in something else. He’d always loved her breasts. They were small, but high, and she didn’t always wear a bra so he’d usually had easy access and had been able to imagine himself sliding his hands under her shirt and secretly caressing her pale pink nipples to peaks that he could then roll his tongue around until she thrashed under him, wrapped her legs around his hips and insisted
now, now, now!

He closed his eyes and willed his imagination under control. He was pathetic. He had to stop thinking about sex with her. She’d always made him go from zero to sixty with a look or a laugh or a flip of her hair. He was thirty-five. He should have more control than this. She was bad news for him. Yeah, he could get her in bed again, but then what? She’d want more, which would make him moody and unsettled and longing for something that he couldn’t or wouldn’t want to give her. A family? Was she finally done with school and ready to settle down? Christ, he’d be a shitty father with the dearth of role models he’d had Then if he healed enough to compete again, she wouldn’t travel with him, so she’d get jealous and demanding, and instead of talking about anything, she’d run out on him. Again.

How could he even be thinking about starting anything with her again?
Masochist.
Wasn’t that the definition of insanity, doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result?

Just stop
, But he knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t.

“Look at this.”

Presumably she shoved her phone under his nose. He ignored it and her.

“It’s a scooter,” she said. “Way more mobile than crutches. You should get one of these. There’s a medical supply store in Carlsbad and one in Mission Viejo. We could get you hooked up.”

He sipped his coffee. Anger roiled in his gut. Hooked up. Like a machine. Or a junkie. Like he hadn’t thought about a scooter. But the pressure on his bad hip would be worse because he’d be more mobile. More Speed. What he craved. Waves, road, any sport always needing speed. And then his knees. Shit. He was falling apart. Alone. And way too early.

“I’m good.”

“No, you’re not. You’re stubborn and secretive and...”

“And?” He sat up, leaned into her, seeing his frustration reflected in her sunglasses.

“Ummmm...” She trailed off. “Kadan?”

He had to do something to release this tension and energy that jangled through his body like a discordant church organ.

“Duchess?” He mocked her breathy reply and leaned over her, inhaling her scent, seeing her permission before she even realized what he intended.

What the hell? He’d spent so many years trying to resist her and what had that done for him, except amass a reputation as one of the biggest players on the circuit. A joke when all he’d ever wanted was her. He was tired of driving so hard only to end up circling back.

He kissed her.

H
e had to. With the first brush of his lips, hers parted and she breathed his name. He caught it and deepened the kiss, spearing his fingers through her hair and cupping her face. She responded like she always did, throwing herself into the kiss.

Her arms came up around his body, slid up to loop around his neck, one hand pulling off his beanie so she could tangle her fingers in his hair. She sighed into mouth, and he caught that too as her body relaxed against his. He could feel her breasts mash against his chest, and he wanted to rip off their shirts so he could feel her warm, silky skin pressed against his where it belonged. Why the hell had he started this in public anyway? He knew what she did to him.

Her breathing was as ragged as his. He dragged her out of her chair and onto his lap, needing to feel her body imprint on his more than he needed to take another breath.

“Kadan, wait, your ankle.” Her words were swallowed when he captured her mouth again.

He didn’t want to think about reality. Only about how she made him feel alive, whole in a way he was no longer whole. In control. He wanted more, way more. His tongue played along her soft, sensitive lips and then thrust in and out of her mouth like he wanted to do to another part of her body.

He groaned and whispered a command in her ear as he cupped her butt and pulled her tightly against him savoring her heat,

“Kadan.”

Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it, and her hands continued to run over the planes of his chest as she spoke, her mouth moved under his so as a protest, it barely registered.

“Kadan, we are in public.”

He so did not give a fuck.

She rested her hand on his stomach and he wished it were lower.

He moved in to capture her mouth again. He had to have her. He was desperate for the connection, needed her to wrap her long, slim legs around him. Just in time he stopped himself. He’d lost his head with her again. No need to prove once again to Hollis that she retained all the power.

“Okay, that should work.”

“What?” She looked up at him, her amber eyes, golden with passion still glowed with heat and a hint of confusion.

It took all his willpower to maintain the pretense instead of pulling her back into his body.

“A diversion. Two teens with a cell phone taking our picture.”

“What?” She sat up slowly and leaned away from him, her eyes sparking now with temper.

And that turned him on even more.

Sick bastard.

“I don’t want to announce the extent of my injury to the world and you want to fly under the radar.”

“So you kissed me?” Her voice rose.

God, she was hot when she got pissed.

“So,” he said casually as if he were in total control of his libido when he so totally wasn’t. “I think the fanboys have lost interest.”

“What?” Her eyes, still flared with passion, darkened in anger. “That’s why you kissed me? Two teenage boys.”

“With a cell phone.”

He stood up fluidly, holding her and then putting her on her feet beside him, feeling cold where moments ago he’d been a seething cauldron of heat. He smiled and shrugged reaching for the crutches when he really wanted to break them in half and hurl them into the street, but instead he swung his battered body around so they could walk to the car. He was nothing if not disciplined. His entire childhood and his career had been honed by the need for discipline. Control. Power and determination that would cut through the pain and exhaustion.

“Why else?” He grinned at her, not a care. “Well, it was fun.” He dropped a kiss on her head. “See, I was right. We still got it.”

T
he short outing must have taken a toll on Kadan, Hollis thought, trying to beat back bitterness. She was relieved he’d stopped the kiss. Over the moon happy because not only would she have happily pulled down his shorts, she would have ridden him in public, probably been arrested, and charged a bail she could no longer afford. And then she’d be a felon. Hard to reinvent herself after something like that. What kind of a job could she get after that? Seemed like only rappers and rock stars could come back after prison. Or a sex tape.

And now he was sleeping while she was creeping around like an interloper in what should be her beach guest house. Kadan sucked. He really did. How could he possibly sleep while her mind had jammed on an infinite loop of the kiss and her overly enthusiastic reaction to it as if six years broken up meant nothing—let-me-ride-you-like-a-bike. And now she was making dinner for the idiot. Chopping vegetables so he could have a healthy diet while he recovered from surgery.

And how bad was his injury? She felt her stomach bottom out at the thought of him permanently damaged. He had always been so strong, so daring, so intensely physical and sensuous and sexual in the way he threw himself into life. The way he rode a wave was as graceful as any principle ballerina.