Shamelessly.
She never thought she’d want to climb a mountain, but Solomon is one she’d eagerly scale. Ripped and chiseled. Dangerous terrain if one doesn’t know what they’re doing. A challenge Tessie wants to best. In bed. Again and again and— “Shit!” she swears as she stumbles into a trash can. The hot singe of metal on her skin has her jumping back, only to have a piercing pain stab her foot. She swears again.
Propping one hand on a water station, she lifts her left foot, only to end up hopping around on one leg like a very pregnant flamingo, trying to balance her belly and the ice cream in her hand. As she cranes to examine the damage, the ice cream avalanches off the cone, hits her belly with a splat, and then lands on the sand.
“Damn it,” Tessie says, staring forlornly at the sticky white trail on her stomach.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” She looks up into the blinking eyes of Ice Cream Cart Guy.
“I’m fine. I just need to sit d—oh, wow, okay,” she says as Ice Cream Cart Guy takes her elbow and waves off a couple occupying a nearby bench. Wincing, she holds her stomach as she lowers herself. “I stepped on something, but I can’t see what it is.”
“Here. Let me look.” Ice Cream Cart Guy crouches beside her.
That’s when she hears the voices.
“Is she okay?”
“Does she need a doctor?”
“Is she in labor?”
Oh God. She wants to sink into the sand.
This is ridiculous. This is mortifying. A crowd has formed around her, people passing her water and concerned glances, all because she’s seemingly a fragile flower of a woman carrying a gigantic ticking bomb in her body.
Ice Cream Cart Guy whistles. He dips his visored head, examining her foot. “It’s a shell. Got you pretty good.” He stands and takes Tessie’s elbow. Then, in a bold move of overconfidence, wipes at the ice cream dripping down her swollen belly with a fat stack of napkins.
She cringes at the clammy, intrusive touch of his hands.
“No. That’s okay. You don’t have to—”
“Let me get this cleaned off, then I’ll help you back to your room—”
“Move,” a deep voice rumbles from somewhere high above. “Now.”
Oh, thank God.
She sends a look of relief up over her shoulder.
It’s Solomon, approaching in a quiet, dangerous stride. He kneels beside her, a muscle jumping in his bearded jaw as he stares the guy down and says in a cool growl of authority, “I got her.”
“He does.” Tessie grips Solomon’s hard bicep to hold him back, her lips fighting a smile. He’s watching the guy like he’ll kill him if he touches her again. “Thank you for your help.”
As Ice Cream Cart Guy skedaddles, nearly tripping over his own feet in an attempt to get away, Solomon turns his attention to Tessie. The beach bags hang off his broad shoulders. Worry burns in his blue eyes. “What happened?” His voice is low and ragged.
“Pregnancy brain,” she lies, keeping her face even. God, she can’t tell him she was daydreaming about scaling his body like Everest. “I crashed into a trash can, and I think there’s a shell in my foot.”
His dark brows draw together. “Let me see if I can get it out.”
She flings an arm across her face, covering her eyes dramatically. “Do it.”
His expression determined, Solomon props Tessie’s leg up so her calf rests on his massive thigh. After snagging a bottle of water from a nearby vendor, he pours it over her foot and cleans out the sand the best he can. He works gently, his big hands careful as he examines the injury.
Tessie hisses a breath when he pulls the piece of shell from her heel. Then Solomon takes his shirt from the beach bag and wraps it around her cut like some sort of mountain man makeshift bandage.
“Got it,” he says, lifting his eyes to her. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’ll find a first aid kit back in the room. I don’t want that to get infected.”
She bobblehead nods, feeling lightheaded at his worry. “Okay.”
Shoving up, he stands. She holds out a hand, waiting for him to pull her up beside him. Instead, he simply scoops her up in his arms, one hooked under her knees, the other looped behind her back.
“Solomon.” Embarrassed, she ducks her head against his chest, a hot heat in her cheeks. “Everyone’s watching.”
“So? You’re hurt.” He says it like nothing matters. Except her.
“I am not hurt.” His grave, bossy tone has her smiling. “Besides, that shirt was eighty dollars.”
“So?”
“And you’re carrying me. It’s kind of redundant, you know. To clean and wrap the foot and then carry me.”
He tightens his hold. His face blazes with protectiveness. “I like carrying you.”
Resting her head on his mile-wide chest, she bites back a grin. She likes it too. Likes the way she looks beside him. Bright and blond and petite next to this giant of a dark, brooding man. Likes the way eyes widen at Solomon’s appearance. People practically dive out of his way as he storms down the sidewalk. But best of all, she likes the way he treats her. Like she’s precious. Like he’s her bodyguard, and she is. . .
She is his.
Stop.
Stop.
Tessie lifts her head to look at him. “You escaped from the Zebrowskis.”
His eyes blaze with humor and something else she can’t place. “No thanks to you.”
“I was letting you brush up on your communication skills.”
A grunt.
“See?” She pokes his chest. “They need work.”
When they get to the room, he sets her gently on her feet to retrieve the hotel key from the pocket of his board shorts. But he doesn’t let her loose. He keeps her tucked protectively in the crook of his arm, staring down at her, the expression on his face one of primal need. Agony.
Tessie clears her throat, twisting into him. “Solomon, the key—”
Before she can process what’s happening, his mouth is colliding with hers. She whimpers, her hands, her nails clawing at his shoulders, wanting more. Her body crackles all over, fireworks sparking as Solomon’s tongue strokes over hers, fierce and eager and hungry.
Tessie gives a broken moan.
Fuck it. It’s his last night.
Might as well live a little.
Live.
Because that’s what she’s been doing with Solomon.
Pressing herself up on tiptoes, she deepens the kiss. Opening her mouth and sucking in his tongue, because this man’s kiss is one of her favorite substances on the face of the planet. In response, a growl tears out of Solomon. He grabs her by the ass and slides her up his body until her trembling legs are slung around his waist and her arms are looped around his neck.
Back in his arms.
Where she belongs.
Fumbling. Solomon’s fumbling for the key, cursing, holding on to her with one arm. The sight would be hilarious if she weren’t so hot and bothered. Because all she can think about is: Inside. Bed. Sexy times.
“Find the key,” she gasps against his lips. She licks the side of his face, his bristly beard, tasting the salt on his skin. “Now. Now.”
“Fuck, I’m trying,” he hisses, pained.
If the glint in his eye, the rock of an erection in his shorts are anything to go by, he’s dangerously close to kicking down the hotel room door. But finally, he finds the key, swipes the sensor, and gets the green light. He slams inside. She clings to him like a howler monkey in heat.
Their kisses are frantic. Like time’s ticking down. Like they’re starved and feral and everything will burn up in the end. A low moan rips out of Solomon’s throat as she pulls back and cups his face in her hands. His scruff tickles her palms.
“Goddamn, Tessie,” he growls, giving her hips a squeeze. “I can’t stay away from you. That guy touching you. . .” A shudder works its way out of him. “You’re in my fucking mind, my veins, my—”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
He doesn’t need to.
My heart.
He was about to say my heart.
Tessie kisses him to drown out his words. The ache in her soul. “One more time,” she chokes out. “Please.”