“Only on the ones hot enough to make wade through a crowd of rich douchebags to get to so I can tell her I want to take her home and undress her piece-by-fucking-piece.”
My heart jumped into my throat as the pulse of heat slid deliciously through my body. I blinked in shock at his crude words. Crude, and yet hot — bold and filthy like no man had ever spoken to me before.
I swallowed the heat from my face as I tried to keep cool, forcing myself not to look like some sort of blushing dork and forcing myself to hold his gaze right back.
“So, what, you’re not part of the crowd of rich douchebags? Sort of hard to believe given the price of staying at a resort like this.”
“Nice.”
“What?”
“Nice job totally sidestepping the part where I just told you I wanted to take you home and tear your clothes off.”
I shivered at his words and bit my lip. “Maybe I’m not the kind of girl who responds to filthy talk like that.”
“Yes you are.”
I gasped as he moved even closer, his hand moving to my hip — a move so bold I’d have never let a man I just met pull under any rational, clear-headed circumstance.
Evidently, this was not one of those circumstances. I didn’t move. I didn’t push his hand away, or slap him, or tell him not to touch me.
In fact, I wanted him to keep touching me.
“You don’t like admitting it out loud, but trust me, you are definitely the kind of girl who responds to a filthy mouth like mine.”
“Trust me, history would say otherwise,” I whispered.
“Which only tells me you’ve clearly never met a guy who can talk to you, and touch you like you should be talked to and touched.”
“Is that a fact?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
I could feel myself drawn to him, like a moth to flame or like some sort of undeniable magnetic pull. This was so far past anything I’d ever done or any way I’d ever acted with a total stranger, but again, my thoughts from earlier came teasing back inside.
I was single. And, like it or not, I was in this insanely gorgeous locale. I was barefoot at a beach party, the Caribbean moon shining down on me while some insanely attractive, crude-talking, panty-meltingly filthy, tattooed bad-boy type was very forwardly trying to get into my pants.
This was everything I needed right then.
“And what kind of guy might that be?” I said, letting myself get pulled into this vacation-fantasy.
“A guy like me, actually,” he growled.
I shivered.
Here we were under an island moon on the beach, with pulsing lights, grooving music, and sweaty half-bare bodies swirling around us. And after all, my whole reasoning for even going to the beach party had been for some temporary escape. Some casual fun.
Yeah, a man who looked like this was certainly both those things, and the throbbing heat coursing through my body felt the same way.
“Piece by piece, huh?”
I gasped as the hand on my hip pulled tight, yanking me against him. My hands instinctively went up to his hard chest, my fingers grazing over his skin.
Holy shit.
I’d never moved this fast. I never remotely moved this fast, with any man, and I have to say, there was something thrilling about it. There was something so risqué about being a complete unknown in this strange place, and knowing I could drag this man to a dark corner of the beach right now and let him do whatever he wanted to me without anyone batting an eye.
He grinned at me hungrily, as if reading my thoughts. “Let’s go get a drink.”
If by drink you mean fucking me eight ways ’til Sunday, then yes please?
I blushed at the filthy, totally out of character thought that slipped through my head. Instead, I made myself smile, forcing myself not to shiver against him as I nodded.
“Sure.”
“I’m Foster, by the way,” he murmured, his eyes dancing across my face”
“Cassandra. Or, just Cassie. Cassie works.”
“Yeah but Cassandra has such a sexy feel to it.”
“Totally agree.”
The voice from behind me made me gasp, and I whirled in Foster’s arms.
Whoa.
Seriously, seriously whoa.
The man who’s deep baritone had made me jump was just as gorgeous as Foster, and looked like they’d been cut from the same cloth. The same low-slung swimsuit, the same shirtless, ridiculously grooved and muscled chest, the broad shoulders and bulging arms, the same dark hair and dark eyes. Like Foster, he was covered in tattoo ink. Actually, he even had one of the same tattoos Foster did — a winged viking woman holding a sword and a scythe, wearing a motorcycle helmet.
“I think Cassandra has a sexy feel to it too,” he murmured, his dark eyes dancing across mine, seemingly enjoying the surprise he’d given me.
“This is Zane,” Foster said from behind, moving until he was standing in front of me next to Zane. He jabbed the other man sharply in the ribs. “He’s got a knack for showing up at shitty times.”
“Bullshit, I think I showed up at exactly the right time,” Zane said, flashing me a heated, lingering grin that had me biting my lip and squeezing my thighs together.
I’d almost have expected Foster to act how I’d expect most other guys would act when their buddy interrupted their game with a girl at a bar, shoving him off or telling him to get lost. But he only chuckled and shook his head, clapping the other guy on the back. “Cassandra and I were just about to get a drink and get to know each other better.” He glanced at me, those dark eyes flashing over me. “Weren’t we?”
I swallowed and nodded quickly. “Oh, yeah.”
“You mind if Zane joins the fun?”
There was something in the way he said it, something just veiled enough to make me second guess the tone it set in my head. But there was a look that followed, a glance between the two men that said more than the words had.
And it sent a tingle deep into my core, a hot flush between my legs.
Mind if Zane joins the fun?
The proper girl in me was scandalized at the thought that went through my head. The good girl was aghast at the filthy fantasy that suddenly crept it’s way inside. I shook my head, shoving those thoughts aside.
No, this was just me feeling the thrill of being single and in this exotic location with two gorgeous men who looked like them showing me some flirting interest.
This was me not having gotten laid in way too long.
Except, the not-so-good girl inside — the part that lies deep inside every woman because we mostly keep it locked up — begged for something more.
Something way darker and dirtier.
I looked up at the two of them — both shirtless, and muscled, and inked, and dangerously out of place looking in the sea of preppy, moneyed, cultured resort-goers.
And my mind was made up, no matter how “too far into the comment” I was looking.
“Not at all!” I smiled at Foster and then Zane. “Let's get a drink.”
Chapter 5