I have to acknowledge that it’s the sex that’s making me feel things I’m not used to feeling. It’s as if I’m falling, but know the landing will be the softest I’ve ever felt. Something shifted, and no matter how hard I try I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is. All I know is that someone I want to spend my days with is not under my control. The thought is as terrifying as it is comforting because coupled with the fear is the excitement that I’ve never had these feelings for anyone before.
This is why I shouldn’t think. I should just act. Roll with it and see where things go. If Celia feels even a fraction of what I feel for her she’ll consider staying in San Diego, or at the very least trying the long-distance thing. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.
As soon as the words tumble through my head my focus moves to the boxes stacked around her bedroom. She’s clearly set on moving home.
I have twenty-four hours to convince her to stay.
And if she does, if she sticks around for me, when all these warm gushy feelings wear off, where will that leave us?
I groan and rub my eyes. Stop overthinking this shit!
Her legs shift, rubbing against me with the soft skin of her inner thigh. I bite back a hum of pleasure. “You up?”
She smiles and palms the length between my legs while pushing in close. “No, but you are.”
“You can feel that, huh?”
She laughs and the sound is throaty and lust-heavy. What is wrong with us? If we didn’t have jobs to do we’d both stay in bed and probably die of malnutrition.
Speaking of . . . “We skipped dinner last night. Since you’re all packed up I’m assuming you don’t have food in the house.”
“I have a little, but probably nothing you’d like. I’m starving.”
“Okay, so let me feed you.”
“Mmmm . . .” She nuzzles my neck and shifts so that her body is half on top of mine.
I grip her hips to hold her to me. “You’re gonna kill me, woman.”
“Go on.” Her lips brush against the sensitive skin below my ear. “Tell me more about you feeding me.”
“I ah . . . what . . .” My words fade into a groan when she straddles my hips. “Food. Sex. And I thought we could—oh my—” I bite my lip as she kisses down my stomach and hovers over my hard-on.
She looks up at me with those big eyes and fat fucking lips and I’m lost. “You thought we could what?” Her tongue darts out, licking me until my hips jack off the bed.
“Town. In town . . . it’s . . .” I fist the sheets to keep from gripping her hair and pushing myself down her throat. “Fourth of July.”
She props her elbow on my quad and I blink down to see her grinning. “You want to spend the Fourth with me?”
I nod frantically. “Yes. So much, yes.” Now get your lips back on me.
“Sounds like fun.”
My stomach knots with anticipation as she settles back between my legs.
And after she feeds on me, I feed on her.
Then I take her to breakfast.
Don’t be a fucking pussy.
The sun is setting over the water by the time we finally make it to town. It took hours for us to get ready and between the stripping, showering, and many attempts at dressing it was impossible to keep my hands off Celia.
I had no idea watching a woman blow-dry her hair could be so erotic.
Or doing her makeup.
Sliding jeans up those velvety thighs.
All of it was like a shot of adrenaline straight to my libido.
The only reason I finally left her alone is because I promised her we’d go out and see if a Fourth in OB lives up to the hype.
I haven’t been since I was a kid, but it’s exactly how I remember it, except maybe a little more crowded.
Which is why I’ve been giving myself a pep talk for the last forty-five minutes.
I told myself I wouldn’t drink, that I’d be strong for Celia, but after fifteen minutes of being surrounded by hundreds of strangers I snapped at Celia for not walking fast enough.
The hurt on her face was enough to make me want to kick my own ass. I grabbed a beer from the rooftop bar, watching the sunset, hoping to mute the raging paranoia in my head.
I feel everyone’s eyes like a prick against my skin, warning me to be alert. The only thing grounding me against the mounting panic is the melodic cadence of Celia’s voice as she goes on about God knows what. I struggle just to pay attention.
Her gorgeous face is cast in the orange glow of sunset, making her already reddish-blond hair seem almost pink. Her eyes are on the ocean and I make myself take deep calming breaths to remain here with her rather than consumed by the memories of war.
“. . . I swear, sometimes I think I’m cursed.” She turns to face me with a shy smile, and a small fraction of security returns to my chest.
“What do you mean?”
Stay focused on Celia. Let her be the only person in the room. And maybe I’ll get through tonight without showing my ass.
SAWYER
I can’t put my finger on when it happened, but sometime between the cottage and the bar Aden shut down on me. He probably doesn’t even think I noticed, and I don’t think pointing it out will do any good, but he’s been looking everywhere but at me since we got here. I’ve filled the awkwardness with idle talk about things I know he’s not listening to, hoping it would help him to relax. In the short time we’ve known each other I’ve found a few things that seem to put him at ease. Sex. Fishing. And taking all focus off of him.
So I’m babbling on about myself until something I say catches his attention. Finally.
“I’ve always felt, I don’t know, I think the best way to describe it would be doomed.” His lips twitch with a restrained smile, and God the view is such a relief the knot loosens in my chest. “It’s not funny!”
He forces a frown. “I’m not laughing. Go on.”
I sip my margarita and notice from a side glance that he’s watching and waiting for my next words. I turn to face him head on. “It started when I was eight.”
His eyes pop wide and another shadow of a smile begins to pull his lips. “How does an eight-year-old girl get cursed?”
“You don’t believe me.”
He gulps from his beer and flags the waitress for another. “It’s hard to believe. Explain.”
“I had a week where every day something bad happened— Stop laughing!”
“Bad, like, your dog ate your Barbie?”
“No, bad like I got in trouble at school for kicking a teacher, and before you go thinking the worst of me it was an accident.”
“I believe you.”
Picking apart my napkin I relive the week my life seemed to go wrong. “Then I got sick and . . .” I killed my grandmother. “Let’s just say things just went downhill from there.”
“Nothing you’ve said so far would lead me to believe you’re cursed, freckles.”
“Well, it gets worse.”
He swallows back a healthy swig of beer, releasing his lips with a pop. “Go on, I have to know.”
“When I was ten I got in a huge argument with my best friend, Amy Noelle. She told this boy at school that I liked him when she promised me she wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone. Anyway, the boy ended up telling the entire school and they made fun of me for two months straight until summer came. I was so humiliated. I told Amy I hated her and wished she’d move to Korea.”
“Why Korea?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe because at the time it seemed like the farthest away place there was. Anyway, two days after I wished that, she told me her dad got a promotion at work and they’d be moving to Florida. Still to this day I haven’t heard from her.”
His expression morphs into a skeptical scowl.