With a jolt of surprise, he realised that until Marcus had mentioned her last night, he hadn’t thought about Delphine in days. When he woke up in the morning, the first thing he checked on his phone was Carly’s follower count and then his own. He didn’t hope for missed calls or new texts from Delphine Delacroix, and when he pulled out his phone to check Instagram now, he didn’t find any. What he did find was that Carly’s latest photo, the black-and-white one of her on the sand between the flags, had racked up thousands of likes. Over on his own page, the same image had been liked a few hundred times, and the comments below it were effusive.
@BonAperture: Amazing shot, @NickJClicks! This light is to die for.
@dancersinthewild: Hard to take a bad photo when you’ve got this kind of backdrop … and this gorgeous dancer!
@DSLDiva: Damn, Sydney looks stunning, I gotta get down there
He closed the app and smiled sleepily to himself. The plan wasworking.
Every objection Carly raised this morning had been correct. They had work to do, and not a lot of time to do it. Well, almost every objection. She had seemed determined, hopeful almost, that he would lose interest as soon as she told him about her condition. But he’d known about it for days, had pieced together the words that she’d shouted at him that first morning in the hotel lobby and had let the internet help him figure out the rest. It hadn’t stopped him from kissing her last night. It hadn’t stopped him from lying awake last night wondering what she sounded like when she came. What she looked like when she stopped moving and talking and fighting him, and just slept. What it would be like to fight alongside her, rather than against her.
He lay back on the couch and closed his eyes against the bright late morning light, letting his head sink into one of the many beach-themed throw pillows. Between the lack of sleep last night and their exertions this morning, he was in need of a nap or an espresso or both. He must have dozed off, because next thing he knew, Carly was prodding his shoulder impatiently and saying his name.
“Nick.Nick.Come on. There’s lunch, and we need to finish the playlist.”
“Tired,” he mumbled. He opened his eyes to see her crouching next to him in a pair of shorts and a striped T-shirt, looking down into his face. He was reminded of the very first time he’d seen her, when their bodies had been arranged in a similar position, except that time he’d been on the floor, and she’d had a look of sheer horror on her face. He liked this better.
“Come on,” she said again. “If we can’t take photos, we need to get wedding stuff done.” She seized one of his limp hands and gave it a fruitless tug. She sighed and went to drop his hand, but he held tight to her fingers and gave a tug of his own. She gasped and lost her balance, and he caught her hips as she fell towards the couch, guiding her down slowly until she was on top of him.
“This is the opposite of what I asked for,” she said, but again, he could see a smile curving the edges of her mouth. He ran a hand up the side of her body, the back of his knuckles brushing over her ribs, and she closed her eyes with a sigh. He repeated the movement, and she squirmed against him.
“You’re right,” he murmured, his lips so close to hers he could feel each little puff of peppermint breath that passed between her soft pink lips. “We should stop right now. We definitely shouldn’t stay on this couch all day.”
“Definitely not,” she agreed, but as she spoke she opened her legs a little wider so that her knees dug into the couch on either side of his body. She had him.
“So let’s go,” he whispered, not meaning a word of it, and then she kissed him. Not hard and fierce this time, but slowly, almost cautiously. As though she was testing a theory, gathering data.
Her tongue slipped between his lips as the scent of her wrapped itself around him, and he knew he’d never smell roses or taste peppermint without thinking of her. His tongue answered hers just as delicately, letting her set the pace, letting her explore his mouth and move her body against his. But within moments, the kiss turned hot and urgent, and her hands were everywhere—on his chest, in his hair, gripping the arm of the couch—and she twisted and ground her hips against his inevitable erection. He groaned against her mouth as she moved up and down his hard length, and he lifted his hands to her breasts, eager to put this morning’s learning to good use again.
She broke the kiss and looked down into his face, and the sight of her kiss-swollen lips and her flushed cheeks under her freckles made him want to stay on this couch with her on top of him all morning, all day, all week.
“I can’t come again,” she smiled ruefully.
“Wanna bet?” he asked, and she laughed.
“You like a challenge, don’t you, Nick Jacobs?”
“Why else would I be spending time with you, Carly Montgomery?”
She opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again, as if conceding the point. Then she nipped at his lower lip the way he loved, and placed a hand on each of his shoulders.
“In that case,” she said, as she ground against him, sending pleasure and need spiralling through him, “I’ll take that bet.”
Chapter 15
By the next morning the rain had cleared, and when Carly met Nick in the lobby of his hotel, the sky was a bright, blazing blue, promising a cloudless, pitilessly hot Sydney day. It would be cooler up in the mountains, he promised, but right now it was midmorning and there was a lot of traffic on the roads. Today, though, Carly found that she didn’t mind being stuck in Leanne’s hot little Honda Accord with Nick, especially now that she didn’t have to keep her eyes off his fingers as they fiddled and danced on the steering wheel at a long red light.
His words from yesterday morning echoed in her head as the car inched along a busy street, just as they had as she’d been falling asleep last night.
I want whatever you have. Whatever you can give me.
She’d dated plenty of men in the last decade. While Heather had been settling down with her ex Jack, Carly had been on the dating apps, swiping and hoping and always ending up disappointed by the men she met there. Always watching them be disappointed by her. For them, it wasn’t enough that she was smart and funny and had managed to get and hold onto a spot in one of the best ballet companies in the world. She couldn’t give them everything they wanted from her—for some men, theonlything they really wanted from her. And they sure as hell couldn’t give her what she needed. It had taken a long time to realize that she deserved more, and muscle memory was powerful. She couldn’t shake off a decade of feeling like an unfuckable disappointment overnight.
When she’d heard Nick all but beg for whatever she was willing to give him, when he made it sound like a precious gift and not like a runner-up prize, she’d realized that she’d been waiting years to hear it. Without ever knowing that it was what she needed. Without ever understanding how healing it would be—or how hot.
“How was the lamington?” Nick asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Sublime,” she smiled. They’d grabbed coffees and baked goods to go, and Nick had urged her to try another Australian delicacy, a cube of sponge cake covered in chocolate and flaky coconut, with a layer of berry jam in the middle. Carly had demolished it a few minutes after they’d gotten into the car, and she had half wanted to ask him to turn around so she could buy another one.
