Chapter Eight
Mitch hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. Dinner had been spectacular. He’d definitely use that caterer again. Deacon had managed to behave himself, mostly. It helped that Nora was as big a competitor as the rest of them, Simon included. Becca, the poor woman, had lost the game without question or care. Simon must have gotten his need to win from his dad.
But that smile and his sincere kindness was all Becca. Hell, the kid was fun to be around. Mitch didn’t have to pretend or force himself to like the boy. Simon had a wry sense of humor he appreciated. The boy really did remind him of himself at that age.
Simon had already jumped in the pool, spraying his aunt, who shrieked. Deacon hadn’t blinked in minutes, too busy greedily staring at Nora’s fine figure.
And Becca…
“Where’s your mom?” Mitch asked Simon once the boy had come back up for air.
“Behind you, looking at your butt.” Simon thought himself hilarious and laughed until Nora splashed him with a cannonball, not to be outdone by Deacon, who joined them in the pool.
When Mitch turned, he saw Becca staring at him. And he stared right back.
She wore a one-piece swimsuit. Nothing risqué about it, yet he’d never seen anything sexier. That she stared right back at him didn’t help matters. His body, predictably, responded. And his swim trunks didn’t hide much.
Fuck.
With his back to the others, at least Becca would be the only one aware of his condition.
He could either jump into the pool before the others noticed, or—
“Mitch, can you show me where the bathroom is again?” She wouldn’t look below his chest, which seemed to have fascinated her.
Mitch liked to think he was remarkable, but beyond some muscles and height, he had an average enough body honed from working out. Some chest hair, not too much, but he was a guy and didn’t believe in shaving to look model-buff.
He nodded to the area back from which she’d come. “I’ll show you.”
Behind them, he heard Simon shriek, Deacon laugh, and Nora say something mean. They’d keep while he helped Becca.
Consigning his dick to hell and wishing he had more control over himself, he geared up to apologize when Becca grabbed him by the hand and started hurrying.
“What’s wrong?”
“Where’s your bedroom?” They hadn’t seen that on the tour; he’d just pointed to it.
“Down there.”
“Do you have condoms?”
He stumbled after her, but recognizing where this might be going—praying, hoping, promising his soul to whomever might overhear—he hurried with her.
They entered his bedroom, and he moved to his nightstand. Grabbing a condom, he showed her. “This what you wanted?”
“Put it on.”
He could only gape as she closed and locked the door behind her, then stripped down to nothing.
His voice cracked. “Becca?”
“We don’t have a lot of time.”
She had the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen. Full, with rosy-colored areolas, the nipples like ripe berries. Her belly was trim and softly rounded, her legs long and toned. He wanted to kiss her all over. To drape her legs over his shoulders and feast for days.
“Mitch, are we doing to do this or not?” She didn’t look at all embarrassed as she stood nude, waiting for him.
“Sorry.” He cleared his throat and dropped his trunks, displaying a huge hard-on. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
