When his fingers reach the waistband of my bottoms, I can’t stand it a second longer. Emitting a little shriek, I swivel around on the inflatable, hoping he thinks my red face and splotchy neck is the result of sunburn and not an acute overreaction to feeling a man’s hands on me for the first time in a long time.
That’s all it is.
My neglected body is thirsty for touch.
It’s not as if I’m attracted to my best friend.
Because that would be a travesty.
“I can do the rest,” I croak, averting my eyes as I hold out my hand for some cream.
He says nothing as he squirts a little into my palm. Even though I’m not looking at him, I feel the intensity of his stare as I hastily rub sunscreen along my lower back. Honestly, at this point, I’ll gladly accept painful sunburn over the alternative. “All done.” I fix a cheery smile on my face as I summon bravery and look up at him. “Thanks for your help.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes drift to my mouth and lower, and I’m hoping he doesn’t notice the hard points of my nipples poking through the bikini fabric. I don’t want to have to explain how it’s just a natural reaction because I haven’t had sex or felt a man’s touch in so long. I wouldn’t want to make him feel he’s not attractive when he’s one of the most attractive men I’ve ever known.
“Here.” He hands me a bellini, and when I lean forward to take it, there is no mistaking the heated look in his eyes as his gaze dips to my cleavage or the growing bulge behind his swim shorts.
I almost drop the glass in the water when I spot the obvious evidence of his arousal. Fire blazes in my cheeks when I realize I’m ogling him, and I jerk my head up, catching him staring at my mouth with abject longing.
Oh fuck.
I wasn’t wrong earlier.
I know what I see in his eyes.
He wants to kiss me.
He’s staring at my mouth like he wants to devour me.
And I don’t know what the hell to do about it.
ChapterSixty-One
Beck
“What did you want to talk to me about?” Law asks as we share lunch in a private room of the men’s club I’m a member of. Ordinarily, I hate coming here. I wouldn’t even be a member if father hadn’t signed me up to his good-old-boys club. It’s full of leering misogynistic perverts who think their shit doesn’t smell. I made a reservation because it’s the only lunch place that guarantees privacy, and I don’t want anyone privy to this conversation.
“I need your advice,” I say, finishing my lunch and pushing the plate away.
Law finishes his food and takes a drink of water as he eyeballs me like he wishes he could drill into my head.
It doesn’t take a magician to work out what’s on my mind.
The same woman who has been on my mind from the minute I met her.
He puts his glass down and clears his throat. “Has something else happened with Stevie?”
I shake my head as I cross an ankle over my knee. “No, we’re both still pretending like nothing happened that day in France.”
It’s been two months since our vacation, and I still overanalyze every aspect of that day. My hurt at the horrified expression on her face when she realized I wanted to kiss her in the car. The awkward aftermath of “poolgate” as I inwardly refer to it. She was aroused. I know she knows I noticed. Like she noticed the boner I tried so hard to avoid. But it was impossible.
The entire vacation was a test of self-control. Stevie looking like a beautiful enchantress in a succession of gorgeous summer dresses and like Peitho, the Greek goddess who personified seduction, in those skimpy bikinis. If I didn’t know her personality and how she’s pretty much oblivious to my obsession with her, I’d think she wore them on purpose to exact the worst form of torture on me.
Neither of us brought up the subject of the lake that second week. I certainly didn’t have the restraint for skinny-dipping, and after her reaction that day at the pool, I know she would not have risked putting us in another intimate situation.
Still, I don’t regret a single second of the vacation even if things were a little strained between us for a while. It got Stevie driving again, and I only had one nightmare the entire vacation. My new therapist is helping, and so is Stevie. She just makes everything better.
My grandparents adore her, and I swearGrand-méreis already planning our wedding in her head. At least, that’s what Sarah and Esther said when they visited the farm at the end of August. Esther saidGrand-méretalked nonstop about how lovely Stevie is, how much happier I seem, and how perfect we look together.
