She studies me as if I’m a talking dog or something.
“And now I see beneath the admonishments of me,” I continue. “The need to control everything and everyone, the desire to please Katherine and your mom and ... everyone.”
“Hunter,” she says, her voice quiet and fragile. I’m not sure if she’s asking me to stop.
I hold up my hands. “You looked beautiful in the yellow dress. You are lovable. Kind. Generous.”
She places her palms against mine, and we lock fingers. She leans forward and places a kiss on my lips. It’s soft and light and instantly makes me want more. I want all of her. She pulls back, still studying me.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever seen me like that,” she says. “Me, according to you, is ...”
“Beautiful?” I suggest. “Self-sacrificing? Thoughtful?”
“I was going to say ... okay.”
Something about her description of herself as just okay hits me right in the middle of my chest. I want to scoop her up and take her somewhere I can protect her from everything. “You’re more than okay, Lucy Jones.”
Maybe I can see all of her, or at least more than she’s ever shown anyone before.
Her cheeks pink and she looks over at my drink on the table, like she’s studying a famous painting or something. “What ya drinking?” she asks in a singsong voice.
“Tequila,” I say, shifting in my seat. “Let me get you something. What do you want?”
Our gazes meet, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s like in bed. What she likes in bed.
“I want to stay right here, like this,” she says, and she holds out her hand. “Wanna share?”
I shift again, pulling her closer to me. “With you? Anything. Anytime.” I scoop up the glass and press it into her hand. I watch as she sips the amber liquid, can’t take my eyes from her mouth and her wet lips. I want to lick tequila off every inch of this woman’s body.
She hands me back the glass.
I press my lips to the exact spot she drank from and take a swig. Watching her, I slide the glass back onto the table and pull her in for a kiss. This might be the most perfect day ever.
Chapter Eighteen
Lucy
The chef cooked a feast, with far too much food that I was too distracted to remember. I do remember Hunter watching me. His hand on my back. On my leg. We’re all back on the beach, sporting our Uma Thurman outfits. And I’ve eaten one more marshmallow than is good for me. Now I’m hazy with alcohol and sea air and sugar. I need to be lying down. Hunter covers the fire with sand, and we all head back to the house.
My heart starts hammering against my chest. What’s next? Part of me wants to drag Hunter upstairs as soon as possible, strip him naked, and straddle him. But another part of me doesn’t want to break what’s been building between us these last few days. It feels new and fragile and precious, and I don’t want it all to be about being hot for each other. Although, I’m definitely hot for him. Why wouldn’t I be? He’s insightful and kind and patient. As well as having rock-hard abs and shoulders I can’t stop touching, they’re so broad and protective. But I like this guy. It’smorethan lust. Although there’s a lot of lust. If we sleep together, doesn’t that potentially change everything?
Katherine and I are hugging each other good night at the bottom of the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Hunter filling two glasses with water. Is it insane that I really hope one of those glasses isfor me? I like the idea that he’s thinking of me, looking after me, making sure I’m fully hydrated.
Katherine heads upstairs, and Hunter pads toward me. “I thought you’d want water.”
It’s like he’s given me a dozen roses. I grin up at him. “Thanks. That’s kind of you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and he hands me a glass. “You want me to carry it upstairs?”
Normally this would be my cue to make a joke about how I think I can manage an entire glass of water myself, or that my poor female muscles can just about manage it. But I don’t. Instead, I say, “Sure. Thanks.”
He gives me a soft smile and gestures for me to go first.
When we get inside the bedroom, he sets the two glasses of water on our respective bed stands, then turns to me. “Do you want to go in the bathroom first?”
I was kinda hoping he’d kiss me again. “Sure,” I say and slip inside to take off my wig and change into my PJs. If I’d known things would take the turn they have this weekend, I might have packed something nicer. Something a little sexier. Not that I have sexy lingerie just lying around at home.
I take my makeup off and brush my teeth as quickly as possible, all the time wondering what Hunter is doing next door. Maybe he just fell asleep.
