32. Paisley
“Wha—”I say, cut off by a hand pressed lightly to my mouth.
“Shhh, Ace.”
I smile against Klein’s palm. He releases me, and I whisper, “Why are you in here?” My eyes haven’t yet adjusted, and it’s too dark for me to see anything. “Wait. Is Sienna in here? Did you find her?”
“No,” he whispers. “It’s just you and me and our own little game.”
I cover up my laugh. “How did you know it was me when you grabbed me?”
“I know your gait.”
“Be real.” I playfully shove him.
“Ok, the truth is I was looking under the half inch of space at the bottom of the door. I saw your shoes.”
“You were lying in wait.”
“I knew you’d be along soon. Chocolate covered blueberries are your third favorite food, after tacos and cowboy spaghetti.”
“I never told you that.”
“You don’t have to be told something to learn it, Royce. You need only watch.”
My hands find his chest, running up and over the hard planes, snaking around to the back of his neck. “What else have you learned by watching?”
“You wiggle your toes in the sand because you like the feel of the warmth between them. You’re the caretaker of your family.” His hands go to my hips, fingers curling into my skin. “You have one speed in the morning: sloth. Your family and that asshole are surprised to find you’re funny, and I’m still working out why you don’t show them your sense of humor.”
“It’s your fault.”
His breath of laughter tickles the top of my head. “How’s that?”
“You make me funny. You bring it out in me.”
He tightens his hold on my hips. “So I bring out your sense of humor, and you gave me a boyfriend perk. Royce, I think you might like me.”
“That’s the problem, Madigan. I know I like you.”
His thumbs stroke my hip bones. “How’s that a problem?”
“I don’t trust myself with men. The last one I chose turned out to be a carbon copy of my father. In case you were sleeping during dinner with him, that’s not a compliment.”
“In case you’ve been sleeping since the day you met me, I’m nothing like either of those people.”
I know he isn’t. I know it as certainly as I know the sun will rise and pierce through my curtains in approximately eight hours. But it’s not him. It’s me. I have emotional baggage to work through before I can move forward.
Klein’s hand leaves my hip, settling on my forehead. He runs the pad of a finger between my eyebrows. “Creased,” he announces quietly. “I bet if I felt your lips, they’d be pursed.”
I force my lips to relax. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He lowers his touch, thumb tracing my mouth. My mouth opens slightly, capturing his thumb and biting down. A hiss of air comes from between his teeth.
I release him, and his touch lowers, to my chin, pinching it between two fingers. He lifts my face, and his lips find mine.
The kiss is better than good.
It’s fulfilling in a way I’ve never had, but always wanted. He kisses me like he wants me desperately. Not only my body, but my lips.
He tips me up, supporting the back of my head, and tastes me. This man is ravenous for me, and I think perhaps I’ve been parched for the feeling. For him.
I push into him, pressing myself against his chest as much as I can. I hate these clothes. I hate this pantry. I hate being here in this house at this precise moment.
Klein’s hand leaves my hip, sliding around to the front of me. Up over my rib cage, skirting the swell of my breast. I arch into him, asking for his hand. He smiles against me. “So eager.”
“For you,” I say, as quietly as I can.
“Is that right?” There’s arrogance in his tone, and I love it. “Let’s find out if that’s true.”
His touch is at the hem of my dress, his fingers traveling beneath it. He feathers over the inside of my thigh, inching higher.
Higher.
Higher.
Stopping at the apex. He runs a hand over the fabric. “Oh, Paisley,” he says, his tone playfully chiding. “What have we here?”
“Paradise,” I respond, in a voice so low and throaty I can’t believe it belongs to me.
He sweeps the thin fabric aside, running his fingers over me. “It is, isn’t it?”
His flattened palm comes up over me, exerting pressure. His hand slides down, his middle finger slipping inside on his descent.
“Ah,” I choke on my gasp, surprised at the welcome addition.
Klein’s nose and forehead press to mine, hot breath mingling with my own. “I’ve discovered Shangri-La between your thighs, Paisley, and I want it.”
“It’s yours,” I pant as he works slowly, torturing me with an unhurried rhythm, as if we’re not hiding out in a pantry and we have all the time in the world.
“Mine,” he whisper-groans, increasing his pace.
It turns out I like possessive Klein as much as I like arrogant Klein.
Gripping his shoulders, I press my face into his neck and inhale the clean scent, holding on as my heart thunders in my chest.
“So. Close,” my strained whisper is warm against his neck.
“I know,” he murmurs into my hair, his tone holding something akin to reverence.
There are noises in the kitchen now, voices, loud recapping of where Sienna had been hiding.
Alarm races through me.
“You’re tensing around my”—he adds a second finger—“fingers. Don’t focus on anything but this. Me. You.”
His pace increases, the rhythm creating a bundle of heat at the base of my spine. In the kitchen, someone says my name. Another person responds, saying I don’t know where they went.
My fingernails claw at Klein’s arms. Lips pressed to my ear, he whispers, “You can come quietly. Or you can scream and give away our location. I’m a proud contributor to either response.”
His words tip me over the precipice, and with people on the other side of an unlocked door, I shatter under his hand, biting at his shoulder to stay silent.
“That’s my girl,” he says, his words rumbling against the side of my head. The bicep on his right arm continues to flex as he slows but doesn’t stop, bringing me down slowly from the crescendo.
“Paisley?” he says.
“Mm-hmm?” My thighs are a quivering mess, and so is my voice.
“The next time you come, I want the lights on so I can watch your gorgeous eyes roll back in your head.” His fingers, still inside me, curl and flex, the sensitivity making me buck.
“Yes,” I agree, as his fingers disappear from me.
I adjust my dress, my hair, swiping under my eyes. I haven’t the faintest clue what I look like right now.
The kitchen is quiet again. Perfect. Everyone has gone somewhere else, and we can step from this pantry undiscovered.
Klein turns the handle, an arc of light appearing as he slowly pushes it open an inch. “After you, Ace. Or maybe I should start calling you a siren.”
I look at him in the modest light illuminating his features. His cheeks are flushed. He looks happy. Pleased.
“Siren?”
“You call to me like a siren luring in a sailor.”
“I have no intention of drowning you.”
“And yet, you seem to be.”
“Drowning you?”
“Don’t you know, Paisley?” Klein drops a swift kiss to the corner of my mouth, lingering there to say, “You are a dangerous woman.”
“I doubt that.”
“You pose a threat to every part of me.”
My heartbeats falter. Does he mean these things he says?
“After you.” He inclines his head.
Pushing open the door, I step into the kitchen, blinking against the harsh overhead light. Klein steps out behind me, his chest brushing my back.
My eyes adjust, then widen.
“Hey,” I squeak.
Shane stands opposite us, casually leaning back against the counter with one ankle crossed over the other. He’s peeling an orange, which strikes me as odd when there’s an island laden with platters of prepared food.
“Guess I found one of the missing couples.” The smirk on his face quickly dies. “At least someone around here is getting laid.”
The corners of my lips turn down. “It’s only for a week leading up to the wedding night.” My sister isn’t here to defend her decision, so I’ll do it for her.
“Right,” Shane says dryly. “Did you two have fun in there?” His lip twitches like he’s fighting a sneer. “Sure sounded like it.”
He’s baiting me. Baiting Klein. Stirring for a fight, or at least a reaction. Klein doesn’t know Shane very well, but he’s already seemed to figure this out. He ignores Shane, grabbing a handful of chocolate covered blueberries. He takes my hand and flips it over, forming a cup and dropping the sweet treats into my palm.
“I know how she can be,” Shane says, not letting up.
Klein meets my eyes, and I shake my head slowly, a warning. I can’t even muster up anger about his crassness, because he looks so damn pathetic.
Shane keeps going, peeling his orange slowly, eyes cast down on his task. “When Paisley decides she’s ready, you’d better hop to it, right?” He chuckles quietly, as if he knows, he remembers, he got there first and left his ghost to save his spot.
Shane wants attention, though I can’t understand why. He’s the groom. Isn’t he at the center of everyone’s attention, second only to his bride? My sister. In this moment, I would love nothing more than to send a heartfelt fuck you directly to Shane’s face. But not for me. For Sienna. For the disrespect he’s showing her and their relationship.
“Hey Shane,” Klein says, nonchalantly throwing a few blueberries in his mouth, “You keep going on like that about Paisley and I’ll break your jaw.” He takes my hand. “Let’s go.”
We leave Shane in the kitchen without a backwards glance. My sister and the rest of the bridal party are crowded on the front porch. One of the groomsmen holds a joint to his lips, then passes it to the guy beside him.
“We’re going to take off,” I tell Sienna. “Can somebody bring you back when you’re ready?”
“Yeah,” she says dismissively.
I have no idea what I did to upset her, and I’m not interested in finding out. There’s so much more on my mind right now.
“Bye, everyone. See you all tomorrow.”
Klein and I make our way back. He drives the golf cart, and I sit beside him, his hand in my lap. What happened in the pantry felt illicit and delightful, but also, it felt right. Like Klein’s hands are the only hands I want on me.
I don’t know what that means for our agreements. Maybe it doesn’t have to mean anything. Can it just be us, on this island, having fun because real life feels like it exists elsewhere?
We’re quiet going through the house. Light filters under the door as we pass the boys’ room, and from what I can tell by the sounds, they’re playing video games.
Klein leads me into our room. He closes the door softly behind me, heated gaze locked onto me.
And I kind of, sort of, just... lose it.
I launch myself at him. He catches me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist and his hands gripping my ass.
I lower my face, and he lifts his. We are nose to nose, breathing the same lusty air.
A nip at his lower lip. A pass of my tongue along the bite. A shallow breath. Klein grins, lazy and arrogant and teasing. “You didn’t get enough in the pantry, Ace?”
My fingers thread through his hair. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you. It’s a stupid thought, and it would be even stupider to admit out loud. “I want that lights-on orgasm you promised me.”
Klein adjusts for our height difference by lowering me down his body, then captures my mouth in a brief kiss. “Then I guess I’d better deliver. Can’t have a broken promise on my record, can I?”
“I get the feeling you don’t break promises.”
“Never,” his deep voice grounds out against me.
Something about his words, spoken clearly and confidently, tells me he’s a man who means what he says. That alone makes me feral. I want him in a way that shocks me. I’ve never been like this before. Klein isn’t my boyfriend. We’re nothing more than temporary as we carry out mutual favors. And yet, there’s something about him. Something primal, basic, a calling. I… want him. Is it too plain? Not layered enough? Could it really be so easy?
“Overthinking,” he murmurs, rubbing the pad of his thumb between my eyebrows. “What’s going on in there? Are you having second thoughts?” Now his eyebrows are furrowing. “You can. You know that, right? You can change your mind at any point, even if we’ve already...” he trails off.
I burrow into him. “It’s not that. Not at all. It’s just... does this seem too easy to you?”
Klein squints one eye as he tries to understand. “Are you asking me if I’d like you to play hard to get?”
I smile. “No. Despite the fact we’re here pulling off one hell of a charade, I don’t enjoy playing games when it comes to dating.” With my legs still wrapped around him, I slip one hand around his upper back and use the other to stroke a path through his hair and behind his ear. “Me and you. Physically, it feels so easy. Going down on you earlier today, not only was it bold of me, but it was like I wanted to, so I did, and there wasn’t anything else about it. Mentally is easy, too. Talking to you, joking, laughing, I’m not used to it being simple. Seamless. It’s like, like... sitting with my best friend and never running out of conversation.”
“It was like that the first night we met. Do you remember?”
“I’d assumed it was the copious amount of beer, but that wasn’t it.”
“I felt an immediate and deep connection to you, Paisley. Like your curves fit my dips, and I filled out your shallow parts.”
“Like we fit.”
He nods. “Yes.”
We stare at each other, both painfully aware we are dancing on an invisible line. Physically, we’ve already crossed it. But emotionally? We’re still playing a safe game.
Maybe that’s ok. Maybe that’s what both of us need right now.
Terrified and exhilarated by my feelings, our mouths meet and fall apart. A small kiss, and then something deeper. Our tongues dance, then collide.
When we break, I say, “We’ve gotten a lot better at kissing each other since our first kiss.”
He hoists me higher on his midsection. “I remember every moment of that kiss.”
“Every bad second of it?”
“Even the worst kiss is the best if it’s with you.”
My smile wobbles. “Klein the writer.”
The muscles in his jaw tighten.
I search his green eyes. “Do you want me to stop saying that?”