Jocelyn #2
“Now?” Asher whispers.
“Do you care about the speeches?”
He looks around. Guests settle into their chairs. Catering staff pass out flutes of champagne. “No.” He takes my elbow. “Let’s
go for a walk.”
In the hallway beyond, the man’s speech dims to the background, and Asher turns to me. “Where to?”
I set off toward the exit that leads to the beach, but outside the doors, I hang a right, and we walk along a path lined with tropical plants. The humid air wraps around us, and Asher rolls up the sleeves of his button-up.
“Already tired of the wedding festivities?” he asks.
“Starting to feel a bit crowded in there.”
He glances at me, but says nothing, and we continue to walk the path that hugs the hotel. We pass the pool and the raucous
cabana. He smiles over at the whoops and hollers from the bar. “Sounds like they’re having fun. Should we join?”
Without looking over, I shake my head and keep walking, my sandals crunching along the sand-dusted path.
He falls behind and lets me lead, his voice dropping. “Something wrong, Joss?”
“No.” I continue on, rounding the side of the hotel and traveling toward the entry road. A decorative pond takes up the center
of the circle drive, complete with fountain and lovely tropical landscaping.
Asher grabs my hand to stop my march. “I said I was sorry.” His gaze is penetrating, his smile absent. Highlighted by the
gleam from the bustling entrance of the hotel, his face is etched with desperation. He drops my hand. “Can we please go back
to how it was before? I— I didn’t mean what I said. It was just . . . champagne. And this place. These people.”
“Asher—”
“I’m serious.” His tone goes sharp. “What do I need to do to fix this?”
“There’s nothing to fix—”
He ignores me and steps closer. “I can tell you feel awkward. Please let me fix it.”
I take a breath and try to hold his gaze, but my courage has fled, leaked into a puddle at my feet. I stare at his throat, where his Adam’s apple bobs, then at his hand, clenched into a fist at his side.
He’s right. Awkward doesn’t begin to describe the depths of my discomfort. But it isn’t what he thinks. I’m not uncomfortable because he might
care for me, might want me. I’m uncomfortable because I want him, too.
I’ve tried so hard to ignore this. To push it away. But I can’t. Not without shutting him out entirely. And I can’t— I won’t do that. Losing him isn’t an option. Having him isn’t one either, though.
He turns from me with a swear and walks away, straight to the edge of the pond.
I stare at his back.
I kind of think you know I’d take more if you’d give it.
How much more does he want? What does more look like? Maybe I could have him, but still protect myself? What if we tried friends with benefits or casual dating or even
just seeing how things progressed without trying to define everything?
What if I could give him more without giving him everything? Float in the deep end while holding a tether to the beach?
My feet move before I’ve fully considered it, bringing me closer to him. Everything in my life always leads me straight to
him.
When I reach his side, he’s smiling at the pond—a real, sweet smile.
I glance at the water, the fountain, then back at him. “Asher? You okay?”
He points at the row of waterfowl gliding along the surface of the pond. “Ducks. Can anything ever really be that bad when
there are ducks?”
Later, I will probably look back on this moment and wonder why. Of all the things he’s ever said, why is it the ducks that break my resolve? It disintegrates as he smiles at these birds. He’s always so happy. Nothing gets him down for long, and I—I want to be a part of that.
With a sigh of relief, I allow myself to pay heed to the advice of Grace Santini. Because she’s right. Everything will be
so much better when I just . . . surrender.
My hands move. My body leans. He gives no resistance when I pull him down and kiss him.
The glass walls around my heart don’t just open. They shatter.
His hands slide around me, lifting me closer. My arms encircle his neck. We squeeze together, his warmth invading my entire
system.
In seconds, the kiss runs wild, a chaotic storm of released tension. There’s no buildup. No tentative pecks. He was ready
for this the moment I lowered my guard.
Lips and tongue and teeth scrape at my jaw, my throat. His fists tighten around the fabric at my back. The silk protests with
a strained pop of threads, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Instead, his kiss grows harder, more insistent. One hand climbs
up my spine and tangles tight in my hair. It shoots fire straight to my insides and buries deep.
Strengthening desire lays waste to my misgivings. Tonight will leave lasting marks, but I don’t care. Cutting all the cords
and diving in the deep end isn’t nearly so scary when his arms are the ones dragging me under.
Drowning is inevitable.
At least it’s going to feel good.
“Take me upstairs,” I say against his mouth.
He doesn’t hesitate. One hand snags mine, and he’s leading me with purpose toward the hotel entrance.
We ignore the knowing looks from the valets near the door.
Asher tugs me so I’m in front of him. His hands land on my shoulders, and he pushes me through the automatic doors, his mouth at my ear.
“You are so beautiful. Do you know that?”
The whisper tickles my neck, and goose bumps spread from the contact. I turn to look at him, and we’re kissing again, stumbling
into the lobby. Someone snickers behind me as I break the kiss, but Asher pays it no mind. He drags me toward the elevators,
and as we pass the check-in desks, that weird girl from yesterday smirks.
“Have a good night, Mr. Foley.”
He waves a hand at her without looking, then mashes the up button beside the elevator. The bell dings, and he pushes me into
the empty car. My back hits the wall, and his mouth is against mine, pausing only to smash the nine button. His hands grow
bolder when the door closes, sliding over my breasts on their way to my thighs. Silk bunches in his fist as he drags it up.
Maybe this is stupid. Maybe I should stop us. But I’m impatient now. On fire. My body has wanted this far longer than I’ve
acknowledged, and it’s unwilling to comply with my doubts.
“You’re sure about this?” he asks against my throat.
No. I’m not sure about anything. The heat of his hands, the flames of desire—they’re the only things keeping the icy floods
of terror at bay. Nothing about this is safe. If I let him touch me, let him inside me, none of my hang-ups will dissolve,
but everything between us will change irreversibly.
I want it anyway. I’m sitting in a roller coaster with no harness.
Wrestling with the buttons of his shirt, I nod. “I’m sure.”
His bare hand climbs my thigh. “I’ve been thinking about this since that kiss. Before that, actually.”
Air has forsaken me, but I manage to say, “Yeah? What did you think about?”
His fingers hook around the G-string beneath my dress and jerks it down. The garment lands at my feet as the elevator door
opens. “Everything.” He ducks to pick it up. From that position, he glances up and meets my eyes. Clothes half undone, hair
in sexy disarray, he stares at me like he can’t quite believe the proof of his own eyes. “Even though I tried not to.”
My heart aches for him. Strains for him. Beats for him.
I want him. So much. It’s overwhelmed my senses and plunged me deep into the most primitive of sensations: pain. This want
hurts. It throbs and pounds and reverberates in my skin.
The elevator starts to close, but he jerks a hand out to stop it. He rises slowly, stuffing my underwear into his pocket.
Strong fingers grip my waist, and he pulls me against him, spinning until I’m against the wall beside the elevator. I reach
for him, but he grabs my wrists as he kisses me, then pins them to the wall.
His mouth travels to my ear. “The things I want to do to you . . .”
My entire body is one giant heartbeat, pounding hardest between my legs, and I don’t care about the scene we’re creating.
If he dove under my dress in this hallway, I don’t think I’d stop him.
He drapes my arms around his neck and lifts me from the floor.
I shriek-laugh. “You picked me up.”
His low hum of agreement vibrates through my body as I hold tight to him. “You aren’t getting away again,” he says.
At the door to our suite, he sets me down to slide the key card out of his pocket.
Before he uses it, though, he cups my cheek.
I think he might say something—or worse, second-guess this—but he just stares into my eyes.
Memorizing, maybe? Or perhaps extracting my soul from my body since it sort of feels like I’m losing more of myself in his gaze with each second that passes.
What is this feeling?
Why is it consuming everything?
I kiss him again to smother it, and the taste of him—champagne with a whisper of sweetness—strikes a chord against my soul.
He’s deep in there. He’s in my foundation.
“I want you,” I say against his mouth. “Please.”
Oh, he liked that please, didn’t he? His eyes go all hungry, making my blood hum in my veins. With a quick tap, the lock clicks and allows us into
the room. I can hardly move fast enough. Before the door has fully shut, I seize his clothes, wrestling them from his body
while he walks me backward, tugging at the wide straps of my dress.
At the bedroom door, his slacks fall to his ankles, and he pauses to yank them from his body, along with his shoes. Insides
tingling, I pull the side zipper of my dress. As it gapes, he loses focus. One sock is still in place, but he reaches for
me anyway. Confident, insistent fingers peel the silk from my body. The bra that matches the G-string is sheer lace, and his
gaze drops and lingers, luring heat to the surface of my skin wherever it touches.
He stretches around me to undo the back clasp. “I used to try so hard not to wonder what was under that black bikini.”