Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
AIDAN
I’m about to knock at Morgan’s hotel room when singing comes from the transom window to the left of her door.
If her setup is the same as mine, that’s the bathroom window above her shower, and it’s cracked open.
I stand there for a moment listening, truly shocked at how good her voice is.
There’s faint music in the background, so I assume she’s singing along, but I know this song and I’m convinced she’s singing it as well, if not better, than the original artist.
When the song ends, I rap my knuckles on her door a few times, laugh softly as she mutters under her breath, and then lean up against her doorframe when she opens it.
Her eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, as if she didn’t already tell me she was busy packing tonight. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I made a dinner reservation for us.”
She’s wearing the same matching tank top and shorts set she had on last night—so thin they might as well be sheer, which would be less of an issue if she were wearing a bra. “I already told you I wasn’t having dinner with you tonight.”
“Except I forgot today was your birthday, and now I feel like I have to make it up to you. So I made dinner reservations in Hamilton.”
“I’m exhausted, Danny. I need to pack . . .”
I glance beyond her, at the open suitcase on her bed with rows of neatly folded clothing inside. “Funny, it looks like you already have.”
“Okay, fine,” she says, crossing her arms and dropping her voice into a bossy tone that I like way more than I should. My dick springs to attention instantly. “I’m not interested in going to dinner with you.”
“Why not?”
She groans and then says, “You’re my stepbrother. This is already awkward enough.”
I’m tempted to make a joke about how she didn’t seem to mind earlier today in that cave.
But the moment she walked out, she was all cool indifference, as if it had never happened.
It was like I got to watch all her defenses come back up as we chatted with the guys from the marina who had come to retrieve the windsurfing boards that were left on the beach during the storm.
And then she barely spoke as we rode back to the hotel in our boat.
“Listen, if we’re never going to see each other again, we might as well have one more night together.”
“Make it sleezy, why don’t you?”
I push open her door, and she steps back willingly.
The fact that she makes no attempt to prevent me from entering is all the permission I need.
I glance at the few dresses still hanging in her closet as her hotel room door swings shut behind her, and grab one that’s a bright coral with tiny buttons down the front.
“This one’s nice,” I say, turning and holding it out to her. “Either I can force you into it, or you can get dressed yourself. The first will be more fun for me, so think about how you’d like to proceed here.”
A sound rattles in the back of her throat—half groan, half growl—and she rolls her eyes as she takes the hanger from me. “My god, you’re bossy. I’m only going because you remembered it’s my birthday.”
“I feel bad that I didn’t remember first thing this morning,” I say as she walks past me and digs around in her suitcase before pulling out some nude-colored undergarments.
“Yeah, well,” she says as she turns back toward me, “at least you remembered.”
She goes to move past me, headed into the bathroom to change, but I plant my hand on the wall opposite me so my arm blocks her. “Does that mean I’m the only one who remembered?”
Why does that thought haunt me?
“With cell service and the internet down on the whole island, I have no way of knowing if anyone else remembered.”
“But your mom didn’t?” I say, thinking about how Morgan stopped by there on her way down to the boat, and again on her way back to her hotel room.
“I assume she was too busy throwing up to think of it,” she says, her voice tight.
I’d stopped by there about half an hour ago, and our parents were both feeling marginally better, so I told them I’d order them some soup and bread and have it delivered to their room.
By tomorrow they should be recovered . .
. just in time for Morgan and me to both be gone.
At least they can enjoy a few days of their honeymoon.
Morgan slips by me and closes the bathroom door behind her, and as I walk into her room, I glance down at the open suitcase on the bed.
The triangle top of her bikini is folded neatly right on top.
I consider taking it as a memento of our time together, but even I know that would be wrong.
Instead, I take a seat in the chair in front of the sliding doors that go out to the balcony.
She’s back out of the bathroom, dressed and ready, in less than ten minutes.
Her lips shine with a juicy pink lip gloss, and dark eyelashes frame her bright blue eyes.
But once my eyes leave her lips and travel down her body, the goddamn dress is all I can focus on.
It clings to every curve in a way that’s damn near sensual, and the deep V of the neckline should be illegal for the way it highlights her cleavage.
My fists curl around the armrests of the chair as I glance back up at her face. She’s fucking smirking at me, like she’s reminding me that I was the one who picked the dress and she doesn’t feel bad about the way it’s affecting me. “You ready?”
I clear my throat, mentally calculating the odds that I’m going to spend all night being jealous of other guys looking at her. Pretty sure those odds are one-hundred-percent. “Ready.”
The way the column of Morgan’s throat moves as she takes a sip from her champagne flute is a damn near erotic experience, which is how I know that I’ve probably had enough to drink.
As dinner was wrapping up, she’d told me to “be resourceful and find a place to go out for another drink,” while she ran to the bathroom.
The way she scooted out of the booth across from me, turning sideways to slide between the tables and letting her ass drag along my arm, felt very intentional.
The tables were close together, but not that close.
The waiter recommended a ritzy club at a hotel near ours, which I figured might be the one Anne took Max to last night.
The irony wasn’t lost on me, but we came here anyway and she insisted on French 75s for her birthday, explaining that it’s her favorite drink even though she hates both gin and champagne.
“I knew going out after dinner was a good idea,” she says with a giggle as she turns and presses her back against me on the dance floor, our hips swaying together as she grinds herself against me.
“I couldn’t agree more.” I trail kisses across her shoulder and up the side of her neck, before saying, “But what do you say we get out of here?”
She glances over her shoulder at me as she presses her lower back into my dick. I wish it was her ass, but the height difference between us makes that impossible, even in the strappy gold heels she’s wearing. “You’re not having fun.”
I bring my mouth right to the shell of her ear and say, “I’m having a great time. But I’d be having more fun if we were alone.”
She leans her head back on my chest, her eyes glassy with longing when she says, “Danny . . . we can’t.”
With my hands on her hips, I spin her so she’s facing me, and her lips part in a slight gasp as I lean down toward her.
The way she wraps her arms around my shoulders and presses up on her toes to meet me is all the assurance I need.
I delve into the kiss like we aren’t in the middle of a crowded dance floor.
My hands roam her body while our tongues tangle together.
She lifts one leg up along the outside of my thigh, like she’s about to wrap it around my waist and climb me.
Which I’d love—if we were anywhere but here.
I pull back, and she looks dazed as she stares up at me.
“We’re going. Now.” I take her drink out of her hand, then wrap my other arm around her waist as I lead us toward the door. I set the glass on the last table before the exit, and then we head down the driveway of the hotel.
Before we get to the street, Morgan pulls me to a stop. “I can’t walk this fast in heels,” she says.
“Easily solved,” I say, about to pick her up and carry her back to the hotel.
“I also . . .” She moves toward me, her hand trailing up my chest and wrapping around the back of my neck as she pulls my head down close to hers. “. . . can’t wait until we get back to the hotel.”
“You . . . can’t wait?” I’m trying to determine if she’s using that expression literally, when her eyes slide to her right.
I follow her gaze to the dark area against the high stucco wall that separates the grounds of the hotel from the street.
It’s completely shaded by some trees and there are large bushes beneath that would hide us from view.
“That’s risky, Morgan.”
She groans, and says, “You shouldn’t have gotten me so worked up if you weren’t going to deliver.”
“Is this the alcohol speaking?” I ask, cupping her jaw in my hand and turning her face back toward mine.
Her eyes are clear when she looks back at me. “This is my body, needing yours. My underwear is drenched, and I’m aching for you.”
She steps close enough that she can slide her hand between our bodies, cupping my dick in her hand as she runs her palm along my zipper.
My inhale is nearly a gasp. “Jesus, Morgan. I thought you just said this couldn’t happen again.”
“It shouldn’t. But we both know it will. So don’t make me wait, or I might change my mind by the time we walk back to our hotel.” She glances over her shoulder to make sure no one is around and then drags me between the wall and the bush that borders it.