Chapter 11
11
RYAN
M y teeth are chattering as we head back to the cabin. Even though the air is still warm and the sun is shining high in the sky, being soaked to the bones doesn’t feel good. I’m cold and dripping water all over Marcus’s grandpa’s truck. I could tell he wasn’t thrilled about climbing inside while we were both wet, but we didn’t have a choice. It’s not like we can walk home. Instead, he quickly loaded the boat onto the trailer, secured everything in the truck bed, and took off for home.
The wild part about all of this is despite falling into the nasty lake water, having swallowed a big gulp of it that’ll probably give me some sort of bacterial infection, and having my nipples poke through my bra and tank top because it’s that cold, all of a sudden I really want to kiss him.
It was hard not to throw myself at him when we were fishing. Not while I was putting the nasty worm on the hook and not while he was trying to get me to hold the fish, but in between. There were some moments where our eyes connected, and it felt like we were the only two people in the world. Even when he was asking about California.
Then, the whole falling out of the boat fiasco happened, and he’s barely said two words since. Well, after he laughed, that is. And if I’m being honest with myself, it was the best sound in the world. His laughter sparked my own, and it was as if I’d never really laughed before. It felt…liberating.
But now, here we are, driving home and barely speaking. I can’t tell if he’s mad at me, the situation, or maybe a little of both. He uses fishing as his outlet, a way to unwind, and falling into the lake and soaking ourselves doesn’t exactly scream relaxation. In fact, quite the opposite. Especially when Buddy decided he wanted to go for a swim too and ended up jumping in after Marcus and I got ourselves back in the boat. Well, I didn’t get myself back in. He used brute strength and threw me in.
And I didn’t hate it.
Not even a little.
His hands on my hips sparked ideas of his hands on other parts of my body, and while being wet is hot, looking like a drowned rat isn’t. And despite the fact there’s all sorts of thick tension surrounding us right now, all I can think about is getting a shower. Cleaning the lake off my body. Putting on dry clothes.
I rest my hand on Buddy’s wet head and sigh. Even the dog can tell there’s extra tension riding shotgun with us. He shifts between us, having a hard time getting comfortable on the small section of seat he’s given. I try to scoot closer to the window, but that just makes the wind feel colder and stronger, so I remain where I sit.
When we finally reach the lane that leads to the cabins, the air inside the cab is almost suffocating. Not only that, but it smells like wet dog and fish, two aromas I can confidently say I never want to smell again in the same small space.
We pass Marcus’s driveway and turn onto mine. I guess that’s something. At least he’s not going to drive straight to his house and expect me to walk the rest of the way back to my cabin, sopping wet. Under the cover of trees, that would have been a cold, miserable little jaunt, and as uncomfortable as this ride is, I’m grateful for it.
Marcus swings the truck and trailer wide, stopping in front of the porch steps. I reach for the handle and practically jump out. “Thanks for the ride,” I holler politely, shutting the heavy, old door hard. I bolt up the steps, anxious to get away from his broodiness. He’s already moving, heading back the way we came, before I even have the security code in the door.
I step inside and toss my clutch purse onto the couch. Thank goodness I left it locked in the truck while we were fishing. Marcus had his wallet with him, but it was in a little waterproof lockbox he keeps in the boat. Otherwise, it would have suffered the same fate as we did. I try to picture the contents of my clutch soaking wet, or worse, scattered on the bottom of the lake bed, and I’m so grateful nothing but us got wet.
But it was an accident.
He’s the one who thrust the dang fish at me, expecting me to grab and hold it. In what crazy universe would he expect anyone—especially me—to just be okay with that? Of course I jumped back! Of course I screamed! Of course I did what I could to get away from the fish! So if it’s anyone’s fault we fell into the lake, it’s his!
The more I think about his silence, the more annoyed I get. I didn’t do it on purpose, and it was my first time fishing, so why is he mad at me? I’m the one who should be upset, not him.
Without thinking, I spin around and walk out the door. I don’t bother to lock the entrance, but I doubt it’ll be an issue. I’ve been here three days and the only visitor I’ve had is the grumpy landlord.
I take off for the pathway clearing and stomp through the woods. Am I cold? Yep! Do I wish I would have at least put on a dry pair of panties? Abso-fucking-lutely! But I’m not letting some wet underwear keep me from letting the big jerk have it.
When I reach the clearing, I spot the truck. It’s back behind the garage, dropping the boat and trailer into its spot. So that’s where I head. As I approach, Buddy either senses me or hears me, and trots in my direction, carrying a stick. I want to bend down and give him a little pet, but I’m on a mission.
“You have no right to just drop me off and then leave without saying a word. It was your fault we fell into the stupid water to begin with,” I seethe the moment I reach where he’s standing.
Even though he’s bending down, turning some handle on the trailer to raise the tongue, he tenses. Slowly, he releases the handle and stands to his full height. For some reason, he appears taller than normal, like a big sopping wet ogre. His shirt is plastered to his hard chest and arms, and the moment he turns, I catch the hint of dark ink beneath his gray T-shirt. Not to mention, his jeans are practically painted on his legs. I can see the outline of everything—and I do mean everything.
With his ball cap on backward, I can see the hard lines and rigid features on his too-handsome face as he narrows his gaze at me. “My fault?”
“Yes, your fault,” I insist, taking a step forward. My finger automatically jumps out, poking him square in the hard chest. “You practically threw a fish at me! Not only is it rude and very ungentlemanly, but it’s disgusting. So, the fact I jumped back and rocked the boat is clearly your fault.”
He snorts and inches closer. My fingernail digs into the wet material of his shirt and the skin underneath it, but it must not bother him much, since he doesn’t move. “Ungentlemanly?”
“I said what I said, buster.”
The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk and his eyes seem to dance with humor. “Well, that’s a first.”
I bark out a laugh, but it lacks any humor. “I seriously doubt that. You’ve been nothing but grumpy and brash this entire time.”
He gets even closer, his lips dangerously close to my own. “You bring it out of me, Princess.”
“You’re nastiness?”
“My ungentlemanliness.”
“Same thing,” I insist, throwing my hands in the air. “Here I was, trying to be nice and getting to know you better, but nooooooo, you have just been all…difficult.”
He laughs hard. Again, he moves a hair closer, his lips practically touching my own. I can feel the warmth of his breath against me and almost reach out and wrap my arms around his waist. “If you want difficult, honey, you better look in the mirror.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?” he asks, just as his right hand wraps around my waist. I can feel the heat of his palm through my wet clothes, searing my flesh with his touch. “What you see is what you get.”
I lift my chin, almost daring him. To do what? I’m not sure yet, but I think I have a list. We can start with strip off our wet clothes and running those full, kissable lips across every inch of my body.
“So, what do you want, Princess?”
Isn’t that the loaded question? What do I want? Again, there’s the list, and it’s growing longer by the second. “I want…”
Just say it.
“I want…you to kiss me. Like you mean it.”
If my request surprises him, he doesn’t show it. He watches me, studying me for a few seconds before doing exactly as I asked. He kisses me.
And curls my toes.
His tongue delves inside my mouth, tasting and commanding more. I give in, letting him lead me to wherever in the hell he wants to, because I’m completely at his mercy. His lips are a touch rough, but I don’t seem to care. All I want is more.
I reach for his wet T-shirt, pulling his chest to mine. Marcus’s hands frame my face, his thumbs lightly caressing my cheeks. I can almost feel those very thumbs touching me between my legs. Gentle, yet firm, and driving me straight to orgasm.
The kiss is everything I didn’t know I needed, wrapped in a big pink bow.
A glittery one.
Then, he spins me around. I’m pinned against the side of the truck, my wet legs wrapped around his waist. I can feel every hard inch of him, from his muscular chest to his erection pressed firmly where I need him most. His hands grip my ass, kneading it, as I rock myself against him.
I gasp as pleasure races through my veins. Any discomfort I feel at having wet clothes is forgotten. All I feel—all I want—is him. Every hard, square inch of him. In his work boots and ball cap. Jeans and faded T-shirt. No name brands, no fancy watch, no Italian shoes.
Just him.
Marcus.
A small-town, blue-collar country boy with stained fingernails and an I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude.
When it feels like I can no longer breathe, he rips his mouth from mine. We’re both panting as he rests his forehead against mine. “I don’t know what to do about you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused and a little concerned.
“We’re so damn different, and yet, I want you so fucking bad it hurts.”
Judging by how hard he is in his jeans; he could be referring to a physical ache.
My mind swirls like the spin cycle on a washing machine, but it’s desire that’s making it turn. This is temporary, right? I’m only here for a few more weeks, so why not make the most out of my time? Spending some of it wrapped in these strong arms might be just what I need to put everything that happened in LA behind me.
Besides, I’m wild, right?
Might as well live up to my famous persona.
“What if…we act on this attraction. Unless a temporary summer fling isn’t your thing.”
He smirks. “Princess, that’s just my thing.”
“Well,” I start, tightening my arms around his neck, “how about we enjoy the next three and a half weeks. At the end of my vacation, I head back to California with a tan and some memories.”
He holds my gaze, as if waiting for me to tell him I’m joking. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.” Shrugging, I add, “I think we both deserve a little fun, and there’s definitely some attraction here. I can’t miss it.” I roll my hips over his erection.
He grunts and closes his eyes for a brief moment. “Just sex?”
“Or whatever the hell we want, Marcus. We’re consenting adults. We’re both single…right?” I ask, realizing I really have no idea. I assume he is, but maybe he’s not. And if that’s the case, I’ll climb down off his body, head back to my cabin, and forget all about him.
Well, maybe not forget, because the size of his dick is something a girl won’t ever forget anytime soon.
“Very single.” He pauses before adding, “You?”
“Definitely,” I confirm. The first thing I did after watching my show’s season finale was break up with the asshole who used me. “So, what do you say, buster? You game?”
The corners of his mouth slowly curl upward, revealing that rare, yet gorgeous smile. “I’m game, Princess.”
My blood starts to hum through my veins, my panties even more soaked than after the dip in the lake. “When do we start this fun little adventure?”
He leans forward, running his lips down the front of my neck. “I don’t have anything going on now, do you?”
Just as I go to answer, Buddy barks. I glance down and find him sitting right beside us, watching like the voyeur dog he is. “Ummm, we have an audience.”
Marcus looks down. “I thought you’d be used to that.”
My snort is very unladylike. “Usually, yes, but not for…that.”
“That? You mean sex?” he asks, grinning widely.
I nod, my shorts starting to feel a little uncomfortable.
Suddenly, he’s setting me down on shaky legs. I’m a bit confused, since we were just talking about sex. Why isn’t he carrying me off to his cabin to have his wicked way with me?
“I have an idea,” he starts, stepping back and putting a little distance between us. “How about we each head back to our cabins, get showered, and cleaned up. When you’re done, come back and I’ll cook that fish for dinner.”
There’s so much I want to ask, but I don’t know which should come first. He doesn’t want to have sex right now? What guy wouldn’t jump at the chance for immediate no-strings sex? Like, seriously, at this very moment. Instead, he wants to shower and cook dinner first? Not to mention, he wants to cook the fish we caught that got us in the wet mess we’re in.
“I can see the wheels spinning, Ryan,” he says, reaching up and placing a strand of limp, wet hair that fell out of the hat behind my ear. “I figured you’d prefer to get cleaned up first. Not that I wouldn’t throw you over my shoulder and take you straight to my bed right now, but I assumed you wanted to wipe the raccoon eyes off your face and maybe scrub the lake water off your skin.”
My eyes widen and my hand darts up to shield my face. “I have raccoon eyes?”
He chuckles a low, gravelly noise that goes straight to my clit. “It’s cute.”
“Oh God,” I grumble. Why didn’t I think to at least check myself in the mirror before I stormed over here to give him a piece of my mind?
Buddy jumps up on Marcus’s leg, tired of being left out of the conversation. “I need to get the boat and truck taken care of and clean this fish. Unless you want to stay and help? It is part of the whole fishing adventure.”
I scrunch up my nose and make a face. “No, thanks. I draw the line on fish guts.”
“Figured,” he replies, taking another step back and putting even more distance between us. “Go get cleaned up and come back when you’re ready.”
“Okay,” I agree, realizing he’s right. I can’t hang in these wet clothes much longer, and the more I think about it, I don’t want to get all sexy with this man smelling like lake, worm, and fish. “I’ll be right back.”
He nods, grabbing a stick off the ground and throwing it for Buddy. The dog immediately takes off running to retrieve it. “So, you’ll be back in like thirty, forty minutes?”
I laugh. Hard.
“What? What woman gets ready in thirty or forty minutes?” I ask, incredulously.
Marcus shakes his head and picks up the stick Buddy drops at his feet. “How long do you need?” he asks curiously.
Without having a watch or my phone to check the time, I reply, “Two hours. Will that give you enough time to get your stuff done?”
His eyes go wide. “Two hours? It takes you two hours to get ready?”
I shrug and slowly start to head toward the path. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk, so I add a little extra swing to my hips. Glancing over my shoulder, I reply, “Two hours, buster, but it’ll be worth it.”
With a wink, I walk away feeling better than I have in I don’t know how long. There’s just something about this man that makes my blood pump. Maybe it’s the desire I saw reflecting in his hazel eyes. It’s a heady feeling knowing it’s reciprocated. Something always felt…off with Vaughn. Now, at least I know why. If only I had realized it before now, and maybe I wouldn’t have wasted three years on the asshole.
But Vaughn isn’t anywhere close now.
Tonight, it’ll be just Marcus and me and what I hope will be a very sexually gratifying three-week vacation. Sure, he might be a dud in bed, but something tells me Marcus is anything but. He knows how to use what God gave him.
I’d bet my trust fund on it.