Chapter 12
WENDY
Hours later, I can’t stop tossing and turning.
The window is cracked, and the ocean pushes air through the screen, but it’s not cooling me down.
I’ve been lying here for two hours, and sleep won’t come.
Instead, I keep thinking about how he looked at me when I left him in the shower—hard and wanting. It’s a type of control I’ve never had.
I roll onto my stomach and press my face into my pillow. I keep rubbing the spot on my wrist, like I can erase the sensation of him kissing it, but my body won’t let go of the memory.
Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that shower. Carter was one little tug away from removing my bikini bottom, and I wanted him to.
I flip onto my back and stare at the ceiling.
“You’re mine, Wendy Winslow. If we do this, I won’t share.”
No man has ever claimed me like that. Adam told me he loved me constantly, but his actions never matched his words. Carter and I have known each other for two weeks, and he’s already suggesting I become his and only his, just for the summer.
He was possessive and so fucking hot, and I squeeze my thighs together, thinking about what would’ve happened if I’d stayed.
I walked away to prove I still had some control because it disappears when we’re close. He was shocked, like he hadn’t thought I had it in me. Maybe no woman has ever made him work for anything in his life—and with a face and body like that, I’d bet my retirement on it.
He makes me want to take risks, say fuck it, and be with him.
I pick up my phone and glance at the time. It’s midnight, and my self-control is nearly gone.
How dare he be so fucking sexy!
I groan and pull the sheet to my chin, close my eyes, and try to count sheep, which somehow all look like him.
I remember his breath on my ear and how he whispered, “You’re cruel.”
The heat of him through the thin fabric between us. His fingers digging into my hip, like I’d slip away if he let go.
My eyes open, and I throw the sheet off because I can’t take this anymore. My feet hit the floor, and I’m standing before I’ve made a decision. The fear is real. If I have too much fun, I’ll get hurt again. But Carter isn’t Adam, and this is just sex. Nothing more.
I run through the list of cons, which includes getting caught, or us deciding we actually dislike one another, and being stuck living together, or even worse, he leaves early and requests a refund for the nights not used.
Oh, and one of us getting attached, falling in love, or dealing with a broken heart when August third comes.
Carter lives in New York. I live in Coconut Beach. We couldn’t be more opposite from one another. But still, the mutual attraction pulls us together.
I stare at my doorway, wishing I had a crystal ball so I could see the future of both scenarios. Being with him is a risk. Is it one I’m willing to take?
A couple checked into the Seahorse Room this morning, but they went to bed before eight. Maybe Carter is asleep, too, but if he is, I’m waking him up.
My pajama shorts are thin, and my tank top isn’t much better, but I’m not trying to impress him.
I tiptoe in the dark up the stairs to the third floor. A thin strip of low light leaks from underneath his door, which means there’s a very high probability that he’s awake and on the balcony.
I knock softly enough that it won’t wake him if he’s asleep. I tell myself I’ll count to one hundred, and then I’ll go back to bed and pretend he never crossed my mind.
This is the ultimate test. If he doesn’t open his door tonight, the answer is no.
The door opens before I make it to five. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else. His hair is messy, and his eyes are tired but alert, like he’s been lounging in the dark.
“Took you long enough,” he says, leaning against the doorway.
When he looks at me, like he’ll devour me in an instant, heat rushes through me. “You were expecting me?”
“You can’t tell me no.” He steps to the side, creating room for me to enter.
“Don’t make me prove you wrong,” I whisper, memorizing him, knowing that if I cross the threshold, our relationship will never be the same. “Why do I feel like I know you?”
“I’ve been wondering the same,” he admits. “Meeting you has been déjà vu.”
Unfortunately, Carter is right. I can’t tell him no.
I step in, and I can tell it pleases him. “So,” I say.
“So,” he repeats back.
The balcony doors are open, and the string lights are on. His bed is a mess: sheets pulled back and pillows shoved to one side. A half-empty glass of what looks like whiskey sits on the nightstand, next to one of his thriller books.
“Would you like a drink?” He moves to his dresser, where it’s been transformed into a bar.
I see a bottle of Macallan on top, along with another bottle of tequila.
“Would love that.” I need something to calm me down.
He prepares my drink and hands it over, grabbing his glass.
Our eyes meet.
“What shall we toast to?”
“To being just another summer crush,” I say.
His smirk transforms into a full-blown grin. “You’re in?”
“Yes,” I tell him.
“Fuck yeah. Now, that’s something worth drinking to.”
We clink our glasses together and toss them back.
“Before anything else happens, we need to set rules.”
He leans against the dresser. “I agree with everything.”
I hold up a finger. “Nobody knows. Not Gale, not Josie, not anyone on this island. If people find out I’m sleeping with a guest, my credibility is over. No one will take me seriously. This place is everything to me, and I won’t risk it.”
“Agreed. Now, you’ll agree to what I want.”
“Which is?” I blink up at him.
“You’re mine. Exclusively. I don’t share.”
The possessiveness from earlier returns.
“And you’re mine?” I ask.
“Whenever you want me, babe.” He chuckles, and the sound rumbles in the back of his throat.
“Are you a fuckboy?” I ask. “I just have to know if this is what you do when you travel. Am I just another mark on your headboard?”
He pours more whiskey into his glass and shoots it back. Then he moves toward me, slow enough that I could step back if I wanted to. I don’t.
His fingers thread through my hair. “Does it matter?”
“No,” I whisper when his mouth slides along my neck.
I gasp. My body is instantly awake, responding to him.
“You like how it feels when I touch you?” He nibbles on my earlobe. “And kiss you.”
“Yes,” I admit, already putty in his hands.
He pulls away, meeting my eyes. “I’m yours until August third. Our secret. I want you back up here every morning at seven a.m.”
“For?”
“I want you in my bed,” he says, his lips sliding across mine. “I want you for breakfast.”
“Why did you choose me? You can have anyone.”
He playfully rolls his eyes. “No one has intrigued me like you.”
That confession makes my heart flutter. “You can’t say things like that.”
“I did. Now, I do have one more rule,” he says, tilting my chin upward.
“Yes?”
“When we’re alone, you have to stop holding yourself back from the things you want.” His thumb traces my jaw and across my lips.
My breath comes out uneven. “I’ll try. I’m … I’m not used to having healthy conversations in the bedroom.”
“Ever?” His brow lifts.
“Never,” I tell him.
“We’re going to have a lot of fun together.”
Our lips crash together, and he kisses me until I’m gasping. This has been building between us since the day he walked through those doors. That’s an undeniable fact.
Carter’s hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me in place. I open my mouth wider, finding his tongue. His strong fingers tighten on my waist.
“I already can’t get enough of you, Wendy.”
“We’re so fucked,” I say, already knowing this is a terrible idea.
“Let’s see what happens.”
He sits on the edge of the mattress and pulls me between his knees.
I stand between his legs and run my fingers through his messy hair.
He closes his eyes when I touch him, wrapping his arms around my waist. His thumbs trace the strip of bare skin between my tank top and shorts.
I’m done pretending that I don’t want him.
“What do you hope to get from this?” he asks.
I push him onto his back. He moves up the bed.
“To have fun and feel wanted.” The truth slides from my lips as I straddle him. “It’s been a long time since anyone has excited me like you do.”
He places his hands behind his head, watching me. His voice drops low as he says, “You’re so fucking sexy.”
“You are too.”
I move down to his lips, running my fingers through his hair as his cock grows beneath me. His eyes close, and he grinds up into me.
“Tell me what you like,” he whispers, sucking on my earlobe.
“I like it when you do that,” I say, rocking against him.
His thumbs press harder into my hip bones, and my breath hitches.
“Eye contact is my love language. I want to know the person I’m with is completely with me.”
He opens his eyes and tucks loose strands of hair behind my ear. Our mouths are close, and his fingertips are soft on my cheek. “Princess treatment.”
I smile. “Is that what it’s called on the streets of New York?”
“You deserve to be a priority, Wendy. Being in the moment with you is bare minimum.”
“Something we can agree on.” My words come out hushed.
If we keep rocking together like this, I might lose myself. The friction has heat pooling between my thighs.
“When was the last time you came?” he asks, looking up at me, and the directness of it sends a flush from my collarbone to my ears.
“Months.” I roll my hips against him. “I’m not a priority.”
“You are now.” His mouth drags along my collarbone.
“Know that I like to have control, but I like losing it too.”
“Music to my fucking ears.” He pulls back.
I cup his face and tilt it up so he’s looking at me when I kiss him. My tongue traces his bottom lip before we’re back to making out again. Carter grinds into me, pressing exactly where I need.
The friction has me gasping.
“Have you thought about me?” he asks between kisses.
My body moves with the rhythm his hands set.