Chapter 23
CARTER
It’s barely past one, and the beach is full of families hauling coolers, teenagers whining in wetsuits, and old guys in lawn chairs with beers they brought from home. The surf competition banners are stretched between two poles near the shore, and a DJ plays reggae from a tent by the boardwalk.
Preston sells Coconut Crushes in plastic cups from a makeshift bar that’s really just a foldable table with bottles stacked on it.
Josie sits closer to the judges’ table with a hand-painted sign that reads MAKE WAVES, YA LITTLE BEACH!
TEAM WENDY! in bubble letters. She even drew hibiscus flowers in the corners.
“How’s my sign?” Josie asks, grinning.
“Clever.” I take a seat beside her. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”
In a way, Josie reminds me of my own sister. She pays attention and wants to be helpful. I admire that about her.
Seconds later, Mia moves through the crowd, snapping pictures.
“Can’t stay long,” she says. “Very busy!”
She takes a photo of Josie and me without asking. I understand we’re in public, but still. When she lowers the camera, she holds my gaze for a beat too long before walking away.
“Have fun! Tell Wendy I said good luck!”
In the distance, Gran directs the Bees through the crowd with a megaphone.
Under her arm, she carries a pink-and-white beach chair.
Dorothy has a pair of binoculars and a wide-brimmed sun hat.
Lucille settles into her chair, rubbing sunscreen on herself.
There are several other women with them today that I haven’t met yet.
They each have an ice chest that I’m sure is full of hard liquor and orange juice.
At the water’s edge, Fallon stretches and twists her body next to Wendy, who has adjusted her board strap twice.
“My sister is spiraling,” Josie says.
I don’t ask for permission. I walk down to meet her. As soon as I’m close, her face breaks into a smile.
“Don’t you dare say anything motivational,” she warns. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, I’m aware. That’s why I came to tell you that your ass looks incredible in that wetsuit.”
She laughs and moves closer to me, relaxing.
Fallon snorts from a few feet away. “He’s not wrong.”
This is the version of Wendy that existed before Adam, the W, and California.
“Good luck out there,” I whisper. “You’ve got this.”
“Thanks. It doesn’t matter. I’m doing it for fun,” she says, like she’s trying to reprogram herself.
“Exactly.”
By two, her division lines up. Eight women in their early thirties are waiting to compete. Fallon stands beside Wendy with their boards waxed. Wendy glances back at me and grins before turning to paddle out.
The first wave she catches has my hand tightening, nearly crushing the plastic cup. She glides to the left with her posture low on the board. She cuts across the wave with a speed that has the crowd cheering. Wendy almost predicts the water like she’s controlling it.
“She’s incredible,” Preston says. “Just how I remember.”
The sun burns my neck, and now I understand why so many people rent those damn umbrellas.
Fallon is a talented surfer too. She’s aggressive and fearless, and the crowd goes wild for her. But I can’t stop staring at Wendy as she finds the version of herself she thought she’d lost, and she’s free.
The judges post scores after each round. A woman named Kelsey takes first. Fallon takes second. Wendy comes out of the water, holding a small trophy the size of a coffee mug, but grinning wide.
“Eleven years!” she yells, holding the trophy up. “Eleven years, and I still placed!”
Fallon grabs her, and they jump up and down celebrating. Josie joins them, and so do the Bees.
Once photos are taken, Wendy runs toward me.
She’s dripping wet with her hair plastered to her shoulders.
Water slides down her face as she slams into me at full speed.
My arms close around her, and the ocean soaks through my shirt as I spin her around.
Her whole body vibrates as she laughs, full of leftover adrenaline.
She presses her face into my neck, still breathing hard, still laughing.
“I’m so fucking proud of you.”
She pulls back and looks at me. Her brown eyes catch the afternoon light, and I study the gold flecks.
“I love you,” I say. The words tumble out of my mouth on a crowded beach in broad daylight, and I mean every one of them.
Wendy’s eyes soften, and she doesn’t move. Then her hand comes up to the side of my face. She holds my cheek and looks at me for a long time.
“Carter, I—” She closes the distance and kisses me instead, and the kiss says everything she can’t.
She didn’t say it back, but I don’t take it personally. I’ve never said those words to hear them in return. I don’t want to live with the regret of someone not knowing how I feel about them.
We pull apart, and her hand drops from my face. In the distance, someone’s kid screams while the DJ switches tracks.
Preston appears with two drinks. “Seems you two could use these.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Preston points at me with the rum bottle. “Way to live the sweet life.”
Gran watches from her beach chair with her mimosa and says absolutely nothing.
Wendy walks away, grabbing my hand and pulling me with her. We don’t talk about it.
The surf competition and celebration fade into the late afternoon. The rum keeps finding my cup. Wendy walks away at one point, and Fallon stares at me.
“What was that, Banks?”
“Nothing,” I say with a shrug.
“If you hurt her, I will—”
“I don’t need the warning.” I hold up my hand.
“Most guys do,” she says.
“I’m not most guys,” I tell her, gulping down the rest of my Coconut Crush.
By sunset, the crowd scatters. Wendy and I walk back to the B&B. Her trophy is in one hand, and she’s got her other index finger looped with mine. When we enter, she sets the trophy on the front-desk counter.
The lobby is empty. Sunlight cuts through the windows and catches the salt still drying on her shoulders. She runs her thumb along the base of the trophy, smiling at nothing, and I want her somewhere no one else can reach.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask her.
She turns. “Really?”
“I want privacy.”
Her eyebrows lift. “There’s always the Grand Palm. It has a rooftop pool and forty-dollar cocktails.”
“I’ll make a phone call.”
“Carter, that place is—”
“Yes?”
She pauses. “Expensive.”
“I travel a lot for my job. The hotel chain is part of the rewards program. I have a lot of points to cash in.”
It’s not a lie. I have comps at every luxury hotel chain on the planet because Banks Finance’s corporate account generates them faster than any human could spend. I also own enough stock in the Grand Palm’s parent company to put them out of business … if I wanted.
She narrows her eyes. “You’re serious.”
“I need you, Wen,” I whisper.
She stares at me for three seconds. “Give me thirty minutes.”
She disappears upstairs. I text Reese to make a reservation with dinner, a bottle of champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a late checkout.
By the time Wendy comes back down, the penthouse is confirmed.
She’s wearing a black dress and heels that make her legs look endless. I forget what I was about to say.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask.
“You. But also, I don’t want to be treated like a summer slut at the Grand Palm.”
My brow pops up. “Are you sure about that?”
A smile touches her lips. “Maybe a little.”
I chuckle and take her hand, walking her down the path toward the resort.
The Grand Palm lobby is everything the B&B isn’t—with its marbled floors, crystal chandeliers, and staff in pristine uniforms. I haven’t been inside a luxury building since I left New York. My posture straightens on instinct, and my hand goes to Wendy’s back to keep her close to me.
We walk through the lobby to the check-in counter. I step forward, and the woman’s attitude changes the second she pulls up my reservation.
“Mr. Banks, your penthouse is ready, and dinner is waiting.”
The woman slides two golden key cards across the counter.
We move into the elevator, where Wendy looks at me sideways.
“Rewards programs don’t get you a penthouse,” she says.
“You’re adorable,” I tell her.
We step out and walk to the end of the hallway, where I unlock the door.
The space has floor-to-ceiling windows that give the perfect view of the sea. Wendy walks inside, touching surfaces with her fingertips. She opens the balcony doors, and the ocean air rushes in. Stars scatter behind her.
“Come here,” I say.
She turns like she’s been waiting for that since we walked in. I push the dress strap off her shoulder and press my mouth to her collarbone. Her head tips back, and she lets out a sigh.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” I say against her ear, unzipping her dress.
It drops into a puddle of fabric at her feet. The black lace bra matches the thong, and I’m going to take my damn time removing them both.
She fumbles with the buttons on my shirt, then pushes it off my shoulders. Her hands spread across my ribs as she kisses me, guiding me toward the mattress. I sit on the edge, and she climbs on top of me. The weight of her settles on my lap as her knees press into the mattress.
I unclasp the bra and slide it down her arms. My mouth closes over one of her hard nipples, and she gasps. The sound echoes off the walls.
“Yes, yes,” she says, grinding against me through my pants.
My cock strains against the fabric that’s soaked with her.
She reaches between us, releasing me from my clothes.
With a firm grip, she wraps her hand around me, stroking me.
Pre-cum pools at the tip, and she bends down to lick it up.
My breath rushes out of me as she strokes and sucks me, never removing her gaze.
“Wendy.”
“Hmm?” She does it again, causing me to grunt.
“I need to be inside you.”
She rises on her knees. I pull the lace to the side, and she sinks onto me, inch by inch. She stops halfway, adjusting, waiting for her body to relax before taking more. When she has all of me, she exhales against my mouth. We stay there for a few extra seconds without moving.
Eventually, she goes slow, starting with a rhythm that’s safe. It’s one we can enjoy that doesn’t involve rushing. Her fingers lace behind my neck, and her breasts brush against my chest. The pace is torturous, and she knows it. I grip the back of her thigh, needing more.
She speeds up enough to pull a groan out of me. My hands slide up her back, pull her down harder to meet my thrusts. Her desperate sighs and gasps fill the room. She’s enjoying every second of control she has over me. Fuck, I am too.
“Yes,” she breathes out. “Right there. More of that.”
I give her exactly what she needs until her head falls back.
Her thighs tighten around me, and her breathing turns shallow.
I wrap my arms around her back and roll her over until she’s lying underneath me.
She gasps, her legs still locked around me.
Brown hair spreads across the comforter, and those dark eyes lock on mine. Her swollen lips lift into a smile.
“What?” she whispers.
“Just admiring you.”
“Can you admire and fuck me at the same time?”
I laugh. “That I can do.”
I hook my fingers into the lace panties that I moved to the side and drag them down her legs. I push inside her, causing her back to lift off the mattress.
“Carter, please.”
I pull out and push back in slowly. She wraps her legs around me, heels digging into my ass. Every time she gets close, I slow down until her patience nearly snaps.
Luckily for her, my restraint breaks with it. I stop holding back. I pin her wrists above her head with one hand and fuck her until she’s screaming my name.
“Keep your eyes on me,” she says. “Stay with me.”
“I’m with you.” My voice is wrecked.
Her back arches. She squeezes me tight as she comes apart, filling the penthouse with her gasps and groans. Every aftershock drags me closer to the edge. Wendy places her hands on my cheeks and pulls me down, kissing me. I bury my face in her neck and let go. She holds me through it.
I keep myself upright, wanting to say those three words again, regardless of if she never repeats them.
“I could get used to this,” she says first.
“The penthouse?”
“You buried deep inside me like I belong to you.” She tilts her head up and looks at me. “Being able to make noises is nice too.”
“You were never as quiet as you thought you were.” I press my lips to the top of her head.
She laughs, and when she swats my chest, I grab her hand and kiss it. We clean up, and I pull her into my arms.
Once our heart rates slow, she slides my button-up over herself and goes to find the food I ordered.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand. It’s Jameson.
“What’s up?” I answer.
“Care to explain what’s going on?” Jameson asks, but I hear a cockiness in his tone.
The silence draws on.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Dyson Carter Banks, don’t you have a PR team?
” I can tell he’s annoyed. “There are pictures of you in Coconut Beach, hanging out with a gorgeous brunette. There are a few of you in the background at a Fourth of July thing, and several from the surf competition today. Someone mentioned it to me at a party tonight.”
My hand tightens on the phone. No one knew I was here. Except Ryder.
“Do the people on the island know who you are?” Jameson asks.
“No,” I tell him.
“So, the blind item was true.” He breathes out. “What about the pretty woman you’re clearly into? The one who’s showing up in all the photos?”
My phone vibrates, and I swipe through the pics of Wendy and me that someone took today.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “This is bad.”
“Dyson, you have to tell her before this becomes mainstream.”
“I will.”
“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” he says. “Don’t fuck it up. Have I mentioned how glad I am to be single?”
“Have I mentioned how much of an asshole you are?”
“Not recently. Anyway, gotta go. You’re welcome.”
The call ends. I sit on the edge of the bed with the photos still on my screen. Wendy laughing, her arms around me, and my face is very easy to identify.
The lie felt manageable when I arrived, but now it’s unraveling, and I don’t know how much time I have left.
From the kitchen, Wendy laughs at something.
I lock my phone and go to her. She’s smiling as she digs into some filet mignon.
I will tell her the truth, but I can’t do that tonight.
Instead, I give her all that I am. I give her the man she chose.