CHAPTER NINETEEN
NASH
NASH
To my right, Clara sat with her face pressed nearly against the window, gasping every time we rounded another curve that revealed more of the dramatic Pacific Ocean coastline with cliffs dropping hundreds of feet.
In the backseat, Mia was equally entranced, squealing whenever her mommy did, like the cutest little echo.
"Just look at the color of that water!” Clara exclaimed. “And the cypress trees are growing out of the rocks.”
"Trees pretty!” Mia agreed.
I glanced over, but I was more interested in watching her face light up than looking at the Big Sur scenery. We'd been on the road for a half hour since leaving the Monterey airport, and she hadn't stopped marveling at every vista, every wildflower, every glimpse of untamed nature.
"I can’t tell what’s more exciting for you,” I mused. "The private jet or that tree.”
She laughed, swatting me on the arm. But she paused, considering the question. “The plane was cool, but trees growing out of rock is next level.”
“I knew you’d say that,” I said as I shifted the gears of the rental BMW. This honeymoon scratched a lot of itches beyond escaping the tension of recent work drama. I liked open roads and stick shift. A lot. Clara’s gaze drifted down to my forearm after I’d shifted.
“Sorry, what did you say?” she asked, gaze stuck on my forearm.
It was nice to be ogled by my wife. My wife. I still couldn’t believe it.
“I think the question was how long you’ve been a fan of a man who drives stick shift.” I couldn’t fight the grin, downshifting so that I could glimpse those hooded eyes again.
“Why do you make it look so sexy?” she asked quietly.
“I’m just driving.”
She shook her head, looking back out the window. “I can’t focus on that. There’s too much out here to look at right now. You’re going to need to put your forearms away.”
“I’ll store them in the trunk if that’s better for you,” I said.
“Please.”
“Okay, at the next rest stop,” I teased, revving the car.
Clara burst into giggles, which caused Mia to ask, “What funny?”
“Oh, uh,” Clara stammered.
“We were talking about how silly the little crabs are in the tide pools,” I filled in. I hadn’t been around three-year-olds much, but I was getting the hang of Mia’s curiosity and the constant questions.
"Tide pools!" Mia shrieked from the backseat. "What a tide pool?"
I caught Clara's eye and we both smiled. This—the easy family moment—felt more natural than anything I'd experienced in years.
"It's a little pool of ocean water with creatures living in it," Clara said, then swung her gaze toward me. “So where exactly are you going, Mr. Mysterious?”
“We’re going to the house I rented for the week,” I told Clara, waggling my eyebrows. “On the cliffs.”
Her eyes widened, that giddy smile returning. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s private. Secluded. Has a hot tub on the deck overlooking the ocean. An infinity pool. And"—I glanced in the rearview mirror at Mia—"it has a play area with a view that I think a certain little girl is going to love."
Clara's eyes went dreamy. "Nash..."
"It's our honeymoon. I don’t skimp. Only the best for my girls."
The words flowed so easily. And I meant every last one.
She covered her mouth with a hand, like she was keeping another squeal inside. "This is the best vacation I’ve ever been on.”
“You’ve only been on it for five hours.”
“Still the best! Hands down.”
I scooped up her hand and brought her knuckles to my lips. “And it’s only going to get better.”
It wasn’t long before we were pulling past the gate and up the curving, wooded driveway to the rental house.
It was part cabin, part architectural wonder.
We breezed through the house first, oohing and aahing over the floor-to-ceiling windows, the grand fireplace, the chef’s kitchen, the ridiculous views of Big Sur’s south coast. The entire southwest side of the house was wrapped in decks, and we stood out there gawking at the churning, sparkling ocean for what felt like a half hour.
“I’m in love,” Clara finally managed to say.
“Let’s have a toast. You two stay here, I’ll get everything ready.”
I rummaged through the kitchen, looking for the things I’d arranged with the host to prepare ahead of time: chilled rosé wine, a charcuterie board, a case of juice boxes.
I’d never wooed a woman—or her daughter—like this before, but I enjoyed it more than I’d expected.
Playing Clara’s husband came so naturally to me.
Technically, I was Mia’s stepdad now. The pieces seemed so outrageous on their own, but they came together to form a picture that just made sense.
Married man with a wife and a stepdaughter.
Why did it feel so good?
“Ladies.” I breezed back onto the patio with two glasses of rose and a juice box for Mia. She giggled and scampered toward me, grabbing the juice box excitedly. Clara smiled at me warmly as she received the wine glass.
“What are we toasting?” she asked, propping herself up on the overstuffed lounge chair.
“Act like you don’t know,” I goaded her as I eased onto the lounge chair beside her. We had a perfect view of the ocean, the cliffs, the unending moody coast. “To our incredible matrimony, obviously.”
She dipped her chin, as though admonishing me. “We pulled it off, didn’t we?”
I could hear the subtext behind her words. For some reason, it chafed. “I’d say we did more than just pull it off. We fucking killed it.” We clinked glasses, and the longer I looked at her beautiful face, the bigger I grinned. “So this is to you. My wife.”
Her cheeks went pink, and I saw her throat bob. “To my husband.”
Mia swayed near the railing, looking out at the water again. I called for her and lifted my glass to her juice box when she came over. “To the prettiest flower girl I’ve ever seen.”
Mia giggled and skipped away, leaving Clara and me gazing at each other like there’d never been a contract between us. After her first sip of wine, her brows shot up. “This is good. Really good.”
“We’re not far from wine country—it better be good.”
Clara hummed with pleasure, her gaze sweeping back out toward the coastline. After another sip of wine, she pointed to something along the cliff face.
"Look at how the roots have adapted.” She pointed to a tree clinging to the edge of a cliff. "They spread horizontally instead of going deep because the soil is so shallow. It's beautiful.”
I nodded, my gaze sliding from the tree she’d pointed out back to her. Her lush lashes, her cheekbones, her silky, honey-blonde hair that felt so good through my fingers. “So beautiful.”
Time slowed to a crawl as I got lost in her.
I could have stayed here forever. On this huge deck, the fresh ocean air filling my lungs, the unending horizon reflecting our future, Mia safe and happy and exploring, Clara and I riding this high where things felt easy, natural, even perfect.
I didn’t want it to end. Not now, not at the start of next year, not as far in the future as I could imagine.
She looked for a few more moments then turned to me, seeming surprised to find me looking at her.
“What?” she asked shyly.
“Nothing. Just enjoying the view.”
She dipped her chin, giving me a look that said come on.
“Don’t give me that look,” I chided. “It’s not my fault I have the hottest wife.”
Laughter rolled out of her, and I took this opportunity to set our glasses safely aside and pull her onto my lounge chair.
“What are you doing?” she asked between giggles.
“Getting more comfortable.” She squealed with delight as I pulled her onto my lap, arranging her above me as I relaxed beneath her.
“I’m gonna make your legs go numb,” she warned.
“I don’t need them,” I shot back. “Same with my forearms. Useless appendages.”
She looked down at me, pure joy shining in her face. I cupped her face in my hands and pressed my lips to hers.
I’d imagined every scenario of what might happen when Archer and I considered undertaking this crazy scheme. But I’d never imagined this one. This wasn’t just riding a high.
This was fucking bliss.
Later that night, after Mia had gone to bed in the guest room, I found Clara on the deck again. This time, she stood at the railing, the ocean breeze lifting her hair, the moonlight making her look luminous.
“There’s my wife,” I growled into her ear, sliding my arms around her waist from behind.
She sighed, melting against me. “It’s still so crazy to hear that.”
I nipped at her earlobe. “You know what else is crazy? How good you look wearing nothing but my ring.”
Clara giggled, turning to face me. “Are you suggesting I take my clothes off, Mr. Nightingale?”
“Yes. Immediately.” I cupped the sides of her face as I covered her mouth with my own, kissing her until we ran out of breath. Her hands wandered down the front of my pants, searching out the stiff ridge of my cock. As she moved her palm up and down along my length, I broke the kiss.
“You want me to come in my pants again, don’t you?”
“I’d rather you come in my mouth this time,” she whispered.
“Mmm.” I squeezed the sides of her arms, guiding her back to the lounge chair. “Tell me something, Clara.” When her ass hit the soft cushion, I grabbed her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “Do you want your husband’s cock?”
It was almost unnatural how much I enjoyed saying those words. Her pretty grin and that lush mouth made me unbearably hard.
Clara tugged my pants down far enough that my cock sprang free. Her soft lips grazed the tip as she grabbed the base, eyes flitting up my way as she wrapped a hand around the back of my thigh.
“I want my husband’s cock so bad,” she said before swallowing me.
Her cheeks hollowed out as she took as much of me in her mouth as she could.
I rocked into her, relishing the silky heat of her mouth.
I tipped my head back, a groan rumbling out of me.
The whimpers, the gagging noises, the way she let me fuck her mouth—it was perfection.
My balls tightened as I fisted my hand in hair.