Chapter 16
BIANCA
Freddie catches me first.
His arm hooks around my waist three boards from the end, and suddenly my feet are kicking at nothing while the champagne knocks against my ribs.
“Gotcha.”
His laugh tickles my neck. Mine escapes, loud and a little wild. Owen reaches us before Freddie can put me down and catches my thigh in one hand.
“You tripped me or I would’ve been here first.”
“That sounds like something the loser would say.” Freddie twists me out of his reach.
“Watch out for the bottle,” Weller calls, clearly already exasperated.
I hold the glass projectile trapped against my breasts tighter as Freddie jumps from the boardwalk. My stomach drops as we go down in a pile.
Sand gets in my hair, my mouth, and places where sand doesn’t belong. Freddie sprawls next to me and Owen rolls me onto him, one hand under my dress and spread over the bare curve of my ass.
“You came to the beach with no underwear, Princess? Weller’s going to freak the fuck out.”
“Maybe I want him to freak out.”
Owen buries his face in my hair and grabs my ass with both hands, pulling me closer.
“You’re crushing her.” Freddie tries to shove Owen’s arm off me.
Owen’s fingers run along the crease at the top of my thigh. “She isn’t complaining.”
Tristan stops at our feet. The wind pushes his hair off his forehead, giving me an unobstructed view of his watchful eyes.
Weller walks off the boardwalk and looks south along the beach, then north, checking the house and the dunes before his attention reaches the three of us in the sand. Owen’s grip hasn’t eased up at all.
Weller crouches in front of me. “Did you hurt your feet? There were some rough spots.”
I lift one, covered in sand, for him to inspect. “Nothing life-threatening.”
He runs his fingers over my sole anyway. His touch is efficient, his attention less so. It keeps returning to the boardwalk.
I push against Owen’s chest so I can get myself upright. His hand slides down my leg instead of releasing me, palm spread around my thigh. Freddie sits close on my other side. Apparently being caught by them is a life sentence.
I hold the bottle out to Weller. “Open this, please.”
“You need food, Bianca. You’ve barely eaten today.”
Freddie reaches into his pocket and produces a crushed packet of cashews. “I brought snacks.”
Weller looks at the offering with distaste. “You sat on them.”
“They’re easier for her to chew now.”
Weller takes the champagne but looks down the beach again. I tug on his pants until his gaze returns to me.
“Just one hour, Weller. Please.”
“We don’t have cameras up. We need supplies.” His anxiety is palpable, and while I agree with the sentiment, I need a break. From everything. We all do.
“No one has tried to fuck with us all day.” Tristan tips his face into the wind. “We should celebrate.”
Weller works the cork free. It arcs toward the water, lost in the foam. Champagne spills over his knuckles, and I suck some of it up with my mouth before he can wipe it away.
Champagne mixed with the taste of his skin... I want more.
He gives me the bottle and cold bubbles tickle my tongue and nose as I gulp too much.
Freddie drinks next and starts choking, and Owen smacks him on the back with little sympathy.
Tristan grabs the bottle from them like they’re toddlers with a stolen six-pack. His gaze locks on mine while he drinks.
Weller accepts a drink last. One swallow.
I push it back toward his mouth. “Please. Let’s all take five minutes to relax without planning for the next disaster.”
I’ve never experienced anything like this. A private beach turning gold in front of me, a gorgeous house tucked into the trees behind me, or four alphas arguing over who gets to feed me. Or fuck me.
It’s delightful.
But good things don’t last. I scan the sky for the correction. The universe has always liked to repossess what I want most.
I let myself want it anyway. And I want it bad. I want them - our chaos, their hands on me, all four of them tangled into an ordinary life with me. I want to be the girl who gets to keep this.
“Bianca the butcher, going soft on a beach.” I can imagine the words in Megan’s southern accent. After being a certified alpha-hater for five years, she’d find my behavior laughable.
But the girl who wanted exactly this and never got it? She doesn’t give a fuck about her reputation. We like this. A lot.
Weller drinks again, watching the top of the boardwalk.
There may be limits to what champagne can accomplish with this one.
We settle where the dune shadow has begun crawling over the packed sand.
The bottle goes around again. Freddie shakes the cashew dust into his palm and lets me lick the salt from the center.
His cheeks go red. Tristan drinks with my calf across his lap, slowly making figure eights on my knee.
Even Weller takes another swallow without being forced, although he turns the bottle in his hand afterward, judging what remains.
“Planning to ration it?” I ask.
“Planning to get food in you so you don’t get sick.”
“The cashews prevented starvation, and we have some leftover gas station snacks back at the house.”
Weller looks displeased by this. “We’re locating real food.”
I sigh, rub his back, then grab the bottle and drink until there’s nothing left.
We made it out. I could get used to finding out what we look like when nobody is bleeding, and I have a few ideas about where to begin.
I jump to my feet and run into the ocean before anyone has a chance to tell me no or explain pros and cons.
“Bianca!” Weller is moving before the first wave reaches my knees.
The water that hits my body with the next wave is ice cold and my breath locks up. “Oh my god! It’s fucking freezing!” I keep going until it catches the hem of my dress and drags the yellow fabric around my thighs.
“What?” I call back when Weller beckons me toward him.
“You don’t know the current.”
“I’m standing in three feet of water.”
“A wave can knock you down in less.”
Another one breaks against my hips as I push deeper. I let it pull me, arms wide, and come up laughing with wet hair across my mouth. Weller takes a step deeper.
Freddie runs past him.
He hits the water badly, knees high and arms pumping, throwing enough spray to soak Weller from the waist down. Freddie catches me around the middle and swings me into the next wave.
“Rescue complete,” he says.
I jump on his shoulders and push him into the water.
He comes up laughing and grabs for me, but wet sand gives under his feet. I twist away. He catches the back of my dress, stretching one strap down my shoulder before the fabric slips from his hand.
“I nearly saw nipple,” Tristan calls.
“Nearly?” I drag the strap lower.
His expression changes, and then he is coming for me.
I run. The water fights every step, dress wound around my thighs, Freddie’s laughter close behind us.
Tristan gains anyway. He catches me at the waist just as I reach wet sand and takes me down with enough control that his shoulder hits first, but the wave rushing under us ruins the graceful part.
Salt water gets up my nose. My knees slide between his, and his mouth finds my neck while I’m still coughing and laughing.
“Caught you,” he says against my skin.
“Freddie already used that one.”
“He lacked adequate follow-through.”
His hand closes over my breast through the soaked dress. The thin yellow fabric has gone nearly transparent and I’m cold everywhere except beneath his palm. He rolls my nipple between two fingers, kisses below my ear, and lets the next wash push us closer together.
Freddie drops beside us and pulls wet hair out of my mouth.
“You practically drowned her, Tristan.” Weller has waded in level with his knees now. His shirt is spotted dark from Freddie’s attack, and he looks offended by both the ocean and the fact that no one is listening.
Tristan’s mouth moves against my neck. “She’s fine.”
Owen hasn’t come any closer.
He stands beyond Weller with his feet planted at the edge, arms folded, watching Tristan’s hand toy with me.
Ridiculous man.
I pry Tristan’s fingers from my nipple, kiss the corner of his mouth, and scramble up before he can pull me back. Owen’s attention follows me but he doesn’t move an inch.
“Don’t do whatever you’re thinking.”
“Narrow it down for me.”
I splash water at him. Most of it hits his shorts. Enough reaches his face to make him blink.
“Was it that?”
He unfolds his arms.
I splash him again and run at him before he can decide whether to chase me. My shoulder hits his ribs. He catches me easily, one arm banding around my waist, but I knock us off balance and we roll into the next wave.
Owen comes up swearing, black hair hanging over his forehead.
I straddle his stomach and kiss the tip of his nose.
He stares at me while I kiss his cheek, his other cheek, and the furrow between his eyebrows.
He turns his head when I aim for his forehead, so my mouth catches near his temple instead.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I thought the kissing made that obvious.”
“Do it right.”
I make an obnoxious kissing sound against his jaw. His mouth twitches, so I do it again below his ear and chase the movement across his face until a rough laugh breaks out of him.
I’m keeping that sound. I kiss him again, and this time he catches the back of my neck and takes control.
His mouth opens mine and the kiss turns deep.
I bite his lower lip and sit up.
His hand tightens. “Why are you running away? Stay.”
The command runs straight between my legs. Tempting. Also rude.
I slide backward out of his grip.
Weller reaches me and hooks two fingers through my fallen dress strap, pushing it back onto my shoulder.
“Are you ready to go back to the house?” he asks.
I look at the water dripping from his shorts. “Did you have fun, Weller?”
He considers the question like it’s a contract clause. “I enjoyed watching you have fun.”
I rise on my toes and kiss his cheek before he can prepare for it.