CHAPTER TWELVE
SYLVIE
As the one-word question leaves my lips, Cash ravages them in answer, sweeping me into his arms, fisting my hair, and wrenching my head to the angle he wants it.
Waves crash against us, splashing in a berating tempo and igniting the desperation inside both of us.
We might be solely responsible for turning these gentle waters rocky. For setting the ocean ablaze.
Nothing about his approach requests permission.
He’s commanding and confident and rough in the most alluring manner, yet somehow tender in his coaxing.
His tongue skates along the seam of my lips in a taunt, sinking inside to tangle mine in a charged devouring.
His hands rove my curves, his fingers branding my skin and dictating our rhythm.
His chest rumbles against mine, his hunger intensifies, and his mammoth frame swallows me whole.
He nips and kisses and roams and bites.
And beneath the scorching golden rays, I melt from the heat of a Noire king.
Somehow, I end up wrapped around him, my arms pretzeled behind his neck, my thighs hugging his hips, my ankles locked behind his taut ass.
Every inch—and there are many—of his aroused state spears my abdomen.
And, fuck, I think there’s some sort of jewelry adorning the crown of his cock.
Maybe something on the shaft too. I roll my hips, and at the feel of the piercing caressing me, an unbidden purr floats from my empty lungs.
“That’s it, Sly. You feel that?” He bends me backward, arching me so his mouth can explore my collarbone, and the slope of my shoulder, and the hollow of my neck, all while he angles his dick to grind against me in the most mind-blowing cadence.
Thank God we’re in water up to his ribs. I think we’re teetering on R-rated content at a family beach. My nipples are intent on ripping through the flimsy knit triangles, his erection could masquerade as a buoy, and the strings on my bikini are threatening to untie themselves.
Wicked rhapsodies in the seven seas.
There’s a tiny voice in the recesses of my mind, timidly suggesting that I should put an end to this, but the sun and salt and seduction have gone to my head. All coherent thoughts have left the island. My pussy rules it now. And, Jesus, she’s a parched queen.
Baptism by Cash it is. He’s everywhere. I need him everywhere.
“Fucking in me,” he growls, reiterating his puzzling claim from earlier as he moves back to my mouth, vanquishing any resistance I was reaching for.
He tastes like the brushstrokes on a Monet and the escape route to swipe it. Victory and spoils and the art of evasion.
His palm cradles my ass, his index finger tracing the seam of my bikini bottoms, and my pulse goes haywire, battering in my temples and toes, my ribs and pussy, a walloping plea for him to take the plunge.
He’s right there, a whisper away from bestowing celestial awe during an inshore nooner.
My hips rock of their own accord, giving him a subtle green light.
“Tell me what you need, baby,” he rasps between kisses, so lust-drunk that his voice has me intoxicated.
I’ve never been so blissfully lightheaded. But the balmy breeze and the cool waves, his rigid form pressed to mine and the way he seems to listen, even when I’m not talking—it’s so much more than I anticipated, despite knowing we’d be explosive.
So, that is all I manage. “More.”
He hums in understanding. Another kiss. Another conquering.
Fingers in my hair and his cock teasing my clit.
Whimpers and moans and sun-soaked rapture.
He bites my bottom lip, soothes it with a lick, and releases a wolfish groan.
And then we’re on the move, wading toward shore.
A cascade of our soiree drips off us with a tinkling melody as he carries me out of the water.
I grip him firmer, relishing the skin-to-skin cradling. Coconut and salty heat.
“Now we know.” His glistening blues caper all over my face, his mouth curling into a haughty grin. “Friends it is.”
I’m so dizzy that it takes a second for his declaration to register, but then it pummels me.
“You never leave something on the table unless you know exactly what you’re sacrificing.” That’s what he said right before he kissed me, and I was too spellbound to keep my wits about me.
Trump card.
That was one hell of a way to make his point.
He sets me down on the blanket and drapes a towel around my shoulders, lifting my chin like I’m an overstimulated child. “Once you get your sea legs, we can grab something to eat.”
I huff a quiet laugh, my lungs still fighting for air. “As long as it isn’t bacon.”
He howls, appreciating my reference to our earlier exchange. “Touché, Palmer.”
“You’re what?” I gasp at my mother, my temper barely in check.
After we left the beach, we went back to the house for lunch because my mom had sent me a text that she was home, and I felt it was wise to have a chaperone—not that I relayed the latter. Cash ordered us takeout from a local restaurant, including crème br?lée because he thought I needed it.
Smart-ass.
My mother picks at the fries again as if she didn’t just spring life-changing information on me. “It’s only six months. For now. I’m looking forward to it. You know how much I’ve always wanted to travel for recreational reasons. So, I’m renting the house out.”
Nausea unsettles my stomach, but I force myself to think rationally. I want her to be happy. “Okay, well, why can’t I just stay in the house while you go?”
She wipes her hands on a napkin, a slight frown tugging at her lips. “I already lined up renters. I didn’t want to burden you with looking after the house, and at the time, I didn’t know you’d be leaving New York.”
That’s valid.
“What about Flora?” Resentment seeps into my tone because I’m not ready to be the one showing up for my sister.
She purses her lips, torn up over our falling-out, but respectful of it. “Her health is good right now, and she’s twenty-eight. Don’t you always tell me that I shouldn’t be a crutch for her?”
Cash doesn’t utter a word. He finishes his sandwich and drinks his beer.
Restless, I hop up, grab my plate, toss what I didn’t finish in the trash, and load the blue-paneled dishwasher. I briefly consider asking about Ted or Tom, but stick to what matters. “And you’re leaving Lou?”
“No. She’s coming with me.”
Now I’m pissed. I spin and cross my arms over my chest. “And neither of you mentioned this to me last night?”
“Sylvie,” she sighs. “Your ankle was swollen, and you’d had a terrible day. I didn’t think it was the time.”
“Okay,” I breathe, turning back to her ceramic sink to load more dishes. “You’re right. I don’t want to go back to New York, but I’ll find a place.”
She hesitates, her thoughts skulking around us until she finally voices her motherly concern. “Living alone isn’t smart, so—”
“She can stay at La Lune Noire,” Cash interjects.
“That’s not a good idea,” I snap, not even bothering to look at him because he knows he shouldn’t be getting involved.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” my mother trills with far too much enthusiasm as she gathers her plate and joins me at the sink. “I’ll pay for a membership for you, and he can take a picture of me holding the Mardi Gras mask for collateral.”
Collateral? Like blackmail material?
“You are supposed to be legit now, Mom.” I take her dish, scrubbing it with more aggression than necessary before loading it. “Being so well versed in Noire speak is probably ill-advised.”
She shoos that away. “The FBI hasn’t bugged this place in years.”
“It’s doubtful you’ll be able to say that once you have renters in here.
” I dry my hands and move back to the table to sip my Diet Coke.
Maybe Cash thinks my anger is misplaced, but my mother and I both remember the days when someone was lurking around every corner.
“Why not just send the FBI an invitation? We can decorate it with a picture of the mask.”
“So soon?” she volleys. “Didn’t you invite them a couple of summers ago?”
“That visit was courteous of Danny. Not me. And don’t bother being coy. I’ve already been interrogated about that this morning.”
“Good.” She beams. “Leading with an example of feminine rage is a strong move.”
“No need for a membership. She’s already covered.” Cash stares me down, his eyes like heated laser beams. “We take care of our friends.”
This kitchen is like a freaking tinderbox with fuses lit in every damn direction.
“Never mind the special treatment.” I arch my brows in challenge. “Sign me up. I’ll do what the members do and stay where the members stay.”
“I guess that would be better,” he grits out, suave and smooth, like always, but with a knifelike edge, “since I was going to put you in the servants’ quarters in the shed out back.”
Am I fighting both of them?
All my muscles coil with frustration. “Won’t my being there interfere with your lifestyle?”
“You mean my travel schedule? I suppose it will since the object of my obsession will be with me.” He glares at me—part wrath, but part compassion—and it cracks my chest open. “You sound jealous, Sylv, and you’re convicting me of someone else’s crimes.”
Fuck, he’s right. He isn’t Danny. And he doesn’t owe me anything. He should run. I’m so fucked up.
“It won’t happen again,” I start, and then I rub my forehead and amend the lie. “In all honesty, it might. Not because I’m … When it does, just know that I’m having an untethered moment. It’s not you.”
“That’s fair.” He takes a pull of his beer, his eyes crinkling at the corners as they sear into me. “I am the lunatic who keeps tracking you down.”
My mother is so quiet, watching us, that her duplicitous scheme is unveiled. She arranged this with him.
I shoot her a look that conveys I’m onto her. “Why are you doing this?”
She hears everything I’m not saying. I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know if I can pull this off. I need your guidance. I don’t want to end up like Dad.
Her green eyes glisten with regret. “This is best.”
“I’ve got two more jobs I need to complete. One is next week.”