Page 67 of Battle of the Bookstores

Soon I’m straddling him, and he’s running his hands down my body like he’s claiming everything he touches: my back, my waist, sliding down to my butt and pulling me against him. I gasp at the hard press of him between my legs.

Without thinking, I lean back against the cool sand, pulling him down with me; he follows, continuing to kiss me, his hand sliding up my rib cage, thumb grazing my breast. Another moan slips out of my mouth. I have never in my life felt such unexpected, uncontrollable desire for another human being.

Needing him closer, I tug him over me, parting my legs so he can wedge his thigh between them. The weight of him is overwhelming in the best way; I’ve never been under a man this big—he’s bracing himself with one forearm against the sand, trying to be careful with me. I rock against him, and he seems to know exactly what I’m after, pressing his thigh right where I want it. The friction…it’s almost too much. My hands slide under his shirt and up his back, his skin hot against my palms. I bury my face in his neck and inhale; he smellsdivine. And I want his shirt off.

My hands shake as I bring them to his collar and fumble with the buttons. Again, he’s right there with me, reaching around to untie my halter strap, tugging the top of my dress down until my bra is exposed, still kissing me like his life depends on it. We’re both nearly frantic, and I pull too hard on his shirt and pop the final button at the same time his hand moves under the cup of my bra. He’s palming my breast as I push him up just enough to grab his belt and undo the buckle and—

“What’s going on out there?” a man’s voice calls.

A light flashes, and we scramble apart like two teenagers caught behind the bleachers. A figure holding a flashlight, walking toward us. Ryan tucks me behind him as I pull the top of my dress back up. I’m breathless and shaky, the blood rushing back to my head as it hits me: We were taking our clothes off. In the middle of a public beach.

“Sorry, Officer,” Ryan calls out. “We didn’t—”

“Aren’t you one of the Lawson boys?” asks the man—a cop, apparently.

Ryan coughs. “Uh, yes, sir. I’m Ryan, the youngest. I apologize for—”

“No, no, this is great. I mean, not on the beach, but from what your mother’s been saying, this is a long time coming. Just, you know—get a room.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, and I stifle it. Ryan sighs. “Yes, sir. Sorry again.”

The cop chuckles as he heads away. “You two have a good night.”

When he’s gone, Ryan turns to face me. His hair’s a mess, his lips swollen, his collar half popped. I reach up and touch my hair: tangled, gritty with sand.

“Holy shit,” I say, still breathless.

His eyes widen. “I didn’t—that wasn’t all me, was it? You had a lot of champagne—”

“That definitely wasn’t all you,” I say, and he’s visibly relieved. Yes, I’m tipsy, but I was in full control of my faculties.

Only now my brain is catching up, and I’m mortified at my behavior. My desperation. The sounds I made.

“I—I don’t usually do things like that,” I say.

“Me neither.”

I’m trying to keep my eyes on his face. But his shirt is open, and his chest is exposed, and my god, it’s beautiful. Thick and muscled, but not too cut, slightly soft around his navel, with a trail of dark hair disappearing into his pants.

His pants that I tried to take off.

“I should get back,” I say, scrambling to my feet. “To the room.Myroom.”

He stares up at me for a beat before nodding and standing, buckling his belt.

As we head back up the beach toward the inn, I feel like I’m doing the walk of shame without any of the benefits. In silence, he walks me to my room; I use my key card, and the door swings open, giving a clear view of the bed.

Ryan’s right behind me; I can feel his warmth, can still catch a whiff of his scent. For one split second, I have the insane urge to grab his arm and tug him inside.

“Where’s your room?” I say, instead.

“This is it.”

My breath catches and I whirl around to face him.

He’s grinning, eyes twinkling. “When I called to book you a room, the inn was full. I’m crashing at my parents’ place.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised by how let down I feel.Sleeping with the enemy is a terrible idea, I tell myself.

---