Page 27 of The Oscar Escape
That’s all, folks.
Oh, who was she kidding?
She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue as her treacherous body recalled their kiss—again. She couldn’t count the number of times that kiss had hijacked her sleeping and waking mind. But this morning, that kiss triggered a companion memory. She could feel cool tiles against her cheek, hear her ragged breaths, and see sheet music scattered across her college’s piano practice room’s floor. Images flashed. A hospital bed. An IV. Oscar feeding her spoonfuls of broth. To this day, she couldn’t figure out how he’d known she’d collapsed in the secluded space tucked away in the bowels of the music department.
How had he seen what the others couldn’t? And what had made him so distressed after they’d kissed? That was a stupid question. It had to be her—the toxic combination of her breakdown followed by their midnight kiss produced an untenable situation. After those two events, Oscar turned into a nomad. A man who drifted from place to place and job to job. A man who’d ignored his roots. A man who’d commit to nothing but constant change and continual movement. He’d become an empty husk—a lookalike version of the vibrant, cerebral artist who could capture beauty with a click of his camera.
Stop thinking about Oscar.
The man holding her close—who should have her undivided attention—growled a sexy, primal sound and moved his hips in sync with her in a deliciously slow rhythm.
Forget Mr. Won’t-Commit-To-Anything-Or-Anyone. Concentrate on Justin. He was her best shot at getting Oscar out of her head. And while she knew that was true, despite her descent into Sexy Tingles Town, jagged irritation prickled down her spine when she tried to block out Oscar and focus on Justin. An intangible, just-out-of-reach aggravated inkling festered in her mind—or was that irritation gnawing at her heart?
Whatever it was, she couldn’t put her finger on it.
And speaking of fingers, Justin tightened his hold on her hip, possessively marking her flesh with his touch. She listened to his even breaths. The man was asleep. A fresh surge of arousal tittered through her body. She had to admit there was something crazy-hot about him wanting her so badly that his need to touch her bled into his unconscious mind. He’d never approached her with such intensity. There was an unspoken quid pro quo regarding their relationship. On a scale of blah sex to don’t-you-dare-stop sex, they were firmly in the blah zone—at least she was. If it wasn’t for her Wham Bam vibrator, she’d never get off. Perhaps this was a new side of her beau. Just as the thought blossomed, her nipples hardened as he moved his hand from her hip and slipped it inside her panties. She inhaled a sharp breath as he rubbed slow circles against her most sensitive place. Heat rippled through her core. Her senses heightened as she lost herself to the rhythm. She melded with the pressure of his touch, the rasp of his breath, the scent of the ocean, and a hint of tobacco.
Wait. Justin didn’t smoke.
Her aroused mind must be playing tricks on her.
On the cusp of sweet release, she pushed aside her befuddlement and bucked against his hand. “Oscar,” she whispered, unable to stop herself.And oh no!The name substitution wasn’t entirely her fault. She’d never lost herself in the throes of passion with Justin. How would she explain why she’d uttered another man’s name when she was on the brink of crashing into oblivion with him? Oddly, he didn’t stop working with his magic fingers. Perhaps, in his half-conscious state, he hadn’t noticed her slip. In fact, he’d increased the pressure and dialed up the pace. “Don’t stop,” she moaned, teetering on the edge. It was a damned good thing he hadn’t noticed her sexytimes name switcheroo. With his hand between her thighs, she couldn’t form a cohesive explanation to save her life. She was so close, so very close, when he whispered against the shell of her ear.
“Aria.”
A wave of ecstasy ready to whisk her to Pleasure Central gave way to a sinkhole of spiraling panic. It was romantic for Justin to utter her name, but there was one problem. She knew Justin’s voice, and whoever breathed the three syllables was most definitely not Justin.
Not Justin?
Not Justin!
Holy shit!She twisted her torso to confront the bedmate bandit and clocked Not-Justin in the chin with her temple. She gasped when she got a peek of dark stubble, a tangle of chestnut-brown hair, and a face she’d recognize anywhere.
“Oscar?” She was in bed with Oscar, and he had his hand in her panties. Her soaked-from-being-hella-horny panties.
“What’s going on?” he blurted, blinking wildly.
“Your hand is . . . down there,” she yelped.
“Down where?” he shot back, his voice deep and gravelly from sleep.
“Your hand is touching mynaughty-down-there parts,” she shrieked.
That got him going. “Are you serious?” His groggy voice took on a frantic edge. “Did you put my hand on your naughty-down-there parts?”
Naughty-down-there parts.
They sounded downright ridiculous.
“No, no way! Of course, I wouldn’t put your handthereon purpose.” She scrambled off the bed like a woman who thought she was getting off thanks to her boyfriend, only to find her best friend in his place.
She needed to regain her bearings—and figure out if she was dreaming. She scanned her surroundings. Directly in front of her was a bed with a creamy white comforter, and on that fluffy surface sat her wide-eyed half-naked friend. She slid her gaze to the left and studied a side table with a lamp next to a small metal sailboat and a delicate ceramic bowl piled high with seashells. Seashells? She grabbed a handful and pelted them at Oscar. “What are we doing here?”
He reared back. “Um . . . about that . . . yeah.”
What kind of answer was that?
She took an unsteady step backward and bumped into a windowsill. Peering over her shoulder, she pushed aside a sea-blue colored curtain. Not sure she could believe her eyes, she drank in a few weathered gray structures and a dock dotted with a few fishing boats that looked like their best days were about thirty years ago. Gulls darted past the window, soaring high, then dipping low to land on the wooden, weather-beaten posts lining a stretch of the dock. She looked toward the horizon and took in the vastness of the ocean.
