Page 7 of Better Than the Beach
“Huh?” Her eyebrows scrunch, and she looks down at the sweatshirt she’s wearing. “Your clothes?”
“Yeah,” I rasp, then clear my throat. “Those are my high school hockey sweats.”
“Oh.” She gasps, and reaches for the hem of the shirt. “You want them ba—”
“Fuck, no, just—” I throw up one hand to stop her, keeping the other firmly over my dick, and clear my throat again. “Keep them on, please.”
My heart is racing, and though I’m standing wet and naked in this bathroom with a rock-hard erection in front of a stranger, I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s fucking gorgeous. Tall, 5’9” or 5’10”, and I can see the faint teasing outline of lush curves hiding underneath my baggy sweats. Her eyes are big, silver orbs lined with thick black lashes, and her lips are plump and slightly parted. Perfect for kissing. Perfect forother things. Add in the long, thick brown hair that I could easily wrap around my fist, and she’s easily one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in the flesh.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and fuck me, even her voice makes my dick twitch. What a fine time for it to wake up. “I’ll just, um...” She nods toward the door. “I’ll just come back when you’re done.”
She ducks back into the hallway without another word, and I’m left standing speechless with my hand cupping my hard-on.
What in the actual fuck just happened, and who the hell was that?
I didn’t bring clothes into the bathroom—it’s not like I expected anyone to be here—so I wrap the towel around my waist and rush back to my room to change.
The hallway is dead quiet. Not a floorboard squeak. No sounds that suggest anyone else is up here. But she is. I canfeelher.
When I shut the bedroom door behind me, I hear another door in the hallway open and close, then the quick patter of footsteps. After I’ve dressed, I head down to the kitchen, stopping first at the closed bathroom door to hear the rush of the faucet and rustling movement. The idea of that beautiful girl in the bathroom still thick with steam from my shower fills me with lust, and the feeling is foreign yet familiar, uninvited but not at all unwelcome.
“Did you forget to mention something last night?” I grumble to my mother. She’s sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and the comics section ofThe Denver Post.
“Oh yes,” she says with a smile. “There is a young woman staying in the room across from yours. Her flight was cancelled, and from the looks of the forecast, she’ll be here a few days.”
“It would have been nice to know I would be sharing the floor with someone, Ma.” I pour myself a mug of hot water and grab a teabag from the basket on the counter. “Almost gave me a damn heart attack when she walked in on me in the bathroom earlier.”
“Nolan.” My mother gasps. “Why didn’t you lock the door?”
“Had I known someone else was here, I would have.” I arch my brow and hit her with a pointed look. “I thought I was alone.”
My mother hums and goes back to her comics.
“She’s a lovely young woman. Be kind to her.”
“I’m always kind,” I protest, leaning against the kitchen counter with my tea in hand. “And why was she wearing my clothes?”
“Because I gave them to her. She’s not one of your students that you can scare into submission, Nolan. She’s stranded here until further notice, and I expect you to behave. She is myguest.”
Before I can defend myself, the topic of conversation comes padding into the kitchen, and she’sstillwearing my clothes. When she sees me, her eyes flare wide, then flick quickly down my body before she forces a tight-lipped smile.
“Good morning, Mrs. Montrose.” The girl nods at my mother, then corrects herself when she sees the look on Ma’s face. “Sorry. Good morning,Nan.” My mother smiles in response.
“Good morning, Cassie. Did you sleep well?”
“I did. Thanks again for letting me stay.”
“It’s nothing.” Ma waves her off, then gestures to me. “I hear you had a run-in with my son this morning.”
Cassie winces and squeezes her hands together.
“I am so sorry,” she pleads. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”
“He came in late last night,” my mom explains.
“It’s fine,” I say to the girl with a smile. “I should have locked the door.” I reach my hand out to her. “I’m Nolan. Youngest of the Montrose clan.”
When she grabs my hand, I can feel the jolt straight down to my toes. Her soft fingers tighten around mine, and I don’t stop myself from caressing her knuckles with my thumb. The feel of her under my fingers makes my mouth water, and the slight hitch in her breathing tells me she feels similarly.
