Page 13 of More With You

“I attended the school of life,” he adds, running a hand through his thick hair. It’s a corny line, but it puts me at ease.

I laugh. “Same. Didn’t always care much for it, though. The exams got harder.” I eye the spread of mansions that line the beach, knowing our life universities must’ve been quite different. The other “houses” aren’t the DuCate estate, but they’re not hovels. Each one has to be worth seven figures apiece. “Where do you live?”

“Up Main, in town.” I raise a skeptical eyebrow and he elaborates. “In a small bungalow. It’s nice. You should come by sometime.”

My heart jumps, but I won’t let him distract me with talk of his bungalow. “Okay, last question. How old are you?” In my mind, Benjamin and Cybil are ancient. I know they’re probably not retirement home age, even though that’s my mental image of them, but they’re not young like my mom was.

“Thirty-six,” he replies.

That shocks me almost as much as the DuCate revelation, urging me to take a closer look at him. I eye the fine lines on his face, crinkling more at the corners of his mesmerizing eyes, especially when he smiles. There are a few deeper lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows, but I’d put them down to sun damage. And, now that I’m really scrutinizing, I notice a slight flecking of gray at his temples which I hadn’t seen before. It’s sexy, honestly. There’s a worldliness and maturity to him that finally makes sense.

“How old are you?” he counters.

“Twenty-six.” I hope a ten-year difference isn’t too much for him, though a childhood like mine has probably added those ten years to my mental age.

He smiles, visibly unfazed. “Do you want to take a walk? I could give you a tour of my parents’ house if you’re up for it?”

He’s already getting to his feet, while I’m staring down at my cut-offs and tank top. There’s no way I’d set foot in the DuCate mansion, looking like a disheveled spring-breaker who’s just rolled in at seven in the morning after a night of tequila shots and dancing on tables.

“No chance.” I point at myself. Either he’s crazy, or he wants to use me as some kind of shock factor.

He offers a hand down to me. “They’re out of town. It would just be you and me.”

I relax slightly. It’s a tempting offer. I’ve looked at those houses often enough, wondering what they would be like to explore in secret, without the watchful and probably critical eye of a rich family, surveilling my every move and hiding all their valuables. Plus, I’d have my very own tour guide, who could answer all of my burning questions.

They might even have some first editions! The book nerd in me is desperate to take a peek, so I can report back to Ms. T. The realist in me, on the other hand, knows that peering behind the curtain, so to speak, will only send my mind into a further spiral. It’s not like walking into a museum and admiring the exhibits. Everything in that house will be a reminder of what I’m not.

“I can’t,” I reply, taking his hand and getting to my feet. “My shift starts at two, and I should probably get cleaned up and changed.” I brush the sand off the backs of my sweaty thighs. “Rain check?”

He shrugs. “Sounds good. Not the work part.” He nods back toward the boardwalk. “Where did you park? I’ll walk you.”

“Where the commoners park.” It’s meant to be a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t not laugh, either, but I feel like I’m treading more carefully. “Only kidding. I parked on the street. Found a spot near the yacht club.”

He smiles. “Lucky you.”

As we walk back up the beach toward the row of cars on the street, my nerves start up again, pinballing in my belly. I’m not sure what comes next. This wasn’t a date, but it wasn’t nothing. I think we can both sense that, judging by the way he keeps looking at me. But what do we do with this thing that’s sizzling between us? Do we acknowledge it right away or play it cool and keep our distance? Do I even want to see where this goes, if he’s a DuCate? I doubt that’ll end well for me, but fate did bring us back together, so it’d be rude to just ignore the work that destiny has put in. See, this is why I don’t date! It’s uncharted territory for me, and I’m floating at sea, unable to figure out which way is north.

By the time we reach my car, I’m jittery, barely able to pluck the keys from the top of my front tire without dropping them. And it seems Ben isn’t in the mood to ease my nerves.

“So, Summer—what do we do now?” His teeth graze his lower lip as he leans against the side of my car door.

I bite the inside of my cheek, smile and shrug. I’ve lost my voice as well as my hand-eye coordination.

“You don’t know?” he purrs, taunting me.

I shake my head, my heart pounding in my chest, while a shiver of desire ripples up from between my thighs, tingling in my belly.

“I think you do.” He takes my hand and pulls me toward him, until I’m almost flush against him. He smells like sweat and salt and sunshine, the heat of him melting my insides. “First, I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay?”

I nod almost imperceptibly, closing that narrow gap between us, as he dips his head, bringing his lips to within a hair’s breadth of my own.

“Good,” he murmurs, speaking the word against my mouth. A kiss, but not a kiss, though I don’t have to wait long for him to press an entire vocabulary of passion to my lips.

His mouth catches mine, like the breeze just before a rainstorm. Light, but carrying the weight of an imminent power that’s waiting to be unleashed. His hands come up to caress my face, his thumbs stroking the apples of my cheeks, matching the slow, sensual pace of his kiss. My jaw sits gently against the pads at the sides of his rough, masculine hands, though they hold me tenderly, like I’m a chalice of fine wine that he wants to savor.

I instantly cave to his touch, forgetting his last name and everything it comes with. None of that matters right now, as I sink into him, smoothing my palms up his sculpted chest until my hands meet again around the back of his neck. On tiptoe, I open my mouth for him, breathing him in, urging him closer, wanting more… wanting all of him.

When his tongue strives to explore my mouth, he tilts my head with his powerful hands, angling me so he can taste more of me. I let him, tasting his tongue with mine in return, before pushing my lips against his with a longing I didn’t know I could feel. It’s everything I’ve been daydreaming about, but it’s not quite enough. I could kiss him until my mouth is bruised and there is no air left in my lungs, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Still, the kiss sings of promise… of more. All in due time, if fate stays on our side.

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