Two Wedding Crashers Page 11

  Because to hell if I can remember my reasoning right about now with his touch relentless and unforgiving.

  “You guys can start,” Beck calls out. Bending down, his hand disconnecting from my skin, Beck picks up some beanbags. “We’re going to play teams on the same side. Rylee needs a little guidance.”

  “That’s fine,” Zoey calls out, getting in a tossing position. “Al-eee-oop!” she shouts as she starts tossing her four beanbags, none of them coming even close to the hole. Ha, that girl is all talk. “Just a warm-up, don’t worry. I’ll be sinking those bags like LeBron James in no time. Watch out, bitches.”

  “Yikes.” Beck laughs next to me, the sound so intoxicating, deep and satisfying in all the right places. “All right, we’re up, Saucy. Do you want to go first?” He’s so close, he’s almost whispering, his breath sweetly caressing over my already-tingly skin.

  “Sure.” I go to toss one when Beck stops me.

  “Hold up there, killer. Let’s get you into position so you can actually sink some.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Oh, it matters, because we need to beat those turkeys over there. Now let me show you how to do this.” Can we agree that Beck calling Art and Zoey turkeys is kind of adorable? Love it.

  Beck presses his body flush against mine and slowly runs his hands down my arms, immediately turning my nipples hard. His chest rounds my back, the tightly wrapped sinew flexing across my body. Rock hard and solid, he’s like a brick wall protecting me from the outside world. But it isn’t just the way his body is pressed against mine or the way his hands feel so right grazing along my skin. It’s the way he’s teaching me by speaking directly into my ear, soft and patient, and the way he smells, all male and delicious. Lord, help me, don’t get me started on the lethal pheromones excreting from this man.

  “Feel this, Rylee? This swing? This is the exact kind of swing you want. Smooth. That’s right, Saucy, just like that.” He’s whispering, his hand is swishing my arm back and forth, his body so tight against mine that I’m seconds from combusting, from exploding from the heat coursing up my spine.

  “Think you can do this?”

  I swallow hard his breath tickling my cheek. “Yes. I think I got it.”

  “Good, give the first one a toss.” He doesn’t give me much room at all. In fact, he’s still glued to me when I toss the bag, sending it skyrocketing across the small part of the beach. Oh hell.

  “Uh, not quite where we wanted it to land.”

  “Looks like you need to do some more warm-ups,” Zoey taunts. “Maybe a little less sexual tension over there and you won’t be sending beanbags to the moon.” She’s going to get a throat punch after this. It’s bad enough I’m trembling from having Beck’s hands all over me. I don’t need her pointing it out as well.

  “Don’t mind her.” Beck attempts to soothe me, getting back into position. “Just keep it smooth and your arm straight. Float her right in the hole.”

  The next three bags come close to the wooden block but they’re still losers, but it’s okay because Zoey didn’t sink any, so we continue to be tied. That’s until Art steps up and sinks two bags right in the hole. Well, damn.

  “We’re losing,” I state, feeling like we really need to win for bragging rights. I know if we lose, Zoey will never let me hear the end of it. If anything, we need to win to shut her up.

  “Don’t sweat it, Saucy. You have me on your team.” Beck gives me a confident smile as he positions himself to throw, but instead of tossing the bags underhand like me, he flicks them from the side, spinning them in the air, and sinking all four bags.

  I know it’s just cornhole, that we are tossing fabric corn-filled squares around, but there is something to be said about how hot Beck looked just now. Shirtless, tanned, hazel eyes laser focused on the board in front of him. His posture is casual, like he owns the game, and he doesn’t flinch after we score four points.

  “Oh hell,” Zoey says. “This guy’s going to slaughter us.”

  Wiggling his eyebrows at me, Beck takes a sip of his water and says, “Told you not to worry. I got this.”

  And he did. He carried our team through the game scoring point after point, not even giving Zoey and Art a fair chance.

  We are one point away from winning, and I have one bag left. We could not make any and still be far enough ahead that our opponents have no chance at winning, but still, I feel like this is it. I have yet to score a point for us and for some reason, I really want to contribute.

  Taking a deep breath, I keep my eyes focused on the hole, envisioning sinking my bag.

  “You can do this, Rylee. I believe in you,” Beck says, cheering me on, leaning forward and whispering in my ear. “Did I mention you look fucking good in that bathing suit?”

  Losing my concentration, I turn to look at him over my shoulder. He’s close, once again, hovering over me, his hands low on my hips.

  My breath catches in my chest when his fingers slip under the fabric of my bikini. Instead of tensing, my shoulders relax from the slow circles he’s drawing along my skin, the pads of his fingers running along the front of my hipbones.

  Oh fuck. A low throb starts to beat between my legs, my knees becoming wobbly and my need for this man growing stronger and stronger with every wicked look he gives me. Every touch. I can’t imagine how he’ll make my body hum if he has full access to it, if he has it stretched across his bed with my legs spread, ready for his next move.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” I ask, having a hard time steadying my voice.

  “Trying to help you loosen up.”

  “Well, you’re not doing a good job. You’re turning me on.”

  “Even better,” he says in an extremely deep and seductive voice.

  “Beck . . .”

  “Hmm.” His breath caresses my heated, sun-soaked skin, his fingers toying with all my nerve endings, shooting sparks of awareness all the way from my stomach to my toes.

  “I . . .” I swallow hard, my body melting into his touch, wanting to fall into his strong hold, beg him to take me upstairs to his room. “I want to m-make this shot.”

  “Then do it, Saucy.” He presses a light kiss along my neck, bolting me upright, my breath hitching in my chest. He runs his hand under the waistline of my bikini from the front of my hipbone, to my back end where his fingers caress the top part of my ass before he pulls out and says, “You got this.”

  I so desperately want to make this, not just to shove it up Zoey’s ass, but to see the kind of congratulations I’ll receive from this all-consuming man. Focusing, I swing my arm back and then bring it forward sending the corn filled bag toward the other board. As if in slow motion, I watch it fly over the sand, the air around us stilling as it effortlessly slides across the board and through the hole, scoring our final point.

  In shock, I scream, throw my hands to the sky and start running in place. “Ahhh, I did it!”

  Zoey kicks the sand in front of her, sending a chunk into Art’s stomach, and then proceeds to stomp off, not wanting to stick around to watch me celebrate. That’s the exact reaction I expected from Zoey. Although the height she got on that sand is impressive. Poor Art.

  Wanting someone to cheer with, I turn to find Beck standing behind me, a look of pure pride on his face. Not even giving it a second thought, I leap up into his arms and straddle his waist with my legs. I grip the back of his neck and say, “We won. I did it. I scored a point.”

  “I saw, Saucy, and it was sexy as hell watching you score that final point too.”

  “I can’t believe I did it. I did it!” I’m bouncing in his arms, feeling indescribably happy.

  “You did.” Beck’s hands grip my ass, tightly, and I could care less at this point. I’m on cloud nine right now.”

  “Oh just kiss and get it over with,” Victoria says, passing us with another plate of crab cakes and a jar of tartar sauce in hand.

  Got to love my friends.

  “I think she’s right. We shou
ld just get it over with and kiss,” Beck suggests, looking too adorable with his prideful smile and playful eyes.

  What I wouldn’t give to kiss him right now, but I won’t. Not here, not with everyone surrounding us. Despite how much it pains me, I pat his cheek and say, “I don’t get involved with teammates. Sorry, dude.”

  “What?”

  I hop off his body despite his attempt to keep me there and despite my raging hormones. “Never fool around with teammates; it’s the cardinal rule. You’re completely off limits now. Sorry.”

  I start to walk away, giving Beck a good show, when he comes chasing after me and snags me around the waist.

  “Fuck that. You’re no longer on my team then.” Leaning in close, he places a kiss on the side of my cheek. “Because there is nothing that’s going to get in my way of taking what I want. And what I want is you, Rylee. I want all of you, all night. It’s going to happen, the only question is . . . when.”

  From the heavy throb between my legs and the way my stomach is bottoming out from every word muttered from his mouth, I’m assuming it will be soon. It’s going to happen so freaking soon.

  You’re really going to sit over there?”

  “Yup.” I take a bite from the Key lime candy I bought earlier. The tart flavor hits my tongue followed by the richness of dark chocolate. The sun set a few hours ago, and the moon casts a glow against the rippling water in front of us, barely giving us a glimpse of the dark ocean waters. It’s gorgeous here. Peaceful, the perfect place to come and relax.

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Nope, being cautious. I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me all day, and after reading my book, there is no way I’ll be able to keep my clothes on if I sit over there with your alpha self oozing out of your every pore. It’s why you refuse to put a shirt on. I know it.”

  Seriously, the man has only worn a shirt once around me. I get it, Beck, you’re hot, all corded muscle and pretty pecs. Yup, you’re a walking orgasm.

  Chuckling, he says, “Maybe I don’t have a shirt on because it’s humid as fuck here, and I’m not into the whole sweating through my clothes thing.”

  “Orrr, you’re trying to drive me crazy.”

  Leaning over the railing that splits our two balconies, he asks in a low voice, “Is it working?”

  “Not even in the slightest,” I answer defiantly with my arms crossed over my chest.

  The loudest laugh pops out of his deliciously seductive mouth. “You’re not fooling anyone, Saucy.”

  Slightly irritated that his laugh turns me on so damn much, I say, “You know, we don’t always have to talk about sex. We can talk about other things.”

  “Yeah, like what?”

  “Uhhh.” Think of something. Pecs, penis, abs, arms, all the muscles in your arms, shoes, your big hands—

  Shoes?

  Yes, shoes.

  “Shoes,” I shout, startling Beck in his chair from my sudden outburst.

  “What?” he asks, laughter in his voice.

  “Do you wear shoes?” Oh for fuck’s sake. Trying to save my idiocy, I add, “You know, since you don’t wear underwear, I was just wondering if you wore shoes.”

  From the way his lips are pulled up in the corners, he’s confused and entertained, but he lifts his foot off the propped position of his balcony. “Yup, I wear shoes.”

  Duh. Everyone wears shoes.

  “Those are sandals.” Might as well keep digging the grave, go all the way, because if anything I’m thorough. “Sandals are a footwear, not a shoe.”

  “Thanks for the definition.” Beck chuckles some more. Turning to face me, he places his arms on the rail that divides us and rests his chin on his arms, his eyes easing the tension building in my shoulders. They’re so beautiful, hues of green and gold, so calming, so relaxing. “Do you wear shoes, Rylee?” The way he asks the question, so soft, so deep, I can feel myself getting sucked into his little world, his sexual web.

  I nod, the air around us electric, the sexual tension almost making it hard to breathe.

  “Good to know.” He reaches over the side and grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet as he leans back.

  With his head, he nods over to his side, indicating his intentions of bringing me over to his part of the balcony.

  “Get on over here, Saucy.”

  “But we’re having a conversation.” I bite my bottom lip, knowing very well that our topic of conversation was the absolute pits. Shoe talk isn’t all that riveting.

  “We can converse over here. You can tell me all about the shoes you like to wear.”

  Weighing my options, knowing I won’t be able to resist him much longer—even though I know I should—I take a deep breath and let him help me over the rail. When I go to sit on the chair next to him, he stops me and pulls me down on his lap so I’m straddling him.

  I take in our little setup and raise an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think this is a conducive position for a conversation.”

  “I think it’s perfect.” Scooting back in his chair, he props his legs up on the balcony rail behind me, and places his hands on my thighs. “See? Perfect. I’m comfortable, you’re comfortable; we’re good.” Running this thumbs along my thighs, he says, “Now tell me about your shoes. I’m here to listen. Lay it on me. I want colors, heights, and detailed descriptions about any prints you might have.”

  “Stop.” I playfully whack him on the stomach. “I’m nervous, okay?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I twist my hands in my lap, embarrassed about my small confession.

  I’m sure you can tell by now that I like to play it cool, that I put on a front. But in all honesty, the reason why I’ve been trying to keep my distance from Beck is because I don’t want to give my heart hope. Because the disappointment that would follow is too crushing. And I know this man could easily give me hope, with one press of his lips against mine, I know he would give me hope for not necessarily love—because that’s entirely too early to say anything like that—but hope for my future, for the future that with every call from my doctor seems to be slowly slipping from my grasp. I’ll never be enough.

  Calming my breath, keeping my heart from beating at an abnormal pace, I add, “I don’t do things like this with people I don’t know. I’m not a vacation-fling girl. Despite how much I try to show you how relaxed and chill I am, I’m a ball of nerves inside.” My head falls in front of me, my eyes focused on my hands as they twine together.

  Lifting my chin so I’m forced to meet Beck’s soulful eyes, he cups my face and softly says, “Rylee, there is no need to be nervous. I might be flirting with you, but there is no way in hell I would ever do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. Never would I want you to feel like you’re being forced into anything.”

  Hell, now I feel guilty. I don’t want Beck thinking he’s forcing me into anything. That’s not the case at all.

  “I’m sorry if you felt pressured. That wasn’t my intention—”

  I silence him with my finger to his lips. “You didn’t pressure me in any way. If anything, you’ve made me feel sexy, irresistible, a feeling every woman wishes for. I only want you to know I’m nervous, that’s all.”

  Beck—kind, funny, good-looking, attentive, thoughtful—he’s the fantasy. No man has ever looked at me the way I’ve described the look in my books. Yet, somehow . . . Beck does, and it doesn’t make sense. I’m never the heroine. There hasn’t been a glimpse of a happily ever after for me. And there may never be . . . “You’re the kind of man I write about, Beck, not the kind of man who finds me attractive.”

  “Fuck that shit.” His features turn angry, his grip tightening. “Do you realize the minute I first saw you, it was hard for me to swallow, to even focus on what I was doing? Baby puke and all, I was immediately attracted to you. And then I somehow earned the privilege to get to know you, to hang out with you. Not only are you beautiful, Rylee, but your personality is a huge turn-on.”

  My fac
e heats up, my palms start to sweat, and I realize for the first time I’m not good at this. I’m awkward as hell, I don’t know how to take a compliment, I don’t know how to act around an extremely attractive man who’s interested in me, and I have no idea what to say other than to put myself down. I want to argue with him, tell him he has no idea who I really am, what I suffer from, and he should stay far away from me.

  “This is crazy,” I say softly. “What’s going to happen here? We have sex and then go our separate ways?”

  “No,” he answers matter-of-factly. “We sit here and talk. We sit here and enjoy each other’s company. We sit here and take in the moment, the waves whispering against the rocks beneath us, the moon casting its light on us, and the subtle smell of paradise drifting past us. Soak it in, Rylee. Stop thinking, and just experience it.”

  Before I can answer him, he turns me around on his lap so my back is against his chest. He relaxes my head against his shoulder and uses one of his legs to kick up mine so they are propped up like his. He wraps both of his arms around my waist and holds on tightly, his mouth a mere inch away from my ear.

  “Relax, Rylee and just feel.”

  Closing my eyes, taking Beck’s advice, I feel.

  The beat of his heart against my back.

  The pressure of his hands on my waist.

  The light brush of his leg against mine.

  The even rhythm of his breathing.

  The way my body so easily melts into his.

  My heart beats with his, the matching cadence soothing.

  My cheek pressed against his cheek, the brisk scrape of his stubble across my soft skin.

  His powerful thighs holding me up.

  His soft, yet deep and velvety voice rolling from his lips to my ear.

  “Tell me something only a few people know about you.”

  To relax me even more, his fingers find their way under my shirt and seductively stroke my hipbone. God, that feels good.

  “Something they know?” I try to concentrate on his question, even though all my brain wants to focus on is the tortuous circles. “Okay.” I clear my throat. “I like to write at this little coffee shop in our small town. There is a specific chair I write in that I swear to you is magical. I’ve written some of my best sex scenes in this chair. I mean, if this chair could talk, it would make you blush.” Beck chuckles into my ear.