Lance glances around the quiet street. “It’s not like anyplace else, that’s for sure.”
“What made you decide to spend the summer here?”
“A lot of very boring reasons.”
“Oh, so now you’re boring too?”
“Maybe we’re more alike than we seem.”
“I doubt that. But seriously, why the Hamptons? Why now?”
“My business partner has a summer place here. We have something we’re working on and it made sense for me to come out.”
“So, two months and then you go back home? Where is that, anyway?”
“California,” he says, smiling as he looks down at me. “That’s the plan.”
The breath stills in my throat as his eyes lock onto mine. Not just because of the way Lance affects me. It’s because he has something I don’t. A plan.
I don’t have one of those anymore. I did, before I quit my job and left Manhattan behind. The next ten years, all mapped out with goals and milestones and a vision board. Now I just have a to-do list.
1. Save money.
2. Get an apartment.
3a. Find a job.
Or
3b. Start my own business.
3a and 3b are two entirely different tracks. A job comes with a sense of security. Benefits. A paycheck.
If I decide to go it alone, I’ll be relying on just one person. Me.
And I don’t know if I trust myself with that much responsibility.
Case in point—what am I doing right now?
Lusting after a sinfully sexy Viking is not a task to be checked off my list.
Yet, that’s exactly what’s happening.
And no, it’s not the tequila talking.
Lance’s fingers graze my elbow as he opens his car door for me, sending a rush of goose bumps careening down my forearms.
He starts the car, pressing a button that allows the roof to break away from the windshield and fold itself into a neat package behind us. “Topless. Nice choice.”
Lance’s lips twitch as he pulls out of his parking spot. “What are the odds that the house is all painted?”
“How many coats are they doing?”
“Just one, except for the office. The walls were in fairly good shape, only a few scuff marks here and there.”
“Hmm.”
“And the molding only needed touching up.”
She turns her head to me. “Still, it’s a big house. I’m guessing the odds are slim to none.”
“A pessimist, huh?”
“Just a realist.” I stretch my legs out in front of me and kick off my wedge sandals, tipping my head back against the headrest. “What’s your prediction?”
“Oh, I’m guessing they’ll be done.”
“You gave them an incentive, didn’t you?”
“Of course. There are some problems money can solve. And when that’s the case, I take full advantage.”
I rouse myself as the Maserati’s wheels crunch over the layer of white gravel lining the driveway. “Did I win?”
“The van’s gone so I’m guessing that’s a no.”
We get out of the car at the same time, and I lean against the hood, my sandals dangling from one hand. “Maybe the driver went out for coffee.”
Lance plants his feet on either side of mine. I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The action makes me arch my back, my breasts rising from the neckline of my dress. He lifts his arm, tracing the line of my collarbone with his fingers.
“I think we’re all alone, Vivienne. And I think I dug my own grave by pouring tequila down your throat tonight, because I can’t do a damn thing about it.”
I bite back a groan as a drop of sweat gathers between my shoulder blades and slides down my spine, my pulse tripping all over itself trying to send blood cells to every part of my body.
I press the palm of my free hand flat against his chest. It’s like solid rock. But so, so warm. “What do you want to do?”
“Everything,” he says with a chuckle.
Me too.
Thankfully, Lance has enough self-control for both of us. He inclines his head toward the door to the house. “Come on. Let’s go check out the paint job.”
Fumes hit me like a wall as he opens the door. “Christ. Who needs tequila? We can get high just by staying in here for a few minutes.”
I follow him inside, and we wander through the main floor quickly. “Let’s open some windows, air the place out.”
“We can’t. The humidity will slow down the drying time. Let’s go outside.” I pull at the sliding glass doors, a laugh climbing up my throat as I survey the empty patio. “Oops. I forgot they took all the furniture out here, too.”
Lance pulls what’s left of the pool float out of the water. “Do you think it’s worth a try to blow this guy back up?”
I shake my head. “That duckie’s been on his last legs all summer. I’ll toss him out with the bean bags.” I take a few steps forward and dip my toe into the pool. It feels so good. “Want to go for a swim?”
He raises a brow. “Now?”
“Why not?”
His hands begin working the buttons of his shirt. “I’m not going back inside for my bathing suit.”
For a moment, I can only watch Lance’s long fingers manipulate the small buttons, his movements precise and efficient.
I want to feel them on me.
The ends of his shirt slide open, and the twanging below my pelvis grows stronger, more insistent. Pectorals, abs, biceps. Lance’s perfectly honed muscles make my mouth water. I give myself a little shake when his shirt drops to the ground, his hands immediately working his belt buckle.
Sliding my hair over one shoulder, I spin around to present my back to Lance. “Would you mind?” Earlier tonight, it took me several minutes to manage the zipper, and I broke a nail on the tiny hook and eye closure.
“Oh, sure.” Lance steps closer, the leather of his open belt dragging against the fabric of my dress, his breath a warm caress against the nape of my neck.
I swallow heavily as the tips of his fingers brush my skin, lingering for just a moment after the clasp gives way before pulling the zipper down. The sharp hiss is barely audible over the pounding pulse vibrating inside my ears, and the ever-present hum of the pool filter and HVAC unit.
The night air is warm, but it’s the heat of Lance’s bare chest I feel as the edges of my dress split apart. “Thank you.” The words are a choked rasp.
Lance takes a step away from me. “Of course.”
My strapless bra and panties are no more revealing than the bikini I wore earlier today, but I still keep my back to him as I wriggle out of my dress, not turning around until I hear a splash.
Before he surfaces from his dive, I sit down at the edge and bring my hair forward, over my bra, my calves dangling in the water. After breaking up with Richard, I considered chopping it all off on a whim, but chickened out at the last minute. Now I’m glad I didn’t cut it.
Lance breaks through the surface in the shallow end, shaking his head like a shaggy retriever. Rivulets of water glisten beneath the light of the moon, streaking down his neck and chest. A Viking Adonis.
I press my legs together as he swims back to me, using steady, even strokes with his long arms. “Were you a swimmer?” I ask, when one of his hands grabs the edge of the pool by my thigh.