My head is spinning, my heart is racing, and every inch of me is tingling.
Not from alcohol, though. Whatever buzz I had is definitely gone. Absorbed by a full dinner, our long swim, and three—three!—orgasms. And time. It’s been at least two hours since I drained my second margarita.
Not that I’m sober. I am completely drunk on lust and pheromones. And Lance Welles.
Once the tiki torches are lit, Lance sits down on the hammock and lies back, lifting his arms and motioning me forward. A few minutes ago, I was tired, but now . . .
Now I’m about to get into a hammock with a Viking. I’m naked. He’s naked. Above us a canopy of constellations.
I hesitate for only a second before easing into the sling.
My towel comes undone as I stretch out against him, my skin like fire wherever it connects with Lance.
Which is most of my body.
My head is resting on his chest, the steady, sonorous thrum of his heart beating against my cheek. Lance’s arm is curved beneath my neck, his fingers wrapped around my shoulders. And the hammock has my entire body pressed against him, from my head to my toes and just about everything in between.
We spend a minute or two adjusting the towels to form a multi-layered blanket. And then . . .
Neither of us says anything.
For a long, long time.
Finally, I whisper, “Are you sleeping?”
“No. I thought you were.”
“No. I’m wide awake.” I shift slightly, my knee edging up, my thigh sliding over his.
Lance groans. “Jesus, Vivienne. I really, really need you to go to sleep.”
I angle my head back so I can look at him. “Why?”
“Why?” he repeats, chuckling. “Because I won’t lay hands on an unconscious woman.”
“You want to lay your hands on me?” I keep my voice light, teasing. But the truth is, I absolutely want his hands on me. I want his mouth on mine. And there’s another part of him I want inside of me, too. Fuck common sense. I’d rather live out a fantasy.
“For a start.”
I squirm, trying to alleviate the heat pulsing between my thighs. Lance doesn’t groan again, but his jaw clenches, and he lets out a deep sigh. I trace the numbers curving over his ribcage with my fingertip, then move to the lattice pattern forming a band around his biceps. Close up, I can see it’s not a pattern of interwoven lines but linked letters and numbers. “Tell me about your tattoos.”
“What do you want to know?”
My palm stills on his arm, my thumb idly stroking his inked skin. “What do they mean?”
“That one’s the first code I ever wrote.”
“And this one?” I shift my hand to his ribcage.
“Location coordinates.”
“For where?”
“A cemetery.”
I swallow. I’m pretty sure I can guess who is buried there. “And the one on your back?”
Instead of answering me, Lance asks, “Are you always this curious?”
I think about all the people I’ve met this summer, the names I haven’t bothered to learn, the conversations I’ve shut down before they could start. “No.” I jump back to where we were before I got sidetracked by his tattoos. “Why can’t we? Start, I mean.”
His eyes lock onto mine. “You know why.”
“Lance, I drank two tequila shots and two margaritas. I had a little buzz at dinner that made me say a few things I probably wouldn’t have otherwise. But I’m certainly not drunk now. And I want you to touch me.”
He blinks, that jaw clenching and unclenching as he considers what I’ve said, what I’m asking for. And I think it’s worked, that he’ll relent. But then he frowns and looks away, back up at the sky. “If you still feel the same tomorrow then I’m all yours.”
Disappointment slaps me in the face, the sting so harsh that tears spring to my eyes. In the restaurant, Lance wondered why I didn’t just ask Richard for what I wanted. Now, after screwing up my courage to do just that with him, he turns me down flat.
I’m tempted to get out of the hammock right now. Grab a blanket from the house and sleep on the pool deck, or in the front seat of Lance’s car. Maybe I should just pack my things and leave.
But where would I go? I don’t know anyone in the Hamptons that sticks around during the week, besides Seth. And I’m not about to tell him that I’m lusting after his client.
And I don’t want to leave. Not this house, or this man. But I’m not quite ready to give up on what I want, either. “In the pool, you asked me to do something for you, and I did.”
“Technically, it was for you.”
“That wasn’t the premise. Do something for me is what you said. Meaning you.”
“What’s your point?”
“I’d like you to do something for me.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
He shifts to face me again. “What are you asking for?”
“Are you saying yes?”
“Maybe.”
“Lance, come on. I did what you wanted in the pool—”
“Do you regret it?” His straightforward question is softened by the concern swirling inside his gaze.
“Not even a little bit.”
The tightness of his features eases. “Fine. Then yes. I’ll do it, within reason.”
I don’t bother protesting the qualifier he’s added. Because what I’m about to ask for is perfectly reasonable. “I want a good night kiss.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He exhales a sigh and presses his lips to my forehead for a moment before pulling back. “There. Good night.”
“That was a kiss you’d give a four-year-old. It doesn’t count.”
“Vivienne, you’re playing with fire here.”
“Good,” I shoot back. “I want fire. I want excitement. And if you’ve been listening to anything I told you tonight, you’d understand why.”
A flicker of something crosses his face. Empathy, maybe.
But then he angles himself further, shifting so that the front of his body is flush with mine. My breasts are pillowed against his pectoral muscles, my knees edging between his legs, the hard length of him like a hot poker against my belly. Proof of his desire.
I asked for this, but it’s obvious he wants me, too.
One hand weaves into my damp hair, fingers cupping the curve of my scalp. Lance’s other hand brushes the line of my cheekbone, his thumb sweeping over my lips.
Our faces are so close that my exhale becomes his breath. His exhale becomes mine.
“This is what you want, Vivienne?” His voice is a throaty rumble, a gritted husk of sound that makes me shiver.
I manage the slimmest of nods, my whispered “yes” barely more than a sigh.
Lance inclines his head, his forehead resting against mine exactly where he kissed me a minute ago, the tips of our noses touching. I close my eyes as another tremor blows through me like hot wind across the beach, bits of sand and saltwater trapped in the air abrading my skin, amplifying every sensation.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since I pulled you against me half a second before you almost fell into that fire you started.”
I open my mouth to protest. It was Lance’s fault I lost my balance, after all. But he shakes his head, our noses brushing against each other. Eskimo kisses.