“It’s weird for it to be so quiet inside,” he says as he reaches up and tugs on my ponytail.
“I know. That’s partly why I’m out here.”
“Does the other part have anything to do with me?” He lifts an eyebrow as our stare holds, and I shrug. “Fair enough.”
“I know the answer to the why, Ford. Maybe I just don’t want to say it out loud because it sounds ridiculous.”
“Like I said”—he shifts so that he’s propped up on one hand while his other hand tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. It’s an oddly intimate gesture that he seems to do so casually—“Fair enough.”
The sexual tension is still there. That one night did nothing to abate it. In fact, I think knowing what he feels like, how he made me feel, made it even stronger.
Why do I not want him to say fair enough? Why do I want him to demand an answer and then drag me upstairs and fuck me seven ways from Sunday?
Maybe I want to be heard.
I reach out and run my hand over the scruff on his jaw. His nostrils flare at the touch of my hand and his lips part, just in time for my thumb to graze his bottom lip.
“Ellery,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening.
Without preamble, I make the decision for us that we’ve been tiptoeing around. I lean forward and press my lips to his. The kiss is soft, tender, and he lets me take the lead. It’s my tongue that seeks access first. It’s my fingers gliding up his shoulder and threading into the hair at the back of his neck.
There is no rush like the other night, no urgent hunger in the kiss. There’s pleasure. Reverence. A cautious testing of the waters we’ve already swam in but now fear we might drown in.
I fall into the moment. The possessiveness of his hand on my lower back. His groan in the back of his throat. The warmth spreading through my body from his kiss. The ache of desire burning between my thighs.
The kiss ends, his hands now on both sides of my face, as our foreheads rest on each other’s. We sit like this for a few seconds, no words exchanged, almost as if we’re still figuring out if this is right or wrong or somewhere in between.
And just as I’m about to lean away, to break the sudden softness of the moment, Ford speaks.
“Let’s go,” he says, standing without warning and grabbing my hand to help me stand. He links his fingers with mine as we make our way across the sand toward the back of the inn.
For some reason, nerves rattle. I can handle the hungry sex. The animalistic. The lust gone wild.
But if the kiss we just shared is any indication of the sex we’re about to have, it unnerves me.
I expect to go in the back door of the inn and am surprised when Ford tugs my hand to keep walking on the boardwalk.
“No. I’m taking you somewhere,” he says cryptically as he turns the corner of the building and heads toward the parking lot. When he opens the car door for me, I just stare at him. “We’ve lived, eaten, and breathed this place for two weeks. It’s time we had a break.”
“Where are we going?” I ask as I climb into the passenger seat.
He steps between my knees still angled out the door and angles his head to the side as he studies me. “We’re feeling things out.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’ve kissed.” He puts a hand on my thigh and squeezes gently. “Let’s sit with that for a bit. Escape this prison. And once it digests, we’ll figure out what we want after that.”
“Like?”
His smile is shy, but his eyes are alive. “Like maybe another kiss. Maybe, it remains to be seen.”
“What if I already know the answer to that?”
He leans forward and presses a kiss on my forehead. “Then humor me, will you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ellery
“How did you even know this was a thing?” I ask as the breeze tickles my cheeks. The sound of water lapping the dinghy’s hull nearly lulls me to sleep.
“Some of the crew were talking about it. I guess it’s a town tradition. Something about reliving the founder’s first steps or something.” He shrugs and brings the bottle of beer to his lips before setting it back down and holding the tiller again. “I thought it would be nice to get on the water and away from the site for a bit.”
“It’s most definitely nice.” I look around at the line of boats before and after us. We look like ducks following each other in our twelve-foot sailboats. Some boats have four people on it, others just one, and a few young kids manning the helm by themselves.
Chatter can be heard from one sailboat to another, community members who clearly know each other. On the shore to our right, the townspeople who don’t have a boat or a ride in one are barbecuing and setting up for a night of festivities apparently.
I turn my attention back to Ford, who looks completely at ease with the halyard in one hand and the tiller in the other. Or at least I think that’s what they’re called because he threw a lot of terms out at me, and I don’t exactly remember which is what.
He looks good with the setting sun on his face and the evening breeze in his hair.
“You have a smudge of dirt on your forehead,” he says. “Here, let me get it.”
“It’s not dirt.” I scrunch my nose up as my cheeks turn red and wave my hand at him. “Don’t ask.”
“You know I’m going to ask after you say that.” He angles his head to the side. “What?”
“It’s a bruise.”
“Okay.” He stretches the word out. “From?”
“I was reading last night in bed,” I say as if that should explain it all, but when he just furrows his brow in confusion, I continue. “I fell asleep and dropped my Kindle on my face.”
He belts out a laugh that I’m sure has other sailors looking our way. “You what?”
“You heard me.”
“I wasn’t aware there were hazards in reading. Well, was it a good book at least?”
I think of the chapters I flew through. The hero fighting for the heroine. The push. The pull. The incredible, hate-fuck scene that followed where I admit—embarrassingly—that I was picturing Ford and me as the characters.
And then the thunk followed by my yelp as it hit my face when I dozed off.
“Very good.”
“Why are you blushing, Ellery?” He angles his head to the side and stares at me, his smile widening as if he already knows.
“No reason.”
He laughs again, his stare unrelenting. “Maybe I should read this book of yours.”
The red on my cheeks darkens. “I don’t exactly picture romance as your genre of choice.”
“You never know. I’m full of surprises. Maybe that’s one of them.” He stretches his foot out and bumps mine with his, his grin widening. “Regardless, maybe you should take up less hazardous ways to occupy your time.”
“Like what?”
My question is answered with a hundred-watt grin and a long, languorous appraisal of my body that has me smiling and shaking my head in return. “I can think of a few things.”
I walked right into that one.
“I’m sure you can.”
An airhorn sounds to our left as someone shouts and then jumps off their bow into the water. Clearly there’s an abundance of alcohol on that boat, but it’s entertaining to say the least.