Chapter 17
INDYA
Kissing West was just asking for trouble. With everything happening at the resort, the sensible decision would be to cut this off. To pull away and point him toward the door. But as his mouth captured mine, all sensibility vanished.
The moment I parted my lips, his tongue dipped inside. Slowly.
Deliberately. Lusciously.
My body went up in flames. The T-shirt I’d pulled on was too thick and hot. These shorts were too tight. I wanted nothing but West’s skin bare against my own.
We moved at the same time, both standing from our chairs. And like his thoughts mirrored my own, he went for the hem of my shirt, breaking our mouths apart only to rip the cotton over my head.
His hazel eyes darkened as he took in my naked torso—I’d taken my bra off when I’d come home after a miserable day. West cupped my breasts, the rough callouses of his palms like fuel to the fire raging in my veins. As one hand rolled a nipple, his other dived into my hair, finding the tie and tugging it loose.
I arched into his touch, threading the thick strands of his hair between my knuckles as he bent to seal his mouth over my nipple.
“Yes.”
He hummed, the vibration shooting straight to my center.
My pulse shook my very bones, and the throbbing in my core was so powerful my knees wobbled.
“Indy,” West murmured against my sternum as he moved to the other nipple, giving it the same torture. A suck. A lick. A nip with his teeth.
“Oh, God.” I let go of his hair and reached between us, loosening the button on his shirt. “Off. Take this off. Now.”
He hummed again and ignored me.
So I fisted the cotton and ripped with all my might.
A button pinged off the table as it broke free of its threads.
West’s mouth gave a pop as he released me and stood tall. Then he arched one of those dark eyebrows before dropping his gaze to his shirt.
That arrogant, indignant smirk shouldn’t have been attractive. But
damn, it was sexy. So, so sexy.
“I liked this shirt,” he said.
“It will look better on my floor.” I unclasped a button, then another and another. My fingers moved quickly until I reached the end and had to yank the hem from his jeans.
There was a plain, white T-shirt beneath. Damn it. Layers? “When did you start wearing so many shirts?”
His deep chuckle filled the quiet spaces as he swatted my hands away and stripped off the button-down. Then he reached behind his head, and with a quick tug, his T-shirt puddled on the floor beside mine.
We collided in a frantic mess of lips and limbs. I rose up on my bare toes, my arms looping over his shoulders as he swept me against his chest. The coarse dusting of hair on his chest rubbed against my smooth skin, scraping ever so slightly.
West fluttered his tongue against mine before changing the angle of our mouths to plunder. His hands came to my ass, cupping my curves as he hoisted me up off the floor.
My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling tight as I tried to get closer. But his jeans and that belt buckle were in the way.
I stretched out an arm, waving for him to take me to the couch.
He moved to the kitchen instead, then set me on the counter as he tore his lips away. His finger hooked in the waistband of my shorts, tugging at the elastic and sending it snapping back. “Off.”
I shimmied out of the shorts, keeping my perch on the counter, as he flicked open the clasp on his belt. My shorts were kicked free the moment he’d untucked himself from his jeans, his cock hard and thick.
My mouth went dry, and my head was spinning. It wasn’t the wine; it was West. I was drunk on his touch, his kiss, his masculine, spicy scent. “Please.”
He fitted his hips between my legs, urging my knees apart. And then without any hesitation, he lined up at my entrance and filled me with a single thrust.
“West,” I cried out as my eyes slammed shut. It was too much and exactly right, all at the same time.
My body stretched and molded around his as our breaths mingled.
The grip I had on his shoulders was bruising, my fingertips digging into rock-hard muscle.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmured. His hands were splayed on my ass, and with a quick lift, he changed the angle, sending his cock
impossibly deep.
I gasped, my body liquifying.
He eased out and slammed inside once more, groaning as I whimpered. Then he set a quick pace, holding me exactly where he wanted me as he brought us together, again and again.
A sheen of sweat coated my skin, and my hair draped around us, the ends tickling my ribs and spine.
There was so much to feel that I couldn’t concentrate on any individual part. His hands on my curves. His mouth on my throat. The root of his cock against my clit.
West consumed it all, inside and out. His tongue trailed across the line of my jaw before he kissed me again, matching the rhythm of his tongue with the piston of his hips.
My toes curled. My legs quaked. Just a little bit more and— West tore his lips away with an irritated growl.
“What?” My eyes fluttered open and immediately caught a sunbeam streaming inside.
Past his shoulder and across the room, the windows looked invisible in the evening light. Beyond the cabin was nothing but the breathtaking view. And anyone walking would see us fucking in this kitchen.
West drove inside, stealing my breath, then trapped me in his arms as he hauled me off the counter.
My legs wound around his waist, my ankles hooking above his ass and the draping waistband of his jeans. No underwear tonight.
How often did he go commando? If he wore underwear, was it always boxer briefs? I wanted to know anything and everything about
this man. I wanted to ask the questions we hadn’t had time to explore in the past.
Later. They’d wait until later. Tonight, all that mattered was the feel of him inside me. I latched on to his corded throat, dragging my tongue up and down his skin as he carried us to the bedroom.
Not the bedroom where I’d stayed as a kid. Not the bedroom where he’d been my first. The other guest bedroom. One I’d never slept in before. One my parents hadn’t stayed in either.
Either West knew the other rooms were off limits, or he didn’t want old ghosts as our bed partners tonight.
He pulled us apart when we reached the mattress.
A mewl came from my lips, the loss of him startling, as he put me on my feet.
“Turn around.” West’s hands came to my shoulders, then turned me away. Then with one hand flat against my spine, he eased me down to the bed.
He spread my legs apart before his body covered mine, his chest to my back, as he dragged his cock through my slit.
When the tip rubbed against my clit, my entire body shuddered. “I need more.”
“I know what you need.” His voice was sin and sex, full of promise as his lips whispered across my shoulder blades.
He teased until I was rocking against him, desperate to feel him inside. “West. Please.”
“God, Indy.” His tongue left a wet trail down my spine. “It’s good.
It’s so fucking good.”
Better every time. How was that possible?
I was drenched. After he lined up at my entrance, he slipped inside with one smooth slide.
“You’re so wet, baby.” His fingers skated over my skin.
It was that worshipping touch I remembered from years and years ago.
He rolled us slightly to the side, keeping our bodies connected.
Then he pulled one of my legs over his own, changing the angle of my hips to fuck me with slow, measured strokes.
It was different, this position. It was something we hadn’t tried before.
The pressure of his weight kept me pinned, and his hand on my leg moved up and down, keeping me spread wide.
And that fire between us kept building and building until I trembled, moving in time with the thrust of his hips as I chased my orgasm.
He reached around my hip, finding that bundle of nerves with a
finger.
“West,” I gasped as he began circling.
“Get there, Indy.” His voice was gravelly in my ear. The hold on his control was slipping.
For me. I loved that he lost control for me.
So I lost control for him and shattered.
My inner walls clenched around him hard, pulsing and clenching.
Stars stole my vision, separating mind and body. Every muscle seized, completely lost to the pleasure.
West came on a roar, pouring inside me. His arms held me tight, pinned against his frame as he drew out our orgasms, stroke after stroke.
Until finally, we collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs.
My heart thundered. There was a lock of hair in my mouth. But I lay boneless on the bed, savoring the weight of his body keeping me pinned.
When I was a girl, all I’d ever wanted was to be kept by West.
These days, I had no delusions he’d want me to stay. But maybe I wouldn’t be forgotten so quickly this time.
My focus returned slowly, like a leaf floating on the wind until it eventually reached the ground. My breathing returned to normal. My heart stopped bouncing off my sternum. The aftershocks faded, and my core quit pulsing.
The bed shifted as West sat up. Cold air rushed over my skin as the heat from his body disappeared.
I waited for him to leave the room. To do exactly what I’d done to him.
But he didn’t rush to collect his clothes. He yanked back the covers, waiting for me to climb beneath the sheets. Then he collapsed on the bed, too, lying on his stomach with a pillow hugged to his chest. That tall frame stretched long, his toes dangling off the end. But he didn’t seem to care. He just drew in a long breath, closed his eyes, and crashed.
We’d never spent a whole night together. Not once.
My heart started to gallop. I stiffened, scared to move and chase him away. Was he really going to just . . . stay?
Did I want him to stay? Yes.
It crossed every line; it shattered any illusion of boundaries. But I wanted him to stay. I wanted to wake up in the morning and not be alone. I wanted to find out how he drank his coffee.
So I leaned over and brushed my lips against his.
Kissing West was just asking for trouble.
But I did it anyway before I sank into my own pillow and fell fast asleep.
An owl hooted beyond my bedroom windows, waking me with a slight jerk. My head throbbed—the wine’s fault. My body ached—West’s fault.
West.
I shoved up on an elbow and pushed the hair out of my face as I
stared at the other side of the bed.
Empty.
So much for sleeping together.
When had he sneaked out? Why had he even bothered to stay?
Somehow, it hurt more than if he’d just left after sex.
I turned my back to his side of the bed and clutched the pillow to my chest. Beyond the cabin, that owl crooned into the night. Whoo.
“Shut up.”
Whoo.
“Ugh. Stupid freaking bird.” This was the third night in a row it had
woken me up.
Whoo. Whoo.
“Fine.” I whipped the covers off my body and stood, then went to the bathroom for a shower.
As the water warmed, I stared at myself in the mirror, taking in my wild hair and swollen lips. The circles beneath my eyes were getting so dark it was hard to hide them with concealer.
Maybe if West had stayed, I would have gone back to sleep.
But he was gone.
And I was alone. Again.
I abandoned the mirror, stepped under the shower’s spray, and washed away the evidence of my complete and total lack of self-control.
So much for never again.
We hadn’t used a condom. We hadn’t used one at his place either. I was on birth control, but . . . we probably needed to have the safe sex conversation. I wanted to say this was the last time, but the last time was supposed to have been the last time, damn it. “What is wrong with me?”
Could I blame the wine? No. From the moment West had stepped inside the cabin, it had been a foregone conclusion that my willpower would crumble.
At least I’d beaten him at poker. Maybe one day, we’d play a poker game with a bit more skill than five-card draw. But for now, I was simply glad that Lady Luck had shone my direction.
Though he hadn’t come through on his end of the bargain. He still owed me a truth.
Instead, he’d distracted me with an orgasm. And I’d let him. Oh, how I’d let him.
“Ugh.” Why was I so weak when it came to West Haven?
With my hair wrapped in a towel, I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tee. Then I stripped the bedding before taking it to the laundry room. The sooner West’s scent was gone from my room, the sooner I could put yet another mistake out of my mind.
It was silent outside as I brewed my coffee. The owl had accomplished his mission in waking me up, so he’d flown off to torment someone else.
“Hopefully West,” I muttered, filling my mug.
The cards we’d played with last night were still scattered across the table. A few had fallen on the floor. I returned them to their box and put the deck away. Then I grabbed my laptop and phone to dive into the work I’d skipped while I’d been firing Deb yesterday.
Maybe I could have overlooked her shitty attitude. I had ignored the snide comments aimed at my back. But when I’d found her napping in a guest room yesterday afternoon, I’d had enough.
She’d promised to sue. She’d threatened her lawyer would be calling. They could all get in line. My attorneys were at the ready.
I kicked off a quick email, letting them know about Deb’s termination and sending over the documentation I’d been compiling on her behavior and performance since day one. Then I opened the reservation inbox. Since I wanted to get a better feel for the questions guests and potential guests sent to the resort via our website, I’d taken over management of the email account. After answering three emails about pricing and availability, I refilled my coffee, about to tackle a few more emails, when my phone buzzed.
Blaine
I groaned. My coffee hadn’t kicked in enough for this discussion.
But I answered, hoping he couldn’t hear the exhaustion in my voice. “Hi,
Blaine.”
“Indya. Good morning.”
Was it a good morning? No. No, it was not. I hadn’t gotten to learn how West took his coffee because the bastard had sneaked out like a coward.
“What’s up?” I started typing a reply to another email.
It was from a guest who’d stayed at the resort once, seven years ago. He wanted to know if the pricing had changed since.
Um, yes. Other than for existing reservations where guests had already been quoted a price, Curtis’s policy of keeping rates from years
past was history.
“Indya,” Blaine barked.
I blinked. “Huh?”
“Are you listening?”
“Not really.”
Blaine had always been viciously frank. Since our marriage was over, I saw no reason to pander to his moods or ego. I could be brutally honest too.
“Nice,” he muttered. “I sent you an email. Did you get it?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And what? You sent it at five o’clock yesterday. I was busy. I saw it pop in but haven’t had a chance to reply.”
Not that I’d planned to reply.
“What’s with you today?”
“It’s 3:32 in the morning, Blaine, and you’re hassling me about an email. Guess.”
There was a tapping in the background. And then silence. He hung
up on me.
“Asshole.”
Why had I married him? Why? Was it because he’d charmed my friends? My father? Or both.
He’d charmed me too. And I’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.
Just like I’d fallen for West last night. Was that why he’d come over? For a quick fuck? I’d assumed he’d stopped by because of Deb.
But now, I wasn’t so sure. And it wasn’t like he was here for me to ask.
“No more sex with West,” I vowed to the empty room as my fingers
flew over the keyboard.
No more sex.
I’d been making that promise for far too long. Maybe it was time to stop breaking it.
Work was my welcome distraction for the next hour. And when the sun began to rise outside, trickling through the living room windows, I picked up my phone to call Dad.
Early mornings were his favorite. Or they had been before retirement, when he’d learned how to sleep in. In high school, whenever I’d woken early to go for a run, I’d found him at the dining room table, sipping coffee at his laptop.
I skimmed the edge of my computer with a fingertip. There’d be no typing during my call. He wouldn’t like that I was working this early.
That my personal life had fallen apart so completely that all I had was this job.
With a tap on my recent calls, I hit his name. It rang to his voice mail.
“You’ve reached Grant Keller. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you.”
Even in the message, the sound of his voice brightened my day.
“Morning, Daddy. Just wanted to say that I love you.”
I ended the call and set my phone aside. Then I refilled my coffee and spent the next two hours glued to my laptop.
And while I returned emails, I did everything in my power not to think about West Haven.
Or how much I liked that his scent still lingered in the air.
