SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club #4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,32

tall dune and behind some scrubby trees that gave enough cover for her to surrender once again to sensation.

His mouth broke from hers and traveled to her jaw, her neck, then her ear, where he nuzzled like a puppy for a moment before biting the lobe. She moaned, her hands dropping from his hair to his back, finding the hem of his T-shirt and fighting the cotton to pull him free of it.

Laughing, he obliged, and then his wide, hot, bare chest was available for admiration and touch and taste. She kissed from nipple to nipple and then laved one with the wet flat of her tongue. His hips bucked against hers and she felt his erection, hard and long and arousing. Her whole body quivered with need and her head fell back when his hand inched under the bathing suit top, his rough palm cradling her aching breast.

She couldn’t breathe.

His fingers came together to pinch the delicate flesh and it wasn’t enough. She pushed herself into his hand, wanting more. Wanting everything.

Wanting.

On tiptoe, she found his mouth with hers and kissed him again, sliding her tongue into his heat to share her own taste. His hand on her butt gathered her closer and his hard-on pressed her lower belly, igniting new desire.

Let’s go, she said in her mind. Get truly alone. Make love.

Her fingers slid into the waistband at the back of his board shorts. He groaned, then lifted his head, staring down at her with dark, glittering eyes.

“Let’s go somewhere.” His voice sounded guttural. “Find a bed. Do it. Do it now.”

And her mind spun as he kissed her once more, his mouth, the feel of his body against hers turning her inside out. Leaving all the vulnerable parts on the outside.

Making it too easy to become attached.

Let’s go somewhere. Find a bed.

As good as he tasted, as good as he felt against her, the vulnerability, the yearning for attachment seemed so dangerous.

Do it.

Not make love.

Do it now.

With a wrench, she pulled away from him, her breath coming in sharp gasps. They stared at each other as she struggled between desire and fear. Mad, she thought, her toes on that calamitous brink. You make this too easy.

That’s what was truly in her DNA, this weakness that caused a person to give over, to surrender to a passion that the other didn’t share. The kind of intense caring that meant a lifetime alone without being loved with the same depth. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be doomed to a sad existence of forever wanting yet not receiving a reciprocal…eternalness.

If that was even a word.

“I’ve got to leave,” she said now, and meant it with the same certitude as six years before. “It’s for the best.” Then she turned in the opposite direction of the party and ran.

The low tide allowed her to pick her way around the point of the cove, leaping over rocks and splashing through tide pools. Once back on wide sand, she picked up her pace, with no real plan but to put space between herself and that near-fall. The air chilled as the sun hit the ocean and then she tripped, landing flat on her face.

“Ugh.” Without moving, she took a quick inventory and realized her bare foot stung. Turning, she sat up and inspected her wound. A small cut, oozing blood. “Ugh.”

She glanced around for something to stanch it, noting she’d happened upon a makeshift camp—a small tent, some ratty and mussed beach towels, a hibachi, Styrofoam cooler, and a pile of damp clothes. She’d tumbled over a couple of empty glass beer bottles, one which broke then cut her foot.

“Everybody knows not to bring glass to the beach,” she muttered, and curled over her foot, blowing on the sand trying to take up residence in opened flesh.

“Hey, look who’s here.” A male voice sounded from the direction of the waves and she turned her head to see a pair of young men—nineteen, twenty years old, maybe—approach from the water. One shook himself like a dog when he reached the camp.

Harper cringed from the cold drops and struggled to her feet, putting her weight on the uninjured one. “Hello and goodbye,” she said, and tried deciding which way to go—her car, or farther up the beach?

“No goodbyes, sweet thing,” said the one who hadn’t gone dog. Water ran out of his long hair and down his narrow chest. He sidled closer, eyeing her getup.

Harper forced herself not to make sure the stretchy fabric hadn’t