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“You should. Fuck anyone that thinks you can’t.”
“Like my nana?”
“Fuck your dead nana.”
I laugh, shocked he said that. He turns me to face him, staring down into my face. “Are you serious right now?” I ask. “You’re not supposed to say something like that. I mean, I hated her, but I’m still mourning.”
“I’m very serious. Fuck your dead nana. If she made you feel like you can’t do something, I hope she rots.”
With that beautiful sentiment, he leans down and kisses me.
Chapter3
Keely
Ishould pull away.
I mean, he did just tell me that my freshly dead grandmother should rot.
Except I agree, and he said it for a weirdly nice reason, and his lips feel amazing on my lips. Also, I’ve had a decent amount of wine, which means I’m not making top-notch decisions.
Only the wine is an excuse. As I kiss him back, pushing myself closer to his body, I know I’d make out with him stone-cold sober.
Because he’s tastes good. Like he smells: spicy, lemony, fresh and clean, with a hint of whiskey. Because he’s hot, like stupidly hot, in a way real life people aren’t supposed to be. And because of that look on his face while he was juggling, the same look he gives me when staring into my eyes.
His hands grip my hips, holding me there, as I stand on my toes to wrap my arms around his neck. His tongue enters my mouth, invading my lips, licking and darting, slow and sensual. His lips are hungry and know what they’re doing, and a heat spreads down my spine, a heat despite the chill and the wet sand, pooling between my legs. My nipples stiffen, and crap, I whimper into his mouth as one hand moves up to palm my hand, and the other grabs my ass.
“Come back to my room,” he says, staring into my eyes. It’s that attention again, that focus. Like I’m the only person in the entire world.
I should say no. If I were smart, I’d extract myself from this situation.
Except I’m not smart.
I’m angry, mourning, in a bad place mentally, but also starving for this man.
“Only if you juggle again, Mr. Crowley,” I murmur, grinning.
“That was a one-time event, Keely Something.” He kisses me again, moving to nibble on my ear and neck. “But if you follow me, I promise to put on an even better show.”
“Oh, god,” I moan, a thrill glowing in my stomach. “That wassucha bad line.”
“And yet, it’s working.” His thumb brushes down my lips, down my chest, over one hard nipple. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You’re hurting, I get that. Let me make you feel better for tonight.”
“That’s a much better pitch.” I close my eyes as he bites my collarbone gently. He kisses, moving up my neck again. “Promise you can make me forget my dead nana?”
“If I can’t, I’ve completely failed as a man. You shouldn’t be thinking of deadanythingwhen my tongue is buried between your legs.”
“When you put it that way,” I say, heart racing, breathless, “I suppose I could give it a try.”
“Come on.” He takes my hand. I hesitate, glancing back toward the party. Bernie and Jamila will be worried. Heck, even Fulco might notice I’m missing. Though Ash is probably too busy with her other guests. I should tell them I’m going so nobody worries.
But they’ll figure it out. The second Jamila looks around, she’ll notice I’m not there, and neither is Nolan.
“Lead the way,” I tell him, feeling foolish, feeling excited. Feeling good for the first time since my mother called at half-past six, yanking me from sleep to give me the best and the worst news of my life.
Nana, that abusive bitch, is finally dead. I haven’t cried yet. I’m not sure I will.
The Crowley beach house is a mansion. The rooms are dark and quiet. All the guests are staying in nearby hotels—the house is only for family. Nolan takes me in through the back, down a hall, up some stairs. His room’s in a far corner, secluded and quiet. I catch sight of oak furniture, a heavy rug, a fireplace, a bathroom. It’s nautical-themed, no big shock there, though everything is gleaming brass, polished wood, antique patina.
