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“Yes,” he said without missing a beat. I chuckled, but when his brows winged up, my mouth popped open. “Don’t look so surprised,” he said, chuckling. “Wandering souls on all sides. Nomads and voyagers make up our bloodlines, right up to the Alutiiq here on the island. I blame the blood for our need to travel.” He smirked as he looked me up and down. “You’re inevitably Celtic?”
Rolling my eyes and primping my hair, I dryly asked, “What on earthgave you that idea?” Yes, there were other cultures that shared my red hair and abundance of freckles, but it wasn’t hard to guess. If my appearance didn’t give it away, the last name certainly did.
When at last Jameson stood—at the end of a story about him and Axel during a particularly close call crab fishing—he walked over to take my bottle, grouping it with his own before offering me his other hand. I stumbled into his chest as I gained my balance, and he smirked down at me. Though subtle, his smiles were stunning. Addicting. I reveled in this one, our bodies too close to avoid the sparks in the air between us. My breath sped up in time with my pulse, because if I kissed him again, I wasn’t sure I could stop. Not anymore. Everything in my body was buzzing, begging to feel him, to see what those powerful hands and cocky words could do if I submitted to them.
Craving Jameson was…different. There was something…primal…about how desperately my body needed to feel his. It had been years since I had felt the fluttering rollercoaster of new relationship jitters, and while this wasn’t supposed to mean anything, his words last night, and that kiss, made it clear the physical draw wasn’t at all one-sided. But this was temporary. Eric would get the fucking clue—hopefully, while I vanished entirely from town—and Jameson would keep fishing, and Brin would eventually want her spot back, which would leave me…somewhere. Somewhere else. Swallowing hard, I looked to my feet, remembering how to breathe and moving to say we should get some sleep when he cleared his throat.
“We’ve got an early day. We should—err—get some rest.” His jaw tightened. Something playing in his eyes that sent more heat churning in my core. Like he was also fighting an internal battle.
“Yeah, great.” It wasnotgreat. What part of me wanted torest? Not a single inch. Not even my icy fingers. Still, I followed his lead as he motioned to our tent, the fire reduced to a pool of fiercely undulating orange coals. It had been absolutely perfect for s’mores. Which we had thoroughly taken advantage of, so I couldn’t use that as an excuse to stay up with him any later. The lingering sugary burn of melted marshmallows was still on my tongue.
Heart fluctuating from my stomach to my throat like a caffeinated yoyo, I stepped inside, grimacing at his makeshift bed rolls, sans blankets. That was my bad, so I couldn’t very well have the gall to complain.
For the first time, the silence was filled with intention, nothing peaceful about it as the hum of the zipper closed us in. Kneeling on one mat, I glanced back to see him shirking off his hoodie, the fabric of his t-shirt clinging to the thick fleece, peeling it away from those delectable abs.
Sweet.
Baby.
Cheeses.
The man was unreal gorgeous every day, but there, in the gentle blue light of Alaskan night? My pussy throbbed, mouth filling with saliva like I was on my knees for a very different damn reason.
Holy fuck, to feel him in my mouth, thick and long, his fingers in my hair. I’d always loved sex. Loved having it, loved reading about it. Which was why Eric being generally repulsed by anything beyond the basic shit, had been spectacularly hard. How many times can missionary be fun? I thought perhaps his taste would change over time, or that my desire might lessen with age. Neither had happened.
So, as thick fingers ran up the length of his torso to snag his shirt and yank it back into place, I forced myself to swallow. The men in books all melted for their women if she enjoyed blowing him, but…would Jameson?
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
His words snapped me out of it, mouth popping open, only for me to jam it shut, swallowing hard. “Sorry, I just got lost in my head.” His smirk insinuated he knew exactly where my head had been. Or at least which dangerous neighborhood she’d wandered into. When Jameson laid down on the mat mere feet from mine, he laced his hands behind his head, shifting exactly twice before going still.
“I suppose you’re used to sleeping in all kinds of tough spots?” I said, needing to fill the void or cross the damn line. Unprepared for the latter, I landed on small talk. He shrugged his shoulders, not bothering to open his eyes.
“The mountain doesn’t try to buck me into the upper bunk, so it’s not so bad.”
I laughed at that image before saying, “Definitely pictured you on top.”
So, so slowly, he turned and opened his eyes to glare at me. “That so?”
Nodding and feigning innocent eyes, I explained, “I’ve always been afraid of a bunk bed collapsing on me.”
He chuckled, shaking his head, not believing my bullshit for a moment. “Fuck, you like to get a man’s heart rate up.”
That wasn’t actually what I’d wanted to get up, but sure, go off, man. Grinning, I turned to stare up at the glow of the tarp, forcing myself to bite my tongue and not vocalize every desperate thought in my head. My cheeks hurt.Actuallyached like I’d bruised them smiling today.
“Goodnight, Noel,” he rasped.
Exhaling in an impatient—bordering on desperate—huff, I said, “Night.”
* * *
When I was around eight,my parents decided gymnastics would be good for me. My pediatrician had suggested it to combat my clumsiness. Three nights a week, they drove me into the city to a cute purple gym that smelled like foam blocks, with tall ceilings and a Russian instructor who looked exactly like Keira Knightley in a bun and shimmering leggings. Try as I might, I could not get my body to cooperate with willingly diving towards the ground headfirst and trusting my hands to catch me.
It turns out back handsprings were easier than sleeping on a hard mat without layers in the freezing mountains beside a man I wanted to taste. Hell, I wanted to save a horse and ride Jameson until morning. I wanted him to destroy me for all other men, because he was just that kind of silent promise of absolute female devastation. If I could walk back across the beach by low tide, we’d done it wrong. That was how desperately I wanted to cross the damn gap between us.
Hours might have gone by before the cold won our battle and I shivered so intensely my muscles were cramping. I’d just started forcing down breaths as deeply as I could when plastic creaked behind me, and just as suddenly, his broad, solid arms snaked around my waist, pulling me against him. My ribs halted as his heat bled into me, soft belly curving around my ass. Oh. Dear. Fuck. Jameson Rhodes was a cuddler. Not only was he a cuddler, but his muscles were rock solid against my back, those thick legs tucking against mine, breath on my neck sending goosebumps down the length of my body.
“You okay?” he asked, voice so cracked with sleep it was adorable.
