The Supermodel's Best Friend (A Romantic Comedy) (24 page)

“There’s a path right over there,” Lucy said,
caressing him. “Down to the beach.”

He leaned back and looked into her face,
doubt battling lust. She could see the moment he caught up to her
and his expression hardened with determination.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the
path. They tripped over the curb, too eager to watch their
step.

If they didn’t slow down they were going to
get hurt.

It wasn’t a swimming beach. Even surfers
stayed away from this rocky spot. But people couldn’t resist
beauty, and many feet had worked their way down the rocks to the
nooks that formed at low tide. Though it was cold and the air was
misty from the crashing waves, they hurried to get even closer to
the frigid shore that was dark and secluded and invisible from
above.

The moment their feet hit level sand they
were back in each other’s arms. Miles leaned back against a rock
that was taller than him and pulled her up against his body. He
slipped his hand between her legs and kissed his way down her neck
to the hollow of her throat, licking and nipping and taking.

“Do you really want to do this?” he asked.
She could feel his breath against her skin. “I mean, here? We could
go to the room—”

She stroked him again. “Do you have a
condom?”

He leaned his head back. Sucked in a breath.
“Wallet.”

Taking her time, she searched his front
pockets, slowly and carefully, then slid her hands to the back and
pulled it out.

He shuddered. Through his teeth he said,
“You’re killing me.”

The wallet was thick leather, like his coat,
soft and warm. He snatched it out of her hands and had the condom
removed and out of the foil before she took another breath. Not
wanting to be outdone, slightly annoyed he’d grabbed it so roughly,
she unzipped his fly and wriggled her fingers inside.

He froze. Let her unbutton his jeans and free
him.

“I want you,” she told him.

“Glad to hear it.” He grabbed her wrist. “A
second. Need one.”

Grinning, she rubbed up against him and
reached her hand behind his neck to pull his mouth to hers. He got
the condom on and surprised her by tugging her down sideways onto
his lap where he sat in the sand, the rock at his back. He
unbuttoned her jeans.

“You’ve got the best ass in world, you know
that?” His hands were under the denim, under her panties, pulling
the fabric down her thighs. She knelt in the sand next to him. Felt
icy wind on her exposed bottom. Then warm, strong hands.

With him sitting on the ground, it was easier
to kiss him, to reach all of him. While she licked his jaw,
savoring the roughness under her tongue, kissing his racing pulse,
he was struggling to get her out of her pants.

He held her face in both hands and pulled her
away from him. “Take off your boots,” he said roughly.

It was the most erotic thing she’d ever
heard.

She managed to stand up on her shaking legs,
her jeans and underwear sinking below her hips, and turn to face
the ocean. She bent over and pulled the lace on the first boot.

A large hand clamped down on her calf, but
she swiveled to the other boot and took her time.

His hands moved up her calves, the backs of
her knees, hooked into the fabric to expose the rest of her. Before
she could shake off the first boot, one palm circled her ass and
his fingers were—

“Oh,
God
,” she said. He was between
her legs. Delicate, tickling, eager.

“Could you please hurry the fuck up with the
footwear?” he asked softly, adding a finger.

Three seconds later and she was barefoot in
the gritty sand. Then naked from the waist down, facing the ocean
and suddenly shy about turning around.

Powerful hands grabbed her hips and pulled
her down into his lap. Strong arms turned her around, hooked one
leg over his other side, clamped on either side of her and
positioned her on top of him.

His mouth was on hers again, demanding and
hot, and she wanted him. She needed him to touch her again. The
wind was cold at her back, there on the public beach with the noisy
crowd inside just above their heads. She’d never done anything like
this before in her life. Never thought she would.

“
Miles
,” she groaned. He was rubbing
his cock between their bodies, not inside yet but slowly separating
her while he lifted her hips up and down, up and down, working them
both wild.

She shifted, trying to get the angle right,
clutching his shoulders.

And then he thrust inside. Filled her. Huge,
hard, sudden.

Throwing her head back, she let him drive
deeper, lift her up, impale her again. His fingers clamped onto her
hips, unwavering, pushing her up and down in a building rhythm,
impossibly strong and relentless.

She’d never known pleasure like it in her
life.

No longer trying to anticipate his speed or
do anything in return, she let go. She flipped the switch and went
blank. If she hadn’t been so tense, spiraling down into a whirlpool
of the best orgasm of her life, she would have laughed.

Miles thrust into her, tireless, watching her
with black, black eyes. When his arms buckled and his rhythm
faltered because he’d hit the wall, was jerking with his climax,
she threw her head back and let her thoughts go white with
blinding, shuddering joy.

* * *

A sharp stick was poking Lucy in her left
knee. He was still inside her, his arms holding her tightly against
his chest.

They were both fully clothed from the waist
up. Miles wore his boots, and even his thighs were mostly covered
by his jeans. The madness was fading, but they didn’t move or say
anything. Was he waiting for her to speak first?

I’m drunk,
Lucy thought. Her bare ass
stuck out under her jacket, probably visible for miles around. A
white moon on the beach. Miles’s hands had released her hips, and
one gently stroked her hair.

Not drunk enough.

Tension was building again, and not the
sexual kind.

Reluctantly, she pushed herself off his chest
and lifted herself free of him. While she got to her feet and
scrabbled around in the sand for her clothes, he cleaned up, giving
the beach and the used condom a pained look before stuffing it in
his jeans pocket.

Afterglow was a bitch.

Silently, he watched her pull on her
underwear, jeans, and boots, and she felt increasingly
uncomfortable. “Miles… ”

“You don’t have to say it. I know.” He
shrugged, stepped closer, out of the shadows. He had a little smile
on his face.

“How could you know? I don’t even know.”

He took her hand and squeezed gently. “Sorry.
Go ahead.”

“I want to return to the resort tonight. I
know we just did this and the room is right up there, but I want to
go back to the resort.”

He nodded, squeezed her hand again. “Of
course. Should we grab a drink before we head back?” He zipped her
jacket up to her throat, smoothed the leather over her shoulders.
“Coffee, something else warm?”

“You think you knew that’s what I was going
to say?”

“It’s okay, Lucy. I just fucked your
alcohol-soaked brains out on a public beach. You’re entitled to
whatever you want.” He pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes,
then dropped his hands to his sides. “Let’s get out of here before
the tide comes in.”

She exhaled loudly, annoyed that he seemed to
think she was some kind of victim. “I don’t regret what we
did.”

“Not yet.”

“I’m not going to.”

He put a hand in the small of her back and
nudged her toward the path up to the parking lot. She waited for
him to say
me neither
, but he didn’t.

He didn’t touch her during the walk up the
bluff, not even when they got to the railing and climbed over into
the lot. His motorcycle huddled there, away from the cars, the
silhouette of its handlebars sticking up like antlers, and she had
the funniest feeling that she was jealous of it, this vehicle of
his that he rode every day—

She dropped her face into her hands and
sucked in a deep breath. Too much beer, too much everything.

Miles was already striding over to the bike.
He unlocked the rounded case on the back and took out a helmet,
then another one, acting like nothing at all had just happened.

“I have to use the bathroom,” she told him,
turning on her heel and striding away.

He jogged to catch up to her, the helmet
under his arm. “You sound angry.”

“I just have to use the bathroom.”

“Sure,” he said, still following her.

She stopped under the arbor, not sure what
she was feeling. “I’m fine.”

The light from the front door slanted across
his left eye. He looked tense. “I didn’t plan for it to be that
way.”

“I told you, I don’t regret it. You didn’t
push me into anything.”

“I just—I got a little carried away,” he
said.

“Will you listen to me? I was right there
with you. It was something that happened.” She dropped her gaze to
a sliver of bare skin visible low on his throat under the layers of
T-shirt and leather. Gently, she touched him there with an index
finger, felt warmth, soft hair, his pulse. “It was pretty
great.”

He put a hand over hers and held it to his
chest. “Let’s get a drink before we go back. Water, coffee,
whiskey, whatever.”

“I don’t want to go back in that bar,” she
said.

“We’ll stop somewhere else on the way.”

She shook her head, freed her hand, and went
inside. Just a quick bathroom break and she’d be fine. Splash some
water on her face, wash the sand out from under her fingernails,
shake the sand out of her shoes. Tomorrow she would figure this
out.

“There you are,” the lady at the desk said,
slapping a key on the desk. She was blond with gray roots, and wore
red cat-eye glasses and a tight plaid flannel shirt. “I was about
to close up. Breakfast is from eight to ten-thirty, but the
chocolate waffles go fast, so I’d get here before nine if I were
you.” She saluted her with a steaming coffee mug.

Lucy paused. She thought Fawn had settled
everything. “I’m sorry, but I’m not staying. I just need to use the
bathroom.”

The woman froze with the mug halfway to her
lips. “But it’s our best room. I told your friend we didn’t do
refunds. She said you wouldn’t want one anyway.” Her glance slid
past Lucy to Miles, who had come in behind her.

Lucy didn’t move. The key was the long,
old-fashioned metal kind, attached to a narrow wooden tag labeled
“9.” It sat there, splayed out on the scarred wooden counter in a V
shape. Like two legs spread apart.

Lucy ran her hands over her eyes. “I just
want to use the bathroom. We don’t know if we’re staying.”

She could feel Miles approach her from
behind.
We don’t know
…

“Up to you, of course,” the woman said. Her
study of Miles seemed to explain something to her, because her
slightly offended look had warmed into bland amusement. With a
faint smile, she tapped the key with one nail-bitten finger before
turning off the desk lamp. “Like I said, the chocolate waffles are
real popular.” She winked at Miles. “Worth sticking around
for.”

Lucy grabbed the key. “Where is it? The
bathroom is en suite?”

“Yup. Right up those stairs, far left corner,
ocean side,” the woman said.

“Thanks.” Lucy jogged up the stairs without
looking back, not sure if Miles would follow her or not but certain
she didn’t want to put on a show in front of the proprietor.

The Victorian building had a long, narrow
upstairs hallway with a worn Oriental runner down the middle and a
handful of rooms on either side. Framed images of dogs of all kinds
lined the walls—some photos, some illustrations. The floorboards
creaked.

She found the west-facing corner and let
herself in just as Miles appeared at the end of the hallway behind
her.

“I’m just going to use the bathroom,” she
called out.

He nodded, striding closer, glancing around.
“I’ll go after you,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

She pushed the door open to let him inside.
“Understandable.”

He was big. He had to duck, brushing against
her in the doorway on his way in. “Given what we were up to,” he
said in a low voice.

She swallowed. “Yeah. Anyway. I’ll go first.
Thanks.” Barely noticing the shabby-chic decor, (except for the
enormous four-poster bed in the middle of the room), Lucy scurried
over to the bathroom and locked the door behind her.

While she cleaned up, she had to face
facts.

That was the best sex she’d ever had in her
life.

She was a little sore, but in a good way.
Letting herself smile, she shook the sand out of her underwear,
jeans, and boots into the lined wicker wastebasket. Got dressed
again.

Feeling less gritty, she went to the pedestal
sink to wash. She froze when she saw her face in the mirror.

No wonder the front desk lady was amused.
Wild hair, unfocused eyes, razor-burned cheeks, puffy lips—she was
quite a sight. Soap and water just wasn’t enough to wipe away the
evidence of what she’d obviously been up to.

Miles knocked on the door. “Are you all
right?”

She ran a hand through her electric-socket
curls.
Never better
. She dried off with a fluffy towel and
pulled open the door. “Let’s stay.”

He didn’t react. Face impassive, he asked,
“Here?”

“Of course, ‘here.’ What else would I
mean?”

“Sorry, it’s just you were quite insistent a
few minutes ago about going back.”

Lucy put her hands on her hips. A tiny voice
inside her suggested he’d already gotten what he wanted. “Don’t you
want to stay?”

“Sure.” He ran a hand through his hair, then
wrinkled his nose and looked at his fingers. “I’ve got sand in my
hair.”