I groan.
“Say it again.”
“Say what again?”
“Boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap around the word, telling me I’m not the only one who has high hopes for the next couple of days.
I groan, again, my desire raging as my mind goes wild with images of Alana in all types of compromising positions. I need to breathe. Maybe today we’ll skip the beach. Hopefully.God please. Pretty please.
I put my hand on her leg and skim my thumb across the smooth surface of her skin. She lackadaisically puts her sunglasses on — the mirrored aviator ones I hate — and allows me to caress her inner thigh while the sun beats down on her face. I decided to strip the Jeep — doors, windows, roof — because I know Alana eats it up. She’s a sun-worshiper at heart. But if I had any idea she was going to let me put my hands on her, I would have reconsidered, and made this ride a memorable one.
Two hours later, we’re pulling up to an impressive beach house on the north end of Long Beach Island. It’s two stories with a wraparound porch on each level and sliding glass doors off every room.
“Wow. I wasn’t expecting this,” Alana exclaims as she climbs out of the Jeep.
“I know. I gawked the first time I saw it too.”
“What exactly does Mac’s uncle do?”
“He’s some stocks and bonds guy in the city.” I grab both our bags and lead Alana into the house. The inside is just as impressive as the out. It’s done in all creams and whites and peaches. With lavish furniture and tasteful beach décor. It’s the epitome of class and style yet is still warm and welcoming.
Alana walks over to the window and gazes out at the semi-private beach. The day is perfect. There’s not a cloud in the clear-blue sky or a ripple in the sea-green ocean.
Mac is already out there with a few of our buddies and a couple girls. Some I know, some I don’t.
“Who are all those people?”
“Greg, Doug, and Steve,” I rattle off. “Steve’s girlfriend, Sarah, is the one in the pink bikini, and her friend, Monica, who’s in the black, hooks up with Doug on occasion. He’s the one in the obnoxious yellow shorts. I don’t know the other two girls. And, of course, you know Mac.”
“I didn’t realize there’d be so many people here.”
“This is nothing actually. I was expecting a lot more. But the day is still young, so who knows who Mac has coming.”
“So, what you’re telling me is this should be an interesting couple of days?”
“It usually is where Mac is concerned.”
“What about where you’re concerned?” Alana counters.
“I can be interesting when I want to be.” I can’t help but crack a smile. I love flirty banter with Alana. It drives me all the good kinds of crazy when she toys with me.
“Let’s go claim a room, before we’re left sleeping on the couch.” And like hell I’m going to let that happen.
I pull Alana behind me, up the stairs and down the hall. I know exactly which bedroom I want. It’s my favorite, and I hope no one called dibs on it yet. We walk into a room with light blue walls, hardwood floors, and white trim around the windows. Sunlight is flooding through the sliding glass doors that lead to the wraparound porch. What makes this room so intriguing to me is the mural on the wall. It’s a wicked painting of a mermaid with long blonde hair sitting on a rock in the middle of the ocean. It’s done in all shades of gold and brown and tan. Her tail is a vibrant blue which is a striking contrast to the rest of the painting.
“Wow,” Alana voices as she looks at the mural.
“Yeah. It’s awesome. It speaks to me every time I come here.”
Alana smiles up at me, and I suddenly feel like an idiotic fool. That was such a bitch thing to say.
“It turns me on when you talk about art,” she jokes, putting my insecurities slightly at ease.Slightly.
“Good to know.” I slam her up against me. “Because I can talk about art all damn day.” I start kissing her neck, sucking lightly on her jugular. She moans then jerks away. The look in her eyes is hot with desire, but I can tell she’s fighting it.Why?
“Is something wrong?” I’m still holding her in my arms, but her body is tense. Guarded.