Page 8 of Beach Reads: Three Summer Scorchers

W hat to cook for the woman of your dreams? It’s a question I’ve never been faced with before. And I didn’t even consider this struggle when I offered Darla dinner, but on the drive home after the day’s filming, it suddenly feels like an advanced algebra problem, and I always sucked at math.

Here goes: I could show off and make the most difficult meal I know how. The most technically advanced: elaborate sushi plates or pan-seared sea bass, and maybe a souffle for dessert.

I reject that idea as soon as I have it. Darla’s down-to-earth and casual. She won’t be impressed by antics like that.

Okay, so nothing too fancy. Maybe I could recreate her favorite burrito from the food truck near set? The one she always bounces on her heels when she orders, excited to sink her pearly white teeth in?

Except no, she ate one of those two days ago. Shit. I flick on my turn signal, scowling through my windshield as I turn onto my street.

We could order takeout? No. That’d look like I didn’t care enough to try.

Fuck. Fuck.

I pull onto my driveway and yank on the handbrake. The key twists easily; the engine hums softly as it cools. It’s too hot in this car. It smells like suntan lotion and cracked leather.

Even the sight of my beach house makes my chest pinch with anxiety, my teeth gritting as I stare up at it through the glass.

Am I a cliche? A tired, aging actor playing a role in his own life?

Am I going insane?

This woman will be the death of me. I want her so fucking badly.

Darla.

* * *

“Nice place.” Her opening words are a balm for my raw chest, and the sight of Darla’s clinging purple dress makes my stomach swoop. I lead her inside, through the open plan living space.

Hazel eyes track the huge, squashy sofas gathered around the TV screen on the wall; the gleaming white kitchen cabinets and matching island; the fireplace that won’t be lit again now until winter.

The lights dangling from the high ceilings, encased in bronze wire sculptures, and the framed movie posters on the walls.

Darla even examines the large woven rug on the floorboards.

“Does it pass inspection?” Do I ?

My words were teasing, but Darla’s smirk is knowing. Gentle beneath the humor. “Oh, yeah. Every bit of you, Jesse Hendry.” Ah, hell. My fucking heart. “So what’s for dinner?”

Yeah. The million dollar question. I lead her to the kitchen, trying to force my shoulders to relax.

“I got ingredients to make fresh pumpkin tortellini with a garlic butter sauce.” I know she’s vegetarian—and hopefully the garlic won’t put her off kissing me again.

“Uh. And I was gonna do a chocolate lava cake for dessert with ice cream on the side. Some of it’s prepped already, like the lava cake is basically ready for the oven, but if you’d rather something else—”

Darla tackles me against the fridge. “Oh my god. You’re the perfect man.”

Seriously? She thinks so?

If the greedy way she’s tearing at my shirt is anything to go by, then yes, she does. I lift my arms in a daze, letting Darla strip off my white shirt, before my brain finally catches up and I spin us around with a growl.

“This is my cheat night.” I lick a stripe up her neck, crowding closer against her when she shivers. “Most nights all I’m allowed is chicken breast and steamed veggies, but you make me want things I shouldn’t have, Darla. Delicious things.”

Her fingernails score burning lines down my back, and her breath is warm on my ear. “You should have them, Hendry. Nobody needs this many muscles.”

Ha. I guess I hadn’t even registered that particular fear before—the idea that she might not want me if I get out of shape. If I age, you know, like a human being. But Darla’s dismissed it before it even had a chance to fester, and now I’m pressing so hard against her, I might squash her flat.

I can’t help it. I want to seal our bodies together so tightly we never come apart. The refrigerator rocks against the wall.

“Oh!” Darla nearly topples forward when I drop to my knees, her hands grabbing my shoulders for balance, and just her touch on my bare skin is enough to make my temples throb.

I sling one of her legs over my shoulder, grinning at her yelp, then grip the other thigh with both hands. “Can I?”

Darla stares down at me like I’m an alien. Her fingers are digging into my shoulder muscles. “Are you kidding me right now? Yes. ”

Yeah, I don’t care if it makes me lame, I’m gonna be checking in a lot.

Making sure she wants every single thing I’m doing to her.

She’d better get used to it, because even with that meeting with the big director looming, this still feels like the most important audition of my life, and I will not screw it up.

“You ever done this before, baby?” My hands are sliding under her dress. Pushing the fabric out of the way; letting it bunch up on my tanned, corded forearms.

Darla narrows her eyes down at me. Grits out her answer: “No.”

“Not any of it?”

“ No .”

She says it like a challenge: like she’s daring me to hold it against her. And god, I kind of like that she thinks I’m noble enough to stop after hearing that, but the shameful truth is I’m down here now, and my mouth is watering.

Only a command from Darla would stop me at this point. Otherwise I’m getting at that pussy, everything else be damned. A meteor could strike, and my final act would be diving under this dress for a taste.

“If you don’t like it, tell me and I’ll bring you off another way. One way or another, Darla, you’re coming for me tonight.”

She splutters, but the sound cuts off when I slide a hand up her inner thigh, over the soft, dimpled flesh of her leg.

I’d be the most oblivious idiot in the world to miss the way her eyes tighten. To not sense her vulnerability. I lean forward and press a kiss to her bared thigh, then nip gently and make her gasp.

“You’re perfect.” My words are muffled against her skin, but I know she hears them.

I hope she feels them. “A goddess. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

” My fingers trail higher as I bare it all for her: as I let her read the truth in my eyes.

And when I graze the damp lace of her panties, we suck in matching breaths.

“Darla,” I sigh, so fucking pleased with myself, and hook her panties to the side.

She’s so wet. Soaked and slippery, already swollen with want. My fingers glide between her folds like figure skaters.

Above me, Darla whimpers. Her cheeks are bright red.

Fuck, I love her.

With one hand squeezing the thigh draped over my shoulder, holding her there to help her balance, I push her dress higher with the other and lean forward.

My knees grind into the kitchen tiles. There’s a crick in my neck, but I don’t care.

I take one slow, long lick.

Salt. Darla tastes like the ocean I dive in nearly every day, except sweeter too, with a hint of tartness. And she’s so bold and vibrant, coming alive under my tongue, rocking her hips and rubbing herself against my face. Taking what she needs.

Yes.

This is it. This is how I want to go.

“Fuck,” I rumble against her slick pussy. The breathy noises she makes when I suckle on her clit—I want them etched on my brain forever.

I lap at her. Suck. Nibble.

I feast on my gorgeous girl, and I know I promised her dinner, but this is all I want to eat for the rest of my life.

Darla slams a fist against the refrigerator. Something rattles inside. “ Jesse. Oh my god.”

Fuck, yeah. Say my name. “Give it to me.” My fingers glide easily inside her channel, never mind that she’s tight as hell. She’s that soaked. That needy.

A couple more licks and she breaks. My fingers crook, her head slams back, and Darla comes with an earthquake thundering through her body. Her leg slips on my shoulder and I heft it back into place; I watch her muscles twitch and spasm with awe.

Yeah. A goddess. And when I’ve finally settled both her feet back on the ground, when I’ve pushed to my feet, almost light-headed myself, Darla grabs my the belt loops on my jeans and yanks me close.

“That was insane. Just—insane.” Her hazel eyes are so bright. “Can we keep going?”

God yes. But as I duck my head to kiss her, the taste of her still on my lips, my phone vibrates, rattling against the kitchen counter as it rings.

I stiffen. Somehow, I know what it’s about. The hairs have risen on the back of my neck.

I step back with a sigh. “I’m so sorry. Two minutes, okay? I really need to get this.”

And I hate the way the light dims in her eyes; the way her lips press together as she nods. Darla lets go of my belt loops, and a crazy part of me wishes she’d refused. Yanked me back.

“Go ahead.” Her smile is lower wattage than earlier. “This can wait.”

No, no it can’t, but I need that new role. If I’m ever gonna be worthy of this woman, I need to prove myself to her. I need to be a man she could admire.

“Two minutes,” I promise, and as I turn away, it’s like I can feel her slipping away. My gut twists.

I tug my shirt back on before I answer, and glare at the floor as I leave the room, my stupid phone pressed to my ear.