Page 55 of Five
Jesus, not that kind of railing. We’re not there yet.
Jesse is the kind of guy who shows up in fireman calendars. While Oz is all lean muscle, Jesse is a tank. He could easily pass for an NFL linebacker—solid, with big hands and even bigger feet.
I groan audibly. I definitely noticed that. Kind of wish I hadn’t, but there they were, and now my brain is creating all sorts of interesting scenarios.
I pause midway between Jesse’s cottage and my suite in the main building and shove my hands into my hair. That entire conversation was just icing on this week’s crap cake. I don’t understand why the opinion of some beefcake bothered me so much, but it did.
Maybe because I know well that he’s not just some beefcake. Intelligence shines in his icy blue gaze alongside contempt. It’s so annoying. I’ve never had someone actively dislike me—not that I know of, anyway, and not someone who doesn’t even know me.
And the only reason I’m here at all is for safety. It’s not like I pushed my way in, hoping to mess up his male utopia. Oscar assured me—
Oscar.
I’m standing right outside his cottage. I didn’t mean to end up here, even if I did know which one was his. He had made sure to point out exactly which dwelling belonged to each of them, so if I needed anything I would know where to look.
I need to talk to him. I need reassurance that I’m not spoiling things with his friends. That they want me here.
I pace forward a few steps, in the direction of his door, and then retreat.
No.
My feet take me back toward the door. Back to the path.
If I’m being honest with myself, I want to do more than talk. But talking is a good starting point. I need…dang it, I don’t know what I need. Someone to help me put my head on straight, I think, because Jesse’s gotten it all twisted.
“Neve?”
In my fluster, I failed to notice the door opening. Oscar fills the frame, backlit by the lambent yellow glow of lamplight, quiet and waiting. I hesitate another moment, and then move decisively toward him.
I don’t say anything, and Oscar doesn’t move. Stepping into his space, I press my palm against his chest, feeling strength and heat through the thin cotton of his tee shirt.
Staring intently into his eyes, I reach up with my other hand and wrap it around the back of his neck, my fingers curling into the short, crisp hair at his nape. Then I pull his head down to mine and press my mouth against his.
I make a decision, and I kiss the man I’ve been wanting to kiss for days now. I kiss him, and he kisses me back, his full, delicious lips testing at first before turning confident, almost bruising in their pressure.
As if he wanted to kiss me, too.
His arms come around me and he lifts me fully off the ground, turning us so we’re inside his house. Our mouths remain fused together for one shuffled step, then another, until my back hits a wall and he reaches down to scoop his hands beneath my thighs. I need no further urging and wrap my legs around his waist.
It’s without question the hottest kiss I’ve ever experienced. Oz’s lips are firm and mobile, teasing and sipping at every dip and hollow of my mouth. They glide, open and seeking, over my jaw, and upwards, across my cheek.
Then they stop.
Oz pulls his face away from mine, and I open my eyes to find him looking down at me with a slight frown. “What’s wrong?” He asks.
“Ah…you’re not kissing me?” I have no idea what he means.
“Neve…” His tone is gentle. “You’re crying.”
My hands drop from where I’d curled them into the strong slope of his shoulders to my cheeks, where I find Iamcrying, my skin wet with salty trails just starting to dry up. “Oh! I—it’s nothing.”
Oscar’s look is skeptical. He carries me into the adjoining living room and sits on the couch, me in his lap with my legs still wrapped around his waist. I can feel him, hard and insistent, against my core and unfold my legs so I’m seated more comfortably. The movement pushes me more snugly against him and my fingers tighten on his shoulders. “I’d like to get back to the kissing, please,” I request, leaning in.
He dodges my mouth. “Not so fast.” His hands squeeze my hips where he holds me. “What are these tears for?”
God, he wants to talk. How did I end up with the one guy who wants to analyze and talk everything to death?I pout for a minute before capitulating.
“It’s just…” I wave my hand in the vague direction of the horizon. “…this is pretty much what I’ve always wanted, you know. This beautiful island…two or more solid, dependable guys who make me feel safe. Wanted. And it’s all right here. Mine for the taking.”