Gratitude.
Yeah,
she thought with a caustic frown. She had a lot to thank him for.
Eve groaned as she slipped a sleep shirt over her head, then eased into bed. Tyler McClain. She still couldn't believe it.
Of all the men in all the bars
...
"Urgggg."
This was not
Casablanca.
Still, someone might die a tragic death before this was over. It might be him if she let her anger get the best of her. If someone else had their way, it might be her.
It was too much to absorb. All of it. Tiffany's "disappearance," Eve's mugger, for lack of a better word. McClain. The bomb. And now, the note. The one she'd found on the front seat of her car after McClain had left her.
You're still dead. It's just a question of when and where. Tonight was just a little reminder. Boom!
She turned off the light. Tried to sleep. And thought about who wanted her dead. She thought about Tiffany. Mostly, she thought about McClain. And hated herself for it.
She needed sleep. But when sleep finally came it was with a distant but sharp replay of a night all those years ago when McClain had done what McClain did best.
...
She'd always been a good girl. Good student, good daughter, good sister. With a Sunday school teacher for a mother, an ex-Ranger, ex-cop for a father, and three big brothers riding herd on her every move, it was pretty much a given that "good" was the only option available. Until that night.
Palm fronds rustled beneath an egg-shaped moon and spotlights shone up through the rippling water of Eddie Franco's swimming pool
—
and Tyler McClain offered her an irresistible chance to be bad.
"Come on, Eve." His breath feathered her cheek as he bent his head and nuzzled her neck. "Come with me. I'll make you feel so good."
Despite the tropical warmth of the May night, she shivered in anticipation of what would happen if she went with him. And she battled second thoughts.
Could she really do this?
But if not now, when ? If not him, who ?
She'd had a crush on Tyler McClain from the day he'd transferred to her high school last year. As of last weekend, graduation was behind them; this was the last senior party of the year, and he was asking her to... well. He was asking a lot. He was also offering a lot.
She glanced around at the crowd of partying seniors dancing by the pool, drinking beer out of Coke cans, and making out in dark corners and thought, I shouldn't.
But when Tyler ran his tongue along her neck and whispered, "Please," in that dark, dangerous voice that electrified every nerve in her body, then met her eyes like he would die if she said no, she found herself taking the hand he held out to her.
Her heart went crazy as he led her down the dark and narrow path toward a little cabana half-hidden from the pool by a squat pineapple palm and wildly flowering hibiscus trees. If anyone in her family knew who she was with and where they were headed
—
straight to hell, no detours, if the warnings were to be believed
—
it was a sure bet they wouldn't call her a good girl anymore.
They would call her reckless. Stupid. Damned for certain. But she held tight to Tyler's hand as he led her into the shadows. And she told herself she didn't care what they called her. She only cared about one thing: the way she felt when he kissed her.
Oh God. Could that boy kiss. And he'd always had a thing for her. Since the first time he'd seen her in government class he'd been wanting to ask her out. She couldn't believe it. He'd been too shy to tell her until tonight.
OK, right. Tyler McClain shy. Not in this lifetime. No, he wasn't shy, but he was trouble. The kind her overbearing brothers warned her about and usually managed to scare away. This particular brand of trouble had been on their short list of avoid-at-all-cost characters from the beginning.
Didn't matter. Not tonight. It was easy to believe Tyler tonight, easy to forget there wasn't a shy bone in his body. Easy to be charmed by the effort he'd made to make her believe him. It was easier still to give in to his boldness that made her heart race and her breath catch when he opened the cabana door, tugged her inside where it smelled dark and a little musty, then pinned her up against the door as it swung shut.
"You are so hot," he murmured, pressing himself against her and covering her mouth with his. It was thrilling. And a little frightening. All his intensity. All his hard, muscled strength. And he smelled so good. Like musk. Like male. Like temptation. And to an eighteen-year-old virgin
—
possibly the last eighteen-year-old virgin in her West Palm Beach graduating class
—
it was too much temptation to resist.
Because her brothers
—
especially her twin brother, Nolan
—
did such a damn fine job of scaring off any prospective boyfriend candidates, she was not only a virgin; she was a barely-been-kissed. Tyler hadn't been either for a very long time.
And the best news
—
he wasn't afraid of the Garrett boys. Tyler "Mac " McClain, of the bad-boy swagger and I-could-give-a-shit grin, had finally made his move. Even knowing what they could do to him, he hadn't tucked tail and run.
He'd led her into the dark instead.
Whispered that she was hot.
And kissed her.
"God, you're beautiful." He lifted his head to look into her eyes before he dived down to kiss her again. Open mouth. Wet. Hungry.
When his hand rose and covered her breast, she leaned into his touch, felt that frustrating and thrilling ache to know what sex was all about build low in her belly. She opened her mouth wide for another wildly carnal French kiss.
His eyes were smoky when they met hers again. His brown hair fell across his forehead and she was lost. She rose up on tiptoe, pressed her lips against his, felt the slight abrasion of his close-shaven skin brush her cheek, and let him lift her off her feet.
He laid her down on a cushioned bench that rimmed the octagonal walls of the small cabana. The Florida moon peeked through a vine-covered window, cast shadows on his beautiful face as he slid his fingers to the back of her neck and untied the string of her halter top.
Involuntary reflexes had her crossing her arms over her breasts, stopping him, embarrassing her. In the distance she heard a splash followed by laughter as someone fell into the pool, heard the heavy beat of metallic rock, and felt removed from everything that was real. Except that right here, right now, was as real as it got.
Wasn't this what she wanted? To experience life? Experience love? Her chance was looming above her, brown eyes questioning.
On a serrated breath, she lowered her hands. Watched his face as he skimmed the backs of his knuckles across her collarbone, giving her time to get used to the idea of his touch.
Her entire body was trembling by the time he slid her top down and finally uncovered her breasts. The night air felt cool on her bare skin, but his gaze burned like a night fire. And still, she shivered and her nipples tightened with aching sensitivity.
"It's like opening up a present." He swallowed hard, trailed a fingertip over her nipple, and watched her face in the moonlight.
Everything inside her coiled tight. . . waiting. Wanting.
"Sweet Jesus, Eve. You are so flaming perfect."
With his hands braced on either side of her waist, biceps flexing, he lowered his head, touched his mouth to the spot where his finger had been. Wet heat. Unbelievable sensation as he flicked the tip of his tongue over and around her nipple.
An arrow of fire sheared a path from her breasts to her belly. And when he drew her into his mouth on a deep, appreciative groan, any lingering trepidation gave way to a flood of sensual pleasure.
It felt so good. What he was doing to her. What he was saying to her. His mouth was everywhere. Licking. . . sipping ... sucking . . . tugging . . . drawing out all those delicious yearnings to experience more and more as he pulled back, dragged his shirt over his head, and tossed it on the floor. Then he was kissing her again, his hard, bare chest pressing against hers, rubbing against her breasts with an electric friction that intensified the pulsing ache between her legs and made her panties damp.
"Please."
She was barely aware that she was begging. Ultra-aware that he'd unsnapped her shorts and was drawing them and her panties down her legs. Then he was standing above her, skimming his shorts down his lean hips, his erection huge and jutting and glistening wet at the tip.
She lived with three brothers. It was inevitable that she'd caught glimpses of them naked, so she knew what the equipment looked like. But she'd never seen them aroused.
Tyler's erection was beautiful. A little intimidating. And a curiosity she couldn't resist. She reached out, touched him. And he groaned.
"No. No, baby. It's OK," he whispered when she drew her hand back, uncertain of his reaction. "Touch me. God. Touch me all you want. Any way you want."
Still, she hesitated as she explored the sleek, pulsing silk of him, the hard, steely thickness, the incredible way his skin slid back and forth when she stroked him.
"Jesus," he hissed through clenched jaws, and closed his eyes. "That feels so damn good. Too good." He drew her hand away and bent over her.
Straddling her hips, he lowered his head to her breasts again and nuzzled and licked and promised he'd make her feel good, too.
She believed him. Every word. Believed him when he said he loved her body. Loved the taste of her, the scent of her, the sounds she made as he worked his way down until he was kissing her navel, her hip point, then nestling his mouth between her thighs.
Oh God. He was going down on her. She'd read about it. Heard some of her friends talk about it. Had considered it with equal measures of disgust and excitement
—
until his mouth touched her there and she almost went up inflames.
Stunned, saturated in sensation, she rose up on her elbows and watched his dark head as he dipped his tongue into her cleft and with a long, slow stroke blew the top of her head off.
She'd never felt anything like it. Never dreamed anything could be so good. Her thighs went lax against the canvas cushions; her arms collapsed as he used his fingers to part her lips for better access and then sucked and stroked her until she felt his hand cover her mouth to mute her screams.
"Sweet, baby," he whispered, crawling up her body to kiss her long and deep, filling her mouth with the taste of him and her own arousal.
She could barely catch her breath, was incapable of speech as he smoothed her hair back from her face and scattered kisses to her brow, all the while nudging his penis against her where she was still hypersensitive and swollen and so very, very wet.
"It's OK." He cradled her head in his hands, feathered his thumbs across her brow when she tensed at the insistent pressure. "I need to be inside you. Let me in. Please, I love you," He sounded desperate as he reached down and hooked her legs up and over his hips.
And yet he was careful as, ever so slowly, he pressed into her. Her eyes flew open when she felt him push deep and for just an instant a sharp stab of pain ripped through her.
"Christ." He groaned between gritted teeth. "You really are a virgin."
"Was," she managed with what little breath she could marshal. "I was a virgin."
And then he was moving inside her, thrusting his hips, driving with all his might. She felt as if she were going to rip apart at the pressure . . . until the stretching sensation eased and the most incredible pleasure replaced it. It felt like she was flying and falling, floating and drowning, all at once. And it was wonderful. The friction. The fullness of him. The amazing give-and-take.
She clung to him, moved with him, reaching, striving, pleading with him for something that was beyond her comprehension
—
until she reached it. She came on a stunning flood of release, a wash of raw, perfect pleasure that left her shattered and depleted and helplessly in love with sex and the boy who had just changed her world.
Moments later, he drove deep, one last time, and with a thick, guttural groan collapsed on top of her.