Page 10 of As You Crave It

“I do.”

Together, they left the beach, but this time, there was space between them. Their hands didn’t brush, nor did he long to reach out and hold her hand, like he had on their way there. Every one of his muscles ached with the tension of wanting her. But she’d put the brakes on anything else happening between them. Even though she’d laid down the line of their relationship—just friends—there was still a ripple of sexual tension between them.

But she’d said her piece, and a lot of other things. Desire made way for melancholy, and he thought about what she’d said to him. Not a relationship guy. She’d hit him squarely on his head. He was the guy you call for a fun night. He’d known it for a long time, but to hear her say it out loud... It hurt.

They walked in silence for several blocks, leaving him to wonder how it was possible in those shoes she was wearing.

“How are your feet?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She stopped in front of a white bungalow. “This is me.”

In the dim light of the morning, he could see that her yard was overgrown, and the palm trees in front needed trimming, but her house was small, and looked to be in good repair. “It’s cute. This is a nice neighborhood.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I like it. It’s quiet. Although, I do keep getting the side-eye from the neighbors because of the yard. I really need to find a landscaper. I just haven’t had time.”

“I know what that’s like. I’ll send you the number for mine if you want.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

Despite the fact that he’d just made her come on the beach, he knew that their time together was drawing to a close. She’d been in town for a while and hadn’t contacted him. Only a series of coincidences had put them together. He was afraid that when he said goodbye to her, he probably wouldn’t see her again.

“I guess I’d better get inside before the neighbors call the cops because they think we’re lurkers.”

“All right then.” She turned to go inside, but Quin stopped her, putting his fingers around her wrist, surprising himself more than he’d surprised her. “Celia, wait.”

“What?”

He wasn’t sure why he’d stopped her—just plain old desperation? He wasn’t sure what to say, but it had to be something. “I’m going out of town tomorrow,” he told her. “This is short notice, I know. But I have this work trip. I’m leaving for the Caribbean for three days. Do you want to come with me?”

“I—”

He took a step closer. “Just as friends,” he assured her, not certain if he was telling the truth or not. But he could still smell her on his skin, and he was willing to promise her anything. “I’ll be working, but when I’m not, it would be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other again.”

“Why?”

“Why not? I’d like to see you again. Is that a good enough reason?” Quin’s heart pounded in his chest. It was like he was a teenager again, asking a girl out on a date, instead of a thirty-year-old man.

“That sounds like it would be amazing...” she said, trailing off. “But I have a work thing next week, too. My boss is going out of town and I have a lot to do.”

“Okay, no harm in trying, right?”

“I guess not,” she said.

That time, his pride took the hit. “You know, never mind. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m still drunk.” He wasn’t drunk. This was why he wasn’t the relationship guy. It was exactly why he never put himself on the line. He stopped, realizing that maybe this was just a fraction of what Celia had felt that night at their graduation party.

She put her hand on the doorknob. She would go inside her house and close the door. But she didn’t. Celia turned back to face him. “Why don’t we get together when you get back?” she asked.

“We can have lunch.” She’d firmly established that if they were to have any sort of relationship now, it would be a purely platonic one. He could do that. Right? As he felt his desire for her rise again, he tried his best to tamp it down.

“Sounds good. ’Bye, Quin,” she said. There was a finality to her voice, and he needed to stop her before she walked inside.

“Just a second,” he said.

“What is it?”

“I just want one more.” And he was on her. He kissed her. His mouth hungry for her lips. When she kissed him back, he thought he might die. He groaned into her mouth and pulled her close—one hand squeezed her ass, the other went to the back of her thigh, lifting it, pushing his dick against her. She moaned.

When they separated, her chest was pressed against his, and she looked up at him, wide-eyed, in the growing light of dawn. “Quin,” she whispered.

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