Page 9 of On The Beach

"Why? What's wrong with guys like me?"

Belle cleared her throat, her tone hesitant. "Well…the thing is, I have a type. Nerds. You know, scientists. You're way out of my league, Captain Mick."

"I'm not askin' you to marry me, darlin'. I'm just sayin' it'd be a hot fuck."

Her cheeks flushed again, her eyes widening in surprise. She was cute as hell when she got all shy. Usually, I'd run the other way from the nervous, inexperienced type. But there was something about Dr. Isabelle "Belle" Volnay that pulled me in—something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"How about we start with a kiss?" I suggested.

Belle swallowed hard. "No."

I blinked, surprised. Maybe I'd read her wrong after all. "No?"

"Not until I brush my teeth," she blurted out.

"What?"

"I just threw up and had a beer. I smell…well, I'd love to kiss you, but not until I brush my teeth." She spoke so primly like she was accepting an invitation to tea, not turning down a kiss.

"You've got to be kidding me," I growled.

Her expression hardened, and something inside me stirred. I'd had plenty of women since leaving Boston, but none were quite like Belle. Adorable, stubborn, and, for some reason, utterly irresistible.

What the hell was happening to me? More pertinently, what the hell was this woman doing to me?

"Let me help you," I smirked.

"What? You've got toothpaste?—"

Before she could finish, I dunked her underwater, holding her there for a good five seconds before pulling her back up. She spluttered, eyes blazing with anger.

"What the fuck was that?" she gasped for air.

"Mouthwash, Reef Harbor style." I yanked her close so her tits were smashed against my chest. I slammed my mouth over hers before she could protest.

She tasted like the ocean—and of something far more dangerous. She tastedsweet. It was how her tongue timidly touched mine like she was a curious kitten. I had a flash of her licking my cock just like that.

I molded her softness against me, aware that she wanted this as much as I did. The shallowness of her breath, her hardened nipples, and the way she curved against me all told me that I wasn't alone in feeling this heady passion.

"Mick," she protested. "People can see us."

I nuzzled my lips against hers. "No people, just Franco and Cato, and they don't give a shit."

She put a hand to my chest and licked her lips. Fuck, but she was hot. "I care."

I cupped her face and stroked her swollen lips with my thumb, making them wetter. Her tongue peeked out, and she tasted me, and just like that, her green cat eyes went stormy. I'd never fucking seen that happen with a lover before. She was utterly responsive.

She looked toward the boat and saw that my friends, smartassholes, had their back to us. This wouldn't be the first time I had my hands on a woman while they were around—but it was the first time I cared that they didn't see her as I did, aroused and wanting.

What the fuck?

Before I could process that thought, her hands linked around my neck, and that was all the encouragement I needed. I lowered my head and captured the moistness of her lips, groaning low in my throat as she let me in.

Both our breathing was ragged, sounding loud in the silence of desire as we sucked, kissed, bit each other hungrily.

My hands went into her damp, auburn hair, and I pulled her head so I had access to her throat; as I did that, I pushed my erection between her thighs. All that separated us were her sexy panties.

She tasted like fucking honey. Yeah, I was losing my mind. No woman tasted like honey, no matter how poetic Byron waxed. But it was more than that, she tasted like a woman who I wanted underneath me, desperately. Usually, I could take or leave it—and had no problem walking away, dealing with rejection, or finding out that I wasn't into a woman. But not this time. The idea of her turning me down wasn't an option.

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