Page 62 of Tempt Me

“Mind your own beeswax,” I retort, something we all used to say to each other as kids.

He chuckles. “That’s a yes.”

I down the rest of my wine and leave Alistair to his own devices. I head to my room to take a nap—I didn’t get much sleep at Isla’s, worrying over her temperature, changing her sheets, making sure she always had fresh water. I flop onto my bed and clap my hand over my eyes as I remember helping her into clean pajamas. Her skin dewed with sweat, her curves warm beneath my hands. I wasn’t inappropriate. I would never be. I kept my eyes on her face and was always respectful.

But god, how I want her now. I can’t deny it anymore. For the first time in ages, I allow myself to peek inside the box of memories I’ve kept sealed up tight—the evening we spent together the night of the Everton anniversary party. Slipping her out of that red strapless dress. The pert bud of her nipple between my teeth. The slender curve of her waist. The slickness of her sex and the tight nub of her clit. The way she moaned for me.

My cock is standing at attention, throbbing with need. Sleep seems futile so I get up and storm into my bathroom, turning the water on as hot as I can stand. Rivulets drip over my pecs and stomach, running down my thighs. The past unfurls like a ribbon in my mind. Isla’s soft dark hair falling in waves around her sweet face. The way her breasts felt heavy in my hands, fitting perfectly into my palms like they were made just for me.

I grip my shaft and start to stroke myself as I remember her little moans, the way she would tighten as I slid my fingers inside her, probing her, making that clit swell and hum. I increase my pitch as I imagine her naked in this shower with me, pressing her against the glass as I plunge inside her from behind, her ass firm against my thighs, one hand snaking around to pleasure her. I hear the coos she would make, begging me for more, squirming against me, slippery as an otter. I see myself flip her around, hitching one perfect leg over my waist and taking her, hard and deep, making her know she’s mine.

I jerk myself into oblivion, coming so hard I feel a pinch behind my eyes as I exhaust myself. I sag against the cool tile, exhausted.

She’s not mine. She’ll never be mine.

She belongs to Luke now.

I grab a bar of soap and angrily run it over my chest, foaming it under my arms and cleaning my dick. Fucking Luke in that fucking yellow polo and stupid fucking khakis. Even when I was still the rich kid from the Way, I didn’t dress like that. Is that what Isla really wanted all along? I wonder what they even talk about.

I turn off the tap and grab a towel, drying myself and then wrapping the towel around my waist. I head into my room to get a change of clothes when my phone rings.

It’s Noah.

I put it on speakerphone.

“Hey,” I say, carrying the phone into my walk-in closet.

“How’s Isla?” Noah asks.

“She’s better. Fever broke this morning. She’s with Luke now,” I add, unable to keep the grouchiness from my tone.

“Yeah, Joni said she saw his car in the lot.”

“The Magnolia Grapevine strikes again,” I say dryly.

Noah chuckles.

“He showed up this morning in a stupid polo and khakis looking like a mini-me of his dad. What does she see in him? I don’t get it. Was that what she wanted? The country club life and all that bullshit?” I grab a pair of jeans and a pale blue V neck, yanking them on as I continue to vent. “And when I opened the door, Noah, I swear, the jealousy on his face…he looked furious to see me. Like, dude where the fuck were you?”

“Private island,” Noah pipes up.

“Yeah, and about that—no service? Seriously? Do you know anyone who goes anywhere with no service these days? And especially someone from the Way? I’m not buying it.”

“You think Luke was lying about being on a private island?”

“I think if I was engaged to Isla, I wouldn’t go anywhere where I didn’t have service. I wouldn’t just abandon her like that.”

“You did though,” Noah points out softly.

I lean my head against the cool wood of the closet door.

“Yeah,” I admit. “I did.” There’s a long pause. “I guess I’m just…”

“Jealous?” my best friend supplies unhelpfully.

“Yeah,” I say again.

“That’s normal.”

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