Page 18 of Unfinished Summer

“No. An ex, that’s all. You?”

“No.” Mary-Ann is the closest I had to a girlfriend, but she’s more a friend with sexual benefits. She was on the tour, and we spent time together, in the right place, at the right time over the years. That doesn’t really add up to girlfriend material, but then I was always looking for someone else.

“No surf chicks along the way, Jayce? I find that hard to believe.” She gives me a sly smile, and I don’t like it. I don’t want her to think of me as a player going after girls.

“That’s not my style, Zee. Never has been.”

We finish the meal and enjoy watching the sun sink into the ocean.

Zennor’s warmed up since our first meeting, but there’s something off. Or perhaps I’m trapped in the past, hoping the same girl I’ve been pining for still exists.

For the sake of another date or at least a friendship, while we’re both in town, I leave the questions for another day and get the bill.

“It’s been nice,” she says. Nice isn’t the word I was hoping for, but I guess I can’t assume we’d fall back into how we left things. “Coffee?” She raises her brows at me, and I almost double take. After the somewhat stifled conversation, that wasn’t the offer I was anticipating. There are no coffee places open at this time, which means her place or mine. Hell, I thought she might be ready to sack me off.

She starts down the path from the headland back to town. Her wedged sandals give her a few inches, so if I were to kiss her, I wouldn’t have to dip. Our bodies would align… My mind races with the faded memories of a lifetime ago, filled with knowledge of how fucking good we could be.

“My place or yours?” she asks.

“Ah, yours. Mine is a building site.”

“Right. Renovations.” She leads the way, and I’m happy to follow.

She pauses at the door, and for a second, I’m trapped in some sort of time warp between now and twenty years ago.

“I’m not sixteen anymore. Don’t get all starry-eyed and nostalgic...” I look over her curves, which are now all woman. They smash my memories and fill in the blanks with something much sexier. She licks her lips and bites down, teasing me. There is no way I’d be able to mistake Zennor for a child now.

The second the door closes behind us, she attacks my lips and captures my head with her hands, gripping my hair between her fingers.

“No fucking chance,” I pant.

She flicks the leather of my belt, pulls it free, and moves to the buttons of my fly.

God, I’m so fucking hard, and the graze of her hand over my cock has me tipping my head back as I get a grip. She’s moving so fast I can only stand and let it happen. After all, this is the woman I’d been semi-obsessed with for most of my life.

She still tastes of sweetness and salt, although there’s a distinct flavour of wine on her tongue. It makes everything she’s doing darker—more sinful. And the fact that she’s ready to strip me down to my boxers in her front room is proof of that.

Before my jeans hit the floor, she walks me towards the sofa, and I pull the shirt over my head.

The light is dim in the room—just a side lamp in the corner—but that can’t hide the shock on Zennor’s face. She stops dead as her eyes latch onto the silver bead at my throat.

The leather of the bracelet I bought wore away years ago. Too much salt water and sand, but the silver bead lasted just fine. The etched shape of the wave might be faded, but I didn’t care, and I kept the bead, re-stringing it onto a thicker necklace that would last.

I reach out for her face and run my hand over her cheek, breaking the spell. She looks at me, and I think I see a glint of tears, but she closes the distance, attacking me with her lips again.

Our breath catches, and the heat and urgency wipe out the shared moment.

Her weight forces me down onto the sofa, and she follows me, kneeling over me.

Fuck, yeah.

We’re all hands and material as we rush to get the remaining clothes out of our way.

“Condom.” I stop, grabbing my wallet, and pulling one free. She pulls her dress up to give me space to roll it on before she kneels higher and then seats herself over the tip.

No patience.

No waiting.

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