New York Billionaires Series

I’m standing with my back to the kitchen, hands in pockets, when Ace’s claws against the hardwood floors signal Summer’s arrival. He’s rarely far from where she is. I keep my gaze on the sunset outside the window.

Ignoring the kiss between us had been difficult enough during the day. Spending the evening with her without demanding another will be torture.

But the idea of leaving feels far worse.

“You’re done with work?” she asks. “How did it go?”

“It went well.”

“Did you get something to eat?”

There’s a soft rustle of fabric behind me. It’s not difficult to imagine her snuggling up on the couch, bare legs pulled up beneath her. One vulnerable ankle peeking out.NôvelDrama.Org: owner of this content.

“Thank you for today,” she says. “Truly, Anthony, I don’t know how to thank you for this entire weekend. Letting me stay here, the windsurfing, I don’t… well. Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t thank me.”

“I shouldn’t?”

“No.” A low ache at my temples signal another migraine, an unwelcome reminder of what I’ll never forget. “I’ve never enjoyed being in this house. But I have this weekend.”

“Anthony…”

I turn toward her, unable to resist any longer. “Yes?”

She rises from the couch and covers the distance between us, bare-footed and with her blonde curls tumbling around her shoulders. Freckles dance across her nose and uncertainty is bright in her eyes. “Should I apologize for last night?”

“No, Summer.”

“Are you sure? You shut yourself into your office as soon as we got back from the beach.” She moves closer, and every nerve in my body lights up. “Anthony, I don’t understand quite what-”

I kiss her.

Her soft gasp ricochets through me and a rubber band of want pulls taut and snaps inside me. My mouth moves over hers, again and again, teasing her full lips open. Her hands lock around my neck and fit there like they were meant to be.

Like she’s always been made for my arms.

Her lips are too soft to tear myself away, but I do it, raising my head to meet her eyes. Needing to know how she feels.

She gives a dazed laugh. “Wow. So you do find me attractive.”

“Of course I do.” I shift my mouth to her cheek, wanting her soft skin beneath my lips. “It wasn’t about that. Never about that.”

“Then why… oh.” Her breath turns shaky when I move my lips down her neck. Her hair is still damp from the shower earlier, and the scent of shampoo and Summer mixed together is the headiest of perfumes.

Knowing I shouldn’t and unable to stop, I circle her waist with my hands and blaze a path to her collarbone. Surrendering to her feels like putting down a weight I didn’t know I’d carried.

Warm fingers slip beneath the collar of my shirt. They burn against my skin.

“Kiss me again,” she murmurs.

And God help me, but I do. I kiss her until I know her lips better than my own, until the intimacy between us sings like a melody and the heat beneath my skin is a wildfire. I want her like I’ve never wanted before.

Summer smiles against me. I didn’t think there was anything better than seeing that smile, but feeling it against my own lips tops it.

Her hands undo a button on my shirt, and then another. They sweep in soft, tantalizing strokes over my chest.

We make it to the couch, falling onto it like we’ve never done anything else. Like the time we spent lying on opposite couches was just practice for this.

Summer lifts a hand and runs it over my cheek, trailing over my stubble down to my neck. “I want you,” she says.

I kiss her again and she falls back onto the cushions. The flimsy dress she’s wearing molds to the curves of her body, and with me on top, I feel every single one. She shifts beneath me and spreads her legs to cradle my body. The simple, welcoming gesture makes me groan.

“Anthony,” she murmurs again, arching up against me. Need hums in my blood. The urge, the one I haven’t been able to shake for weeks around her, is at fever pitch.

I find the swell of her breast and smooth my thumb over a peaked nipple. Her soft exhale is like music to my ears, all of her a symphony I can’t wait to listen to.

Can’t wait to touch.

I undo the flimsy straps to her summer dress, tied around her neck. It comes undone and Summer smiles at me, eyes trusting, as she pulls down her dress. She’s not wearing a bra.

It’s like a collision in my mind, the two images. The heartbreakingly trusting way she’s gazing up at me and the pink hardness of her nipples. Every part of my body screams at me to throw myself into this, into her. To ignore the gnawing guilt that I’m not doing right by her.

It’s the painful twist in my heart that lets me get the words out. “Summer… You know I…”

“I know,” she murmurs. “I know you don’t do relationships.”

“You deserve someone who does.” The stark truth of those words is a sledgehammer against my skull.

“Perhaps. But I want you.” Her hands are soft in my hair, pulling me down, and I can’t resist. Not when she’s warm and luscious beneath me and her breasts beckon. The graceful lines of her feel like a sucker punch I’ll never recover from.

So I bend and take a nipple in my mouth. Summer gives a soft moan of pleasure and arches her back. Tending to her this way is enough, I think, flicking my tongue.

It has to be enough.

I switch over to the other side and relish the moment, focusing on the softness of her body beneath me. Ignoring the painful, aching need it’s inspired in mine.

Even when she raises her hips. “Anthony,” she murmurs.

I press down, giving us both pressure but no dangerous, dangerous friction. The contact alone is enough to make my vision dance. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?” Her hands slide beneath my shirt and over the skin of my back, fingernails raking softly. My head swims at the sensation.

“Not tonight,” I repeat, but I kiss her to soften the blow. It’s one against both of us, with my body strung so taut it feels like the wrong touch will shatter me.

But I can’t stomach the idea of taking Summer to bed, sweet, trusting, fierce, funny and true-love-believing Summer, while she doesn’t know about what a wreck I’ll become… the wreck I already am on the inside.

So I kiss her until both of us are breathless, until the fire in my blood is a painful companion and her gasps are committed to memory.