The breeze played with her hair. It tickled her jaw and her neck as it flapped in the wind. Luke curled his fingers tightly around the neck of his beer bottle as he downed yet another gulp.
When they ran out of subjects to talk or laugh about—or more accurately, when the only thing that occupied their minds might be the things they could not laugh or talk about—they fell into a tense silence and Luke began to fidget.
He inspected the nearly empty beer bottle, then stared up at the sky, suddenly engrossed in it.
Peyton noticed he was restless, as if he’d never done this before either. The back of their hands brushed, and although it was a fleeting, accidental touch, he stiffened as though he’d just been struck by lightning. Peyton felt it rush up her arm like an electric bolt.
Quivering deep inside, she glanced down at her sand-speckled toes and wondered if he would even make a move.
All evening had felt like foreplay and she was already anticipating—having dropped little hints all through the night that she was interested, single, and available—that he might do something about it.
Would he make a move, or would she need to?
Oh, God.
He was just so sexy…
What if he didn’t?
What if he did?
So.
Luke was trying to get things straight.
Was he actually supposed to stay away from this woman?
He stole a glance at Peyton as they walked along the beach and once again was bowled over by her beauty. God, the crackhead who shot him should’ve just killed him. It couldn’t be good for a healthy thirty-four-year-old male to suppress the urge to make love to this woman—and it was definitely not good for Luke Preston.
Holy Mother of God, he just didn’t see himself going back alone to his five-bedroom presidential casita tonight. His friends should all go rot in hell for even suggesting such a thing as Luke staying off sex for a while. Clearly they hadn’t seen Peyton Lane, holy hot mamacita!
Long, straight, sable hair down to her tiny waist, big brown eyes surrounded by thick, sooty lashes, creamy porcelain skin, and thick coral lips that were meant to rim around a man’s member and make him forget even the fact that some asshole out there wanted him dead.
Luke was thinking so clearly now, after all those Coronas, that he could literally laugh at the thought of him—Luke Pistol Penis Preston, who’d been fucking girls since he could get a boner—wearing an invisible chastity belt. It was a pretty fucked-up idea, hell, he must have been pretty fucked up to even consider it. But now that he’d been drinking some, he felt like himself again.
Clearly Peyton Lane was God’s gift to him, for having been such a good boy since he’d been out of the hospital. Peyton was hotter than an entire bottle of spicy red Tabasco, and just as smoothly curved.
Luke had found himself instantly responding to that sultry, dark-onyx gaze of hers ever since he’d almost trampled her hours ago. The fit of his linen drawstring pants had altered dramatically this evening when she approached his table in that halter and skirt, all female and softness, sexier than anything he’d ever set eyes on before.
He could already tell she was not easy. Hell, he could tell she was the closest thing to a virgin he’d ever have, a little shy even when she was all-out brazen. She went a little skittish when he smiled his sex-god smile at her, and it made his balls constrict, he liked it so much. Now all he wanted was to slowly crack this lady’s hard-shell exterior and let the sultry goddess come out to play.
Lord knows he wanted to play with her.
Up until now, he had refrained with a ruthless self-discipline that even amazed him, all night trying to pretend he hadn’t been stiff as a flagpole under the table while they’d bantered back and forth. Holy God, she’d made him want to fuck her so bad.
It had been a while since Luke had let himself enjoy the company of a woman—without having sex with her. And when he said a while, it had been decades. So yeah, a long while, for sure. But now he realized he’d been missing out on good stuff, too.
Peyton was fun and funny, and sexy, and as the drinks had progressed she’d gotten even more uninhibited and relaxed in his company.
She wasn’t fawning over him, because to her, he was a nobody, and she wasn’t kissing his feet hoping he’d give her a check either.
She made him feel like Luke Preston before he became the Luke Preston, and way, way before the Walking Miracle issue.
As they walked in silence now, he felt young, relaxed, and alive.
But then, he wished he could enjoy the sensation without his cock getting in the way. It kept jumping to full attention at the merest things. Whenever she laughed Luke felt dumbstruck, helplessly drawn to the sound. When she smiled, God, he throbbed down to his balls.
She was incredibly lovely in an old movie star fashion; Audrey Hepburnish, but with a Marilyn Monroe sex-appeal Luke Preston had never dug so fucking bad.
He could only imagine what she must feel like, slowly writhing and moaning beneath him. Shit, he ached to slide inside her.
He’d bet she’d be tight. Slick. Wet.
Damn it, how on earth was he supposed to have some one-on-one time with Luke with Peyton sharing the beach with him?
Relax? His shot-at ass!
He had never been so tortured before.
This woman was not only a walking wet dream, but she smelled incredibly good, and Luke was trying very hard not to think of how damned amazing it was going to feel when he pushed his tortured cock inside of her wet heat.
He hadn’t had a woman in six weeks, since the murder attempt. For several days now, he’d been goofing off with Pepe, his “Toad” and new sidekick; the little guy he’d met at the pool who’d quickly interested Luke in a game of football. But then he’d met this woman and now he could think of nothing other than taking her to Luke Preston’s legendary fucking bed, which was screaming in emptiness.
Stealing a sideways look at her, he noticed she was deep in thought, utterly quiet, too. She had such delicate features, was so sweet and stunning, his wound ached in his chest.
Sighing, he sunk his empty beer bottle into the sand and dropped down beside it, not ready to call it quits tonight. Peyton was too fun, too beautiful, too sexy. And despite the mixed signals…he suspected that she wanted him, and badly.
Luke’s hands were itching to get up and all over her.
But Peyton remained standing, her skirt fluttering in the wind like that sexy black hair he wanted to wrap within his fists and use to hold her head down as he fucked her mouth with his tongue. Her cheeks looked flushed, and she kept biting her lower lip in a way that Luke wanted to.