Stripped From You: (Stripped Duet #1) Page 8

  Two hours later, we’re pulling up to an impressive beach house on the north end of Long Beach Island. It’s two stories with a wraparound porch on each level and sliding glass doors off every room.

  “Wow. I wasn’t expecting this,” Alana exclaims as she climbs out of the Jeep.

  “I know. I gawked the first time I saw it too.”

  “What exactly does Mac’s uncle do?”

  “He’s some stocks and bonds guy in the city.” I grab both our bags and lead Alana into the house. The inside is just as impressive as the out. It’s done in all creams and whites and peaches. With lavish furniture and tasteful beach décor. It’s the epitome of class and style yet is still warm and welcoming.

  Alana walks over to the window and gazes out at the semi-private beach. The day is perfect. There’s not a cloud in the clear-blue sky or a ripple in the sea-green ocean.

  Mac is already out there with a few of our buddies and a couple girls. Some I know, some I don’t.

  “Who are all those people?”

  “Greg, Doug, and Steve,” I rattle off. “Steve’s girlfriend, Sarah, is the one in the pink bikini, and her friend, Monica, who’s in the black, hooks up with Doug on occasion. He’s the one in the obnoxious yellow shorts. I don’t know the other two girls. And, of course, you know Mac.”

  “I didn’t realize there’d be so many people here.”

  “This is nothing actually. I was expecting a lot more. But the day is still young, so who knows who Mac has coming.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is this should be an interesting couple of days?”

  “It usually is where Mac is concerned.”

  “What about where you’re concerned?” Alana counters.

  “I can be interesting when I want to be.” I can’t help but crack a smile. I love flirty banter with Alana. It drives me all the good kinds of crazy when she toys with me.

  “Let’s go claim a room, before we’re left sleeping on the couch.” And like hell I’m going to let that happen.

  I pull Alana behind me, up the stairs and down the hall. I know exactly which bedroom I want. It’s my favorite, and I hope no one called dibs on it yet. We walk into a room with light blue walls, hardwood floors, and white trim around the windows. Sunlight is flooding through the sliding glass doors that lead to the wraparound porch. What makes this room so intriguing to me is the mural on the wall. It’s a wicked painting of a mermaid with long blonde hair sitting on a rock in the middle of the ocean. It’s done in all shades of gold and brown and tan. Her tail is a vibrant blue which is a striking contrast to the rest of the painting.

  “Wow,” Alana voices as she looks at the mural.

  “Yeah. It’s awesome. It speaks to me every time I come here.”

  Alana smiles up at me, and I suddenly feel like an idiotic fool. That was such a bitch thing to say.

  “It turns me on when you talk about art,” she jokes, putting my insecurities slightly at ease. Slightly.

  “Good to know.” I slam her up against me. “Because I can talk about art all damn day.” I start kissing her neck, sucking lightly on her jugular. She moans then jerks away. The look in her eyes is hot with desire, but I can tell she’s fighting it. Why?

  “Is something wrong?” I’m still holding her in my arms, but her body is tense. Guarded.

  “No. I just want to get some beach time in.”

  “Okay.” I release her, but she doesn’t go far. She stares up at me with a conflicted expression, and I know right then there’s something on her mind.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” I press. Maybe she’s having second thoughts about spending the next few days with me. Alone. Sharing a room with one king-sized bed and a sexually enticing siren on the wall.

  “Wrong? I don’t know if I would use the word wrong.” She wrings her hands together. “But there is something I think you should know.”

  “What?” She has all my attention.

  She hesitates, still fiddling with her fingers.

  “Alana, you can tell me anything.” I try to ease her nerves. Even though my heart rate is racing a million miles a minute.

  “Ryan, I’m—”

  Our conversation is cut short when we hear a bellow and a shriek. I immediately push the door open to find Mac traipsing down the hallway with a girl in a bikini slung over his shoulder.

  “Hey man! I was wondering when you were going to get here.” His smile is bright, and so are his eyes. Oh boy, I know that look. “This is Candy.” He turns her to face us. The brown-haired girl gives Alana and me a little embarrassed wave before Mac heads into the bedroom directly across the hall.

  “Catch ya later!” The door slams closed.

  Alana looks up at me with wide eyes, and I just shrug. “Gotta love him. It’s a weakness.”

  She laughs loudly, and then we hear an exaggerated moan and a few sighs coming from behind the closed door.

  We give each other the same look, then flee the room like it’s on fire and head down to the beach.

  Where it’s safe.

  Alana and I spent the day on the beach; Mac came down an hour later wearing nothing more than a swimsuit and a smile. The guy is an animal sometimes. Now it’s just my girl and me having dinner at a quaint little restaurant with driftwood walls and fishing nets hanging from the ceiling. Not exactly my first choice, but Alana wanted seafood, so here we are. I’m munching on a burger while she’s cracking open crab legs. Ick.

  “I can’t believe you eat that stuff.” I pop a French fry into my mouth.

  “I can’t believe you won’t even try it.” She dips the pink meat into the small cup of butter then sucks it into her mouth. Okay. That would be the hottest thing imaginable if it wasn’t for the fact that seafood repulses me.

  She scrapes out more meat from the shell then dips it in the butter again. Then she leans over the table flirtatiously and offers me two dripping, buttery fingers. “Are you sure you don’t want to try it?” Her tone hits me square in my groin. The exact spot she was aiming for. I’m torn between the desire to suck her fingers and the dread of what she’s holding between them. She sits there patiently waiting for my decision. Her eyes are ablaze, anticipating what will come next. I wonder if anyone else in the restaurant can feel the sexual conflagration roaring around our table, or if that’s just me?

  With my heart pounding in my ears, I lean over and open my mouth, never taking my eyes off Alana’s. With a little satisfied smirk and glowing reddish-brown irises, she slips her fingers between my lips, and all I taste is butter and a burning hunger so fierce it threatens to scald my throat.

  “Good?” she asks so sweetly I almost believe she has no idea the effect she has on me.

  I nod, swallowing the inferno engulfing my voice. “I want more.”

  Her eyes flash, both of us knowing this has moved way past my aversion to seafood.

  I don’t know what the hell has gotten into her, but I love it. Every fiber is entwining in my body with the impulse to put my hands — and mouth — all over her. All over her.

  Alana and I finish our meals with the thickest sexual tension I think any four walls have ever contained. And by the weathered look of this place, they aren’t going to hold much longer.

  Once we’re done and I pay, we stroll down the street past small beach shops, candy stores, and other vacationers. We can barely keep our hands off each other, and everyone notices. This is the most relaxed and open she has ever been. It’s intoxicating. The sound of her laugh, the smell of her skin, the beam of her smile. I want to ask her what’s come over her. Ever since she got in the car this morning, she’s been different. A really, really good kind of different. But I don’t want to ruin the mood or send her running back into the confines of her emotional shell, so I’m just going with it, silently hoping we can talk about it later. Ideally, naked.

  “You gonna win me a stuffed animal, or what?” she bumps my hip as we come upon some boardwalk games.

  “I don’t know. Am I
going to get anything in return for it later?”

  Alana smacks me on the arm, but I’m being serious. If she’s going to turn the key, I’m going to rev the engine.

  She gets this shifty look in her eye. “Okay. I’ll make a deal with you. Big prize, big reward. Little prize, little reward.”

  “I think I’ll take that deal.” I step up to the baseball throw. Three balls for five dollars? No problem.

  “Pick out your prize,” I tell Alana, twisting the rubber baseball in my hand.

  “I already know what I want,” she tells me haughtily. I can never say she isn’t a girl who knows what she wants. She exudes confidence, as long as no mention of her feelings is involved.

  I eye up the three white milk bottles stacked in a triangle. I aim for the bottom left and hit it dead on, and all the bottles fall to the ground. Alana gasps, but that’s her only reaction until I do it two more times.

  “You played me.”

  “Maybe.” I grin.

  “Double or nothing.” She pulls a five out of her little purse hanging across her body.

  “You sure about this?” I ask as she hands the guy the money, and he restacks the bottles.

  “Yes. Let’s see if you can pull that off again, hotshot.”

  “Okay,” I sigh. “This is going to be one hell of a big reward.”

  Alana smiles at me, and it’s so conniving, I’m positive that’s the exact response she wanted.

  I twist the ball in my hands again, priming it as I concentrate on where I want to throw it. Suddenly, I feel Alana run her hand up my back, following the curves and contours as she goes. My body tingles. Such a little shyster, she’s trying to distract me, but it’s not going to work. Okay, if I’m being honest, it might work a little. But there’s no way in hell I’m losing out tonight, especially when she’s acting like this. I reluctantly shake off the sensation of her touch, knowing later it will be ten times more potent. I take a deep breath and aim for the bottom left bottle again. When all three fall to the ground, I just grin smugly.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, surfer boy, you still have two more to go.”

  I throw two more times, and two more times, all the stacks fall to the ground. “Go hard or go home,” I taunt as she glares at me, repressing a tiny smile.

  “You played baseball in high school, didn’t you?” she asks.

  “Yup, all four years. Sean and me both.” I pause from the hurtful memory. It’s something I haven’t thought about in such a long time. “Sean only played for two years.”

  “Why did Sean only play for two years?” Alana asks, her tone is soft and concerned.

  I look down at her, not even realizing my mood had shifted. “Um,” I stumble over my words. “His junior year, he started falling into these really deep depressions. He got involved with the wrong crowd and started using drugs.”

  “Oh.” She looks mortified. I guess she wasn’t expecting that answer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean... I shouldn’t have pried.”

  “It’s fine.” I pull her against me, allowing the closeness of her body to soothe the sting of the still open wounds. “I don’t want to keep anything from you. Even if it’s painful.”

  She puts her hand on my cheek, but she doesn’t utter a single word. I know delicate moments like these are awkward for her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You can’t change it. Trust me. I’ve tried.”

  “Tried how?”

  “Sean is bipolar. He’s on medication, but it makes him feel dead, according to him. So, he self-medicates. Smokes pot, does pills and other stuff.” I don’t really want to get into the nitty-gritty of “other stuff”. “By the time we figured out what was wrong with him, it was too late. He’s gone to rehab, clinics, and therapists, but nothing’s really worked. He’s stuck in this vicious cycle of ups and downs and highs and lows. My mother can’t cope, so she drinks herself stupid and leaves me to pick up the pieces when it all gets to be too much.”

  “How often does it get to be too much?”

  “Often enough. But I don’t know what else to do. He’s a grown man. If he doesn’t want to help himself, there isn’t anything I can do except...”

  “Except what?” Alana urges.

  I stare down into those boundless brown eyes. “Love him,” I confess. That is the deepest, truest, most real sentiment of my life. Because loving someone, anyone, is all I know how to do. All that I have to give. “Sean is the one person I can never turn my back on.”

  “I understand. My father is the most uncompromising, cold, emotionless person I have ever met. But he’s still my father, and I can’t help but love him. It’s the only thing I can do, even if he doesn’t love me back.”

  I rub my thumb across Alana’s cheek. I think that’s one of the most tragic things I’ve ever heard. How can anyone not love this perfect, caring, understanding creature with the warmest eyes on the face of the earth? She can melt a glacier with just her stare. She melted me with just one glance.

  I want to tell her I love her. That I have enough love to fill her heart, and my heart, and anyone else’s heart that may come along. I drop my forehead to hers, but I don’t say a word, even though the emotion is bursting in my chest. It’s too soon. I’ll say it, and scare her off, and then what will I be left with? I can’t lose her, and I can’t lose this, because in the four short weeks I’ve known her, Alana has tilted the axis of my life, and I don’t think it can ever be realigned.

  I don’t think I ever want it to either.

  “Hey honey,” the game attendant calls to Alana. “You never picked out your prize.”

  “Oh.” She smiles, straightening in my arms. “I’ll take the pink Yankees hat.”

  “That was a quick decision,” I comment.

  “I knew what I wanted as soon as we walked up to the game.”

  “What about your stuffed animal?”

  “This is more practical.” She grins.

  That’s Alana. Miss Practical.

  The guy hands her a cap wrapped in clear plastic, and she takes it graciously. I love that she’s so polished and polite. It’s different from anything I’m used to. She’s like a delicate antique doll that should be showcased on a shelf. At least, that’s how I see her.

  “So.” Alana slips her arm around my waist, and we start to stroll. It’s hot and sticky out now. The humidity is so dense it feels like we’re walking through a sauna. “You’re an artist and an athlete. What else are you good at?”

  “I’m a pretty good dancer.”

  “I already knew that. Although you never did tell me where you learned all your fly dance moves.” She bumps my hip playfully with hers. She apparently likes doing that.

  “I used to promote nightclubs in the city.” I tighten my arm around her shoulders. “Spent most weekends my senior year on X dancing the night away.”

  “Oh?” Alana regards me surprised. I just shrug. “I was a teenager. It was fun. It all stopped after high school.”

  She nods, understanding my past is my past. I’m not proud of it. But I’m not exactly ashamed of it either.

  “Well, I can definitely tell you I’m not the only woman who appreciates the way you move.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about every woman who drools over you when you’re working behind the bar. I see how they all want you.”

  I laugh uncomfortably. “No one wants me. And even if that’s true, I’m not the only one who’s wanted,” I accuse.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I notice all the guys who want you too. Sometimes it makes me feel homicidal.”

  Alana stops walking and faces me. She slides both hands around my waist and looks up at me with a huge, appreciative smile. “There’s only one guy I want to want me.”

  I stare down at her rapturously; my blood is flowing so fast it’s conducting sparks inside my veins. “It drives me crazy when you talk like that.” I lean down and kiss her forcefully; a deep, dri
ven embrace so intense a shock of heat passes between our mouths and rolls right over our tongues.

  “Ryan,” Alana utters my name as her chest expands and contracts, working hard to recover oxygen.

  “Ummm hmmm?” I press my lips to her forehead, trying to control the ravenous desire to drag her behind one of these buildings and have my way with her, right up against a brick wall.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Okay.” I look up and catch the carousel lights flashing behind her and am hit with an idea. “Is it super important?”

  “Kind of,” she cautions as I start leading her toward the colorful horses gliding through the air.

  “Where are we going?”

  “On a ride.” I smile back at her.

  “What?”

  I stop to buy eight tickets, then pull her to the merry-go-round.

  “You’re nuts.” She laughs as we walk up the three wooden stairs.

  “Just a little, but definitely more so when I’m with you.” I pick her up and plop her on a purple horse with a black mane. She’s sitting sideways, holding on to the gold pole with one hand. It’s late, so not many people are out, and almost no one is riding the carousel. Suddenly, the music starts to play. The ground starts to move, and the horse starts to bob up and down with Alana smiling on top of it. Yes, this is exactly why I wanted to ride the merry-go-round, so I could bring my dirty fantasy to life and watch Alana go up and down and up and down. Riding the horse, the same way I want her to ride me. She never takes her eyes off mine, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s hip to my game. I can see the burning lust reflecting in her eyes as she kisses me lightly each time the horse dips down. I want her so badly I can feel it in every swollen cell in my body. Without any forethought, I run my fingertips up the inside of her leg, loving the feel of her soft skin under my touch. With her eyes trained on mine, I slide higher and higher until my hand slips underneath her little jean miniskirt.

  “Ryan,” Alana moans softly, and it’s almost a warning. But she doesn’t stop me when I scrape my thumb against her panties and over the warm juncture between her thighs. Pushing my luck, I slip my thumb beneath the silky fabric and massage her clit gently. She closes her eyes and sighs, resting her head on the pole. I move her forward a fraction of an inch on the saddle, allowing me better access to her entrance, then sink my thumb deep inside her. She groans, and the sound is so fucking hot it lights me on fire. Neither of us says a word; we just stare at each other, immersed, as I finger her slowly. Sliding out as she goes up and in when she comes down. I watch compelled as her lips part and her head falls back, all while the carousel music plays, the lights flash, and the horse teeters steadily. She is so perfect and soft and wet. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to die of sexual frustration if I don’t bury myself inside her tonight.