Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52813 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52813 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Once we’re both dressed and walking back into the afternoon sunshine, Stella and I exchange a look.
“Maybe a drink?” she suggests.
“Hell yes.”
Even after a few drinks, some beach time, and a good dinner, though, I end up curled up on the couch in our suite with another raging erection that night, unable to sleep.
My laugh? I hope someday I get to find out if that’s true.
Chapter Nine
Stella
* * *
“Ow.” I pull back my foot and Ben winces.
“Sorry.”
“It’s o—”
Marco interjects, clapping his hands several times. “Owen, it’s slow, slow, quick, quick! You are going to maim your bride’s toes if you don’t stop stomping on her.”
Ben silences him with a glare. He wasn’t thrilled to find out couples’ dancing lessons were first on our itinerary for our third day at Paradise Palms. And now that we’re actually here dancing, he’s...even less thrilled.
“Fuck the foxtrot,” he mumbles under his breath.
Many of the others are struggling, too. Two couples are on extended water breaks less than ten minutes into the lesson. But Ben seems to be taking his inability to foxtrot as a challenge. The more times he steps on my feet, the lower his brows drop as he apparently vows to get it right.
We’ve been on a fifteen-second streak when Ben and Tre bump into each other, their backs colliding and throwing off our timing.
“Sorry,” Tre calls over his shoulder to Ben.
“You’re good, man.”
I smile up at Ben, trying to look calm and reassuring. Really, though, the steps and timing of the foxtrot are the only things I’m feeling completely sure of right now.
My thoughts kept me up so late last night I was sure I’d still be staring at the spinning ceiling fan above the bed when the sun rose. Though I’d be embarrassed to admit it out loud to anyone but Claire, I was turned on during our couples’ massage yesterday. And not just a slight stiffening of my nipples, either. I was erratic breathing, shivers of anticipation, tension coiled in my belly, wetness between my thighs turned on. I’ve never felt anything like it.
I was eighteen when Owen and I first slept together. I was nervous, eager to just get it over so I could stop worry about it. And since he’s the only man I’ve ever been with, I never had a chance as an adult to get butterflies for a man.
And for Ben? He may look exactly like the man I planned to spend forever with, but the two of them are very different. I’ve always known them both too well to find them interchangeable. Ben has always been my stoic, protective friend. The way he looked at me during that massage, though, and the way he touched me...and then the way he reacted to me touching him? I was completely undone by the end, in need of a stiff drink and a cold shower.
His body is more defined than his brother’s, and it would turn any straight woman on. But what I felt was so much more than physical. It was the desire pooled in his dark eyes. His occasional sharp inhales as my hands moved over his warm skin. The shudder he tried to hide when I accidentally grazed my fingertips over his lower belly, inches from his thick erection.
It was restraint. Ben was holding himself back hard, and the question that kept me awake last night is still at the front of my mind today—why? Was it because we weren’t alone in the room? Would things have been different if that moment had happened between the two of us, alone in our room? I shake off the excitement of that thought, because we’re in a roomful of people and this isn’t the time.
He shifts the arm that’s around my waist slightly, splaying his hand over my hip. Though he didn’t mean it in a possessive, sexual way, my mind immediately goes there and the butterflies take over, causing me to miss a step in the dance, which makes him step on my toes.
“Sorry, that was me,” I murmur.
“You need to get a foot massage after this,” he says lightly.
Just his mention of the word “massage” makes me miss another step, and this time we collide. The foxtrot music ends just as it happens, and Marco claps his hands.
“Alright, people! Now we’re going to learn a traditional Hawaiian dance that should be safe for everyone’s feet.”
Sean squeals with excitement from nearby. Ben holds his own, not showing how annoyed I’m sure he is about having to learn another dance. Marco is about to start explaining it when my phone buzzes from inside my pocket. I pull it out, peek at the screen and see that it’s my brother.
My heartrate kicks up with worry as Ben meets my gaze and I mouth, “Andrew.” I make my way off the dance floor, rushing to exit the room so I can pick up the call in time.