Rebound (Tryst Island Series) Read online

“Thank God,” she gushed. He was dying to find out if she gushed elsewhere. “I didn’t bring any.”

  “And for the record, I’m clean.”

  “Me too.”

  “On the pill?”

  “Yes.”

  Shit yeah. They didn’t need the condoms.

  Their gazes locked. They stared at each other for a long moment. Tension crackled.

  “Do you think you can make it downstairs?”

  She tipped her head to the side like a puppy who thought she heard something about going for a walk. “Downstairs?”

  “I’m in the grotto.” He’d made sure to get here first. Whoever arrived first got their choice of rooms. He’d made damn sure he got the single in the basement. Far away from everyone else.

  She didn’t respond. She didn’t say a word. She turned tail and sprinted for the door leading to the staircase.

  Naturally, he followed.

  The bottom floor of the house was one big rumpus room with a single bedroom and bath on one end. It featured an enormous wide screen TV and a pool table and several comfortable sofas. But Cam had the bed in mind for this, his first time with Kristi.

  And there would be others. Many others. He was resolute about that. Determined.

  He didn’t count on her being just as determined as he.

  As soon as they pounded down the stairs and rounded the banister into the rumpus room, she turned to him and began tugging his T-shirt out of his waistband. “Off,” she demanded. “Take it off. I want to see you.”

  He didn’t hesitate. Hell. What red-blooded man would? When a Rubenesque goddess demanded a man strip—a man stripped. He whipped off the offending garment and tossed it onto the pool table.

  “You too,” he commanded and then all thought escaped him as she complied, yanking her blouse over her head without even unbuttoning it. “Holy fuck.”

  All he could do was stare. Stare at her exquisite breasts, full and heavy and cupped in some kind of Victoria’s Secret torture device. Torture for men, that was. Her bra was lacy and black and had tantalizing curlicues that framed her milky globes in a way designed to drive a man insane.

  He wanted to rip it from her, let her breasts spill out into his hands. But he didn’t. He traced the edge, exploring the provoking contrast of colors. She shuddered. Her jaw clenched. Her lips parted and her eyes glazed. When he dropped a little lower to tease a fat nipple through the lace, she sighed. “Cam. I’m so wet.”

  Of all the phrases in the English language, that was the one he couldn’t resist. Not at a moment like this. Not when it fell from those lush lips.

  He made a sound even he didn’t quite recognize, something bestial. It vibrated on the skeins of air between them. And then there was no air between them. There was nothing between them but her wisp of a bra. He plastered his bare chest against hers and walked her back until she bumped into the pool table. He lifted her up and set her on the edge and took her mouth with his.

  As exhilarating as their first kiss had been, this one was better.

  Holy mother of God, was it better. He consumed her and she gave it right back, full measure. Operating on instinct, pure animal lust, he unsnapped her jeans. She grunted and leaned to the side so he could peel them off. Well, not off, but down to her boots. He couldn’t be bothered with those. Not now.

  He changed angles and nibbled her lips, fucked her gently with his tongue. She scored his neck with her nails.

  When he teased that warm wet slit through the cotton of her panties, she began to shake. A whimper passed between them. He wasn’t entirely sure whose it was.

  He slipped beneath the band and touched her again. Skin to skin. And fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  She was dripping wet. Slick. Scalding.

  He scraped over her clit, circled it, rubbed. She stiffened. Saliva pooled in her mouth. He drank it in, relishing in the taste of her mindless desire. For him.

  If he wasn’t mistaken—and he didn’t think he was—she’d come. Just then. To a tiny touch.

  Holy. Fuck.

  Insanity raged.

  Need raged.

  Pounding passion, a mindless urge possessed him.

  He flipped her over and yanked down her panties, so she stood before him, bared to him, bent over the table, legs splayed as far as her pooling jeans would allow. Without a word, he unzipped his jeans, yanked out his cock, and thrust it home.

  He nearly came when she clenched around him. Delight stabbed his every nerve as he sank into her welcoming cunt. She was everything—everything—he’d ever craved. Tight and slick and warm and so fucking wonderful.

  “Kristi. God.”

  She made a sound in response, but his brain couldn’t make sense of it. So he just said her name, again and again, in tandem with every thrust. She pushed back against him, arching into his lunges, growling and snarling and sobbing in turn.

  He felt her tension rise. It took him with it, ratcheting him higher and higher. His balls tightened into hard little nuts, his cock swelled, dripped with anticipation of the coming storm. His manic plunges became shorter, harder, deeper.

  She warbled a moan and came around him, shuddered around him, sending new shards of mind-blowing pleasure skating up his spine. Her weeping sheath sucked at his sanity with each and every stroke.

  In some corner of his mind, he heard a door open, wafting voices, laughter. And then clomping footsteps overhead.

  Panic rose.

  Kristi heard it too. She glanced back at him, her eyes wide. “C-Cam!” she whispered.

  “Hush. Hush.” He was too close to stop now. Too close to an all-consuming rapture. The thought of stopping made the savage beast within him rise up and howl.

  He tightened his hold on her luxuriant hips, loving the way his fingers sank deep. He yanked her toward him, held her still and pummeled her. The sight of his cock disappearing again and again, sliding between those amazing ass cheeks put him over the edge.

  Well, that, and her orgasm. Different than the first she’d had, this one was stronger. A powerful demand for his cum that could not be denied.

  Her entire body quaked. A 9.6 on the Richter scale followed by a series of delirious aftershocks. She buried her face in her arm and bellowed. The sound was muffled, but perhaps not muffled enough. Cam didn’t bother to worry that anyone upstairs heard. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but swamping her, filling her, flooding her.

  And it came. He came.

  Hot, scorching, delicious release. Sweet relief, twined with the most powerful bliss he’d ever known.

  Because he was in her.

  In Kristi.

  The way he’d ached to be.

  Finally.

  And she’d been magnificent.

  Chapter Three

  Kristi had no time to recover. Her heart was still pounding, rivulets of pleasure still cascading through her when the door at the top of the stairs opened and Lane hollered down, “Cam? You there?”

  “Y-yes.” His voice was wobbly, broken, as though he’d worn it out, growling and muttering and pleading with her in his passion.

  But his brain had snapped back into gear, thank God. For, as she would have lain there, sprawled nearly naked on the pool table, a quivering pile of mush, he somehow knew Lane would be coming down the stairs.

  As those ominous footsteps descended, Cam yanked up her jeans and helped her to her feet to fasten them—though she had to lean against the pool table for support because something seemed to be wrong with her knees—and then he yanked up his own. He collected their discarded clothes, tossed over her shirt and tugged on his.

  As she stood there, dumbfounded, fumbling with her blouse, he grabbed the billiard rack, neatly confining the balls at the far end of the table, and whipped it off, sending the balls rolling in all directions.

  Before she knew what had happened, certainly before Lane reached the bottom of the stairs, she was fully dressed with a pool cue in her hand, and Cam was leaning over the table, staring at the white
ball with fixed attention, preparing to shoot.

  It was a completely innocent scene, and quite convincing, she supposed, if there hadn’t been the distinct smell of sex in the air.

  Hopefully Lane wouldn’t notice.

  He rounded the banister and shot her a broad grin. His sandy blond hair flopped into his eyes and he brushed it back. “Oh, hey Kristi. I didn’t know you were coming.”

  She smiled, and then winced as Cam took his shot. The crack of the balls seemed terribly loud. For some reason, none of the balls managed to find a pocket. “It was a last-minute thing. I needed to get away.”

  Lane snorted. “I know the feeling.”

  Kristi had a hard time believing Lane ever felt the need to escape a banal existence. He was the son and heir of business magnate Reese Daniels. A trust fund baby, like so many of their neighbors on the island. He flitted through his life on a whim, never worrying about mortgages or cell phone payments or how the hell he was going to afford a car that actually worked.

  He hadn’t wanted to join his dad’s firm when he graduated—so he just hadn’t, choosing instead to get his Master’s and then a Ph.D. in history. Now he taught at the U. Other than his divorce from Lucy, nothing bad had ever happened to him. In his whole existence.

  Lane Daniels was the reason Kristi knew, without a doubt, that life wasn’t fair.

  But he was a nice guy and a good friend. And she liked him.

  “So…” Cam took another shot, though it was hardly his turn. “How was Darby’s?”

  “Rowdy. Crowded. Some screeching band.” Lane toyed with a little cube of cue chalk.

  “You’re back early.” Cam shot him a look that could have been construed as accusatory. If Lane had been paying attention.

  Lane shrugged. “We decided to move the party here.” He sighed. “Maybe we’re getting old?”

  “Never say it.” Cam tossed his cue onto the table. Apparently the game was over.

  “Who’s here?” Kristi asked, replacing her cue in its holder on the wall.

  “Holt and Drew. Cassie. Your sister’s here too.” Lane nodded up the stairs.

  “Oh.” Crap. What was Bella doing here? That was all she needed. Her baby sister sniffing out what had just happened. And Bella would know. She always knew things she wasn’t supposed to know.

  When Lane and Lucy had divorced—and neither had wanted to give up the vacation house—they’d agreed to share it in a co-op with their friends, whose leases went to pay the astronomical property taxes. It was the only thing they hadn’t battled over. Bella had been included in the co-op.

  This had been uncomfortable for Kristi, given their history, but Bella was good friends with Cassie and Emily, two of the other Dawgs, so there was no escaping it. Kristi tried to make nice whenever they were forced to spend time together, but Bella clung to her resentment as though it was a life buoy in the middle of a stormy sea.

  You’d think she’d be over it by now.

  Although, Kristi had to admit, she still felt the sting of guilt. Even now.

  “I should go up,” she said. “I haven’t seen her in a month.” She tried not to glance at Cam, even though she could feel his gaze on her.

  “Yup,” he grunted, racking the balls. “We should go up.”

  “I’ll, um, meet you up there,” Kristi said. She needed to visit the facilities first. And tidy up. The guys nodded and headed off without her.

  When she emerged through the door to the great room, Andrew gave a whoop, loped over to her side and swung her up in his muscular arms. He twirled her around, lifting her off her feet. “Ka-risti!” he crooned, giving her a big smooch on the cheek. “I haven’t seen you in a pig’s years.”

  On one of the passes, Kristi caught Cam’s fierce expression. His hands were fisted at his side as though he was struggling to keep from punching someone.

  When Drew finally put her down, Cassie hugged her as well, although it was a much more subdued offering. “How wonderful to see you.”

  Holt waved, but didn’t get up from the table and Bella, at the kitchen sink, shook her head. “I should have known that was your suitcase in the hall. And you left your plate on the table.” It was gone now. Along with the smattering of empties. At least Kristi hoped they’d been empty. She vaguely remembered them tumbling onto the table when Cam pressed her back in a frenzy of passion…

  Heat rose again. To cover her consternation, she snapped, “Sorry Mom.”

  Seriously? Bella lecturing Kristi on being messy?

  She was about to say something more—perhaps something even more acerbic, when Cam stepped in and saved her.

  “My fault. I dragged her downstairs for…a game of pool.” She was sure she was the only one to catch that little pause.

  She tucked her hair behind her ear and took a seat at the table. He sat next to her, letting his thigh relax against hers.

  Great. More heat.

  “I’m so glad you came,” Cassie said with a grin that transformed her face from serene Asian goddess to mischievous minx. Her smoky brown eyes twinkled. “One more chick to even the numbers. Maybe we won’t have to watch stupid car races all weekend. You can bunk with me and Bella. We’re in the big room. It’ll be like a slumber party.”

  Holt groaned. “I’m right next door. There’ll probably be giggling all night long.”

  Cassie leaned into him and batted her lashes. “We’ll paint our toenails and talk about boys. You’re welcome to drop by. I’ll braid your hair.” She ran her fingers through the long dark locks he usually kept confined in a ponytail.

  “Ugh.” Holt sent a pleading look at the other men, mouthing “Save me.”

  Fortunately everyone was paying attention to their lighthearted repartee so no one noticed Kristi’s flinch when Cam rubbed his leg against hers under the table. She shot him a playful glare and he winked.

  Drew dropped into the chair next to Holt and flipped open a beer. “I’m right there with you, brother.” He riffled his short blond spikes and glanced from Cam to Lane. “Unless one of you want to share your single?”

  The two men—one who’d had the foresight to arrive first and snag the best room, and the other, who owned the house and therefore always got the master—shook their heads in tandem.

  Drew chuckled. “It was worth a shot.” He fixed his attention on Cassie. “Did you bring Big Bertha?”

  “No,” Cassie growled. It was no secret how much she hated being teased about Big Bertha. That’s probably why they did it every chance they got.

  “Excellent.” Drew and Holt high-fived. “At least we won’t have to listen to her practice into the wee hours.”

  Kristi couldn’t hold her tongue. Not at this. “I love the cello, Cass. You can play for me anytime.”

  Cam sent a scorching glower at Drew, but Kristi knew it was completely in jest. When it came to teasing Cassie, Cam was one of the worst. “How dare you make fun of Big Bertha?”

  “Stop calling her that!”

  The guys all dissolved into laughter. Lane wheezed, “Her. Did you hear? She called it her.”

  Cassie crossed her arms over her chest and put out a lip. “Just for that, I will keep you up all night.”

  The banter continued, with everyone chiming in, but Kristi completely lost the thread of the conversation, because Cam brushed her knee. Then trailed higher, drawing a sizzling line up her thigh. Her mouth went dry. Her vision blurred. He inched closer. And closer. And closer.

  Had her clit ever thrummed that hard? That fast?

  Just when she thought he was going to do it, just when she thought he was going to cup her tingling slit—right there under the table in front of everyone—he reversed his path. She nearly groaned in frustration. She shot him a frown and he grinned like a monkey.

  Bastard.

  And then it occurred to her. What was good for the goose…

  He wanted to play tease the pussy? Oh, she could play.

  She shifted in her seat and hooked his ankle with hers. Slowly, she d
rew it closer, spreading his legs. He stiffened when she surreptitiously dropped her hand into her lap, then swallowed a gulp as she walked her fingers onto his thigh.

  It was an odd angle and hardly comfortable, but Kristi didn’t care. She leaned back in her chair so she could reach—

  Holy Hannah. He was hard.

  Again.

  Already!

  She froze when she encountered that stiff pike. Then moved into action again. Forcing her features into an intent expression, making a determined effort to laugh when everyone else laughed, nod when they nodded, she traced his length with a feather-light touch. He shivered. She glanced at him. His jaw was set, muscles bunched, as though his teeth were clenched. He turned his head and their gazes clashed. The intensity rolling off him made her belly flip.

  He leaned closer and whispered, “You’re gonna pay for this, Ms. Cross.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek and whispered back, with a devious squeeze, “I hope so, Mr. Jackson.”

  Something flared in his eyes. Something primal and raw. She had the sense he was on the verge of wrenching her against him and taking her mouth in a savage kiss—despite their audience.

  And she wouldn’t have cared. Because whatever beast lurked in him, prowled within her as well. She needed him, in that moment, the way she needed air.

  “So, Kristi…”

  Her name sounded like a claxon across the table; it occurred to her that Holt hadn’t needed to speak quite so sharply.

  Of its own accord, her head swiveled toward him and her questing hand dropped away. Cam took it though, and held it against his thigh. She focused on Holt’s expression. Had that been displeasure on his face, just before he’d settled back into his slick, urbane, blasé persona?

  “Um, yes, Holt?”

  “I was just wondering where Rolf is.”

  Rolf? It took a moment for her to remember who Rolf even was. “Ah.” She looked down at the table. “We, um, kind of broke up today.” The chorus of exclamations rounding the table surprised her. She didn’t even bother to sort them out. “It’s been a helluva day.” In oh so many ways.

  Cassie tipped her head to the side. “Sweetie. What happened?”