The Schemer (Harbor City 3)

“Because…I confused fighting with foreplay. We both know nothing more could ever happen between us.”

He didn’t disagree. That hurt. It wasn’t that she’d been expecting him to but, yeah, a little protest would have been nice. Instead, he went to work on the strap of her other shoe.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” he said, pulling it off and sliding on his tennis shoe.

“Then let’s not.” She brushed away his hand, needed desperately to regain a semblance of control, and tied the shoe herself. “I’ll stop being a hag and we’ll move on as if the parking garage never happened.”

“The incident that will not be spoken of.” The seriousness of his tone was totally ruined by the twitch of his lips as he tried not to smile.

“Now a butchered Potter reference?” She accepted his outstretched hand and stood up, her fingers tingling. “You really were a library nerd.”

“I’ll break out the Tolkien later,” he said, not bothering to stop the smile now. “I can tell you all about the one ring and do it in Elvish.”

“Oh my God.” She laughed. “Please don’t.”

He slapped a hand over his heart. “Direct hit.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll live.”

He peeked out at the sky, which was a beautiful blue without any hint of its weather split personality. “You ready to do this?”

Looking down at his shoes on her feet, she wiggled her toes. It felt like heaven. “Always.”

“Once more into the breach.” He grabbed both bags and headed back onto the path.

Taking a few tentative steps, she followed him. It was weird to have her feet flat on the ground, and she felt way shorter than she was used to being but lighter, too. Maybe she and Tyler could find a way to go from being warring parties to one-time lovers to actual friends. In the moment, it totally sounded plausible. Of course, that was if she ignored the fact that she was walking behind him just to watch that glorious ass of his as he trudged forward.

Girl, you’re officially a hot mess.

…

Tyler spent the last mile tormenting Everly with Elvish—or at least what she thought was Elvish. Since ninth grade had been a long time ago, he’d improvised. She didn’t seem to notice, judging by her fits of giggles. Now that was something he hadn’t expected. His hard-ass Riverside girl was a giggler.

Your Riverside girl? That was so wrong on so many levels. One, she most definitely wasn’t a girl. She had the brains and body of a full-grown woman, a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his dick giving him the uncomfortable knowledge of what it felt like to walk a mile with a semi. Two, she wasn’t his. As she’d so kindly pointed out, there wasn’t anywhere for the intense attraction between them to go. Not that he was looking for a Mrs. Jacobson just yet, but he’d worked too hard to shake off the last vestiges of Waterbury to have her bring it all back. And she did a little more each time they hung out, not just the speech but the overwhelming urge to haul her up and fuck her hard against the nearest available flat surface. Or horizontal. Or just about anywhere. That had never happened with any of the Harbor City women he’d dated, which was for the best. It let him focus on what was really important—solidifying his position.

“Oh wow,” Everly said in an excited whisper, coming to a stop in front of the gate leading to Alberto’s island home.

He couldn’t have put it better. Shaped like the Pentagon, the two-story house had solar panels on the roof, warm soft-brown wood, and windows everywhere. There was a kidney-shaped pool next to it, a luxurious fire pit, and a hammock big enough for two. It almost made him want to chuck it all and move.

“It’s gorgeous.” She swung open the gate and walked inside.

He followed, and they strolled across the stamped concrete patio to the French doors leading into the house. He punched in the security code provided at the bottom of Alberto’s note and they walked inside. It was cool but not frigid—a miracle in South Florida with how everyone blasted the AC—and the interior matched the exterior, making the whole thing look like a rich person’s version of Swiss Family Robinson.

Setting down the suitcases on the bamboo floor, a little cloud of dust floated upward.

She glanced at her dirty suitcase. “We should clean up. I don’t want to wreck the place before Alberto and Helene even get here tomorrow.”

Of course, the first image to appear in his head was of her naked and soapy in the shower. “That’s a great idea.”

It would be better if he was in the shower

with her, but that wasn’t going to happen. They were going to do this whole pretend-it-didn’t-happen thing instead. That sounded about as much fun as experiencing the Red Wedding firsthand.

They headed up to the second floor. She took the first bedroom. He took the next. He was shucking off his shoes when he heard the shower go on. Hello, insta-boner.

His imagination didn’t have to do a lot of work to picture her in there with the warm water trailing over her skin. He hadn’t gotten to look as long as he wanted the other night, and God knew he hadn’t gotten to touch or taste her enough, but that didn’t matter in the moment. His horny brain filled in all the missing pieces. The part that almost killed him was the image of big white soap bubbles sliding across her pretty peach nipples. They’d gotten so hard the other night, and her moans of pleasure were so hot that—

Stop acting like a fourteen-year-old perv, Jacobson.