The Schemer (Harbor City 3)

“Come on, live a little,” he teased.

She took another suspicious look to her left and then her right before finally stepping outside into the sunshine. The breeze played with the hem of her skirt, lifting one corner of it around her calves—the ones he’d felt on his back as he’d fucked her against the trunk of her car. Shit. This was going to be a long, hard lunch.

“I’m warning you now,” she said as she sat down, obviously oblivious to the path his thoughts had gone down. “If Alfred comes back with his murderous buddies, I’ll take you out at the knees to get inside first.”

Tyler laughed and accepted the beer she held out to him. “I would expect nothing less.”

Because when it came to Everly, the best bet was to accept he never knew what to expect.

Chapter Eighteen

As Everly popped the last bite of one half of her sandwich into her mouth, her gaze still scanning the periphery for movement, she relaxed back against her seat and lifted her feet to rest them on the stool in front of her chair. The early evening sun warming her skin as she listened to the sound of the ocean breeze fluttering the palm tree leaves and the occasional chirp and call of birds somewhere out on the island. The combination mellowed the worry about Alfred right out of her.

“You could forget the rest of the world even existed out here,” she said, giving in to the vibe and closing her eyes.

“It’s like the Garden of Eden,” Tyler said.

The absence of sight only accentuated the sexiness of his voice. The cultured tones hiding—almost completely—the rough and tumble accent underneath. The conflicting combination did dangerous things to her, the kind that led to banging him in the parking garage.

Before that memory could take over, she jerked her focus back to the here and now. “Just with a raccoon instead of a snake.”

“Poor Alfred, hated before he’s even had a chance to introduce himself.”

The temptation to open her eyes and read Tyler’s face was strong, but there was an intimacy to having a chat with your eyes closed that she didn’t want to give up. “You have a lot of sympathy for that fur ball.”

“I know how it feels to be prejudged.”

There was a lot of weight behind those words, but their tentative truce wasn’t made for seeking greater understanding. They were both just trying to get through the weekend.

“So you’re saying I should give him a chance, huh?” she asked, and reached over to the small table between them for the other half of her sandwich, but instead of bread and meat, she encountered something fuzzy.

The scream was out of her mouth before she could even open her eyes and jump out of her chair, adrenaline pumping through her veins like a runaway train. In the next inhale, her feet were on the ground, her eyes open, and she spotted Alfred stuffing as much of her sandwich into his mouth while staring at her like she was the one invading his space. And this was why city people shouldn’t leave their home environment. Nature was a beast. Her exhale started out as another holler, but before she could gain steam, Tyler scooped her up into his arms and marched her into the house, all the while laughing his stupid head off. After using his foot to slide the door closed behind them, he set her down on the island but kept his strong hands on her hips and stood between her legs.

“It’s not nice to laugh at people,” she said, needing to say something—anything—because the need for fight or flight was quickly morphing into an F need of a different kind.

“I can’t help it,” he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth, then the pulse point going crazy in her neck, then dropping down to the fast rise and fall of her chest before coming back up to her eyes. “The ferocious Ms. 3B is afraid of a raccoon.”

“They can be vicious,” she said, anticipation making her mouth move faster than her brain. “Anyway, it’s not like there aren’t things that scare you.”

“Ne

edles.” It was just one word, but it came out low and husky.

“So no tats, huh? I thought they were required of anyone who rode a Harley.” If only she’d gotten him naked in the garage, she wouldn’t have to ask.

He shook his head, his desire-darkened gaze locked on her. “Not one.”

“So you’ve never been tempted to have a woman’s name written above your heart?” Ramble? Her? Oh yeah.

“That would be a big negative for a lot of reasons.”

“I promise to keep your secret, if you keep mine.” She made an X with her finger over her heart.

His gaze dropped to where her finger touched the upper swell of her breast. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, and there was no way he could miss seeing her hard nipples pressed against the soft cotton of her dress, especially since she’d skipped her bra along with her panties. She didn’t need Freud to understand what that meant.

His grip tightened on her hips and he jerked her closer, bringing her flush against his hardness and holding her there. “Now that’s a deal.”

The contact was like flipping a switch, and her body was suddenly on. Her breasts grew heavy, her lungs tightened, her lips ached to make contact. Desire, hot and needy, slid through her, making her core clench, and she unconsciously arched against him, needing the friction to ease the ache already beginning to build. His tortured groan only emboldened her, and she did it again, this time on purpose, loving how he felt against her and the way lust darkened his blue eyes and made his jaw tight. He was holding back. The urge to make him let go guided her fingers to the waistband of his board shorts where she let them linger, torturing both of them.