The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

There, I’m beyond stunned.

“Wait, what? A helicopter?” I blink slowly.

“Yep. I told Drake and Bella they’d get it back without a scratch on it. Your bags are already inside,” he says.

“Where exactly are we going?”

He stops, cradling my face so delicately under the moon, worshipping me with a slow, heartwarming kiss before he answers.

“You’ll see, baby. Trust me with the surprises.”

* * *

Two days later, we disembark from a boat on the island of Kiribati in the South Pacific.

The resort feels like some sort of fantasy island, full of tropical plants and birds, velvety sand and the soulful, sky-blue sea.

But it’s my husband who makes it feel like an honest to God fairytale.

Staring at the turquoise waters in nothing but a swim suit, I can’t take my eyes off him as he emerges from the ocean like a merman king, striding to meet me where I’m lying on the sandy beach, soaking up the sun.

He planned everything so well. First the helicopter to Bismarck—complete with champagne—where we spent our wedding night before two long connecting flights and a boat ride brought us here.

I’m still shuddering with awe.

“Enjoying yourself, Seashell?” he asks, dripping water as he kisses me before plopping down on the stand at my side. “You must be. You’re more beautiful than ever.”

“I’m with you, brown noser,” I answer. “Is there anything better than that?”

“Just one thing I can think of,” he says, tugging me down beside him on the towel. “Loving you.”

I sigh, beyond overflowing.

“I just love the way you love me,” I whisper. “Never, ever stop.”

“I’d have to be dead,” he growls, running his thick hands down my back.

His kisses start slow, but soon have me quaking with desire.

The beach is off a private alcove—all part of our breathtaking honeymoon bungalow—and I have no qualms whatsoever about making the most of our privacy in paradise.

Rolling on top of him, I run my tongue up the side of his neck, whispering, “You’re in trouble for that Seashell crap.”

“Trouble? Why do I like the sound of that?”

“You should. I’m about to yank your trunks off so you can sink your cock deep inside me. I’ll even let the nickname slide if you lend me an O or two.”

With a devilish grin, he cups my butt with both hands.

“Baby, I’ll lend you ten.”

Laughing, I straddle him, sitting up and unhooking my bikini top. “Careful. That sounds like a threat.”

“It’s a promise,” he throws back, sinking his teeth into my bottom lip. “Now open your legs.”

His wandering hand demands more than his words, pulling my thighs apart.

Exhaling, I toss my top aside and stand, shimmying out of my bottoms before I grasp his trunks and jerk them off while he’s still on the towel.