Wylde (Arizona Vengeance 7)

Clarke’s hand moves over to rest on my thigh, near my knee. I know it’s in response to this new revelation that my father is dead and my own hand comes to cover hers, my fingers curling to capture it tightly.

We continue talking, never missing a beat. The conversation returns to lighter topics. Brooke and Bishop’s first dance occurs to the classic Unchained Melody, and the cake is cut with not one single dollop smeared on the other person’s face.

People come and go from our table.

Clarke and I do the same, mingling so I can introduce her to people she’s never met and so we can take our turn on the dance floor. We press in close for the slower songs, then bump and grind to the faster stuff. We move from the champagne to the open bar. Brooke and Bishop retire around ten, presumably to get to the fun ritual of consummating their marriage. The reception rages on without them. The next group of people to retire are some of the older family members and friends who are partied out. Clarke and I keep dancing, laughing, joking—having the best time together while surrounded by my closest friends.

Near midnight, though, I see Clarke yawn for the third time, and I realize I’m exhausted as well. The younger guys—mostly the rookies and their equally young girlfriends—are still slamming shots and dancing. I can’t help but look on them with fondness as God knows I acted that way when I first came into the league.

Clarke and I hold hands. She wraps her other hand around my arm, leaning into me as we make the long walk back along lighted pathways to our room. It only takes a couple of paces for me to realize her feet hurt by the way she’s leaning on me. I mention it, but she denies it.

Instead, I merely move in front of her, squat, and tell her to jump on. She takes me up on my offer, so I give her a piggyback ride to our room, loving her laughter at being hauled back across the resort.

Once in the room, she drops down to the bed and removes her high-heeled sandals, groaning in relief as they come off in quick succession.

I study her, noting she looks exhausted. My initial inclination upon stepping foot in this private paradise of a room was to hurry up and get her naked. But God knows… we’ve done a lot of damn fucking this week. Relaxed on the beach, came back to the room, and had sex. Went out to dinner, came back, and fucked all night. Went snorkeling, came back, and screwed like bunnies.

I want her now. Always will. I doubt that will ever wane, but as I said, she looks exhausted.

“You look like you could do with a good night’s sleep,” I mention casually as I come to stand before her.

She tips her head back with a smile. “Actually… I wouldn’t mind a dip in our pool to cool off a bit.”

“We can do that,” I say, holding my hand out to haul her up from the bed. She places her palm against mine. Once she rises, she moves right into my body.

I’m surprised when she wraps her hands around my waist to give me nothing more than an affectionate squeeze, briefly pressing her cheek to my chest. “Thanks for bringing me here this week. Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

I give her a squeeze back, my tone laced with faux offense. “I thought I was the most fun you’ve had in a long time.”

She giggles, bending back to see me. “Individually, yes… you’re the most fun. As an event, a date, or whatever you want to call it, but the wedding and reception was a lot of fun tonight.”

“Agreed,” I say. “Bathing suits or naked in the pool?”

True to Clarke-fashion, she blushes. While she’s been naked plenty in front of me, she’s still not fully comfortable with it yet. Any time she has gotten naked, it’s been at my hands or my direction and in direct preface to us having sex.

A part of our foreplay, so to speak.

“Bathing suits seem kind of silly,” she remarks with an impish grin.

“I’ll close my eyes while you disrobe if it helps,” I offer gallantly, but really… I’m going to watch and she knows it.

“Whatever,” she responds cheekily. Then I almost swallow my tongue when she steps back, reaches down to her hips, and tugs her dress straight up her body.

Oh, man… her lingerie is on point and I take every bit of it in as the material moves past her shoulders. Butter-yellow lace panties sit high on her hips, low on her belly, and are completely translucent, proving, once again, she’s a real redhead. A matching strapless bra covers her breasts, which have fast become one of my favorite places on her body. When her dress is free and tossed to the bed, she reaches behind her to undo the clasp to her bra.