It Happened One Summer (It Happened One Summer 1)
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
They were going to have sex, right then and there. That was the only place a kiss like this could lead. With him moaning for an entirely different reason, those sturdy hips of his holding her thighs apart to take his thrusts. How had they been orbiting each other for over a week without this happening? With every slant of his hard mouth, she was losing her mind—
The door to No Name opened, letting in the distant sounds of the harbor.
“Oh! I’m sorry . . .” Hannah said sheepishly. “Um, I’ll just . . .”
Brendan had broken the kiss, his breathing harsh, eyes glittering. He stared at her mouth for a few long moments while Piper’s brain struggled to play catch-up, his hand eventually dropping away from her hair. No, she almost whined. Come back. “Tomorrow night,” he rasped. “Seven.”
He kept his eyes on Piper until the last possible second before disappearing out the door. At which point, she staggered behind the bar and uncapped a beer from the cooler. Thank God they’d had the foresight to fill it with ice. Piper drank deeply, trying to get her libido back in check, but it was no dice. The seam of her panties was damp, her nipples stiff and achy, her fingers itching to be twisted once again in Brendan’s shirt.
“I’m going to need your help, Hanns,” she said finally. “Like, a lot of it.”
Her sister stared back, wide-eyed, never having seen Piper knocked sideways by a man. “Help with what?”
“Remembering that whatever happens with Brendan . . . it’s temporary.”
“Will do, sis.” Hannah came around the bar, opened her own beer, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Piper. “Jesus. I’ve never seen you this worked up. Who knew your kink was outdoor living spaces?”
Piper’s snort turned into a full-fledged laugh. “We have a date in approximately twenty-four hours. You know what that means?”
“You have to start getting ready now?”
“Yup.”
Hannah laughed. “Go. I’ll clean up here.”
Piper kissed her sister’s temple and jogged up the back stairs, going straight to her closet. She pressed the mouth of the beer bottle to her lips and perused her choices, wondering which dress said I’m not the settling-down type.
Because she wasn’t.
Especially not in Westport. She just needed to remind Brendan of that.
With a firm nod, she chose the emerald-green Alexander Wang fit-and-flare velvet minidress. If she was just here to have fun, she’d have the most fun. And try to forget how involved her heart had been in that kiss.
Chapter Fifteen
Brendan adjusted the silverware on his dining room table, trying to remember the last time he’d had reason to use more than one set. If Fox or some of the crew came over, they ate with their hands or plastic forks. Piper would be used to better, but that couldn’t be helped. Instead of dipping his toe back into dating after a seven-year hiatus from all things female, he’d plunged right into the deep end with a woman who might be impossible to impress.
Sure, he was intimidated by the level of luxury Piper was used to, but he couldn’t let making an effort scare him.
Trying was the least he could do, because . . . Piper Bellinger got to him.
He’d soaked up every second watching her work in No Name all week—and he’d come to find the high-maintenance-socialite aspect of her personality . . . well, adorable. She owned it. Wasn’t apologetic about hating manual labor or her love of overpriced shoes and selfies. And fuck, every time she cringed about the dirt under her fingernails, he wanted to lay her on a silk pillow and do all the work for her, so she wouldn’t have to. He wanted to do the spoiling. Badly.
It was obvious that she hated construction, yet she showed up every day with a brave smile and got it done. Furthermore, she made time in the afternoons to bring Hannah to see Opal, and he witnessed her growing comfort, day in and day out, with the fact that she had a grandparent. Noticed the way she’d begun weaving Opal into conversations without sounding stilted or awkward. She was trying new things and succeeding.
If she could do it, so could he.
Brendan opened the fridge and checked the champagne again, hoping the high price meant it was halfway decent. He’d tasted her unbelievable mouth yesterday evening, and his pride demanded only the best on her tongue. He’d have to stretch beyond his normal capabilities for this woman. She wasn’t going to be happy with beer and burgers and a ball game at Blow the Man Down. Not always. She’d make him work to keep her content, and he wanted that challenge.
It hadn’t been like this the first and only other time he’d dated a woman. There’d been no urgency or anticipation or raw hunger that never let up. There had been acceptance, understanding. All of it quiet.