It Happened One Summer (It Happened One Summer 1)

“Yeah, okay,” she whispered, reversing directions and coming toward him. She jogged the final step and leapt. He made a gruff sound, wrapping his arms around her as tight as possible, and lifted her off the ground when her trembles increased.

“No, honey. No shaking.” He planted kisses in hair that smelled suspiciously like his shampoo. “I’m fine. I’m right here.”

Her face pressed into the crook of his neck. “What happened?”

“Sanders has a concussion. Bad one. A wave sent him sliding down the deck, and he clocked himself on one of the steel traps. We got back to Dutch and took him to the hospital.” He rubbed circles on her back. “I left Fox in charge of bringing the crab to market and flew back with Sanders this morning.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah. He is.”

She nodded, wrapped her arms tighter around his neck. “And the hydraulic system worked well the whole trip? No problems with the oil pressure?”

With an exhaled laugh, he angled his head back to meet her eyes. “Did you do a little googling while I was gone?”

“Maybe a little,” she said, burying her face farther into his neck. “Are you sure you want to kiss me with my eyes all red and puffy?”

He fisted her hair gently, tugging until they were nose to nose. “I especially want to kiss you with your eyes all red and puffy.”

The moment their mouths collided, Brendan knew he’d made a mistake. He should have waited to kiss her until they were home in his bed, because the uncertainty of the last eleven days reared back and punched him. It did the same to Piper—he could feel it.

She gave a broken moan and opened her sweet mouth for him, her breath coming in short pants almost immediately, just like his. He’d barely slid his tongue between her lips when she gripped his shoulders, drew herself high against his chest, and slung her legs around his waist. And Jesus, he’d already been halfway to hard, but his cock surged against his fly now, swelling like a motherfucker when she settled the warm give of her sex on top of him, the drag of friction making him curse. Making him wish they were anywhere but a hospital hallway, half an hour from his house.

Still, he couldn’t keep from kissing her like he’d been dreaming of doing every night since he’d left, roughly, hungrily, using his hold on her hair to guide her left, right, meeting her lips with wide slants of his own, swallowing down her little whimpers like they were his last meal. God. God, she tasted so fucking good. Better than any port after a storm.

Home. He’d made it.

“Piper,” he growled, taking two steps and flattening her against the closest wall, his mouth raking down her delicious neck, his left hand sliding up to cup her tits. “I can’t fuck you here, baby. But that’s exactly what I’m going to do if we keep at it like this.”

Dazed blue eyes met his, her mouth wet from kissing. “I need you now,” she said hoarsely, tugging on the collar of his shirt. “Now, now, Brendan. Please, I can’t wait.”

He learned something about himself in that moment. If this woman tacked the word “please” onto any request, he would find a way to fulfill it.

Build me a palace, please.

How many floors, baby?

Brendan was already carrying her to the darker end of the hospital corridor before she finished phrasing her demand. Thank Christ the floor was mostly empty, because nothing was going to stop him from getting inside her now. Not when she was scoring his neck with her teeth, her thighs clinging to his hips like ivy. He stopped in front of the farthest door from the mild action in Sanders’s room, looked through the glass to make sure there was nobody occupying it, then brought her inside, capturing her mouth in a kiss as he walked them to the far side of the room. She rode her pussy up and down the rigid length of him, mewling into his mouth and pulling at his shirt, and Jesus, he was so turned on, their surroundings were inconsequential in comparison. Still, he wouldn’t have someone walking in and seeing Piper in a private moment—that was for his eyes only—so he forced himself to focus. Just long enough to make it right.

He set Piper down on her feet and called on his willpower to tear himself away from her mouth. “Don’t move,” he said, propping her against the wall—yes, propped. Her legs didn’t appear to be working, and hell if he wasn’t gratified to know he wasn’t so far out of practice that he couldn’t get Piper hot and bothered. Thank God.

Wanting to get his hands back on her as soon as possible, he charged to the door and shoved a chair under the handle. On his return to the far side of the room, he yanked the curtain that would block them from view, in case anyone walked past. Then he was in front of Piper, framing her face in his hands, marveling over the feverish urgency in her eyes. For him. Less than twelve hours ago, he’d been sure his luck had run out, but he’d been wrong. It overflowed.