Sitting on a brightly colored beach towel a mere breath from the Pacific shore, Greer dug her bare feet into fine, white sand and felt the grains slip between her toes.
The hot, summer sun felt amazing on her glistening skin—slick with coconut oil—and thanks to the skimpy, black bikini she was wearing, a few hours on Manhattan Beach had given her a noticeable tan.
Manhattan Beach... such a strangely named place, she thought, watching a sizable wave roll in. Greer had been living in New York City for nearly a decade and the only Manhattan she’d come to know was flanked by the East River. Now that she was in Los Angeles taking advantage of a day at a beach with the same name was surreal to say the least.
The sun was lowering on the horizon. Warm wind breezed in from the water. Feeling hot, she riffled through her tote bag in search of a hair elastic. When she found one, she wrapped her long, light brown locks into a high and messy bun, discretely glancing down at her bikini top to be sure she hadn’t spilled out of it.
The tropical scenery, the vacation vibe, knowing there was a thick wad of cash in her purse…
Life couldn’t get much better than this.
She'd spent the week in Southern California since one of her sculptures—a woman arching her spine, breasts swelling and legs spread, nude and aroused—had been on display at Thinkspace, a downtown gallery that had a knack for launching artists’ careers. Her boyfriend and fellow sculptor, Hunter Black had a piece in the show as well, and the art opening had been all she could’ve dreamed of and more.
Her sculpture had sold.
Breathing deeply and taking in her surroundings—the palm trees, rippling ocean water, a herd of joggers running along the boardwalk in the distance behind her, couples and families sunning themselves on the sand—Greer wondered what was in store for her at her next destination.
Hope Falls.
She’d never been there and if she was being honest with herself, she’d never heard of the small, Northern Californian town tucked in the wilderness just shy of Lake Tahoe, though she’d read about a professional snowboarder who now called Hope Falls her home, likewise a pop singer, and there were others as well she'd discovered, perusing online articles while sitting in her apartment back east and debating whether or not to book a flight.
In the past nine months she’d managed to make a real name for herself in the art world, having secured an agent who was an expert at getting Greer’s work into galleries across the country. With burgeoning success came a slew of questionable invitations, however—sleazy men offering to model nude, headmasters begging her to teach for no pay at their preparatory schools and cursing her when she declined, a college student who wanted to collaborate then threatened to sue her for intellectual property infringement since she too sculpted sensual nudes… All of it seemed downright insane. But when she’d received a call from a woman named Amalia Maguire, or Amy as it were, who wanted Greer to teach at the Hope Falls Art Camp, she had a gut feeling that the offer was genuine and that five days in the sleepy town of Hope Falls would be just what she needed to shock some artistic inspiration into her life.
Slipping her fingers into the warm sand in front of her beach towel, she gazed out at the ocean, the surfers straddling their boards and waiting patiently for a decent wave. Among them were swimmers of all ages, diving headlong into the water and splashing about. Watching them, Greer could almost feel the crisp ocean water on her skin. Soon she spotted Hunter surging through a frothy wave as he walked against the undercurrent to get to the shore.
He looked like a damn dream as he approached her—soaking wet, water rolling down his firm pecs, dripping from his hair which had grown out since they’d met half a year ago. His arms were toned and his defined abs caught the setting sunlight in ways that had Greer as hot and flustered as the day he’d stepped into her studio to model nude. And those swim trunks, weighed down with water and hanging off his hips, gave her ideas about what she might like to do to him once they got back to the hotel...
Except that they weren’t headed to their hotel, they’d already checked out and were due on a flight in a matter of hours.
As he neared her, being sure that his shadow blocked the sun from her eyes so she could look up at him, he said, “I can’t believe you haven’t gone in the water yet.” He glanced over his shoulder at the ocean momentarily then added, “It’s unreal. I feel like I’m in an alternate universe. New York City has nothing like this.”
She smiled up at him, but it wasn’t because of the comparison. He just looked that good, water beading on his skin, his shaggy hair drying in the heat. When he lingered, gazing down at her, she could almost feel him reading her mind.
“The flight won’t be that long,” he said before plopping down beside her on the beach towel.
He felt cool, his body so near hers.
“The drive to Hope Falls will be, though,” she said, squinting at him now that the sun was in her eyes.
Hunter wrapped his arm around her lower back, angling his head close to hers. “You can sleep in the car,” he told her. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
“I’m just glad you’re coming,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder. Too bad there were prying eyes on the beach. If they were alone, nothing would stop her from mounting him as the sun set.
“I’m glad you finagled me into the art camp,” he said, lying on his back.
Lord, how was she supposed to resist him now?
“I can't wait,” he went on, furrowing his brow and straining to see her through the glare. “A bunch of kids running around, figuring out how to sculpt, us teaching together... Hell, we could have a whole Ghost moment after hours.”
Greer nearly burst out laughing at the movie reference. She had thought about the practicalities of making love with clay-stained hands however and knew the reality would be far less erotic than the film.
She lowered beside him, leaning on her elbow and resting her arm over his chest, and reiterated, “I’m just happy you’ll be there.”
“Why do I have the urge to call you Sugar Mama?” he asked, pulling her in so that their lips brushed.
“Don’t even,” she warned with a coy grin.
Though both of their sculptures had been for sale at Thinkspace, only Greer’s had sold and because of it the gallery had paid her in cash by the time the art opening had wrapped up. Hunter hadn’t been nearly as lucky, though a few prospective buyers had asked him about future pieces they might like to commission.
He cupped the nape of her neck, guiding her in and whispering, “Come here” just before their lips met.
As soon as they did—his lips soft and warm from the sun, his breath cool and quickening, the rise and fall of his chest beneath her arm helping her remember how alive she was—Greer felt an incredible impulse to slip her hand down his damp swim trunks, but resisted the urge. Instead she moaned softly into their kiss, pressing her breasts against him and draping her long leg over his waist.
“You’re giving me ideas,” he groaned, pulling her on top of him.
She squealed, “Hunter!” and glanced up and down the beach to make sure no one was watching.
Her legs had straddled him so naturally that it seemed a shame to ease off beside him, but she managed, holding her lips against his so he couldn’t object.
He squeezed her hip and let out a hard exhale, as though she was killing him by holding back, and said, “There has to be a motel around here that rents rooms by the hour.”
Grinning at him, as a warm swell of tingles bloomed between her legs, she gently delivered the bad news. “We don’t have time.”
Though he couldn’t argue, he ran his index finger along her bikini, tracing the thin strip of fabric that wrapped between her legs. She smiled, getting lost in the feel of him, and nuzzled his cheek.
“You were raised in the country, right?” he asked, tempting her as he hooked his finger under her bikini bottom.
“Hunter,” she breathed, catching his hand so he couldn't fondle her in broad daylight.
“It’s a simple, straightforward question,” he pointed out as though he had no idea what her complaint was.
“Yes,” she said. “It was rural and beautiful and no place I’d ever move back to.”
“New Hampshire?”
She didn’t have to answer, only meet his gaze to confirm he had it right.
He let out a long breath, which didn’t at all sound like the sex-heavy sighs that had come before. “I’m looking forward to this... being in the country, in a small town...”
When he trailed off the second time, Greer studied his expression, which had clouded over with a darkness she didn’t recognize.
“Growing up...” he said, again letting his point wane into an exhale. He touched eyes with her and added, “It’ll be nice to see happy kids. A good reminder that not everyone had it rough.”