Dax

Tuesday

I kiss Becca’s neck as I collapse on top of her, supporting my weight on my elbows to keep from smashing her flat.

“We found our way back.” She grins. Satisfied and smiling.

Perfect.

Wonder if my dad’s death had started clouding the way I was with Becca. Losing him made me consider a future with a woman for the first time in a long time. Not that I came here looking for that, but it was stewing in the back of my mind. Then I met Becca and let myself think that she could be my future. I put a lot on her, a lot on myself.

Now that I’ve gone back to letting things come naturally, my relationship with Becca means only what it should, and no more: that we’re really good at blowing each other’s minds in the sack.

I lay another kiss on her neck and inhale her soft perfume. Most of the traces of it have faded, but it’s there. I hum against her skin and kiss her again before pulling out and dealing with the condom.

I walk back to my cabin bedroom from the attached bathroom to find her lying there, sheet pulled to her chest, eyes on me.

“That smile is what keeps me working hard, Princess.” I climb into bed next to her.

“Well, you trying so hard is what keeps me coming back.” She rolls over and wraps an arm around me, hugging my rib cage.

I gently stroke her arm. I suck in a breath and almost ask if things are good with her brother, but it’s better not to sail those choppy waters.

I reroute with “Work good?”

“Yeah . . .” Sounds like there’s more to come, but after a second or two, she exhales without saying more. I wonder if she was going to but decided those waters were choppy from her perspective as well.

Getting used to the new arrangement is taking some doing.

“It never would’ve worked,” she blurts.

Assuming she means us, I say nothing. I’m not turning over what could’ve or would’ve been. That’s a dangerous road down which lies regret. I don’t do regret.

“Me cooking for Grand Lark, I mean.”

Right. That.

“I like the office work. I call people and talk to them and answer customer service emails. Ordering the supplies is fun. Oh! And today I shopped for a few wall hangings for the cabins. It was like playing house.”

I continue stroking her arm and absolutely do not think about how I might be part of her “playing house.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“About the quesadillas recipe . . .” She leans on an elbow, eyes wary as she watches for my reaction. “It’s my gift to you, Dax. Don’t put my name on it. Don’t pay me for it. Please. Take it. I want you to have it.”

If that didn’t sound like the final nail in the “us” coffin, I’m not sure what would. How about that? We made it. Not many flings are this successful—where everyone walks away with what they want.

I stroke her cheek with my thumb, then drag that thumb around to her chin as I study her beauty in the fading light from the windows. Truth? I’m not sure I’m getting what I want. She’s given me no choice but to graciously accept, so that’s what I do.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says.

Becca’s the first to look away. I move my hand down her bare back and, because I can’t resist, around to cup her breast and slide the pad of my thumb across her nipple.

“What are your big plans for the rest of your stay?” she asks. “I only ask as a dedicated customer service provider of Grand Lark.”

Cute.

“Tomorrow I’m going to hike to that spot we were going to hike to before we were rained out.” Rained out and rerouted to a birthday dinner for her dad where I nearly beat the shit out of her brother.

“You’ll love that area.” She traces circles over my chest and averts her gaze. “If you need a tour guide, I know a girl who would go with you. And she’ll pack a homemade lunch.”

“Throw in sex on the picnic blanket, babe, and you have yourself a deal.”

“Really?” She beams.

“It’s your fling, Princess.” I want her to enjoy every second of it.

“I’d love to show you around. I can categorize that as part of my job and get a little extra time off to do it.”

“Not the sex part. I think that’s illegal.”

“I think sex this good should be illegal, Mr. Vaughn.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “Have you ever considered offering a moonlight escort service for some of your female clientele back home?”

I slide my palms down her body and pull her on top of me. All my favorite parts of her are now touching all my favorite parts of me. I cup her ass and squeeze. Hard.

She sucks in a breath.

“You think I could have a backup career?”

“I know you could.” One eyebrow hitches in playful seduction, and then she kisses me. After a few deep kisses with lots of tongue, Becca and I find our way back to what we’re good at.

Me wringing orgasms out of her, and her giving them to me in return.

Becca

Wednesday

I’m sure you want to lecture me right about now, but I know what I’m doing. I know how to have sex and not let it cloud my judgment. I know how to keep the man I’m sleeping with out of my every waking thought.

Usually.

Today feels different.

Dax and I are going on a hike and I’ll be out in the glorious mountains, soaking up the sun, sweating out my demons—and not in the way I’ve been sweating them out lately. Not beneath the two hundred pounds of muscle that is Dax Vaughn. Nope, I’m going to clear my head the old-fashioned way.

With exercise.

I wear the outfit I’d planned on originally—short, frayed pale blue shorts that ride quite high on my thighs, Timberland hiking boots and sturdy socks, and a white tank top with a red and black plaid shirt tied in a knot at my waist. Beneath my “lumberjill” outfit I’m wearing the naughtiest underwear I own. I’m taking him seriously about the sex at the picnic thing.

Dax picks me up at the main building since the hiking area is closer to Grand Lark’s home office. I know it sounds dumb to drive to where you’re going to hike, but there’s no good way to get there from his place without sliding down a ninety-degree hill face.

His Jeep turns into the parking lot, where I wait under the overhang. The top’s off. The doors are off. A ball cap shields his eyes. He does that one-handed circle thing with the steering wheel to straighten the tires. My pulse flutters at the side of my throat, but I ignore it.

Of course he’s going to make my heart flutter. I’m looking forward to fantastic food, fantastic sex, and a welcome break from work.

Toting our lunch in a soft-sided cooler, I hop into the passenger seat. From underneath a pair of reflective aviator sunglasses, Dax gives me a swoony grin.

“How long we got?” He takes the cooler from my hands and places it behind the seat.

“I took an extended lunch, so I don’t have to be back for two hours. Ish.”

“Ish, huh?” He reverses out of the lot as I buckle in.

“You know me. I like to leave an opening.”

“Yeah, Princess. I know that about you.”

Dax has been nothing but supportive for days. Which I’m all for. I think. A nagging voice in the back of my brain speaks up whenever he’s super compliant. I’m trying to ignore it.

I direct him to the entrance to the woods where we’re going, and after bumping along a path clearly marked no trespassing (Tad posted that sign—the land is his), we come to a stop and park in the sun.

“This it?” Dax grabs the cooler.

“I can carry it.”

“My ass.” He steps out of the vehicle and pulls on a backpack, sliding the cooler’s strap over one broad shoulder.

I admire the way he moves. The smooth way he does just about anything. He’s wearing a coffee-colored life is good tee. The screen-printed image is a dog holding a marshmallow on a stick next to a campfire. His baggy cargo shorts are deep green, and on his feet: a good ol’ pair of Nikes.

His cap has a Guinness logo. I wonder if he bought it or if a vendor gave it to him for free because he’s a bar owner.

“You look amazing,” I say. “I know we’re supposed to be creating distance, but you’re as hot as hell.” I come around the Jeep to stand in front of him. “I thought you should know that.”

I can’t see his eyes for the dark shades perched on his nose, but his mouth is a flat line. Under those lenses, are his eyes heated with lust or wary with caution?

“Trust me, Princess, hell doesn’t get as hot as you in those shorts.” He grabs me by the waist and jerks me close, and I grin up at him as I clutch his bicep. I bet I’m resembling a romance novel cover’s heroine right about now. “And you smell too good for words.”

He leans down and nibbles my earlobe until my grip on his biceps turns into clawing his bare arms.

Inches from my face, his voice low and growly, he says, “Leave enough time after the hike for me to slide those shorts off your long legs and bury my face between your thighs, yeah?”

Breathlessly I answer, “Okay.”

“I want five orgasms. No less.”

“I can do that,” I say, still breathless.

He ends the suspense and kisses my mouth, but despite his commanding words, the kiss is gentle and slow. I melt against him.

“Or we could skip the hike altogether?” Oh, boy, I can hear the hope in my own voice.

“Nope. We’re doing it all. Within two hours’ time, evidently.”

The hike lasts fifty-five minutes, so by the time we settle on the blanket I packed, we’re cutting it close. We’ve stopped about a mile from the Jeep to eat under a wide shade tree with a view of the pond.

I pull out the container of chicken salad and gesture to the packed contents. “If we hurry, we can— What are you doing?”

My question is asked with a smile because there’s not a lot of mystery surrounding what Dax is doing. He undid the button on my shorts and is now sliding the zipper south.

Next he takes his sunglasses off and tosses them on the blanket, then spins his ball cap around backward.

So. Freaking. Sexy.

“Take off your shorts,” he demands.

“Orgasm number one achieved.” I set aside the food and remove my shorts.

“Sorry. No cheating.”

He fists the back of his T-shirt and pulls it over his head, knocking off his hat and replacing it right away. He has to know how hot he looks wearing it.

He’s ridiculously gorgeous. Wide, tanned chest. Perfect pectorals dotted with flat male nipples. Low-slung, baggy shorts hovering at his hips.

“Hot.”

“You’re the hot one, babe.”

My heart is pounding so hard, it’s a wonder I can’t hear it.

“On your back, Princess.” He snags the edge of my bright pink panties and pulls them half off my hips.

I do as I’m told.

Dax kisses his way up my legs, lifts the left one, and settles one of my heavy boots on his shoulder.

“Should I take my shoes off? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t hurt me, Princess,” he says, paying particularly close attention to the inside of my knee.

I drop my head back and let my eyes slide shut, enjoying his mouth as he tongues my inner thigh. Enjoying the warm air and his warmer body brushing against mine.

“Orgasm número dos.” I squirm, already damp from the attention he’s paying to my leg.

“I’ll start counting when you start shouting my name, Princess.”

I feel his smile as he nips me very, very close to where I want his tongue. I jerk to attention, eyes flying open, head lifting. He’s all white-toothed smile and sin.

When he turns serious, and I lie back, eyes closed, hands clutching the picnic blanket for purchase.

I come.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I lose count, but Dax doesn’t.

When I surface and he’s on top of me, shorts down, sliding deep, he reminds me I have one more to give him.

I give him that one too.

On a shout that quiets the birds.