When you think of a friendly game of cornhole, what do you think of? Friends having fun, tossing a bean bag back and forth, trying to make it into a hole, right?

Wrong.

Not the way Zoey plays.

The sheer determination flowing through her right now as she stretches her quads is rather frightening.

And Art, he’s even worse, he’s on their side doing knee-highs and windmills with his arms. This isn’t the Olympics for fuck’s sake, and we’re not preparing for an epic chase to the gold. We’re one beer bong short of a frat party.

“Uh, they seem pretty serious over there.”

Beck places his hand on my lower back and nods. “Yeah, I’m afraid they might be far too into this. Have you played before?”

“Of course.”

“Are you any good?”

“Ha! Of course I’m not. Sorry, dude, if you were looking for a ringer, I’m not your girl.” And that’s the truth. I might be able to write one epic sports scene with all the balls being thrown and caught, but to hell if I can do it myself.

“That’s okay. I’ll just have to help you out.” His hand that’s on my lower back slides around my waist, his fingers grazing the waistline of my bikini bottoms, the touch light, fuel to the flame burning inside me.

Why am I holding out on this man again?

Because to hell if I can remember my reasoning right about now with his touch relentless and unforgiving.

“You guys can start,” Beck calls out. Bending down, his hand disconnecting from my skin, Beck picks up some beanbags. “We’re going to play teams on the same side. Rylee needs a little guidance.”

“That’s fine,” Zoey calls out, getting in a tossing position. “Al-eee-oop!” she shouts as she starts tossing her four beanbags, none of them coming even close to the hole. Ha, that girl is all talk. “Just a warm-up, don’t worry. I’ll be sinking those bags like LeBron James in no time. Watch out, bitches.”

“Yikes.” Beck laughs next to me, the sound so intoxicating, deep and satisfying in all the right places. “All right, we’re up, Saucy. Do you want to go first?” He’s so close, he’s almost whispering, his breath sweetly caressing over my already-tingly skin.

“Sure.” I go to toss one when Beck stops me.

“Hold up there, killer. Let’s get you into position so you can actually sink some.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, it matters, because we need to beat those turkeys over there. Now let me show you how to do this.” Can we agree that Beck calling Art and Zoey turkeys is kind of adorable? Love it.

Beck presses his body flush against mine and slowly runs his hands down my arms, immediately turning my nipples hard. His chest rounds my back, the tightly wrapped sinew flexing across my body. Rock hard and solid, he’s like a brick wall protecting me from the outside world. But it isn’t just the way his body is pressed against mine or the way his hands feel so right grazing along my skin. It’s the way he’s teaching me by speaking directly into my ear, soft and patient, and the way he smells, all male and delicious. Lord, help me, don’t get me started on the lethal pheromones excreting from this man.

“Feel this, Rylee? This swing? This is the exact kind of swing you want. Smooth. That’s right, Saucy, just like that.” He’s whispering, his hand is swishing my arm back and forth, his body so tight against mine that I’m seconds from combusting, from exploding from the heat coursing up my spine.

“Think you can do this?”

I swallow hard his breath tickling my cheek. “Yes. I think I got it.”

“Good, give the first one a toss.” He doesn’t give me much room at all. In fact, he’s still glued to me when I toss the bag, sending it skyrocketing across the small part of the beach. Oh hell.

“Uh, not quite where we wanted it to land.”

“Looks like you need to do some more warm-ups,” Zoey taunts. “Maybe a little less sexual tension over there and you won’t be sending beanbags to the moon.” She’s going to get a throat punch after this. It’s bad enough I’m trembling from having Beck’s hands all over me. I don’t need her pointing it out as well.

“Don’t mind her.” Beck attempts to soothe me, getting back into position. “Just keep it smooth and your arm straight. Float her right in the hole.”

The next three bags come close to the wooden block but they’re still losers, but it’s okay because Zoey didn’t sink any, so we continue to be tied. That’s until Art steps up and sinks two bags right in the hole. Well, damn.

“We’re losing,” I state, feeling like we really need to win for bragging rights. I know if we lose, Zoey will never let me hear the end of it. If anything, we need to win to shut her up.

“Don’t sweat it, Saucy. You have me on your team.” Beck gives me a confident smile as he positions himself to throw, but instead of tossing the bags underhand like me, he flicks them from the side, spinning them in the air, and sinking all four bags.

I know it’s just cornhole, that we are tossing fabric corn-filled squares around, but there is something to be said about how hot Beck looked just now. Shirtless, tanned, hazel eyes laser focused on the board in front of him. His posture is casual, like he owns the game, and he doesn’t flinch after we score four points.

“Oh hell,” Zoey says. “This guy’s going to slaughter us.”

Wiggling his eyebrows at me, Beck takes a sip of his water and says, “Told you not to worry. I got this.”

And he did. He carried our team through the game scoring point after point, not even giving Zoey and Art a fair chance.

We are one point away from winning, and I have one bag left. We could not make any and still be far enough ahead that our opponents have no chance at winning, but still, I feel like this is it. I have yet to score a point for us and for some reason, I really want to contribute.

Taking a deep breath, I keep my eyes focused on the hole, envisioning sinking my bag.

“You can do this, Rylee. I believe in you,” Beck says, cheering me on, leaning forward and whispering in my ear. “Did I mention you look fucking good in that bathing suit?”

Losing my concentration, I turn to look at him over my shoulder. He’s close, once again, hovering over me, his hands low on my hips.

My breath catches in my chest when his fingers slip under the fabric of my bikini. Instead of tensing, my shoulders relax from the slow circles he’s drawing along my skin, the pads of his fingers running along the front of my hipbones.

Oh fuck. A low throb starts to beat between my legs, my knees becoming wobbly and my need for this man growing stronger and stronger with every wicked look he gives me. Every touch. I can’t imagine how he’ll make my body hum if he has full access to it, if he has it stretched across his bed with my legs spread, ready for his next move.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I ask, having a hard time steadying my voice.

“Trying to help you loosen up.”

“Well, you’re not doing a good job. You’re turning me on.”

“Even better,” he says in an extremely deep and seductive voice.

“Beck . . .”

“Hmm.” His breath caresses my heated, sun-soaked skin, his fingers toying with all my nerve endings, shooting sparks of awareness all the way from my stomach to my toes.

“I . . .” I swallow hard, my body melting into his touch, wanting to fall into his strong hold, beg him to take me upstairs to his room. “I want to m-make this shot.”

“Then do it, Saucy.” He presses a light kiss along my neck, bolting me upright, my breath hitching in my chest. He runs his hand under the waistline of my bikini from the front of my hipbone, to my back end where his fingers caress the top part of my ass before he pulls out and says, “You got this.”

I so desperately want to make this, not just to shove it up Zoey’s ass, but to see the kind of congratulations I’ll receive from this all-consuming man. Focusing, I swing my arm back and then bring it forward sending the corn filled bag toward the other board. As if in slow motion, I watch it fly over the sand, the air around us stilling as it effortlessly slides across the board and through the hole, scoring our final point.

In shock, I scream, throw my hands to the sky and start running in place. “Ahhh, I did it!”

Zoey kicks the sand in front of her, sending a chunk into Art’s stomach, and then proceeds to stomp off, not wanting to stick around to watch me celebrate. That’s the exact reaction I expected from Zoey. Although the height she got on that sand is impressive. Poor Art.

Wanting someone to cheer with, I turn to find Beck standing behind me, a look of pure pride on his face. Not even giving it a second thought, I leap up into his arms and straddle his waist with my legs. I grip the back of his neck and say, “We won. I did it. I scored a point.”

“I saw, Saucy, and it was sexy as hell watching you score that final point too.”

“I can’t believe I did it. I did it!” I’m bouncing in his arms, feeling indescribably happy.

“You did.” Beck’s hands grip my ass, tightly, and I could care less at this point. I’m on cloud nine right now.”

“Oh just kiss and get it over with,” Victoria says, passing us with another plate of crab cakes and a jar of tartar sauce in hand.

Got to love my friends.

“I think she’s right. We should just get it over with and kiss,” Beck suggests, looking too adorable with his prideful smile and playful eyes.

What I wouldn’t give to kiss him right now, but I won’t. Not here, not with everyone surrounding us. Despite how much it pains me, I pat his cheek and say, “I don’t get involved with teammates. Sorry, dude.”

“What?”

I hop off his body despite his attempt to keep me there and despite my raging hormones. “Never fool around with teammates; it’s the cardinal rule. You’re completely off limits now. Sorry.”

I start to walk away, giving Beck a good show, when he comes chasing after me and snags me around the waist.

“Fuck that. You’re no longer on my team then.” Leaning in close, he places a kiss on the side of my cheek. “Because there is nothing that’s going to get in my way of taking what I want. And what I want is you, Rylee. I want all of you, all night. It’s going to happen, the only question is . . . when.”

From the heavy throb between my legs and the way my stomach is bottoming out from every word muttered from his mouth, I’m assuming it will be soon. It’s going to happen so freaking soon.

* * *

You’re really going to sit over there?”

“Yup.” I take a bite from the Key lime candy I bought earlier. The tart flavor hits my tongue followed by the richness of dark chocolate. The sun set a few hours ago, and the moon casts a glow against the rippling water in front of us, barely giving us a glimpse of the dark ocean waters. It’s gorgeous here. Peaceful, the perfect place to come and relax.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Nope, being cautious. I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me all day, and after reading my book, there is no way I’ll be able to keep my clothes on if I sit over there with your alpha self oozing out of your every pore. It’s why you refuse to put a shirt on. I know it.”

Seriously, the man has only worn a shirt once around me. I get it, Beck, you’re hot, all corded muscle and pretty pecs. Yup, you’re a walking orgasm.

Chuckling, he says, “Maybe I don’t have a shirt on because it’s humid as fuck here, and I’m not into the whole sweating through my clothes thing.”

“Orrr, you’re trying to drive me crazy.”

Leaning over the railing that splits our two balconies, he asks in a low voice, “Is it working?”

“Not even in the slightest,” I answer defiantly with my arms crossed over my chest.

The loudest laugh pops out of his deliciously seductive mouth. “You’re not fooling anyone, Saucy.”

Slightly irritated that his laugh turns me on so damn much, I say, “You know, we don’t always have to talk about sex. We can talk about other things.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“Uhhh.” Think of something. Pecs, penis, abs, arms, all the muscles in your arms, shoes, your big hands—

Shoes?

Yes, shoes.

“Shoes,” I shout, startling Beck in his chair from my sudden outburst.

“What?” he asks, laughter in his voice.

“Do you wear shoes?” Oh for fuck’s sake. Trying to save my idiocy, I add, “You know, since you don’t wear underwear, I was just wondering if you wore shoes.”

From the way his lips are pulled up in the corners, he’s confused and entertained, but he lifts his foot off the propped position of his balcony. “Yup, I wear shoes.”

Duh. Everyone wears shoes.

“Those are sandals.” Might as well keep digging the grave, go all the way, because if anything I’m thorough. “Sandals are a footwear, not a shoe.”

“Thanks for the definition.” Beck chuckles some more. Turning to face me, he places his arms on the rail that divides us and rests his chin on his arms, his eyes easing the tension building in my shoulders. They’re so beautiful, hues of green and gold, so calming, so relaxing. “Do you wear shoes, Rylee?” The way he asks the question, so soft, so deep, I can feel myself getting sucked into his little world, his sexual web.

I nod, the air around us electric, the sexual tension almost making it hard to breathe.

“Good to know.” He reaches over the side and grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet as he leans back.

With his head, he nods over to his side, indicating his intentions of bringing me over to his part of the balcony.

“Get on over here, Saucy.”

“But we’re having a conversation.” I bite my bottom lip, knowing very well that our topic of conversation was the absolute pits. Shoe talk isn’t all that riveting.

“We can converse over here. You can tell me all about the shoes you like to wear.”

Weighing my options, knowing I won’t be able to resist him much longer—even though I know I should—I take a deep breath and let him help me over the rail. When I go to sit on the chair next to him, he stops me and pulls me down on his lap so I’m straddling him.

I take in our little setup and raise an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think this is a conducive position for a conversation.”

“I think it’s perfect.” Scooting back in his chair, he props his legs up on the balcony rail behind me, and places his hands on my thighs. “See? Perfect. I’m comfortable, you’re comfortable; we’re good.” Running this thumbs along my thighs, he says, “Now tell me about your shoes. I’m here to listen. Lay it on me. I want colors, heights, and detailed descriptions about any prints you might have.”

“Stop.” I playfully whack him on the stomach. “I’m nervous, okay?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I twist my hands in my lap, embarrassed about my small confession.

I’m sure you can tell by now that I like to play it cool, that I put on a front. But in all honesty, the reason why I’ve been trying to keep my distance from Beck is because I don’t want to give my heart hope. Because the disappointment that would follow is too crushing. And I know this man could easily give me hope, with one press of his lips against mine, I know he would give me hope for not necessarily love—because that’s entirely too early to say anything like that—but hope for my future, for the future that with every call from my doctor seems to be slowly slipping from my grasp. I’ll never be enough.

Calming my breath, keeping my heart from beating at an abnormal pace, I add, “I don’t do things like this with people I don’t know. I’m not a vacation-fling girl. Despite how much I try to show you how relaxed and chill I am, I’m a ball of nerves inside.” My head falls in front of me, my eyes focused on my hands as they twine together.

Lifting my chin so I’m forced to meet Beck’s soulful eyes, he cups my face and softly says, “Rylee, there is no need to be nervous. I might be flirting with you, but there is no way in hell I would ever do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. Never would I want you to feel like you’re being forced into anything.”

Hell, now I feel guilty. I don’t want Beck thinking he’s forcing me into anything. That’s not the case at all.

“I’m sorry if you felt pressured. That wasn’t my intention—”

I silence him with my finger to his lips. “You didn’t pressure me in any way. If anything, you’ve made me feel sexy, irresistible, a feeling every woman wishes for. I only want you to know I’m nervous, that’s all.”

Beck—kind, funny, good-looking, attentive, thoughtful—he’s the fantasy. No man has ever looked at me the way I’ve described the look in my books. Yet, somehow . . . Beck does, and it doesn’t make sense. I’m never the heroine. There hasn’t been a glimpse of a happily ever after for me. And there may never be . . . “You’re the kind of man I write about, Beck, not the kind of man who finds me attractive.”

“Fuck that shit.” His features turn angry, his grip tightening. “Do you realize the minute I first saw you, it was hard for me to swallow, to even focus on what I was doing? Baby puke and all, I was immediately attracted to you. And then I somehow earned the privilege to get to know you, to hang out with you. Not only are you beautiful, Rylee, but your personality is a huge turn-on.”

My face heats up, my palms start to sweat, and I realize for the first time I’m not good at this. I’m awkward as hell, I don’t know how to take a compliment, I don’t know how to act around an extremely attractive man who’s interested in me, and I have no idea what to say other than to put myself down. I want to argue with him, tell him he has no idea who I really am, what I suffer from, and he should stay far away from me.

“This is crazy,” I say softly. “What’s going to happen here? We have sex and then go our separate ways?”

“No,” he answers matter-of-factly. “We sit here and talk. We sit here and enjoy each other’s company. We sit here and take in the moment, the waves whispering against the rocks beneath us, the moon casting its light on us, and the subtle smell of paradise drifting past us. Soak it in, Rylee. Stop thinking, and just experience it.”

Before I can answer him, he turns me around on his lap so my back is against his chest. He relaxes my head against his shoulder and uses one of his legs to kick up mine so they are propped up like his. He wraps both of his arms around my waist and holds on tightly, his mouth a mere inch away from my ear.

“Relax, Rylee and just feel.”

Closing my eyes, taking Beck’s advice, I feel.

The beat of his heart against my back.

The pressure of his hands on my waist.

The light brush of his leg against mine.

The even rhythm of his breathing.

The way my body so easily melts into his.

My heart beats with his, the matching cadence soothing.

My cheek pressed against his cheek, the brisk scrape of his stubble across my soft skin.

His powerful thighs holding me up.

His soft, yet deep and velvety voice rolling from his lips to my ear.

“Tell me something only a few people know about you.”

To relax me even more, his fingers find their way under my shirt and seductively stroke my hipbone. God, that feels good.

“Something they know?” I try to concentrate on his question, even though all my brain wants to focus on is the tortuous circles. “Okay.” I clear my throat. “I like to write at this little coffee shop in our small town. There is a specific chair I write in that I swear to you is magical. I’ve written some of my best sex scenes in this chair. I mean, if this chair could talk, it would make you blush.” Beck chuckles into my ear.

“You have a lucky chair.”

“I do,” I answer, my body more relaxed than ever. “But that’s not what I’m about to tell you.”

“No? There’s more?”

“Yes.” I pause. “I want it to be known that I’m not proud of this, but I was desperate, okay?”

“Okaaay,” Beck drags out in curiosity.

“Promise not to judge me?”

“If you tell me you started diddling yourself in the coffee shop to get yourself turned on to write a sex scene, I very well might judge you, and you can’t take that away from me.”

Laughing, I playfully pinch him from behind, causing him to shift in his seat.

“Hey, watch it.”

“I didn’t diddle myself in public. God, what is wrong with you?”

His chest rumbles against my back. “What the hell am I supposed to think? You’re talking about this sex chair and how I’m not supposed to judge you for something you did in it. I think everyone would immediately think you diddled yourself in the chair.”

My eyes roll to the sky. Sex chair. Gah! “Men, so disgusting.”

“Okay, so if you didn’t diddle yourself, what did you do?”

I shift so I’m back into my comfortable position. “I was desperate to get through a sex scene, so I walked to the coffee shop, Snow Roast, to sit in my inspiration chair—not sex chair—and when I arrived there was an old lady sitting in it, sipping her coffee.”

“Oh Jesus, I think I know where this is going.”

“I told you I wasn’t proud of what I did.”

“How did you get her out? Please don’t tell me you got into a fistfight with an old lady over a sex chair.”

“Inspiration chair,” I say rather aggressively. “And no, I didn’t fight her. God, I’m not an animal. You see, we live in such a small town that I know almost everyone, and it wasn’t my first encounter with Mrs. Braverman. She’s known to be a squatter. She will spend hours sipping a cold cup of tea, staring off into thin air, not having a worry or care.”

“So you punted her out of the chair.”

“No!” I hold back my smile. “I told her there was a flash sale at Wicks and Sticks.”

“Wicks and Sticks?” Beck’s thumbs continue their pursuit across my skin.

“It’s a candle and incense store in town. Mrs. Braverman is well known for hoarding her scents . . .”

“Oh Rylee.” I can feel Beck shake his head. “You fooled that old lady.”

“I fooled her so hard.” I giggle. “And she snapped out of my chair, grabbed her cane, and booked it down the street.”

“You monster.” Beck chuckles.

“To be fair, I felt really bad while I was writing one of the hottest sex scenes ever. To make it up to her, I gave her a gift basket of candles and incense afterwards.”

Beck squeezes me. “I guess that’s fair. Still, fooling an old lady. That’s just low.”

“I told you not to judge me.”

His stubbled jaw runs along my cheek as he whispers, “Sorry.”

Chills scream their way down my arms and legs, my nipples pucker, and just like that, with one word, all humor vanishes from our little conversation and awareness of this all-consuming man wrapped around me hits me hard.

Gathering myself, I say, “Tell me something Chris and Justine know about you.”

“Hmm.” His thumbs hook under the waistband of my shorts, playing with the lower part of my hipbones. His touch spurs on my pelvis, needing to rock, begging for him to go lower. My toes curl in my sandals and my back slightly arches, reaching for more. “Something they know about me.”

His mouth doesn’t stray from its position against my ear, and his hips start to slowly move underneath me, his legs tangling with mine. Involuntarily, one of my hands hooks the back of his neck as I hold on tightly to him, feeling like I need support from the onslaught of sensation I’m feeling.

I hear him say something, but it doesn’t register in my brain, which has turned to mush as his thumbs stray from my hipbones to right above my pubic bone.

There is no denying how turned on I am, how wet I am from his mere touch, how much—despite my reservations—I want this man.

With each stroke, my head turns farther and farther to the side until our noses are touching, Beck’s head bends forward to meet me halfway. My eyes flutter shut for a brief moment before I open them and am captured by those flecks of green and gold.

The air stills around us, our breath mixing, swirling between us, our lips so close.

One swipe of this thumb.

Another one.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t focus.

Another swipe, my head leans even closer, my tongue wetting my lips.

One more swipe . . .

My heart hammers in my chest, my skin prickling with awareness.

Beck brings his mouth even closer, only a whisper away now, and he waits.

Holding still.

His breathing feeling erratic beneath me.

One.

More.

Swipe.

And I’m gone.

I bring my mouth to his, slowly parting my lips ever so slightly, just enough to maneuver my mouth across his.

A low, provocative moan escapes Beck as one of his hands snags the back of my head and holds me in place, almost as if he lets go, I’ll disappear.

Needing more, I shift on his lap so I’m straddling him once again, my hands on his bare chest, feeling the powerful sinew that holds him together.

Our lips press and mold, mingling, taking, begging . . .

Desperate.

Beck’s tongue runs against my bottom lip, eliciting a moan from deep within me, lighting a fire so hot, so wild, my hands start to travel up his neck to his cheeks where I grip him, positioning his head so when I open my mouth, I can expertly dive my tongue onto his.

He groans, his lap shifting against mine now, his hard-on pressing against my wet and throbbing center. I match his rocking, using my position on his lap to take advantage of his length I can feel through his board shorts.

This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen, but God, am I happy it has. Maybe I really should live in the moment, maybe I should take advantage of the opportunity, maybe I should…

“Woo, yeah, get it on!” Zoey screams from below us, immediately shooting me off Beck’s lap and into the rail behind me, causing me to lose my balance.

With cat-like reflexes, Beck catches my arm and steadies me, his eyes aware but heady with lust, his breathing as erratic as mine.

“Don’t let us disturb you,” Zoey calls out once again. “Just taking a midnight stroll.”

“Yup, that’s great.” I give her a thumbs up with one hand as the other is holding on to Beck, our eyes never breaking contact.

“Have a good night, you two.” She makes an obnoxious catcall and then disappears with Art, I’m assuming. Thanks, Zoey. Thanks a lot.

After what seems like forever staring at Beck, disbelief in my mind, he beckons me back to his lap with a little tug of his hand, but I resist, feeling like the moment has passed. Hating that the moment has passed.

“I should get to bed. Big day tomorrow and everything. Never crashed a wedding before. Should probably do some research on how to do it. Don’t want to be that wedding crasher who doesn’t follow protocol. Maybe I should watch the movie, really brush up on my rules. What does Vince Vaughn say?” I bite my lip and try to think back to the movie. “Rule number seventy-six: no excuses, play like a champion.”

“Rylee . . .”

I point at Beck and say, “You should catch up on the rules too. I want to make sure my date doesn’t screw this up. I refuse to be kicked out of a wedding because you didn’t pay attention to details.” I steal my hand back from Beck and before he can stop me, I hop over to my balcony. “Don’t forget, rule number seven: blend in by standing out.” I touch my nose and then point at Beck again. “Blend in by standing out, don’t forget that.” I trip over a chair on my blind pursuit to my door. “Ouch, rule number fifty-five: watch where you’re going.” I unattractively snort. “Rule number eighty-two: leave the snorting for the pigs.”

Rule number five hundred: shut the hell up, Rylee.

“Okay, yup, good night.” I give him a solid salute—because that’s what awkward people do—and head into my room but not before I can hear Beck blow out a long breath and mutter, “Fuck.”

Yeah, I’m right there with you, buddy.