Page 68 of Against The Tide

It’s so freaking sexy. The thought makes me blush with how close we are. It sounds so loud in my head that I’m certain he can hear my internal swooning over him.

It hits me then that I don’t want him to take over. I want to kiss him.

Licking over his lips, I twist my fingers into his hair, like he twisted his hands into mine earlier. The low, pleasured rumble that vibrates from him makes my heart race. My skin feels alive all on its own as the soft breeze wisps over it.

When I kiss the perfectly defined dip of his cupid’s bow, Rhett opens his mouth a fraction, enough that my bottom lip slips between his. Letting myself go, I deepen our kiss, savoring the roll of his tongue with mine, the way his groans meld with my soft moans into an electric melody that amps up the need to get closer.

God, I want him so bad.

If I could sink into him completely, I would. This blissful feeling of being wanted in return is so heady, leaving me giddy and wanton.

Wanton. I can’t remember ever feeling like this. I can’t remember ever kissing anyone like this. Like my entire life depends on the taste and feel and connection of our mouths. I thought I disliked these kinds of kisses, but it’s obvious that it wasn’t the action, it was the man. And the man I’m kissing now is unlike any other I’ve ever known.

Although I don’t want to stop, I need to come up for air. With my lungs burning and my heart thundering, I touch my forehead to his. The tips of our noses press to one another, our bodies completely flush.

The feel of his hardening cock pressed to my belly makes me squirm.

I did that. My kiss did that.

Gleeful pride spreads through me. I’m enthralled by the feeling, completely thrilled.

“You are not ugly,” I rasp, opening my eyes to find him already watching me.

Rhett chuckles, nudging the tip of his nose over mine playfully even as his arms tighten around me right before he presses a lingering, chaste kiss to my semi-gaping mouth.

I am on cloud nine as he walks backward, keeping me as snug to him as possible while at the same time he doesn’t deviate his sparkling eyes from me.

“This is pretty,” I tell him even though I don’t turn away.

And he is gorgeous.

My internal swoon elicits a muted sigh from deep down inside me. It’s got to be impossible for him not to hear the drumming of my heart as I take in his long lashes, dark blond and thick like his hair.

The sky is beginning to purple as he guides me to the front of the boat. A small picnic hamper sits to the side of a cushion-scattered blanket. To the side of that is a wine cooler with a bottle of the same sparkling grape juice from our picnic last weekend.

“I was going to take you to one of the nice restaurants in town, but I wanted you all to myself with no distractions. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” I take a sharp breath to steady the giddiness inside me. It doesn’t work, though.

“Don’t worry, it’s not cheese.” Chuckling, he presses a kiss to my hair.

I’m completely overwhelmed as I swallow down the staggering emotions stirring inside me and hug him as tight as I can. It’s not hot and heavy—it’s the only way I can thank him for his thoughtfulness without bursting into tears. Happy tears, of course, but even so, I don’t want to complicate the moment with them.

Rhett lowers to the blanket slowly, hands skimming down my hips to my thighs and tracing down my legs to my ankles where he slips off my sandals. My hand clutches to his shoulder to stop myself from falling, and when our eyes catch—mine lowered and his raised—he touches a kiss to the side of my hip. Even over my dress, the contact singes my skin.

He does it again and again as his hands creep higher to the backs of my thighs before he pulls me down between his. They’re hard beneath my hands, his chino shorts straining around the muscled flesh.

Rhett rests a hand on my waist as I lean into his chest. We sit for a while as the sky takes on a peachy hue and the sun lowers into the horizon, painting the edges of the clouds a deep gold.

“So, I know you’ve swam with sharks, and you have a weird appreciation for terrible movies. You don’t mix your food on your plate, and mucking out isn’t your thing.”

“Oh God, don’t!” I laugh, and as if it is contagious, he joins in. “It was a disaster. All my time working with aquariums and managing all the super-technical stuff, none of it prepared me to scoop up horse shit.”

Automatically, my hand smacks my lips. It’s the first time I’ve cursed in front of him. It slipped out, aided by the distracting excitement coursing through me.

“It’s okay, you can say shit. Shit is pretty standard around here, closely followed by fuck.”

My face heats with the flush creeping up from my chest.