Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Oooh, I loooove a theme!” Kaitlyn singsongs. “But maybe ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ instead?”
Maybe she could sing with Hope? I’d play if I had my guitar, but singing? Nope, not me.
I don’t know what happens. I might’ve blacked out from hyperventilating for a second if I’m honest, but the next thing I know, I’m holding a cheap guitar from the resort’s music room and fucking with the strings, trying to get them in tune. Hope is sitting beside me, looking up at me like I hung the moon and can fix the world. Or at least fix tonight for one sad little girl who’s curled up in her dad’s lap by the fire.
“I’m not a singer, but I know the words, so . . . ,” Hope tells everyone.
“If you sing, you’re a singer. That’s all it takes,” Richard encourages her.
If only it were that easy.
Hope starts slowly. Her smile is warmer than the fire, her eyes sparkling brighter than the stars. She looks at me expectantly, and I want to sing with her—I swear I do—but I clench my teeth and play the accompanying tune. It’s the most I can do.
A few other voices join her, singing along, and Hope begins to sway. And still, I play. There are some decent voices in the group but several that are really off-key. No matter what, they all sing, finding acceptance and camaraderie.
Hope leans into my shoulder like she wants to be as close to me as possible, but the guitar is in her way, keeping her from climbing into my lap. Still, she smiles up at me like she’s making sure I feel how special this moment is.
I do. I feel it. I feel her.
It helps my fears fade, if only for tonight, and for the first time, I sing in front of people as me, Ben Taylor. I don’t have a mask, I’m not wearing body paint and a costume, and nobody is yelling my stage name. I’m . . . me. And yet it’s okay.
My voice doesn’t crack. I don’t pass out. I don’t forget the words.
“G’night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Richard calls out. Everyone answers with some version of good night as they peel off, heading to their cottages.
Hope’s hand is entwined in mine as we walk. The buzz of her hand on my chest earlier was fire. This is gasoline on an inferno.
All night, I’ve watched her, felt her watching me, and enjoyed the slow burn of this thing between us as we looked into each other’s eyes, seeing so much more than the reflection of the fire. Eventually, she pressed her leg against mine, and her breath went jagged when I responded by laying my palm on her jean-clad thigh.
And now we’re about to be alone, behind a locked door, in the darkness, where anything can happen. It’s a chance at heaven, and I know exactly what I want.
Daylight comes, bright and cleansing, showing all you’d rather hide, no use pretending.
I need to remember that so I can hold myself back. Hope’s feeling wild and free tonight, but she’s not a casual, one-night-stand kind of girl. Tomorrow will come, and I don’t want to be something she regrets. And it’s not fair that she only knows a part of me, given that what I’m keeping from her is such a big piece of my life.
I unlock the door and let her go in first. I take a steadying breath, giving myself one last reminder that I am not going to throw Hope against the nearest supportive surface and bury my tongue in her, worshipping her the way she should be.
That sounds like a great idea.
No. It doesn’t. Not for her, and she’s what’s important. Not my dick.
The lamp in the living room provides a warm glow, making Hope’s profile look soft and hazy, but her chin is dropped and she’s nervously twisting her fingers. She’s about to tell me that she can’t do what she’s played at all night, and I’m about to go bed alone and rock-hard for her.
Which is fine. If she says no, then to my hand I can go.
“Hope—” I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to be scared. I’m not going to attack her, I’m not going to shame her for having a little fun flirting, and I’m not expecting her to follow through on it.
She looks up at me through her lashes and interrupts me. “You remember how you said that I should say what I like and what I don’t like?”
Instantly, I know what she’s talking about. Our conversation in the water. She’d been so responsive, even if she hadn’t realized it. Watching her breath catch, her nipples stiffen to diamond points, and her thighs clench beneath the surface was sexy as fuck.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice going quiet and gruff. It held through the singing when I expected it to give, but now, it’s all but choked in my throat because more than anything, I want to hear what Hope likes, want to know every single thing that brings her pleasure.