I, Cole Lancaster, am a royal asshole.
I freely admit it.
I kissed Eliza and avoided her for days rather than talking about it like a normal human being.
Then, instead of admitting I lost my head and have no idea what it means, I dragged her into my bed.
I fucked her without shame or mercy or common sense—and I enjoyed every scalding second of it.
Now, there’s a whole hell of a lot more to talk about.
The brain meltdown could rival Chernobyl, and I still don’t want to talk.
I want to ravage her again, tangle her around me, whisper filthy promises, and watch her stare at me with fuck-me eyes I don’t deserve.
Of course, she just has to be a hellcat in the sheets.
So shy at first, and then wild enough to need taming.
She’s delicate and needy and so goddamned good for me she’s bad. Like any helpless addict, I’m already jonesing for another hit, and ready to throw the consequences to the wind.
“Cole, you with me? Does that sound good?” Troy reaches across the table with a dimpled grin and flicks me between the eyes.
“Ah, fuck you,” I mutter, swatting his hand away.
He laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever done.
“Do that again, and you’re fired,” I snap.
“Had to get your attention somehow. It worked, didn’t it?” He settles back in his seat with an assessing glance. “So, the price lock for the Winthrope proposal. You sure you’re good with decoupling from fair market value for those beans?”
“Yeah. It’s only for five years.” It takes too long to remember Brock Winthrope wanting a price guarantee on the peaberry beans being supplied to his resorts.
I need to get my shit together.
Too many people’s futures are on the line for errors, and errors are all too likely when I’m painfully consumed by Eliza.
“You seem distracted. Everything okay?” Troy studies my face.
I can’t help but smile. I’m better than I’ve felt in years.
“Yeah. I’m good, and so is Dess.”
“You look different. Almost like a man who’s waking up with a reason to smile again—or is it waking up with someone?” he asks excitedly.
“None of your business,” I bite off.
“Is it Miss E-lectric?”
His moronic nickname makes me cringe, even if I can’t deny the current Eliza jolts through my soul.
Plus, I’ve known this man since I was nineteen. He doesn’t give up easily.
“Not appropriate. How many times do I have to tell you, Troy? She works for me. For us. Lay off of her and my damn sex life while you’re at it.”
He rolls his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Somebody’s touchy.” He lowers his voice. “And somebody definitely got laid.”
Christ.
My look could cut him open from his balls to his chin.
Before I can lay into him again, the door to my library office swings open.
“Daddy, there’s a bunch of turtles up the beach! Want to check them out?” Destiny stands there with a golden tan, her coral-pink shades already pulled over her eyes.
There’s my excuse to shut Troy down. I stand.
“Yeah, baby girl.” And then we can do anything you want because you just saved my ass.
I go to meet her at the door.
“I’ll tell my people we’re on for the price lock then,” Troy calls after me. “Oh yeah, and nice save, Lancaster.”
“What’s he mean?” Destiny asks, giving me a puzzled look.
“Who knows. Your Uncle Troy isn’t right in the head,” I mutter.
“Dad, that’s mean!” She smacks my arm. “But let’s see if Eliza wants to come…”
Oh, fuck.
Just hearing her name and knowing she might show up with too much skin hanging out makes my cock twitch.
Oh, fuck, no.
No, I can’t be doing this.
“She’s probably busy,” I warn. And I’m still not sure what this is, Eliza teaching my daughter to enjoy the ocean while I teach Eliza how to surf waves of ecstasy she never imagined.
“We should at least ask,” Dess says insistently.
I shrug, holding in a huge sigh.
If I’m already in hell, I’d might as well get comfortable with the heat.
“I suppose we could—hey!”
I don’t even finish the sentence before Destiny takes off, running around the house and looking for Eliza. I’m equally relieved and disappointed when she doesn’t find her.
“Dess, I have a meeting at three o’clock. If you want to go see these turtles, we’d better go now, or we won’t be able to.”
“Okay!” She leads the way down to the beach, bounding out the back door.
Halfway to the supposed turtle nest, I pass the spot where Eliza pulled that ridiculous little pipe from her pocket and brewed coffee on the sand. The same place where we first kissed.
Damn, she makes me come alive in such dangerous ways.
“Dad, did you hear me?” Destiny asks.
“What?”
“Can we get a smoothie? I’m so thirsty. There’s a stand up there.”
I look up and see a couple beach bums with a makeshift smoothie and acai bowl stand.
“Sure. It would be refreshing,” I say.
Dammit. I’ve turned into a sap.
A few minutes later with a banana-coconut drink in hand that I really wish had rum, we find the heap of green sea turtles up the beach. They’ve already been roped off by the authorities to keep them safe from dumbass tourists. Destiny wades into the water past the ropes, hoping for a closer look.
“Give them their space, Dess. They’re a protected species!” I call.
She whips around with a mortified look.
“Um, yeah, I know. Since 1978, Dad, I looked it up. Their protection is almost as old as you, Boomer.”
“I’m not old enough to be a Boomer, Zoomer brat,” I grind out.
What if she’s serious about this marine biology thing?
Am I really happy with a lifetime ahead of my holier-than-thou daughter jamming her wisdom up my ass?
I find a big piece of driftwood on the beach and sit, holding her smoothie while I gulp down mine until the paper straw collapses.
Protected species or not, the lazy turtles have a mind of their own. One of them waddles into the water and swims up to her like a big dog with flippers, poking its head above the surface as soon as Dess surfaces.
They’re almost face-to-face and she bursts out laughing before the beast ducks down again and swims off.
“Dad, did you see that?” She turns to look at me with a smile that’s pure joy.
I smile back, watching her hold her hands up to the evening sun like she’s giving thanks to the universe.
In a single moment, she’s a young woman and a kid again all at once, bursting with wonder. My kind, excitable, happy daughter, bobbing in the water without a hint of the tragedy that unfolded on this beach.
I give her a thumbs-up, refusing to let my mind crawl back there.
If only I had my turtles.
If only I had somewhere else to go besides Eliza and the filthy ways I want to defile her pretty little face. She struggled so sweetly just to fit me—and not nearly long enough.
I want to fuck her into the next century a thousand different ways.
I want her body molded to my cock, ruined for anyone else.
I want to take every hole, bend her over, and press her face deep into the mattress.
I want her to bite the bed as she screams my fucking—
“I love these guys. I’m gonna miss them so much.” Destiny appears at my side, the smoothie I was holding already in her hand. She sucks her drink down loudly.
Goddamn.
Where is my mind? Is it ever coming back?
I glance at her. “Yes, I think we’ve established your love for everything that swims.”
“Oh, Dad. Definitely not everything. Weren’t you listening the other day when Uncle Troy tried to tell me about sea worms? I mean, they’re interesting, but yuck. No parasites for me.”
“Got it. We’ll find you a program that only lets you work with cute animals then. I’m sure it’ll be a breeze.”
Her jaw drops at my sarcasm and she rolls her eyes.
Fine. I had that coming.
I’ve got to do some Googling and find out what the career path is for marine biologists. Damn, why couldn’t she just take over Wired Cup? This would be much easier.
At least I manage to avoid Eliza and the impending hell-discussion about feelings or whatever the fuck for the rest of the evening as I sign off from my last meeting with finance back in Seattle.
If only I were just as happy to avoid her all night too.
By the following evening, it’s been a day and too damn long since I saw her.
She’s not in her lab when I go searching, so I look around outside. On the other side of the house, a few yards away, I see smoke curling up in the distance.
I think it’s the old picnic area with its fire pit and laid stones where my grandparents would host luaus and barbecues ages ago.
Something tells me to follow it.
My nostrils tingle as I close in and see a small, familiar figure with curves that make my body knot.
She’s sitting in front of the fire pit, brewing coffee over an open flame in a small pot balanced over it.
Out here, we’re alone, surrounded by lush vegetation and a makeshift wall on one side. I sit down beside her.
“You fired up the old fire pit for brewing?” I ask.
“Why struggle with a lab grill when I can do better out here? This is a real campfire, a lot like what Wyatt used to brew the original stuff.”
“Wyatt?”
“The guy who gave me the original idea back when he was homeless. The latest flavor is mine, but he was a huge help with the original technique,” she explains. “I tried to see if he wanted to help refine it before I started working for you, actually, but he’s busy with his girlfriend and a real job and all…”
My jaw relaxes when I hear the word girlfriend.
Fuck. I hadn’t even realized I’d gone full jealous Neanderthal.
My growl is still neolithic when I reach for her, pulling her into my lap with a startled squeal. “You spend too much time on your feet. I have a better idea. It’s after nine, Eliza. Why not end your day at a decent hour?”
She turns, devastating me with this moonlit smile that turns her eyes into amber gems.
“Because, Lump. We’re both horrible perfectionists.”
I smile. “I thought it was pretty close to solid? Don’t tell me any of the staff gave you a bad review at the tasting?” I run my finger around the nape of her neck.
“No, but some of the comments were really helpful for making tweaks. Especially from the household staff—they know what fresh Kona coffee should taste like when they’re getting it every day from the farm.” She relaxes against my chest. “Also, I know you think my stuff is perfect, but you’re biased.”
“Bull. You were talented long before you bewitched me,” I growl.
She giggles.
“Is your boss really such a hardass tyrant that you’re afraid to quit working before ten at night?”
“My boss is a big softie. He doesn’t scare me—not much—I just like doing things right,” she whispers, tracing my jaw with her finger.
“A brat like you doesn’t startle easy. One of your best qualities. Then again, so is this.” I cup her face, relishing her softness before I bring it home.
I lean down, kissing her until her moan flutters against my mouth, all teeth and tongue and seething breath.
“Oh!” She pulls away from me and gasps. “Wait. Let me get this fire out.”
“I’ll do it. You have another fire to tend to,” I say, unbuckling my belt.
She blushes. Her eyes are already glued to the angry ridge in my pants.
Fuck, everything about this woman is damn right adorable.
Once the fire is extinguished, she gets up, ready to go to my room.
I lead her back to our spot with wonder in her eyes.
“Why take you inside when I can have you under the stars?” I whisper. “You’ve brought a perfectly good blanket.”
She bites her lip and doesn’t protest as I throw it over the grass next to the rocks.
Then, with one last lingering feral look, it’s fucking on.
I lean over her, tearing off her dress, stamping my hungry mouth down her bare flesh until her leg curls around my waist. I trail kisses down her body until I’m on my knees, stopping over her panties to inhale her deeply.
Her scent fucking unglues me.
My fingers barely have the patience to shove her panties aside before my mouth is on her, loving how she gasps. Her knees give instantly and I fold my arm around her ass, holding her up against my shoulder as I eat my fill.
“Cole! Holy shit—”
I’m glad that my tongue on her clit chokes her off. There’s nothing remotely holy about what I’m doing to her pussy, growling as I push my face into her.
I make her ride my beard, dragging its roughness against her inner thighs each time I breathe before my tongue plunges into her again.
I could tongue-fuck Eliza Angelo morning, noon, and night.
Her taste, her cream, the way she tenses as my mouth sweeps over her drives me to the brink of insanity.
Maybe that’s why I’m so urgent to push her over the edge, too far gone to stretch this out as much as I’d like.
I want her to come for me, dammit, to paint my fucking face with the force and the glory of her fireworks.
So when she rasps “Cole!” I grab her ass hard, digging my fingers in, holding her up like a willing prisoner as I drag her nub between my teeth and lash her with my tongue.
Her hand finds my shoulders and her fingers dig in—hard enough to bruise.
I need it, honestly.
I need the hint of pain because it’s the only thing that keeps me from shooting off in my pants, my cock straining against the fabric when her legs shake frantically and her head tosses back.
She screams herself hoarse into the night.
Then it’s all Eliza coming real sweet for me, her pussy convulsing on my face, leaving me drenched from nose to chin.
I am this desperate, damned thing, drinking every bit of her as she comes apart, as she gives up the first orgasm of many I promise to thieve out of her tonight.
When she’s coming down from her high in my arms and I’m breathing again, I hold her, stroking her soft mahogany hair while the breeze licks our slick skin.
“Cole. God. I’m—that was—”
I hold a finger to her lips, loving how she stutters.
“A favor. Now here’s your chance to return it,” I say, falling down on the blanket, a hard-on like steel still trying to rip through my pants.
Her shocked look turns to glee when her eyes rake over me.
I can’t believe how much I enjoy the feeling of her hands opening my pants, parting them, releasing me.
She gives my dick a few rough strokes with her eyes gleaming before I mutter one word.
“Suck,” I order, lacing my fingers through her hair as she leans over me.
It’s goddamned glorious watching her figure out how to take me.
She doesn’t have it easy, but she tries, slowly fitting my swollen head in her mouth.
I never even push her head down, but she still gags.
Probably ten times before she’s able to work her way even a third down my shaft, her eyes glowing with determination.
And it’s the way she looks at me with my cock in her mouth that makes my balls pull up, the come inside them burning me from the inside out.
I don’t know how I keep it together with her tongue swiping under my crown, her soft lips pulling at my flesh, her hair hanging wildly around her face in messy tufts.
She’ll still look like a woman who’s been freshly fucked for sure, regardless of whether I throw my load down her throat.
A couple minutes in, and my throat becomes sandpaper.
My hands dig at the blanket, the ground.
I’m shaking with a low murmur trapped in my throat as she finds her rhythm, her little hand caressing my balls as she sucks.
“Eliza, goddammit,” I rumble, fisting her hair. “No.”
I jerk her head back just when I’m on the brink.
Her wet pussy won’t leave my head, and I’m ravenous to fill her up, as much as a sinister part of me also wants to leave ropes hanging off her face.
She looks at me, eyes asking if she’s done something wrong.
I reassure her with a deep, growling kiss before I flip her over, making my intentions clear.
I push my boxers down—remembering to rummage around in my pocket for a condom at the last second.
Fuck.
I’m so far gone I almost pushed inside her raw, and if I had, I would have spilled every drop of come in her womb.
It’s like she knows it too. She moans as I roll the rubber on and bury myself inside her, ass up and pussy tight and ready.
Fuck the moon and stars and sea breezes and torch light. This might be the most romantic place on Earth, but for us, it’s debauchery central.
I can’t bring myself to fuck her slow, knowing I won’t last long.
I drive in, making her lush ass ripple with every impact, loving how she meets every punishing thrust.
We move together.
Melt together.
Rut together.
We cling to each other as we fight for breath, her little hands falling into mine as she reaches over her head.
I hold her tight as I drive into her, our breath drumming into the night as the pleasure intensifies.
Soon, she butchers my name with a shriek that announces her orgasm.
Ecstasy picks me up and slams me back into myself as her pussy tightens around my cock, throbbing and squeezing, sucking me off.
My spine goes electric.
White-hot fire hits my brain, and then I’m just one long growl, spilling myself inside her, both of us seeing stars that belong to something far darker than the night.
We don’t even speak when we’re sane enough to stand again.
I just wrap her in the blanket and fix my clothes, carrying her to my room.
There, we pick up right where we left off.
We don’t even stop for dinner, barely breaking for water to replenish the sweat soaked into the sheets. I’ve fucked her three times—every which way from Sunday—before I take the notion to pull her into a cool, crisp shower and call in a late-night food order to the kitchen.
I never showered with Aster. She was so private, always pushing me away when I offered.
With Eliza, it feels too natural, the way we take turns washing each other off between kissing and wandering hands. And when we’re finally clean, we have to get dirty again, my hands guiding hers to the wall and my lips against her ear.
“Destiny lied. There’s no badger in you. You’re all fucking honey,” I snarl. “You, Eliza, are becoming my fucking addiction.”
She replies with a loud moan, and I show her just how dependent I am, pounding her into the wall.
I wish we could spend an entire week like this, locked in the room naked. One long conversation spoken in shrill whimpers and guttural groans.
But she leaves around sunup, before there’s a chance to truly discuss anything.
This pattern continues for a few more days—carefully avoiding her during work hours so I don’t have to talk about exactly what the hell it is we’re doing at night.
I’m worried my addiction might be literal. It hurts to go twenty-four hours without her.
Then one morning, I wake up to the hot sun pouring through the window, painting Eliza in a warm glow. She’s still nestled in the covers with my arms around her.
She stayed.
More than that, I realize how much jealousy pulses through my blood, how I don’t want her to be anywhere else.
I pull her closer, cradle her to my chest, and plant a kiss on her head.
This is the most taboo kind of ecstasy.
Not just because she’s an employee.
My wife—the only other woman I’ve ever shared this bed with—died within walking distance of here.
Having another woman here should be the worst kind of mind fuck.
Should be, but it’s not.
Why does it feel so perfect, fucking her ever-loving brains out in this godforsaken place?
Is Kona turning my wheel of fate again?
I wonder.
Is there any chance Eliza Angelo could be my new beginning, rather than another heart-ripping disaster?
Hours later, I find Eliza at her fire pit, diligently working with no trace of the sex hair I left last night.
“Aren’t you suffocating out here? It’s noon and there’s not a cloud in the sky,” I say, wiping sweat from my brow.
She shrugs. “I mean, yeah, it’s hot, but I need to get this right. Eighteen years in San Diego got me pretty used to the sun.”
“How many drinks do you have ready with the peaberry brew? Including espresso.”
She thinks for a second. “Five.”
“Good. Brock Winthrope is flying in with his team tomorrow for a personal tasting. I’ll need your best batch ready.”
She nods but her face goes pale with panic.
“Don’t tell me you’re nervous? Eliza, your drinks are impeccable, and I’ll do most of the talking. You just work your magic. Present your ambrosia, and if someone has a question, answer it. Otherwise, you’ll just be standing by for your accolades.”
She manages a weak smile.
“I hope it goes that well. This is a high-end crowd and it has to blow their hair back.” She sighs. “I should probably kill the fire and start working on answers for question time. I know the presentation matters just as much as the drinks.”
“How long do you need to brew it in the morning?” I sit down beside her.
“A few hours for a big batch, if you want to showcase everything.” She looks at me with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. “Normally, I’d be terrified. I probably wouldn’t sleep all night. But I have to say, the past ten days have been pretty incredible.”
“No argument here.” I push a strand of loose brown hair out of her eyes. “Glad you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have. Without you, this trip would’ve been a lot less enlightening…”
Before she can ask what that means, I bring my lips to hers in a feverish kiss.
She meets me with the same passion and urgency she always does.
This is the storm I’ll miss if Seattle means different weather. How the fuck can I live without her energy, her brightness, her sugar and spice and so much life?
We spend the next hour brewing another test batch, talking and kissing.
“I’ll miss the beach when we’re gone. Same goes for the scenery,” she says.
The way her eyes sweep over me says she isn’t just talking about the unique view.
“You visit home, don’t you?”
“It’s not the same. I don’t even know if I’ll ever be on this island again. I should spend more time in San Diego, though. It’s been a couple years…”
My heart slams against my chest at the thought of this hellion being anywhere I’m not.
“You’re not going to do something stupid like leave Seattle, are you?” I whisper.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” She gives me a coy smile.
It’s jarring how my cock hardens jealously while my fist pulses at my side.
The peaberry coffee aroma is pervasive. Normally I’d welcome it, but I hate how it drowns out her scent.
Eliza ladles a steaming black liquid into a cup, blows on it for a few seconds, and sips it slowly. “Hmm. I think I like it.”
She hands it to me then.
I take a small whiff and toss the drink back with a satisfied grunt.
“Tastes like Kona. All the Hawaiian islands, actually. What is it?”
“Peaberry beans with a dab of toasted coconut and salt.”
“Salt? What made you think of adding salt? Your father’s prank?”
She looks down and smiles shyly.
“Out here, you always taste the salt in the air when the trade winds blow just right. This might be the best week and a half of my life. I thought about how I’d remember it in a drink once I’m home. If I could put Hawaii in a cup, what would that taste like? And three distinct flavors came to mind. Salt water, coconut, and coffee…”
I stare at her, mystified.
“It’s so rare to find someone with a mind just as fucking incredible as their body,” I say.
Her face heats with that redness I’ve come to love.
“Not sure about that. But I need to get this fire out so I can get started on the boring stuff for tomorrow—uh, no offense.” She stands.
I help her extinguish the fire.
She passes me, heading inside.
I catch her arm and she meets my eyes.
“I’ll see you before tomorrow, right?”
Her face lights up and she nods, leaning in for a kiss I’m too happy to oblige.
But as I release her reluctantly so she can walk on ahead of me for appearances, I know how fucking deep I’m digging my hole.
It’s only a matter of time before someone sees us together.
Hell, it wouldn’t take much for Destiny to spot us and start asking questions.
Then my life goes up in a puff of doubts and lies that can’t possibly fit together.
Then I remember how stupidly reckless I am.
The next morning, I wake up at five to a blaring Taylor Swift song.
Eliza is dressed and moving to the door, her hair shining and freshly brushed.
“Sneaking out on me again?” I say, bolting up.
She turns and grins at me. I wait with my arms crossed while she prances back to the bed, leans over it, and kisses me passionately.
“You’re not that lucky, lunk. Today’s the big day and I have four drinks to prep for the big meeting,” she says.
“Otherwise, we’d be waking up together in an hour?”
Her smile shouts yes.
I pull her face back down for another devilish kiss.
“Should I expect to wake up to Taylor Swift every damn time your alarm goes off?”
She laughs, smacking my shoulder playfully.
“Any chance I can convert you to Metallica—or at least Green Day?” I try again.
“None. And unless you want to look bad in front of your billionaire buddy, I’d better get these drinks—and myself—ready.”
“You’re dedicated. I like it.”
“See ya soon.” Eliza slips out of my room.
Once I’m up, showered, and dressed, I find Destiny lounging around at the massive dining table on the second floor that overlooks a dreamy sunrise stolen from a Monet painting.
“Hey, I know my work bores you to tears, but I need you to come to a meeting with me today.”
“Why?” she asks, tilting her head like I just asked for her wisdom teeth.
“It’s with Brock Winthrope, and it’s an important negotiation,” I tell her.
“Oh.” She plunks her juice glass down. “He’s really hot.”
“And far too old for you,” I growl.
“Just sayin’. Lighten up, Daddykins.”
“Since he has an Instagram and I can barely use it, will you come?”
“Yeah. But are you gonna let me talk?”
“You’re fifteen. I’m not sure you’re ready to hold your own in meetings yet. However, negotiating skills will always serve you well. Even if you do most of your talking with sea lions.”
“What-ever. You just can’t use Instagram and your big client man has his own hashtag. He’s got like, whole fan accounts that post pictures of him in his suit with messy hair… Doesn’t he run hotels or something?”
I almost facepalm. “I see his social media presence serves his brand well. Regardless, I’d like you to come. Preferably without drooling at his ‘messy hair.’”
“Dad, I’m not a prop. If you just want me to stand in the background, what’s the point?”
“You’re not a prop. You’re my daughter. This company will still be yours one day, whether you’re running it or leaving it to your managers while you write a book on talking to whales. You have a vested interest in its success and your continuing education.”
She huffs the purest teenage indignation I’ve ever heard.
“Start acting the part,” I say. “By the time I was your age, I’d spent three summers in the office. I never even had time for movies.”
I turn away when I realize how fucked up my youth sounds.
She puts down her phone with another huff and stares at me like I’m the unreasonable one.
“I’ve been to the office every summer, too. Checkmate,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Except I was actually working.”
“…it still counts. God, Dad.”
“You’re coming to the damn meeting.”
“I’m talking then if Mr. Brock has a question.”
“If he has a question for you,” I grind out.
“Uh, okay. By the way, your crusty vibe died in like 1849.”
“If he asks you to weigh in on the coffee, you can give the keynote speech,” I snarl. It’s weird how much you can love your own blood when they also piss you off at every turn. “Any chance you brought something professional to wear?”
“Yep! Because I planned on making a board presentation for a gazillion dollars.” She rolls her eyes. “Can I wear my bikini? That’s formal, right? I mean, it’s black.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping for a full dose of that peaberry brew and not one of those little tasting cups. I’ll need it to chase back this headache.
Still, after I lunge and tickle her until she laughs, I hug her for a solid minute.
My little smartass is growing up.
