Out Of The Blue (The Wrong Bed #12)(21)

So intent was she on her thoughts—and keeping one eye peeled on the shoreline—that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her until it was too late.

"Hannah."

With a startled gasp, she whirled quickly. She couldn't help it—the deep and unbearably familiar voice unsettled both her pulse, and then unfortunately, her balance.

Pies sailed high in the air.

Hannah had time to let out a scream of frustration before they came back down … directly on her. With a sharply indrawn breath—they were ice-cold!—she lifted her head, and glared at Zach.

Strawberries dripped off her chin, her shoulders, her chest. The gooey sauce ran down her dress, sticking to her skin, which was now clammy. Crust crumpled and hit the ground, along with the two tins that had been holding the pies together.

"What a mess!" Dropping to her knees, she stared in dismay at the disaster.

Zach set down his surfboard, then hit his knees too. "Let me help."

"You've done enough!"

He gathered the tins. Then he sat back on his heels and looked at her seriously. "I'm sorry." But his mouth curved suspiciously.

"Yeah, you look real sorry." Actually he looked … as mouthwateringly good as the strawberry pies smelled. He was still wet from the ocean, his wide shoulders and smooth, sleek chest gleamed. His exhaustion seemed to have vanished, his eyes sparkled with life, and his mouth… Lord, that mouth. It was curved softly, reminding her of all she wanted.

It's all in the body language, Tara had said.

So she gave that a shot, softening her expression, leaning in a little, giving him the best come-hither look she could manage.

"I am sorry," he said in a voice suddenly hushed with … with that thing that existed between them. His smile scrambled her brain. "Hannah, you're looking at me in that way, that way that makes me lose my train of thought. Stop it."

"I can't. Maybe you'd better stop looking at me."

"I can't. Let me…" And he leaned close, close enough that she could see his eyes darken, close enough to smell the outdoorsy, oceany, male scent of him.

Their knees touched, and Hannah thought she shouldn't feel weak just being in such close confines with him.

But then he did something that made her far weaker. "I have to taste you," he whispered. "Have to." He dipped his head and dragged his hot, open mouth over her bare shoulder, lapping at some of the strawberry goo there.

"Oh, my," she heard herself whisper as her body reacted by trembling. It was in the body language! Hallelujah! She'd gotten it right!

He did it again, took another little nip, working his way across her collarbone to her other shoulder, before backtracking, lingering at the base of her throat, and Hannah could have sworn her eyes crossed with lust.

If he kept it up, she would dissolve into a little puddle of longing at his feet. "Zach—"

"Tell me this is stupid."

"This is stupid. Don't you dare stop."

A laugh escaped him, one that sounded more like a groan. His mouth took hers then, swallowing whatever she might have found the energy to say, but it was no longer important, nothing was except for their connection. It wasn't a demanding kiss, but slow and deep and leisurely, which was even more arousing.

The tins clattered to the ground as he slid his hands around her.

In response, she looped her arms around his neck, bringing their bodies flush to each other. She stuck to him immediately, the strawberry sauce acting like adhesive between her dress and his bare torso, and when he settled himself in the notch at the top of her thighs, she rocked to him, eliciting a deep-throated groan that vibrated from his chest to hers.

He rocked back, harder now, and she nearly wept at the need coursing through her. She lost herself in his taste and feel, just absolutely, completely lost herself. Lean, hard muscles shifted beneath her hands as she streaked them over his taut back, his shoulders, anything she could reach.

And from far, far away came the sound of heels on the path, then a very satisfied laugh.

Tara.

"I knew it," she chortled with glee, clapping her hands together. "I just knew it."





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Chapter 8


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Tara stood there, smiling, noting Zach's hands on her best friend with a raised brow, but she said nothing. Her grin pretty much said it all.

She reached out and swiped at a particularly large chunk of pie still on Hannah's shoulder, then stuck that finger in her mouth and sucked. "Mmm, heavenly. Too bad it never made it to dinner."

Zach removed his hands from Hannah with shocking difficulty, though his heart and mind were racing. What had happened to keeping his damn distance? Instead Hannah was plastered to him from chest to thigh.

"Cat got your tongues, huh?" Tara asked sympathetically. "Don't worry, I understand. A kiss like that will make mush of anyone's brain." She winked at Hannah. "Next time come to me first. Apparently I've got the right stuff."

And with that, she walked away, humming cheerfully.

"What does that mean?" he asked Hannah.

Hannah tipped her head back and stared at the sky as if waiting for divine intervention.

"Don't tell me … you asked her for advice, too."