You Were Mine (Rosemary Beach #9)(31)

Hearing the pleasure in his voice as he kissed me, as if he couldn’t get enough of me, eased the tension. Slowly, he sank deeper, until he let out a loud groan and closed his eyes. He was beautiful, and I was completely fascinated.

“I’m going to move,” he said against my ear, and then he sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled back until he was almost out of me and then rocked his hips back.

The movement hadn’t caused me pain this time, at least not the searing kind it had the first time. Just a little discomfort. Watching Tripp made everything else fade away. The veins in his neck were standing out, and the muscles in his arms were bulging as he held himself up so that he didn’t put all his weight on me.

With each move of his hips, it got easier, and Tripp’s face became more breathtaking. His mouth opened slightly, and his pupils were so dilated the green was almost gone.

Our gazes locked.

“I love you. I won’t leave you. I can’t.”

My eyes opened, and I stared at the ceiling. I hadn’t dreamed about that night in a very long time. My heart was racing, as if I was still there underneath him, losing my virginity to the boy I loved and hearing him proclaim his love for me for the first time. He’d made a lot of promises that night that he didn’t keep.

I sat up and shook my head, not wanting that image to replay in my mind. I had pushed it away a long time ago. I had used other guys in hopes of washing it from my memory. But no one ever did. It always ended with me crying myself to sleep.

Last night, I had let Tripp get close again. Even though we hadn’t spoken, I had allowed him to sit with me, releasing long-suppressed emotions and images. No wonder my dreams played out more like memories.

Getting up, I grabbed my black silk wrap and put it on before raising the walls around my hut. I didn’t want to leave until it was time to help Della get ready. She had said we would meet in the bride’s room at one. I would have breakfast brought to me and enjoy my solitude until then.

“Hungry?” Tripp asked. I spun around to see him holding a tray of food.

With the memory of our first time still fresh in my head, I did not need this right now. My eyes, however, had other ideas. His arms were bigger now. Thicker than they had been before. His hair was shorter and looked damp, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower, although the board shorts suggested that he might have been swimming. Then there was the fact that he was shirtless. All those defined muscles, tanned and decorated with a few well-placed tattoos, would make any woman stop and stare.

“I was going to eat outside of my place, but you opened yours before I could sit down. I figured I had enough to share,” he said, snapping me out of my momentary lack of good sense.

I jerked my eyes back up to meet his. I had to hand it to him—he didn’t look smug, even though I knew he noticed I had just given him a once-over. He was being careful. “I, uh, OK,” I managed to stammer out.

He grinned and stepped inside, then placed the tray on the round high-top table, which had two bar stools underneath it. “I’ll even let you have the eggs,” he said, as if he needed to sweeten the deal so I wouldn’t change my mind.

His arms didn’t have to be flexed for his muscles to stand out. They did that all on their own now. I could even see veins in them as he went about fixing us both a cup of coffee and setting out all three plates of food he’d brought with him.

He needed to put a shirt on, dammit. How was I supposed to eat and not stare at that?

God, Bethy, nothing has ever felt like this.

I closed my eyes tightly and blocked out Tripp’s words replaying in my head.

“You OK?” he asked in his older, more mature voice. I managed a nod and opened my eyes.

“Sun’s a little bright. My eyes are adjusting,” I lied.

Tripp frowned and walked over to adjust the shade. “Better?” he asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” I replied, hoping my guilty thoughts weren’t all over my face.

He walked back over to the table and pulled out a bar stool, then motioned for me to take it. I mumbled a thank you and climbed up. My wrap rode up my thighs and fell open, revealing almost all of my legs. I grabbed the edges to pull them together but not before Tripp noticed. My breathing hitched as I watched his eyes lock on my thighs. His nostrils flared, and his entire body tensed.

If the veins on his neck popped out, I was done for. I had to get control of things. Grabbing the edges, I tucked them around me. He tore his gaze off me and moved over to the other side of the table, faster than normal.

Clearing his throat, he slid a plate filled with eggs, fruit, some cheese, buttered toast, and a few slices of bacon toward me. “As promised, the eggs.”

My face was warm from the many emotions whirling around in my head. In an attempt to make things less awkward, I smiled at him. “Thank you. But I don’t need all the eggs. I can share.”

He shrugged. “I’m good. You eat what you want, and I’ll finish off what you don’t eat.”

Like we used to do.

Ugh. Why was I doing this? He hadn’t meant that. He was just referring to the eggs. He wasn’t trying to remind me of how things had been once. That was all me. Stupid dream had me all hot and bothered.

“OK,” I replied, hoping my reaction appeared normal.

He took a bite of his toast. As his jaw moved, the muscles in his neck flexed. Shit! What was wrong with me?