Rogue Wave by Isabel Jolie (reading eggs books txt) 📕

took in the smooth, well laid flooring. “Wow. The floors came out great.” I breathed in the air and noticed a distinct fresh smell.

“Tony helped me knock it out in one day. He’s good. Efficient.”

“He’s helpful.” The wide wood panels gave the cottage an updated feel. “You’re gonna love these floors. The synthetic boards stand up to water and sand well.”

He had an old leather sofa on one wall and two chairs with slipcovers tugged over them, and one coffee table. The place felt like a rental cottage. “Didn’t your grandmother live here?”

“She did. But Alice had her personal stuff packed up after the damage from the last hurricane. It’s somewhere in storage.”

“I was gonna say that it doesn’t feel like an older person’s home.”

“Well, Nana wasn’t typical. She surfed right up until they made her leave. And this was always a vacation home for her. She and my grandfather have a home in Connecticut. Or…had.” He sat down on one end of the sofa, then popped back up and charged toward the kitchen bar and sat on one of the four stools.

“Let’s see what you brought.”

I joined him at the bar. The bar portion stood higher than the counter on the other side, serving as the division between the kitchen and the dining and living area. I tapped my iPad to life and handed it to him when the prompt for the Wi-Fi password appeared. A stack of mail sat a few inches away. An envelope with the return address to World’s Children and a logo with a modern take on children holding hands rested on the top of the stack. The mail lined up square and orderly against the edge of a notepad with the Tate Financial Services logo at the top.

He handed my iPad back to me, drawing my attention back to our meeting. I brought him through my presentation and the ideas I prepared. My knee brushed his. The hairs along his leg brushed mine. He leaned closer, our heads inches apart. The faint scent of his soap filled the air. He breathed in deeply and shifted, and he wrapped his arm behind my back, his attention rapt on the computer screen.

The tips of his fingers grazed my wrist. A surge of energy lit along my skin and ignited in my chest. I snapped my arm back as if shocked. The iPad clattered on the counter. Neither of us made a move to pick it up.

“Any interest in surfing?” he asked.

“Sure.” His fingers picked at my top, a long sleeve, loose, cover-up. I had my bathing suit on underneath it, as my plan had been to stop by here and then hit the beach. Now that we were in the offseason, I had little to do on Sundays, as it was the kind of day most people were coming or going.

His fingers toyed with the loose cotton, and I glanced down to see what he was holding on to. The cotton pulled tight across my chest. He stood close, close enough I could hear his shallow breathing and pick up his outdoor, wild ocean scent. A scent of the sea, mixed with man.

“Do you always wear see-through tops when you go to visit clients?”

“It’s a swim cover-up. It’s not that see-through.” He chewed on his lip, and his gaze fell to my breasts, covered by a bandeau top. When I surfed, I’d throw on a tight-fitting Lycra surf top to protect from chafing and sun, so it worked.

He’d told me twenty-two was too young, but it didn’t feel like he thought that was a problem anymore. To test my theory, I raised off the stool, setting my feet on the new wooden floor, closer to him. His chest rose and fell with increasing speed, as if enduring exertion, comparable to a slow jog.

I lifted my lips to him and inched closer.

“What are you doing?” I paused at his gruff tone, but the lust in his gaze gave me courage.

“This.” I lifted on my toes and placed my lips against his. A soft press. His hand dropped from my arm to my ass and he pulled me closer, so my hips rested against his.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

His breathing deepened. He maintained a possessive grip on my ass and held me up against him, tight enough his hard erection pressed against me.

“You’re too young.” Skepticism laced his words.

“Twenty-two is legal. Years past legal.”

I pressed closer, so my loose top brushed against his tee. I lifted his tee and fingered the bare skin below it. He shuddered. With closed eyes, he looked to the ceiling, as if seeking guidance. His obvious desire emboldened me.

With both hands, I explored the lines on his stomach, up to his chest, pushing his t-shirt higher. My thumb glided across one nipple, and he pressed me harder against his groin. I flexed my hips against the unmistakable pressure of his erection through his thin board shorts.

He opened his eyes and traced my bottom lip with his thumb. My teeth grazed the tip of his finger, then I sucked on the tip. His hungry gaze sent my heartbeat through the roof.

He lifted the bottom of my cover-up. I raised my arms. In one smooth move, the top flew off my body and onto the floor. He walked me backward, his gaze locked on mine. The moment my back hit the wall, his mouth fell to mine, and I opened, a thrill coursing through me.

His tongue lashed against mine, his kiss hungry and needy. This was not the kiss of a college boy. His unshaven bristles scraped my skin, and I reached up to tug on his hair, frantic for more, to feel him everywhere. His shirt hit the back of a chair.

I lifted one leg and wrapped it around him to bring him closer and harder against my core. He tugged on my bikini top, and it fell to my waist.

He paused, his breathing rapid, loud, his gaze on my breasts. “You are so fucking