With Every Breath (Sea Swept #2) (11 page)

“Sorry, I forgot my super-spy flip flops,” I say, and West chokes back a laugh. We sprint up several flights of stairs before reaching a doorway filled with light. I follow West into the top of the bell tower, high above the ground.
 

“Oh, wow,” I say. I pull my camera bag off my shoulder and set it on a little table by the doorway so I can walk around unencumbered. Up here we can see over the tops of all the buildings in Portales. To one side is the sea, with the
Radiant Star
and two other cruise ships gleaming huge and white at the end of the long pier. On our other side, rolling hills spread out from the edge of town, filled with bright green trees planted in orderly rows. Fruit trees, maybe.

At the center of the open-air room is a great weathered bell. I step forward and gently lay my hand on its surface. The lever to ring the bell has been tied down so there’s no way for me—or anyone else—to move it. The metal feels heavy against my palm, and cool despite the heat of the day; above our heads, the thatched ceiling shades us. The ocean breeze up here is refreshing, teasing my hair away from my nape.
 

“Say bikini,” West says softly, and I turn to find him pointing his camera at me. I laugh because that’s the line he uses on passengers, and he presses the shutter button.

I walk to the side of the square room and lean out over the stone sill. In a minute I’ll grab the photo Sofia wanted, with the bell in the foreground and the countryside stretching out behind it, but right now I just take in the view. I wish Sofia could see this.
 

West puts his camera down next to mine on the table and joins me, leaning his elbows on the stones.
 

“I should have snuck up here before,” he says, turning toward me with a smile so wide and open that my heart flips. Usually after a crying jag I feel fragile for hours, but up here on top of the world with West, I’ve never felt more alive.

Before I can think twice, I lean up and kiss him.

Chapter 10

Yasmin

The kiss is quick, a simple press of my lips to his before I sink back onto my heels. Surprise flashes across West’s face, along with an intense look I can’t read. Already, I’m feeling embarrassed.
 

Nice one, Yas
, I think as my cheeks burn hot. First I sob on him, then I kiss him. I am on a roll of inappropriate-ness here.

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”

That’s all I can get out before West pulls me to him and covers my mouth with his. Suddenly it’s like all the sunlight along the coast has been focused on us by a giant magnifying glass, because the bell tower feels like an inferno. Every touch, from the hand on my bare shoulder to the strong fingers slipping surely along the waistline of my skirt, sets me further aflame.

The intensity of West’s kiss throws me completely, but I surrender to it, drowning myself in the feel of him. The hard muscles of his chest flex under my fingers, and I slip my hands down to the hem of his shirt, then to the warm skin underneath. I trail my fingers along the smoothness, wanting more. Much more.
 

West’s hunger matches mine. His tongue, hot and wet, invades my mouth in a delicious takeover that I yield to with a moan. His hands tighten on my waist, digging into my hips and pulling me tight against him. He’s hard, his need pressing into my stomach. My hands flatten against his sides under his shirt, caressing his bare skin, careful to avoid the bandage on his back. I run my fingers along his shoulders and pull myself up, wishing I were taller so I could reach more of him.

West backs up two steps until he hits the corner of the bell tower, which forms a shadowed nook. The stone wall extends from the corner a couple feet, just wide enough for West’s shoulders. Propped against the wall, he can slouch a little, enough that I can meet him eye to eye, lips to lips.
 

For a brief second, hesitation slides through me. I’ve vowed repeatedly not to do this, not to get distracted by a guy. And West not only slept with my roommate, but is my boss. This is all sorts of wrong. But before I can pull away, West trails his tongue down my neck, and the sensation silences the protest on my lips. Any resolve I had vanishes.
 

No distractions? To hell with that.
 

Straddling one of West’s legs, I sink into a kiss so hot that I’m not sure how we don’t spontaneously burst into flame. His hands roam over my tank top, and I shudder with pleasure as he cups my breasts. Even through the fabric of my shirt and bra, his touch burns, and his thumbs brush my nipples until they harden. I arch against him, breaking the kiss, and West’s tongue makes wet, hungry trails down my throat. My breath catches, because damn, this feels so good.
 

West runs his hand up my leg, under my skirt. He raises the hem and glances down. “Turquoise,” he says hoarsely, and I’m not sure what he means, but he’s even harder now. His hand returns to my knee and he raises my leg higher, to his hip, then caresses the back of my leg to the curve of my ass.

His fingers slip under my panties, and I gasp. I’m wet, and the sound West makes deep in his throat when he discovers this makes me even wetter. Our touches get more frantic, and I wrap a hand around his neck and grind hard against him.

West plunges a finger inside me, and I let out a moan. The sound echoes off the cool stone of the bell tower, but I don’t care because another finger joins the first, and they’re moving in and out of me, shooting heat all over my body. The sensation builds almost painfully when he glides his thumb over my clit, and in only a few seconds I’m already teetering at the brink.
 

Before I can fall over the edge West pauses, breaking our kiss. Our breaths are ragged as I meet his gaze. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes search mine, and I know what he’s asking. And in this moment, I don’t even think about pulling away. I don’t think about next week, or tomorrow, or even an hour from now.

I have to have him. Now.

I seize the bottom of his shirt and drag it up. West’s hands abandon me to finish taking it off, and then he seizes me by the waist and turns us so that my back is to the wall. He props me up against the cool, rough stones, and I grab his head and pull it back to mine.

West claims my mouth again in a hard, deep kiss, but his hands leave my hips. I’m about to protest when I hear a thud, the rasp of a zipper, and the rip of foil in quick succession.
 

West bends to hook an arm underneath my right knee, then lifts me up off the ground. Pressed between him and the wall, I curl my arms around his neck and wrap my left leg around his waist. Finally I’m high enough, and West nudges my panties out of the way. I sink down onto him, gasping at the invasion. It feels incredible, and as West fills me to the hilt, the angle has me groaning in pleasure.
 

West kisses my neck fiercely, his mouth hot against my throat. I drop my head back and arch against him as he starts to move within me. Over his shoulder, I can see the weathered bronze bell, and beyond, the endless rolling countryside. The green of the hills blurs in my eyes as I thrust my hips to meet his rhythm.
 

West thrusts again, and again, and I’m lost to waves of pleasure. My back pushes against the uneven surface of the stone, and I might have bruises tomorrow but I don’t care. My whole being is centered on the feel of West inside of me, keeping me upright. I close my eyes, letting the sensations roll over me like the tide.
 

Our hips move faster and excitement builds deep within me, a pressure and tightness that swells with each stroke. West reaches between us, slipping a hand down and under my skirt to caress my aching clit. His touch sends shockwaves through me as he moves his finger to the beat of his thrusts.
 

“West,” I gasp into his ear, opening my eyes, my nails digging into his shoulders. He pushes harder, still rocking inside of me, fast and deep, and everything tightens, building until I can’t stand it one second longer. West flicks his finger and kisses my neck hard, and suddenly I’m there, over the cliff, and my vision dissolves into a starburst of ecstasy.

I’m floating, coming apart, and West grips my hips and plunges into me fast, faster, until finally he’s there too. He goes stiff, and I feel him spend himself inside of me. He presses his forehead into the curve of my neck, and I clutch his shoulders, my legs wrapped around his waist as waves of pleasure wrack my body.
 

Slowly, gradually, I come back to myself. If I had to stand right now I’d fall over, but West holds me against the wall, solid and strong. I want to stay here forever.

Finally West raises his head and meets my gaze. His eyes are hooded with pleasure, his broad shoulders deliciously sweaty under my fingers. The uneven stones dig into my skin, but I don’t say anything because I don’t want to break the spell. We’re still joined, entwined, and in this moment, everything is right.

Everything is perfect.

Then West opens his mouth.

Chapter 11

West

“This was a mistake,” I blurt out.

Yasmin blinks, the dreamy look in her eyes fading.
 

“
Excuse
me?” she says.
 

Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. I panicked. I’ve been fighting to keep Yasmin at arm’s length since she stepped on board the
Radiant Star
, but it only took two days to lose the battle. That’s more than a little scary.

Once she kissed me, I lost all control. I should have stopped this before it went too far, but Yasmin was too damn sexy. I couldn’t think of anything else except getting inside of her.

“Sorry.” I fumble for something to say. “We … I mean, I … I shouldn’t have done this.” Yasmin stiffens in my arms, and I wince, feeling like an idiot.
Real smooth, West
.
 

“You can put me down now,” Yasmin says sharply.

I really don’t want to. I want to stay right here and do this all over again, take my time with her like she deserves. But Yasmin is a member of my staff, and I’ve got to stay focused on the job—not lose my head. In any case, Yasmin looks like she might throw me bodily over the bell tower if I don’t let her go, so I set her gently on the stone floor. She’s lost one of her shoes, and she stands unevenly, her hands propped against my bare chest, whether to steady herself or push me away I don’t know. For a moment she looks up into my eyes, and I almost think she’ll kiss me again.

But Yasmin turns away to readjust her skirt and locate her shoe.
 

Before she turns back around, I put on my shirt, get rid of the condom, and pull up my pants. Just as I finish, I reach for Yasmin because I know I’ve acted like an ass, but then I hear rustling behind us.
 

A strange voice barks something in Spanish, and Yasmin and I whirl to see a guy with a museum nametag scowling at us. “You are tourists?” he says, switching to English. “You’re not allowed up here! Who let you in?”

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “We’ll go.”

“What are your names?” the guy demands. “I want to see your passports.”

Time to scram. I grab Yasmin’s hand and pull her toward the door. We rush past the sputtering museum guard, swipe our cameras from the table, and sprint down the stairs. When we reach the bottom, we slow down just enough that we won’t get stopped for running, and speed-walk across the museum and out the entrance. Only when we’re around the corner and half a block away do we pause for breath.

Adrenaline pumps through me, a laugh teetering at the back of my throat because we barely made it out of the museum. Yasmin tugs her hand free from mine with a sour glance, and my humor fades.

“Hey, about what happened,” I say as I catch my breath. “I didn’t mean what I said up there.” Somehow during our flight to freedom, my brain managed to process what happened in the tower, and now I’m thinking maybe it
wasn’t
a mistake. I swore off shipboard dating with good reason, but I’ve met a lot of people in my stint on the Star Heart Cruise ships, and Yasmin’s not like most girls. At first I thought she was just a spoiled college grad, but after today … There’s a depth to her, a fire I want more of.

I’m about to tell her that when Yasmin shakes her head.

“No, you’re right.” She runs a hand through her dark hair. “This was a huge mistake. I can’t believe we hooked up just a couple days after you and Camelia did. I mean, she said you’re not together, but—”

“Camelia and I didn’t have sex,” I interrupt. Yasmin stares at me. “You can ask her, if you want.”

“Oh.” Then Yasmin groans. “It doesn’t matter. I’m so mad at myself. I wasn’t supposed to do this.”
 

I frown. “Do what?”

Yasmin leans against the stone wall of a souvenir shop hawking bright scarves and straw hats.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t have any more meaningless hookups,” she says.

“Meaningless hookups?” Ouch. Is that all it was to her? Anger starts to fizz through me. “Do you do this often?”

“Not recently …” Yasmin gives me a pained look. “All of senior year, I didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to hurt. So some nights I wound up sleeping with guys so I’d be too distracted to feel the pain. It was stupid.”

Anger wars with sympathy. Damn. How the hell am I supposed to be pissed at her when I know exactly how she feels? Because as annoyed as I am, I get it. Distraction is about the only thing that helped when my mom died, and I did a lot of stupid things afterwards. But the idea that I’m one of Yasmin’s stupid things is hard to swallow.

Suddenly I notice a few dark splotches on Yasmin’s neck, near the base of her throat and along the curve of her collarbone. Are those … ?
 

“What?” Yasmin asks. I reach up to brush her hair out of the way, and wince.

“Oops.” I try to drape her hair over her neck. It covers most of the marks, but not all.

Yasmin’s hand flies up to her neck in dawning horror.

“Oh my God, did you give me a hickey?”

I wince again. “Or three.”