The Inheritance Test, page 9
“Come on.” He got up and held out his hand. “Brave the horde out front with me and I’ll feed you. Put something in your stomach besides sugar and caffeine.”
“Those are the most important food groups.” She had a horrifying revelation. “You’re not one of those California healthy living advocates are you? Because that’s grounds for an immediate breakup.”
The bastard actually laughed.
“I do whatever the part requires.”
She waved a hand. “But does it ever require doughnuts? What’s the point of being a star if you can’t eat what you want?”
He laughed more, so of course she followed him, and leaving her own house was even more of a production than she’d imagined. The photographers had multiplied like bunnies, but without the cute factor. These were jostling, shouting, downright rude rabbits.
Declan’s mouth brushed her ear. “Say nothing.”
No problem. Given that she had goose bumps from just that little touch, she was fine with taking a perpetual vow of silence. Declan guided her past the paparazzi, directing a polite smile and a “no comment” at the yellers. Better yet, Ryan somehow turned himself into a human wall, deftly inserting himself between the cameras and the two of them. In less time than she’d thought possible, Declan was handing her into his sports car. She took a deep breath and yanked the door closed.
“Good to go?” he asked her, sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m also fine with fleeing, running away and driving like a maniac.”
She decided not to think about getting back into the house. Somehow, it was hard to worry when she was riding shotgun with Declan, probably because the crazy wild chemistry between the two of them was a greedy thing that left no room for other feelings.
Declan seemed to know where he was headed, so she just enjoyed the ride and the scenery, both inside the car and out. He radiated strength and she amused herself by making a little mental list of all the things to admire about him: A pair of powerful forearms bared by the shirt he’d rolled up above his elbows. His thighs in those damn blue jeans. And—she might have leaned forward just a little—the pair of black, beat-up work boots he wore. He’d flashed her a smile at that one, but it was worth it because her list also included his sense of humor, his willingness to listen and his insistence on looking out for the people who came into his life, even if they were temporary additions.
After he’d made a quick pit stop to pick up a picnic basket, a covert exchange behind one of the Vineyard’s fanciest hotels that had her looking over her shoulder for spies or hit men, he took her to a private beach. She knew it was private because a half dozen signs and a security guard said so. Feeling a bit like a trespasser, she slid him a glance as they were waved in.
He grinned. “Called in a favor.”
“Right,” she said lightly. “Because you’re best friends with the rock star owner?”
“Producer owner. We’ve worked together.”
Great. He knew movie producers and rock stars. She loved her life. She did. But moments like this just reinforced that in his world he was a on a first-name basis with famous movers and shakers, while she might peep at them for five seconds in the local coffee shop.
The private beach was a creamy stretch of sand squeezed between the ocean and sand dunes. Other than four white Adirondack chairs lined up to take in the view, there was nothing but sand, the tide washing in and some impressive bluffs at the far end.
She immediately kicked off her sandals and pointed to his feet. “Take them off.”
“Woman, you keep trying to get me naked.”
She laughed. “You’re wearing far too much clothing for the beach.”
“You know you could just ask me to undress? For you, the answer would be yes.” He toed his boots off and tossed them onto a chair, holding his hand out for her own sandals which he set more carefully next to his.
“So what’s the beach plan?” And then when she gave him a sideways glance, he shook his head. “You know you have one. We’ll work you up to going fully planless in baby steps.”
“Walk first,” she said. “Then we eat all the food.”
“Got it,” he said and tugged her down the beach.
After a few minutes, she repossessed her hand. She assumed it was automatic on his part, but her glamorous new haircut was in no way windproof and she had hair in her mouth and her eyes—possibly up her nose, too. She twisted her hair up, securing it with a hair tie she’d had the forethought to stash on her wrist.
And not an elegant twist or a fancy chignon. Nope, she wound it like spaghetti on a fork and let the ends flap free. It was at-home, sweats-and-a-T-shirt hair, but Declan just tucked an errant end under the tie and smiled. “Pretty.”
The casual gesture made her feel shockingly good.
They wandered down the beach, poking at interesting piles of driftwood and letting the chilly surf foam around their ankles. She picked through the shells mounded at the hide tide line, slipping a particularly pretty scallop and a pearly moon shell into her pocket. Heat tingled through her when he threaded his fingers through hers as they made the return walk back up the beach.
A black SUV that she assumed belonged to Ryan was parked next to Declan’s sports car, but the bodyguard himself was out of sight—probably not far though.
She and Declan spread out a plaid blanket on the sand and he grabbed the picnic basket.
“Let’s start with dessert. Just in case we get interrupted.”
He shot her a lazy grin. “By paparazzi?”
“Sure.” She tugged at the basket he was holding. He had promised to feed her, after all. “Or an alien space invasion, the apocalypse, whatever. Give.”
This earned her a laugh, but he set the basket down and flipped open the lid. Then he pulled out a huge, chocolate-filled plastic clamshell. “A backward meal? I like it. But be warned—I know the secret to winning your heart now.”
“You started it,” she said. “When you brought cake for breakfast.”
Okay, so Declan had actually only handed over the six muffins and their brownie best friend, but he’d claimed to have cake.
It turned out that cake actually meant cupcake, but she could work with that, especially when he handed her a plastic fork. He’d planned well for a man who claimed to hate planning.
Ignoring the teasing glint in his eyes, she dug in. And moaned. He laughed. “What? I have sunshine, the ocean and delicious cake. What more could a girl want?”
He rolled over onto his stomach and rested his chin on his arms, watching her. “I have an idea.”
She pointed the fork at him. “Nope. No sex talk.”
“Who, me?”
Yeah, him. He was such a problem. She wished that the breeze that kept the summer air from getting too hot would do something for her libido. She ate her cupcake and tried to figure out a solution to her Declan Masterson-sized problem.
The source of all that heat rummaged in the picnic basket, pulling out his finds: Cold lobster rolls with thick chunks of pink-and-white lobster in white rolls. Plump strawberries. And Boston cream pie cupcakes, because her movie star not-boyfriend definitely knew his way to a woman’s heart. She tried to find something to be irritated about but, really, he’d gotten everything exactly right. After he’d made her a plate and then served himself, they lounged on the blanket and he told her stories about the film industry.
“How did you get into acting? No. Wait.” She made a face. “That has to be a question you’ve answered hundreds of times.”
“I’ve never told you.”
“Was it something you always wanted to do?”
“I liked the stunts,” he said. “Never met a dare I wouldn’t take. I was that kid who jumped off roofs and rode his bike down the crazy hill while standing on his head.”
“Did you really do that?”
“Jumped off the roof at my elementary school, jumped out of my bedroom window twice, jumped out of the belfry at church...”
She stared at him. “How are you not dead?”
“Excellent reflexes. Sheer luck,” he said promptly. “Although the belfry thing did not go well. I thought I could rappel down the outside hanging on to a bell rope, but it turns out the bells were all on some kind of automated system and a computer rang them. I’m sure you’re shocked to hear that everyone thought I was a natural fit for the whole stuntman thing. Which was convenient, since J.J., my father, owned a production company. He was very popular on career day at school because he specialized in blowing things up.”
Turned out, Declan was good company. He asked questions about her own work and then told more stories about stunts gone wrong and ridiculous director demands. He also had plenty to say about actors who thought—wrongly—that they could do their own stunts without any training. He was far more self-deprecating and aware than she’d given him credit for. She found herself blushing more than once because he’d been places and met people, accomplishing things that most people only dreamed about.
“Why are we even here having a picnic?”
“I’m feeding you.” He passed her the last cupcake, proving he was at least a gentleman.
“But why?”
Laughter danced in his eyes. “Maybe I like taking care of you. Maybe we were both hungry and you’d eventually need to eat something and yet there you were, trapped by paparazzi and it was all my fault. Are you always this suspicious?”
“I’m never suspicious and that’s a problem.”
“So you trust me completely?”
“No. I don’t trust you at all, but I’m terrible at remembering to question what people tell me. I don’t fact-check. Why would I go around assuming everyone is lying to me until proven otherwise?”
She threw up her hands. Unfortunately she was still holding a cupcake, so instead of making a point, all she accomplished was painting a streak of frosting down her cheek.
“See? I’m a mess. All the makeover lessons in the world are not going to turn me into a glamorous Hollywood swan.”
“Charlotte,” he groaned, swiping his big, warm fingers over the frosting tattoo she’d given herself. “You’re wearing your cupcake.”
His thumb swept over the corner of her mouth.
She froze. Was he—
“You’re a perfect mess,” he said and it didn’t sound like a complaint. At all.
Then he pulled her into his big, warm body and kissed her.
Ten
There was kissing and then there was kissing, the kind that made a woman forget where she was and all the reasons that kissing a man back might be a bad idea. Sensation zigzagged through her body, warming her belly and other parts of her. He coaxed greedy sounds from her mouth as her hands tangled in his hair, Charlotte holding him close because this was amazing and she wanted more. She tasted frosting and the sea, sunlight and something warm and male that was all Declan. She didn’t hold back either, which was part of that trusting-too-much-and-too-fast problem that she had, but how could she resist? Everywhere they touched, there was heat—and they were touching everywhere. It was crazy how much he wanted her, and that was before she pushed him back onto the blanket and he rolled her on top of him.
Flashing her a happy grin, he wiped the rest of the frosting off her cheek with his thumb. She laughed—and kissed him again.
Her heart raced because if he was this good at kissing, what else was he good at? And how could anything feel better? Kissing Declan was like a scene from one of his movies, and yet she knew this was really, really happening. Her knee pressed against sun-warmed sand where she’d slipped off their blanket, but her other knee was tucked against his hip. With all of him stretched out beneath her, she could feel his interest—and he had a whole lot of interest going on.
“I want you.” He said it straight out, tipping her chin up so he could see her eyes. He didn’t hesitate.
“I want you, too.” Truth. Her voice caught in her throat as he adjusted their fit together, bringing her flush against him. She could move away, she knew. He wasn’t holding her any tighter than she wanted—and that was another problem.
“Are you sure?” he asked and she came back to reality faster than she would have liked. The kissing was so perfect, as was the holding and the way he fit her against him.
“You mean right here?” The sand was warm and they were allegedly alone, except possibly for the invisible Ryan, but sex with a movie star on a beach might be too adventurous for her. Sex with Declan, her libido teased. You know you want to. Her brain, however, refused to turn off any longer. You’re on a beach! Sand! Paparazzi! Public witnesses!
“Just kissing today,” he said. His thumb rubbed the corner of his own mouth and came away with icing he must have kissed off of her. The heated look in his hazel eyes said he didn’t mind. He licked his thumb.
“That sounds like a good plan.” She tried to straighten up, to shift herself off him to a safer distance.
His warm hands tugged her back down, sliding up her back and beneath the cashmere cardigan. Calloused fingers skimmed up the line of her spine and then back down again, tracing patterns on her lower back.
“You feel so amazing here.” He drew a small circle and she shivered. “And here.”
His fingers moved upward, exploring the curve of her waist with lazy intensity. When he drew his fingers slowly upward, he rolled their bodies again so that he came down over her, bracing an arm beside her head. The pressure of his body on hers made her arch upward, had her making space for him between her legs because that felt even better than his kisses. She wrapped her legs around his hips as he bent toward her again, his mouth tasting the sensitive skin of her throat. With him holding her right back, she got lost in his kiss.
When he pulled back with a rough sound of pleasure, she stared up at him. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Definitely wow. Too wow. We’re not doing anything you aren’t ready to do.”
“Believe me,” she said, “I like doing this with you. Consider me one-hundred-percent on board with this kissing plan.” But what if it wasn’t as good for him as it was for her? She should ask, shouldn’t she? “But what do you want to do?”
“Everything, Charlotte. I want to do everything with you.”
Everything sounded amazing.
Everything sounded perfect.
She breathed out and tried to marshal her thoughts. Her eyes got a little starstruck looking at him. Kissing Declan was crazy. A magical kind of crazy. No one had ever made her feel this way, and pretending to love him would be far too easy.
“But we don’t have to do this fast,” he said.
That was the worst plan she’d ever heard... Every inch of her—and quite a few inches of him—were voting hard, fast and right now.
“We can take our time,” he added. “And Charlotte, I’m going to need a lot of time to appreciate you right.”
She laughed. “I’m not that complicated—plus you’re clearly on the right track.”
He sat up, gently depositing her on the blanket beside him. “I’d like to get this right, even if right now I feel like eating you up and racing right through all the talking and getting to know you stages. Going to bed with you will be amazing.”
Will be—not would be.
She could tell from the way his eyes darkened that he was thinking about it—imagining the two of them in a bed, starting with kissing and ending with all the delicious, dirty things the two of them could imagine. But he was right that some things shouldn’t be rushed. Plus, they’d both rushed into their last relationships and she couldn’t bear to repeat that mistake.
“You’re good at this,” she said.
“You certainly make me want to be.” He brushed a light kiss over her mouth. “Come on. Let’s get you back to town.”
“Race prep,” she agreed. “We need to win this thing next week.”
He tugged her carefully to her feet. “You bet.”
Somehow, though, she felt as if she’d lost.
Eleven
Charlotte sat in the Cupcake and tried not to think about the ways today could go wrong. The little boat that Declan had christened after last week’s kiss flew across the water, the start line well behind them. Think positively. They had a ten-minute head start thanks to their fundraising efforts, so they’d not only started at the favored end of the line upwind but they’d avoided getting stuck in a pack of boats. They had a written game plan for how to sail the racecourse and she’d memorized the sailing instructions provided by the yacht club—and stashed her race binder in the aft storage locker just in case she needed a refresher. Her one job was to monitor the VHF radio on the race channel. Both she and Declan were wearing non-inflatable racing PFDs over their sailing kits so even if she did fall overboard, she’d float. And the man himself had one hand on the tiller and the other doing... Well, she didn’t know what he was doing because she still hadn’t mastered the finer points of sailing.
She tightened her death grip on the boat as it surged forward and the race start line swung back into view as Declan tacked them into the wind and Cupcake shot ahead. The rapid change of direction made her stomach lurch. But knowing that nineteen other boats and sets of racers waited behind them for the starting horn, she welcomed every drop of speed Declan could coax from their boat—especially since they had nine hours of sailing in front of them. The race course would take them around Martha’s Vineyard and the first boat to cross the finish line won. Winner takes all—there was no prize for second. Thanks to the dark clouds piling up on the horizon there almost hadn’t been a race today. The ocean was equally unsettled, waves slapping harder and harder at Cupcake’s sides.
Her brain unhelpfully flashed her back to that other summer day, the one where the ocean had done its best to kill her. She’d been splashing around in the shallow water when another kid had dared her to race out to a mooring buoy and back. Once she’d got to the buoy, tapping the white ball enthusiastically, she’d discovered she was alone. A quick squint back toward shore had revealed a mostly empty patch of beach as everyone had been lured elsewhere, likely by the promise of s’mores and hot dogs because they’d been on a picnic and those things were fun.
