All She Wants Read online

  Stuart killed the engine and glanced at me.

  “Do I get my keys back now?” I asked.

  He smiled grimly. “Not a chance.”

  “No?” It was my turn to smile. “I'm staying with you?”

  “For a little bit, yes.” A muscle tensed in his jaw. “Is that a problem?”

  For a little bit.

  I was still slightly pissed off at his heavy-handedness. But he was definitely hot and definitely doable. And even though I'd promised Sheridan I'd be hands-off with him, I had this ridiculous urge to put him in his place. Because I knew who'd be the boss in bed.

  Me.

  “No,” I responded, smoothing my hands across my thighs. “Not a problem at all.”

  Maybe my night wouldn't be so bad, after all.

  SEVEN

  “Wait here,” Stuart said. He stuffed my car keys in his pocket and disappeared into the office. Five minutes later, he was back, key in hand.

  “Number eighteen,” he said, grabbing his bags and motioning to his left.

  I stepped out of the car. “You're not out on the pier?”

  “This was their only vacancy,” he told me. “Cancellation yesterday. I got lucky.”

  I bit back a smile. I was hoping we both might get lucky a little later. Sheridan's warning sounded again in my head but I dismissed it. I'd already made up my mind. Besides, I told myself, if I'd known then that Stuart Woodcock was going to morph from a yeti into a hottie, I would have never agreed to her “hands-off” order.

  I followed him to the room and waited as he opened the door. He flicked on the light and I stepped inside, into a room that was almost the exact replica of the cottage I'd been in six years earlier. Same white-washed walls, similar blue couch. The only thing missing was the kitchenette.

  I set my purse down on the glass-covered rattan coffee table and looked out the window. The beach was awash in moonlight, the pier casting shadows on the sand. There was no deck attached to this room but it didn't need one. The view was spectacular and I felt that familiar stirring deep inside of me, the satisfaction that came with living in a place so completely beautiful and perfect.

  “So,” I said, settling on to the couch. “How long am I staying? An hour for every drink consumed?”

  Stuart disappeared into the bedroom and I heard the bags he was carrying hit the floor. A minute later, he reappeared, a small bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand.

  “Where did you get that?” I asked, pointing at the bottle.

  He unscrewed the top and took a swig, wincing a little as he swallowed it down. “Hotel gift shop.”

  I smirked. “Too strong for you?”

  He stood in front of me, the bottle dangling from his fingers. His cheeks and neck flushed a little and I wondered if I was getting to him or if it was simply a reaction to the liquor he'd just downed.

  “Hardly,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He took another swig.

  “I like how you chastise me for drinking and then pull out a bottle of your own.”

  He sat down next to me on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. His feet were bare and I noticed how tan he was. No pale, hairy toes or sock lines—just a smooth swath of beautifully tanned skin.

  “I'm not driving,” he said pointedly.

  I leaned toward him and snatched the bottle from his hand. I brought it to my mouth and took a long drink. “Neither am I.”

  His eyes locked on mine, a smile playing on his lips. “You looking to extend your stay here?”

  I smiled. “Maybe.”

  He took the bottle back. “You don't even know me.”

  “I know enough.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Done your homework?”

  I kicked off my shoes and stretched my legs out next to his. My feet were just as tan, my freshly polished toes a deep, dark red. I resisted the urge to rub my feet against his.

  “No,” I admitted. “I actually didn't.”

  Stuart took another swig. “No?”

  I shook my head. All I knew about him was what he looked like. What he used to look, I amended. Sheridan had rattled off some facts about him but I'd tuned her out as soon as I'd taken a look at his yeti photo. I was absolutely not interested. Until I saw the cleaned-up version of him.

  “No.” I stole the bottle and brought it to my lips. We'd already drained a quarter of it. “Why don't you tell me?”

  He leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. “What do you want to know?”

  Do you want to fuck me? I thought.

  “Everything,” I told him, scooting a little closer to him.

  “I was born January 14. I'm 29. I grew up in San Bruno, just south of San Francisco. Didn't see the sun the first four years of my life.” My eyes must have glazed over because he laughed. “Not that kind of everything?”

  “What do you like to do for fun?” I asked.

  He thought for a minute. “Meet new people. Travel. Help people.”

  “Isn't that sort of your job?”

  Stuart shrugged, smiling. “Yeah. So I guess I'm pretty lucky, making a living doing what I like to do.”

  “Do you make money? As a...humanitarian?”

  He unlaced his hands and took the bottle back. “I make enough.”

  “Define enough.”

  “Enough to eat and travel to the next place I need to go.” He grinned. “But probably not enough for your standards.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? What are my standards?”

  He waved a hand at me. “Nice clothes.” His foot nudged mine. “Pedicure.”

  “I painted them myself,” I said defensively.

  His hand reached out and touched my hair. “Trips to the salon.” I shivered at his touch. “Not enough to do all this.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. He was right. It wouldn't be enough for me. “And how long have you been saving people?”

  He chuckled. “I'm not Mother Teresa.”

  “Dear God, I hope not,” I said.

  “Five years?” He glanced up at the ceiling, as if the answer to my question might be up there. “Give or take. I started after college.”

  “How? You earn a humanitarian degree or something?” I wondered if that was a legitimate degree. Maybe he'd gone to some uber liberal arts college that specialized in that kind of thing.

  “Hardly.” He refocused his gaze, this time on the ocean outside of the living room window. “Business administration.”

  “I'm not seeing the connection.”

  “That's because there isn't one.” He took the bottle and took another drink. “I was planning to work in the city. Find a job with some big company and climb my way up the corporate ladder.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I graduated and went on a trip with a buddy of mine. He surfed and wanted to hit the beaches in Thailand. I'd saved a little money and my family tossed in the rest so I could afford to go with him. See the world, they said, before real life smacks you in the face. So we went to Thailand for a month. Found some remote spots, met some locals. I guess the rest is history.”

  He'd given me a couple of pieces to the puzzle but I still wasn't exactly sure what he did, how he helped people. But the whiskey was warming my blood and I wasn't very interested in talking.

  I rubbed my foot along the leg of his pants. “So you like to meet new people,” I said.

  He glanced at me.

  “I like to meet new people, too.” I smiled. “Like, really get to know them.”

  His lips curved into a smile. “Oh, yeah?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.” I pressed my leg against his and was instantly aware of his heated skin. “Intimately.”

  His eyes locked on mine and I ran my tongue over my lips, imagining all of the things I wanted to do to him. Jake from the bar was a fuzzy, distant memory. I wanted the guy sitting next to me.

  Before I could make a move, he stood up.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Bathroom.” He looked a
t the silver watch strapped to his wrist. “And then bed. It's getting late.”

  “So, I'm staying?” I asked.

  The grin on his face widened. “What do you think?”

  I answered with a coy smile of my own. “I think I've had a little too much to drink,” I admitted. I wasn't drunk but the whiskey had warmed me up, had loosened my already almost nonexistent inhibitions.

  “So stay,” he told me, his eyes on me. They weren't brown, I decided. They were the color of the whiskey I'd just drank, warm and intoxicating. And I couldn't wait to drown myself in them.

  I waited until the bathroom door closed before standing up. I hurried into the darkened bedroom, stripping my clothes off as I walked. I wanted to be ready and waiting for Stuart. I pulled back the striped comforter and slipped between the cool sheets, the fabric gliding across my naked skin. I shoved the sheet between my legs and rubbed against it, felt the wetness between my thighs. I closed my eyes and pictured Stuart next to me, his body pressed against mine, his hands exploring every inch of my body, invading me. Jesus, I wanted him.

  I waited.

  And waited some more.

  He didn't come.

  What the hell?

  I stood up and tiptoed toward the bathroom door. It was open, the light off.

  I marched into the living room. Stuart was sprawled on the couch, his eyes closed.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  He opened an eye. “Sleeping.” If he noticed I was standing there naked, my hands on my hips, he didn't acknowledge it.

  “Why are you out here?”

  “Because you are in there,” he said, referring to the bedroom.

  “So?”

  He closed his eye and turned on to his side. “So I'm going to sleep.”

  I stared at him, my mouth open. He'd invited me to stay. He'd told me he was going to bed. I'd expected him to come to bed with me.

  “And Annika?”

  I couldn't believe he was serious. “Yeah?”

  “Looks like you're a little cold,” he said. “Temperature control is on the wall by the bed.” He chuckled into his pillow. “Sleep well.”

  EIGHT

  A bird squawked outside. Loudly. I shifted and pulled the pillow tighter across my head. Another bird squawked, then another and it took me a minute to realize I wasn't in my bedroom at the sorority house.

  I was in a motel room.

  In Stuart's bed.

  Without him.

  “Stuart?”

  Silence.

  I glanced toward the living room. Bright sunshine flooded the room and I knew it wasn't early morning. I flung the sheets off of me and tugged the comforter off the bed, wrapping it around my mid-section as I hurried out of the bedroom. The couch was empty. I whirled toward the bathroom. The door was open. Empty.

  I stumbled over the comforter draped around me as I reached for my purse. I grabbed my phone and swore when I saw the time. It was already nine o'clock. How the hell had I slept for so long?

  But I knew. Stuart had dismissed me last night and I'd grabbed the half-full bottle of Jack. Drained the rest of it in bed, letting the alcohol work its magic and then, when I knew with absolute certainty Stuart wouldn't be joining me, deciding to take care of myself. I'd trailed my hand down my breasts, imagining it was Stuart stroking me, plunging his fingers deep inside of me. I wasn't quiet about it, moaning and whimpering as I worked my fingers faster and spread my legs wider, screaming as I gave myself the release I needed, the orgasm I'd wanted. I knew he'd heard me but he didn't make a sound from his spot on the couch. And I'd fallen asleep, spent and exhausted. And pissed off.

  I shook my head to clear the memory and tried to think. The banquet was at eleven. I wouldn't have time to get back to the sorority house, change, come back and grab Stuart and then get back to campus. For a fleeting minute, I toyed with leaving him there. Fuck him, I thought. Let him find his own way to the banquet. But I knew it was on me. I'd promised to take care of him. And I'd wanted to, I thought bitterly. He just hadn't been interested.

  I stepped into the bathroom and studied my reflection in the mirror. I needed to brush my teeth and hair, put some make-up on. And I definitely needed a change of clothes. It was nine o'clock on a Sunday and I knew the little boutiques on Garnet wouldn't be open. But Walgreens would be. I could grab some make-up and buy some toiletries but that wouldn't solve the wardrobe situation.

  I peed and rinsed my face and returned to the living room, grabbing my phone again. I called Sheridan.

  “Why the hell do you need clothes?” she demanded.

  “It's a long story,” I told her.

  “Jesus, Annika.” She sighed. “Please tell me you're not fucking this up.”

  “I'm not, I swear,” I said. “I just...I just need you to bring me something to change into.”

  “Well, I can't.” The line hummed. “I'm already on my way to the wedding. It starts at two.”

  I closed my eyes. The wedding was in Santa Barbara. Shit.

  “Okay,” I said. “Never mind. Tell Jamie I wish I was there.” And then, “And remind her Connor likes it doggie-style.”

  “Annika.” I could picture the horrified look on her face.

  “I'm kidding,” I said. “Tell her...tell her I said good luck. Or congratulations. Or whatever it is you tell people who decide to have sex with only one person for the rest of their lives.”

  “Uh, no,” she said, chuckling. “I'm not going to mention you at all.”

  I almost smiled and hung up. I had one more person I could call. One person who wouldn't go to the sorority house for me but who wore the same size as me and who just might come to my rescue.

  “Annika.”

  Abby's voice was cautious, even after all of this time. I didn't blame her. We might be twins but we'd never been close. And I'd never been a good sister to her.

  “Hey. I need a favor.”

  “How are you?” she asked, ignoring me. “Good? Oh, I'm glad. I'm fine, too. And so is Amanda. You know, your niece.”

  “I know who she is,” I said, feeling a tiny flicker of guilt at the mention of my niece. I didn't do babies, no matter how hard I tried.

  She sighed. “What do you want?”

  “I need some clothes.”

  “What?”

  “Clothes. Can I swing by your place?” She and West, her husband, had an apartment less than a mile away.

  “I'm not home.”

  “What? Where are you?”

  “I have a life, you know.”

  “Since when?”

  Silence.

  “Kidding,” I said. “Lighten up. And tell me where you are.”

  She hesitated. “I'm at Baby Gym.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Dear God.”

  “Shut up.”

  “What about West?” I asked. “Is he there?” I could still swing by and grab something clean to wear. Granted, it seemed all my sister wore these days were yoga pants and t-shirts but she was bound to have at least a few articles of clothing left over from her pre-knocked up days.

  “No,” she said, her voice sharp. “He's at work. They're running a tournament at the academy this week.”

  West was assistant manager at a local baseball academy as well as one of their head coaches.

  “Well, shit.” I rubbed my hand across my face, thinking.

  “What's going on?” she asked, her tone softening a little. “Are you in trouble?”

  I straightened. “Nothing I can't handle.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Hey, don't forget—”

  I cut her off. “I gotta go. I'll talk to you later.”

  I tossed the phone on the coffee table and stood up. I might have to wear the same clothes but at least I could run to the store and get the other things I needed. Or maybe Walgreens had decided to start stocking clothes. They always had random crap on the store shelves there.There was also the off chance I was wrong about the boutiques. Maybe something would be open that early on a Su
nday morning.

  I scanned the room, looking for my car keys. I'd need to find those before I could even think about leaving the motel. I searched every horizontal surface—the kitchen counter, the coffee table, the bathroom counter, the dresser and nightstand in the bedroom. They were nowhere.

  “Goddammit,” I muttered, lifting the cushions off the couch. For one brief moment, I wondered if Stuart had left without me. Maybe he'd just decided not to bother with me and driven out to State by himself.

  I was on my hands and knees, searching under the couch, the comforter half-wrapped around me, when the door to the cottage opened. I looked up and Stuart was standing there, clad only in a pair of black basketball shorts, his tanned chest coated in sweat.

  “Where the hell have you been?” I asked.

  “Running.” He glanced at me. “What are you doing?”

  I straightened. “What does it look like I'm doing?”

  His eyes raked over me, lingering on my barely covered breasts. “I assume this is some repeat of what you were doing last night in bed?”

  I felt my cheeks color. “Wrong, asshole. I'm looking for my keys.”

  “Keys?” He wiped at the sheen of sweat on his forehead, then rubbed his hand on his shorts. “Leaving without me?”

  I glared at him. “The thought actually crossed my mind.” I pulled the comforter up, tightening it around me. “I need to go get clothes. And make-up. And a goddamn toothbrush.”

  “You can use mine,” he said. He leaned down and brushed the sand off his feet.

  “Your make-up?” I wrinkled my nose. “I had no idea...”

  “My toothbrush.” He grinned. “You know, since you had no problem sharing a bottle with me last night.”

  “That doesn't solve the problem of this,” I said, gesturing at my hair and body.

  Stuart studied me. “I have a comb you can borrow.”