Never Been Good Page 8

  Did she really not know? Not know how much she affected him?

  Fuck.

  How could she when he’d never said a damn word about it? Never gave her a hint. Hell, almost never even acknowledged it to himself, because the thought of being with her was so impossible.

  “Let me show you just how beautiful I think you are.”

  Flynn almost bracketed her face in his hands. But she angled back. It was barely noticeable, but he did. He noticed everything about Sierra. And she seemed skittish.

  So he dropped his hands back down. Angled in to only touch her lips. It was a soft kiss. A brush, mouth against mouth, so light they barely touched. Just to see what Sierra would do.

  She didn’t pull back.

  Flynn did it again. And again. Slow, teasing kisses that swept back and forth.

  They practically killed him. Reining in his need was like having a fucking noose around his neck. Made it hard to breathe. Hard to think. But if Sierra needed him to go slow, that’s what he’d do.

  Finally, her lips parted just enough to let out a sigh. It was all he needed. Flynn threaded his fingers through her long, dark hair. Took a split second to register that it was just as silky as he’d imagined. Then he tilted her head back and to the side to make the angle better. And then he really kissed her.

  There was pressure this time but he didn’t go for it. Didn’t unleash all the want bottled up inside of him that he’d been resisting for weeks. But he did full-out kiss her.

  Flynn stroked his pinkie along the nape of her neck and was gratified at the shiver that chased its way down her body. He licked the sticky sweetness of the honey from her. He pressed and shaped and fucking learned her mouth. Learned what she liked. Learned that her almost pouty lower lip was the perfect place to use his teeth, right in the center, to make that noise happen in the back of her throat.

  Most of all, Flynn learned how mind-blowingly great it was to kiss Sierra. He could do it all night. Christ, he hadn’t even gotten inside her mouth yet, and his dick was already threatening to bust through his jeans. She smelled like the beach, tasted like sugar, and felt like a dream.

  Sierra kept shifting in his grasp, little moves that brought her closer against him. Little moves that rubbed her breasts against his chest, that made his hand on her waist slip down to the upper curve of her tight little ass.

  He tongued along the seam of her lips, prompting her to finally, finally open to him. Flynn’s tongue slipped in and swept up all that residual honey flavor that he swore had to be just her. He pressed her backward until she was lying on the couch and he could press his whole upper body against her. Their tongues swirled together, side to side and around in a dance that turned his dick to pure steel. And even with him lying on top of her, Sierra still arched up into his embrace with breathy little moans.

  Easing back, he pushed the hair off her cheek with one finger. “Do you believe me now? When I say that you’re beautiful? Can you tell how much you turn me on?”

  Red flooded her face. “Yes. Those kisses—they clarified your point extremely well.”

  “You liked ’em?”

  “A lot. They were very, very good.” Her smile lit him up like a firecracker inside. “Even better than the sandwich.”

  How selfish was he, kissing her without letting the woman eat dinner after a long shift? Flynn practically dumped the plate back on her lap. “Sorry. Eat up. I’ll get you some water.”

  Yeah, those kisses had been good—hell, great—and yet also very, very bad. Because they were so terrific. Because they made him fucking feel again, like he hadn’t for all the months before coming to Bandon. Made him want to watch over her all night, feed her every day, and do anything in his power to bring out that smile again. He’d liked her for a month. Wanted her that whole time.

  Now? Flynn needed her. That made what had just happened big, big trouble.

  Forget that Flynn didn’t deserve a woman like her. Sierra didn’t deserve to be stuck with a guy figuring out who he was now, while living an elaborate lie.

  But now that he’d had a taste of her?

  He couldn’t let her go.

  Chapter Six

  “Everyone have enough cake?” Lucien asked, brandishing a long knife.

  Sierra ducked as little bits of blue frosting flew off. The birthday cake was quirky and awesome—the doctor’s symbol of a caduceus with a coiled snake, that apparently matched Mollie’s tattoo—but she didn’t want to wear it.

  Considering he’d cut slabs of cake big enough to be a meal, everyone murmured they had enough.

  Lucien was an amazing host. His family owned the super famous, super swanky golf resort/hotel/spa that employed the half of Bandon that didn’t work at the cranberry plant. He’d shut the whole spa down for the evening and thrown Mollie’s birthday party here.

  It was the fanciest thing she’d ever been to in her entire life. They were all on lounge chairs with thick cream cushions. Soft fleece blankets the color of driftwood lay across the bottoms, each embroidered with their names. Their names! Sierra had only been invited two days ago, and she still got a personalized party favor. It blew her away.

  Bottles of champagne speared out of ice buckets on shiny gold stands. Trays and trays of appetizers lined the marble counter. Sierra didn’t even know what most of them were. Besides utterly yummy, anyway. She sampled everything and then went back for seconds. Once they were finished with cake, technicians were coming in to give everyone manicures and pedicures. All six of them at once.

  In addition to the birthday girl and the surfer-boy handsome Lucien, Mollie’s friends Elena, Lily, and Karen were there. And they were amazing. Or maybe that was the third glass of champagne talking. Sierra was definitely tipsy at this point. But she truly did like everyone she’d met. Not just because she was so desperately starved for friends. No, she’d connected with them all.

  As much as she could.

  While deflecting every personal question they asked.

  While lying about too many things.

  She hated that.

  Grabbing a bottle of champagne, Lucien topped off Mollie’s glass. “If cake’s over, then it’s time for presents.”

  Her mouth dropped into a horrified O. “Cake is never over, Lucien. Only the first round is over.”

  “That’s the dividing line between men and women.” He continued around the circle of women, adding bubbly to their glasses and spreading some winks and smiles just as freely. Sierra had never witnessed a smoother customer. “We eat and move on. You circle back and nibble twenty times in an hour. Can’t you just commit to stuffing your face?”

  “Funny, hearing the word commitment come out of your mouth,” Mollie sassed back. “I didn’t think you knew what it meant.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m very committed.” He winked at Sierra. “Committed to giving every pretty woman who crosses my path a full helping of this goodness.” He swept an arm up and down his body.

  Sierra giggled. And turned away. Lucien had flirted with her, in a friendly way, all night. It had been obvious from the start that it was just his style. He’d probably flirt with the potted ficus in the corner if a botanist told him it was female.

  But she didn’t want to flirt with him. Not even though he was hot. And rich. Charming. Easy to be with. Quick to fill in a conversational gap or make a quip.

  Nope. It turned out that while she liked drop-dead hot, she didn’t need charming and easy. Broody and difficult appeared to be what Sierra wanted on her man-menu. Flynn was by no means easy but that just meant when he did open up, offer a comment, share a smile, it mattered.

  Sierra looked down at her phone, which was hot on the back because she hadn’t stopped texting. Once she’d told Flynn where the party was, he’d demanded pictures of the secret inner sanctum. There might have been a little talk about wanting to see where women hung out in just towels and a need to see her in a towel.

  In fact, she wanted to read that again. While Elena carried the gift ba
gs over to Mollie, Sierra scrolled up in the message list.

  F: If you’re sitting around in just a towel, is there a window where I can come catch a peek?

  S: There’s a whole wall of windows, overlooking the third hole and the ocean. But I don’t want you arrested for sneaking around, peering in windows.

  F: If it meant seeing you in just a towel, it’d be worth it.

  Flynn gave off an attitude of “I’ll do what I want” and Sierra had no doubt that if he decided there was a strong chance to see her almost naked, he’d hightail it over.

  Which was flattering in the extreme because he was . . . so sexy. Movie star sexy. Tall, dark, and more than a little mysterious. Older, self-assured, not caring what anyone thought, which was hot all by itself. He could get any woman in town without even crooking a finger. Just one of those half smiles of his was all it would take. Sierra was nowhere close to his league.

  And yet he’d kissed her two nights ago. Over and over and over again. It had been amazing. And no, that was not the champagne talking. Flynn’s kisses melted her from the inside out. They were drugging. Literally. They’d completely made her forget the pain in her ankle.

  He’d kissed her yesterday, too. Showed up to drive her to work and kissed her right there on the tiny porch. Kissed her until her toes curled in her sneakers and her knees bobbled out from under her. Only Flynn’s quick reflexes had kept her upright. And then they’d talked the whole way to the Gorse. Like friends, but . . . almost like a real couple?

  To keep him out of trouble, Sierra texted him the truth. We’re all wearing bathrobes that come down to our ankles. Probably not worth it.

  F: Can we find a way to make the just-a-towel thing happen?

  Sexting. That’s what they were doing. And it absolutely delighted her. This man who was so serious all of the time was letting her inside his private thoughts, where it was considerably steamier than she’d expected. Who knew that texting about doing things to each other was almost, almost as fun as the real deal?

  S: I’m open to suggestions. What did you have in mind?

  F: You. Water dripping down your skin that I get to lick off. Untucking the towel so I can get at your breasts. Licking my way around your nipples until they stand up and beg for me to bite them.

  That’s the point when Lucien had started passing out cake. Fifteen minutes later, Sierra still hadn’t fully cooled down from the images Flynn had planted in her head.

  And she had no idea how to respond. Should she offer to show up on his doorstep in a towel? Not that she had the guts to actually follow through on an offer like that. Because nothing that happened with Flynn was planned. Things just kept . . . happening. With him driving her to and from work, fixing her meals, texting back and forth . . . it kind of felt like they’d accidentally started dating.

  How could she do that to him?

  How could she get involved with him when she was in so much trouble?

  Flynn Maguire, though, was all kinds of irresistible. Sierra hadn’t done anything for herself—aside from fleeing a criminal situation—in months. No splurges. No movies, no hanging out with friends, no casual afternoon at the mall where she could make an impulse purchase of a pretty pair of earrings. She’d stayed under the radar. Stayed hidden.

  Dating Flynn would not be a smart move. It would open her up to the risk of blurting out the truth. It would open her up to falling in love, when she might have to run away again at a moment’s notice.

  Yet Sierra couldn’t stop herself from wanting him. Not when he was so good to her. Not with his wickedly teasing streak. His sly wit. The man was building her a bookcase, for heaven’s sake.

  Or maybe she was misreading the signs. The very sexy signs that could just be them speeding down the road to a casual fling. Which meant no entanglement. No—or less—worry about lying to him about who she really was. Very low risk, and a potentially sky-high reward.

  Men were all for casual flings, right? It was only her emotions at stake?

  Karen rapped a spoon against a crystal champagne glass to get everyone’s attention. A stack of silver bangles slid down her wrist to clatter against the glass. “I’m all about celebrating Mollie, but I also want to get to that paraffin dip for my hands. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Mollie picked up a flat manila envelope. And then she gasped, her mouth opening in delight.

  Sierra hadn’t known how to wrap her gift, let alone want to blow money on an entire roll of wrapping paper and a card that she couldn’t afford. So she’d gotten an envelope from the Gorse and decorated it with pastels. A blue box, with green and white ribbons curling in an elaborate bow. A row of three pink-frosted cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles. And a bouquet of white balloons floating out over the ocean. It had been fun to do this morning, out in the sun.

  “This is fantastic. Did you do this yourself?”

  “Yes.” Sierra nodded, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention. She hadn’t been trying to show off—just find some way to bring something special to the party. Something special enough to thank Mollie for including her.

  Mollie held it up for everyone to look at, and a chorus of oohs and aahs filled the room. “I love it. I’ll frame it and put it out every year during my birthday month.”

  Omigosh. Did Mollie think that was it? Sierra bit her lip, trying not to giggle. “That’s just the wrapping. Your gift is inside the envelope.”

  Lucien handed over a knife so that she could slit it open. Mollie slowly drew out the piece of thick paper. It was a sketch of her and her boyfriend, Rafe, Flynn’s brother.

  They came into the Gorse together all the time. Sierra had noticed as soon as they started dating, because they were so into each other. When Rafe and Mollie looked at each other, they acted as though all the other people in the bar didn’t exist. Like they were in a private bubble of love.

  So she’d done a pencil sketch of them, just like that. With enough hints of furniture, jukebox, and a bar to show they were at the Gorse. But then, inside a shimmery, heart-shaped bubble, she’d drawn Mollie, with her chin in her hand staring at Rafe like he hung the moon in the sky. And Rafe kissing the knuckles of her other hand. His head was down but his eyes were up, fixed on Mollie and beaming with adoration.

  “Sierra. My God, this is incredible.” Mollie passed it to Elena and vaulted off the lounge chair. Two quick strides brought her over to Sierra’s. Fat tears clung to her bottom lashes. She threw her arms around Sierra in a long, tight hug. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She sat back down, hand pressed together over her heart. “This is huge. We don’t have any pictures together.”

  “Rafe’s ridiculously camera shy. I don’t know why, since he’s so freaking gorgeous,” Elena said, fanning herself dramatically.

  Mollie’s gaze shifted back and forth between the two, before her lips thinned, too. It was weird how she almost looked like she was trying to hide something. Did Rafe have a real phobia of cameras? Did he think he was a vampire and thus unable to be captured on film? Sierra bit her lip to keep from giggling.

  “Anyway, this means a lot to me. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

  Sierra dipped her head. “It means a lot that you invited me to your party.”

  Lily peered at her from behind pink cat’s-eye glasses. “Sierra, you’re so talented. Not like a hobby. This is art. The real deal.”

  “It’s just a sketch. It only took half an hour.”

  “Did you learn how to do this in school?”

  “Do you ever sell your work?” Questions popped at Sierra from every side of the room. The kind of questions she’d have to answer with lies. The kind of questions that had forced her, for months, to not engage with anyone.

  Here she was, finally splurging in a few basic human connections, and after only an hour she’d been trapped. Trapped by well-meaning, interested people. Trapped by people who wanted to know more about her.

  How could that be a bad thing?
>
  How could she live her life avoiding that?

  That question was a sucker punch from her brain straight to her stomach. Sierra bent forward, pulling a hand to her belly. Air became impossible to draw into her lungs. Because tonight had been wonderful. Between Flynn and this party, she felt more alive than she had in the past few months.

  Attentive, caring people were staring at her. Waiting for an answer. Waiting for Sierra to share what should be the most basic information in the world. Instead, it was basically giving her a panic attack.

  “I’ll be right back. Which way’s the bathroom?”

  Lucien pointed at the furthest of five doors from her. Of course. Hoping that nobody noticed her fast, shallow, guppy-like gasps for air, Sierra hightailed it across the room as fast as the backless slippers would let her. She slid sideways through the door. When she turned to face front, she almost jumped out of her slippers.

  Flynn stood right in front of her. He looked decidedly out of place in the driftwood and cream hallway that smelled of lavender. He wore black cargo shorts, a black tee, and flip-flops. Sierra was so used to seeing him in jeans that yes, her gaze dipped back down twice to take in the legs—or rather, thickly muscled legs—covered in dark hair.

  “Oh. Wow, this is a surprise. Hi.”

  He didn’t speak. Only bent down to brush his lips against hers. Once. Twice. Then Sierra gave up counting as he tunneled one hand through her hair to pull her even closer.

  She surrendered to the dizzying, knee-melting sensation of being kissed senseless by Flynn. The way he started slow and then just consumed her with his passion that ignited even more of her own. It felt so good to be wanted so much. To hear the low growl that crawled up from his throat. To notice his growing hardness against her belly. To open her eyes and meet his fierce, burning blue stare.

  Finally, Flynn eased back with one last kiss on the tip of her nose. “Hi.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m hooked on the cucumber water. Can’t get enough of it,” he deadpanned.