Stephanie Tyler - Coming Undone

Meaning it was time for her to decide how far to take this situation. “Look, I don’t know why you did what you did—”

“Think they bought it?” he interrupted, and she found herself staring at him again. He was so handsome. Quickly, a dozen different fantasies, all involving Hunt and his uniform and a nice hot game of “Yes, ma’am” seemed like a great way to pass the night.

But it was a fantasy that had gotten her into this particular mess to start with. “Yes, they did buy it. Now, I’ll have to think up some excuse as to why you won’t be attending any Winters family functions. What were you thinking?”

“You started it. You were the one who sent me the fantasy.”

“I didn’t send you any fantasy. I told you, it was a mistake.” A giant, horrifically embarrassing mistake.

“I like a woman who knows what she wants.” His voice dropped an octave as his gaze swept over her. “And you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.”

“Are you going to turn that document in?”

“No, I’m not,” he replied, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he handed it to her, along with the guest lists.

“Well, thanks. And thanks for trying to help tonight. I didn’t mean to pull you into this.”

“Looks like you owe me,” he told her, watching her with that I’ve-got-plans-for-you gaze.

“The cake wasn’t enough?”

“Not nearly enough.” He’d abandoned the coffee as he stood, stretched and stared at her appreciatively. On any other guy, it would’ve been obscene. On him, it made her want to take off her clothes. Or better yet, let him take them off. Slowly.

“We just met, Hunt. I don’t even know you,” she said, as more of a reminder to herself than anything.

“I’m an open book,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, and Carly thought about asking him to reveal one of his fantasies, so that they’d be on a level playing field. “It’s not like we had a date or anything,” she continued, realizing he didn’t need any more ammunition than what he already had on her. He didn’t seem the type who’d have any problem spilling his fantasies. Fantasies involving his removing that T-shirt and letting her check out what she was sure was the best chest she’d ever seen, which probably had a light dusting of blond hair leading down to his…

“You don’t seem like a woman who’d get caught up in conventions. And I am invited to the wedding.” He grinned, and she wondered if this man could indeed read minds.

Carly narrowed her eyes. “And what’s in this for you?”

“I already told you. I want to know how the fantasy ends.” Hunt moved closer, and she wanted to walk away, to tell him to go right out her front door and not come back, but she couldn’t. Her feet remained rooted in place as he stood inches from her, and tension crackled the air between them.

What was in that coconut cake? Aphrodisiac therapy. Coconut covered SEAL.

She needed to get a grip.

But the memory of what she’d written was almost too much to bear, and the thought of putting it to practice, and putting Hunt to the test, was making her hot.

His scent reminded her of the beach in the early morning, so full of promise, hinting of sunshine and ideal waves. It was her favorite smell and a longing echoed inside of her. It would be so easy to kiss him, to make her fantasy come true. There was nothing stopping her from stripping off her clothes and having Hunt press his body against hers, letting him take her against the couch, or on the floor, or anywhere else he wanted to.

It would be the easiest thing.

He remained close to her, his lips parted in a seductive smile before he spoke. “Are you going to tell me how it ends? Or do you want me to show you first how I’d finish it?”

HE DIDN’T WAIT TO HEAR her answer before he brought his mouth down on hers. It was a slow, warm kiss that threatened to turn into something molten. Hunt’s hands were in her hair. Carly’s hands were fisted against his chest, unsure if they were there to pull him closer or push him away.

She had an open invitation to show him how she’d end it, any way she wanted. Who could pass that up?

Choosing the road less taken, Carly knew she’d regret it one way or another. She pulled back, breaking the kiss without finesse.

His smile was wider than it had been before. His green eyes slightly more golden, and his thick blond hair begged for her to thread her hands in it. She knew taking him to bed was the only right thing to do. “I think you need to leave, Hunt,” she said.

“I don’t think you mean that.”

Of course she didn’t, but it had taken every ounce of strength to stop and still have a coherent thought. He tasted like coconut. He tasted delicious and he kissed her the way someone who knew how to kiss should. He should teach courses in kissing, because that’s how good it was. Over the falls paled in comparison.

She didn’t need any more distractions.

He stepped back and released her, but made no move to leave. “So tell me again why a professional surfer girl is faxing erotic fantasies to strangers.”

“Former pro surfer girl,” she corrected. “And I told you. I was helping out a friend.”

“Right, a friend. So where did this idea for the fax come from, anyway?”

She thought for a second about not telling him, and then figured he might as well know the whole truth rather than continue thinking she was plain crazy.

Carly dug out the magazine from the pile next to her couch and handed it to him. He read for a minute in silence and she got a chance to stare at him a little more. Because there was something about this man in uniform that made her tingle.

“So you needed to spice up your sex life?” he asked finally.

“I told you, it wasn’t for me. My friend needed to spice up hers. I was giving her a start with the fantasy.”

“And how did things work out for your friend?”

“I’ll find out in the morning,” she said, smiling.

“Candy Valentine’s a good name, but it sounds like a stripper. Is that part of your fantasy?”

“I’m sure it’s part of yours.”

“Oh, yeah. That would work.” He eyed the matching decorative columns that ran, floor to ceiling, in her living room.

Oh boy.

“These are really cool,” he said. He’d moved into an alcove, scanning the pictures she’d hung there. Most of them were photos of her having just come off a ride, and a few boasted her on the covers of some surfing magazines, one of them a national publication. She’d debated not hanging them up at all, but hoped having that daily public reminder would inspire her to get better. Fixed. Something.

Seeing a therapist was the next step. She didn’t want it to have to come to that. Admitting the problem had been hard enough.

Admitting the problem to her parents was something she didn’t plan on doing, period. And really, she could easily back out of her mother’s upcoming charity event by citing pain. There were plenty of other surfers and body boarders participating. Some recognizable names were giving their time to raise money for spinal cord injury research. But she’d booked herself as one of the attractions because her pride wouldn’t let her do otherwise. She still held out more than a spark of hope that she could give an impromptu, two-minute ride on a longboard, and influence some girl the way she’d been influenced so many years ago. And now, two weeks and counting, she couldn’t make it mid-beach, never mind into the water. She had her strength back, and enough flexibility to let her give a decent ride.

“Where’d you learn to surf?” Hunt asked, pulling her from her reverie. She realized she been fisting her hands so tightly that her nails had left marks in her palms. She straightened her hands and rubbed them against each other as she spoke.