Phase (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #1) (28 page)

BY THE TIME we got back to the house, we were both ready for a shower so we shared one before dinner, although we spent far more time concentrating on each other than on getting clean.

“I’m supposed to go make an appearance at the bonfire tonight,” he said out of the blue as if he’d been avoiding telling me for a while. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want me upset that in the few hours we had left, he was leaving me. He explained the tradition at the resort to have regular camp-style bonfires for all of the guests, and it grew clear the idea had been his. It was as if his property had become the playground of a boy who’d never been able to go away to camp.

“’Cause it’s your last night, you should come too,” he said as he handed me a towel.

It was another chance to get a glimpse into his world. My last chance. “I’d love to come. What’s the dress code?”

“Come as ya are.”

“As I am?” I teased glancing down at my matching bra and panties. “That might be a little scandalous.”

His arms wrapped around my waist as he chuckled. “Ya ain’t gonna hear me complainin’.”

“You might once some of the guests start turning up.”

“Ya got a point there, li’l miss. Maybe ya need to wear the shirt ya procured from my closet.”

“No dice,” I said.

He gave me a questioning look, and I blushed, not wanting to admit the reason I didn’t want to wear the shirt too much before I went home.

“It smells like you,” I muttered. “I don’t want to lose that any earlier than I have to. I want to be able to go home and wrap myself in it. Pretend I’m still here with you.” My last words were almost silent and if I’d lingered over them, I was certain tears would have formed in my eyes.

He groaned as if my words were the sexiest thing ever. “Oh, darlin’, I can’t deny ya that.” He disappeared before returning a second later with another shirt from his wardrobe. “Ya should wear this one. Then I’ll have one that smells like you.”

“I can hardly deny you that,” I said as I slipped the shirt on. It was too big for me, just like the other one, but that didn’t matter.

“This’ll be my favorite shirt from now on.” His fingers worked to button the shirt from top to bottom as he spoke.

When it was buttoned halfway, I told him to stop. I grabbed the two corners and twisted them into a knot across my stomach. Then I went to reach for my jeans to finish the outfit, but when I bent over, Beau’s moan stilled me.

“Oh, darlin’. That there is one more image that’ll stick with me.” His hand trailed over my arse as he said the words.

When I moaned with need, he shifted his hand to caress my pussy. Another moan slipped past my lips as I pushed back against him. His fingers shifted the cotton covering me and slid along my body.

I parted my legs as his fingers explored and played.

“Phoebe, can I—”

“Yes,” I moaned as I reached out for the bed in front of me for support. I was so ready for him; I would have agreed to almost anything. He held my complete trust.

The word was barely free before he’d drawn my panties down my legs and stepped close behind me. One of his hands played against my hip, his fingers dancing and rubbing small circles against my skin.

A gasp left me as his other hand guided his cock against me. The warm, wet head brushed against my clit.

I bit my lip while he traced the same path again and again. Each time he ran himself over my pussy, a whimper escaped me. There was something wanton about bending over in front of him, of being half-dressed and desperate for more.

Just when his soft stroking was driving me insane, he pushed himself into me. Inch by blissful inch. The sensation was different from anything before. Having him inside me, hot, hard, and bare, was like nothing else.

“Oh, darlin’.” The words slipped from him when he buried himself deep inside me.

He stilled. Both his hands found purchase on my hips, and he used the hold to rock me against him.

The pace he set was almost agonisingly slow, and yet it was enough to see me teetering on the edge. Each time he dragged me backward, it was like he was trying to find new depths.

“Beau, I . . . I . . . oh God!” I was so close and ready. The angle. The knowledge that it was just him and me, there was nothing between us.

His grip on my hip was soft enough not to leave a mark but secure enough so that I was certain he’d never let me go. It was enough. It was everything.

With a groan, he sped up. His breath grew rough and I lost it, tumbling over the edge as he moved within me.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” he muttered as he felt me come around him.

An instant later, he was gone. The absence of his body was a noticeable void behind me. His next breath carried a sound that proved how close he’d come to releasing inside of me. Using my jellied legs despite not having any trust in them, I moved to the bed and spun around to sit on the edge.

Beau stood just inches from where I’d been before; his eyes screwed tight and a towel clutched over his crotch.

He opened his eyes and caught me staring at him with a smirk on my lips. “What’ve ya done to me, darlin’?”

I fell back on the bed in laughter.

ONCE WE were dressed, we headed down to the bonfire, held on the shore of the lake. When we arrived, everyone was already set up. There were three chairs and three long logs set up around a firepit. Beau helped me to a place on one of the logs before moving across to take a seat in the middle chair. He’d warned me of the seating arrangement, and the reason for it. Instead of being upset at having to sit by myself, I was looking forward to it. As he’d told me about the evening—before we’d become waylaid by our desire—he’d reminded me of his promise to show me he could sing one day.

For a while, there was general conversation while Mitch and his brother, Joe, arranged dinner. It was a similar fare to what Beau and I had shared the night before.

After dinner, they served s’mores. When Mitch slipped one of the constructed desserts into my hand, I found Beau watching me with a lustful expression. No doubt the previous night’s adventures were playing in his mind just like mine.

A blush crept up my cheeks as he licked the edge of the s’more in his hand. I clenched my thighs together as need flooded through me.

I was barely recovering from the s’mores when a guitar was dragged out. Mitch handed it straight to Beau.

“Now, usually Joe and me would go first, but Beau’s in town for jus’ a couple o’ nights.”

There were clearly a few regulars in the crowd because as soon as his name was mentioned, there was a cheer among a few of the women. An unfamiliar emotion burned in my stomach. It took me a moment to recognise it. Jealousy.

“And we hear he’s hankerin’ to turn in early.”

My blush grew.

“So he’s gonna take the first set and then hand ya over to us for afterwards.”

Because the setting was so close, so intimate, Beau didn’t need a mic to amplify his voice. He strummed the guitar and closed his eyes. The song was vaguely familiar, and when he started to sing, I knew why. It was the song that had played the first time we’d made love. Hearing it in his voice—which was far better than I’d expected the first time he’d teased me for not being able to sing—brought back memories of that night, and every moment since.

I was transfixed. Seeing him lost in the song, lost in the words, was like watching him make love. The way his fingers played along the neck of the guitar with such grace and dexterity reminded me of the way they danced over my skin. I shifted in my seat as I squeezed my thighs together.

My lips parted as I stared at him through the flickering flame. When he hit the chorus and starting crooning about roller coasters and things ending too soon, he opened his eyes and met my gaze and offered me one of his slow, steady smiles.

Once the song finished, he moved to another. One about a girl being all in his head. Whenever his eyes were open, he was staring at me.

I had to admit his voice was pretty damn good. He even made country music worth listening to.

Without pausing, he moved to a third song. His fingers hesitated over the cords a little, stumbling more than he had on the other two songs. When he started singing, I almost thought he was making the lyrics up on the spot—they related to our situation so perfectly.

The song was slow, steady, asking for one more day.

Just one more day.

What I wouldn’t have given for it too. I thought about how much of my trip I’d spent away from Beau’s side, and wondered what it might have been like if we’d had that time together. Would we have had the same adventure if we hadn’t gotten to know each other with our flirtatious phone calls and messages first?

He stumbled over a couple more cords, obviously not as practised with the song as with the others, but he played through it. He didn’t once meet my eye as he sang the final song, instead keeping his eyes screwed shut the entire time. His whole performance was far less polished the rest of his set.

As he neared the end of the song, his voice broke and his breath hitched. When he finished the song, he practically threw the guitar to Joe and brought his hand to his eyes. He whispered something to Joe and then stepped away.

I jumped up to follow him into the darkness of the trees while Joe announced that they’d be continuing with some more traditional camp songs.

Beau’s long stride carried him away faster than I could walk so I had to jog to cover the distance between us.

“Beau?” I questioned, touching his shoulder when I reached him.

He spun and grabbed hold of my hips, pressing his lips to mine in an almost punishing kiss. He backed us up until my back struck a tree, but even then his tongue and lips continued to move against mine.

As he gathered control of himself again, he caressed my cheeks with his palms, rested his forehead against mine, and released a staggered breath. “Sorry, darlin’.”

I wrapped my hands around his head in return, laying my palms behind his ears so he couldn’t pull away from me. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I just . . . I didn’t ’spect th’ song to stir up so much . . .” He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut again—blocking me from the heartbreak I saw within. “It’s an emotional song for me. I thought I’d make it through. I wanted to sing it for ya.”

“It . . . it was beautiful.”

“It was Mabel’s favorite song. After Ern passed, I mean. The last time I sang it was at her funeral.”

“It was perfect.”

“D’ya wanna go back to the bonfire? I think I got myself together ’nough.”

I shook my head. “I kinda think I just wanna spend my last few hours alone with you, if that’s okay.”

His lips curled up into a smile, but the happiness didn’t reach his eyes.

We headed back to his house and found our way to the sunlounger to lie in each other’s arms.

My head spun, and my heart pounded as his voice and the meaning behind the three songs he’d sang all ran through me on repeat. How would I be able to leave in the morning? How could I look into his eyes, meet the heartbreak that I saw in them before, and still walk away?

And I would have to be the one who walked away. If I asked, I didn’t doubt Beau would let me stay for as long as I wanted.

“How’d you get so good at singing and playing the guitar?” I asked to try to break the heaviness that had settled over us. It was like every heartbeat was another second on the clock racing us toward the end.

“Before Mabel took me in, the only thang I had to my name was a beat-up guitar. I dunno how I even got started, I just did.”

“Did you ever think about doing it professionally?”

“Heh, I ain’t that good. ’Sides, I can’t read sheet music. I just see the music. In here, ya know?” He tapped his head.

“I’m glad I got to hear you play before I left. My talents all lie on the track, not in my vocal cords.”

“Don’t I know it,” he teased, drawing me closer as he said the words. “Does that mean I’m gonna convert you to some decent music then?”

“Hey, my music rocks.” I elbowed his ribs.

He held me tight as we both fell into silence.