CHAPTER 78

The man on the jet ski carves his way up to the shore, splashing as he goes. An attendant manning the cat takes it from him as Harrison King steps off.

I'm not sure what I was expecting. I knew he was a few years older, but it's extra clear seeing him in person. He's wearing a black short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned, board shorts underneath. His dirty-blond hair is a mess, his designer sunglasses covering half his sculpted face.

He stalks up the beach with even, purposeful strides and stops in the sand with his bare feet. He tugs off the sunglasses, surveying us with narrowed eyes. Harrison's attention cuts to my fiancé. Then his imperious face breaks into a grin. "There he is."

He crosses to Timothy, clapping him on the back, and Timothy does the same. "You're here. How the hell did that happen?"

"Someone was persistent." The crisp English accent is one thing, but King looks past my fiancé, his laser eyes finding me.

Timothy introduces me, then I let them catch up as I go over to Rica, who's drawing in the sand with Sophia. They're building what looks like a compound with outbuildings and a moat.

"What is this?" I demand.

"It's Sand City. Less castle, more Coachella. There are ten stages"-Rica gestures to elevated flat platforms-"and a spot for camping."

"And the truck parking is there," Sophia points out.

"Right. That's where you're going to park when you get your license?"

"Yup. Rica's going to teach me to drive."

I notice Harrison watching Rica intently.

"What's his deal?" she asks under her breath.

"Apparently, he had some big breakup and went from being front page of every tabloid and loving it to a near recluse."

She doesn't take her gaze from his. "Girl could do worse than shacking up with that. Long as the place she does it is big enough for him, her, and his ego."

Guilt floods me. I need to tell her the truth: that Timothy's friend runs the company she wants to hang by the toes.

But Rica finally seems as if she's having a good time, and this would ruin it.

She shoves herself out of her seat, dusting off and heading across to where the drinks are.

"Thank you for coming," I say to Harrison, who approaches but still watches Rica.

"You were obscenely persistent, but I couldn't miss Timothy's wedding. Who's your friend?"

"I don't think she's your type."

He cocks his head, amused. "You'd be surprised how many women are."

"Exactly."

The challenge on his face lingers as Timothy approaches, clapping Harrison on the back.

Harrison turns, starting across the sand to get a drink.

"I don't know how the hell you made this happen. Thank you." Timothy wraps me in a hug, his strong arms every reward I could've wanted.

"You really wanted him here," I say against his bare shoulder.

I wish I could talk to Timothy about Rica's situation, but I'm not going to drop this at his feet when he's grappling with enough already.

He scans the beach behind us before grabbing my waist and backing me toward the water, an expression of mischief on his face.

"What are you doing?" I ask, already breathless.

He holds a finger to his lips as the water licks at my calves, then thighs, then waist. He tugs me out toward the catamaran and pulls me behind its shadow.

Then he kisses me, hard and deep enough the crystal waters and beautiful surroundings fall away and I'm drowning in him-his scent, his touch, his taste.

"There might be sea monsters," I manage when he pulls back, and he snorts.

"I'll protect you."

"I'm serious. Jacob already found them," I laugh against his mouth.

"Jacob who?"

Timothy's chocolate eyes are almost black, his hair ruffled from the wind, and the turquoise ocean leaves trails of water that drip off his chin and bead deliciously on his shoulders, sparkling over the canvas of black ink that curls around his chest and arm.

He's the most stunning man I've ever seen. And he's mine.

Desire washes over me, through me, becomes part of me like the sea.

His scent is wild and familiar at once, the smoky cedar invading my senses. It steals the part of my brain reminding me we're sharing this beach with a dozen other people.

My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard enough he groans. He pulls my hips against his, and the hard ridge of him through the shorts makes me ache.

This week, there've been moments he's felt like a stranger. I feel like a traitor even thinking it when I know deep down he's the Timothy I love. But between a few stolen moments, I've barely seen him.

Now, as if he's thinking the same thing, he drags me back to him.

Nothing will come between us, say his lips, his tongue, his touch.

His fingers skim my ass under the bathing suit, making little shivers electrify me. Underwater, it's even better. His touch is a shimmer, a promise, a tease I couldn't ignore if I wanted to.

"You know what's wrong with spending the afternoon on a deserted beach with your friends and family?" he murmurs against my ear. The friction of his lips leaves me shivering despite the warmth of the water, of his body.

"What?" My arms band around his neck, the buoyancy making it easy to hook my ankles around his waist. I'm reduced to a barnacle on this man, and I don't even care.

"Absolutely fucking nothing as long as we can do this." Timothy's voice is a dark promise before his wicked fingers press where I'm already aching for his touch.

I don't need his satisfied groan to tell me I'm wet. The way those fingers penetrate me, sliding deep, filling me with a confidence bordering on arrogance.

His eyes change color. "Fuck, I've been thinking about this all morning."

My body tightens around him, and one of those sounds rips through my chest, muffled by his shoulder. "Timothy... don't get me wrong, because this is hot-so damn hot..." I pant when his thumb presses against my swollen clit, taking my arousal up another thousand notches. "But I want more than this. It feels like we're stealing moments, and this is supposed to be the time for us."

His jaw works, his nostrils flaring as if he's being punished by some invisible force. "I know. Soon."

His tortured words land on my skin, melt there. Timothy knows it doesn't heal what's between us, and the fact that he doesn't pretend it can makes it impossible to deny him.

Because if all I have with him right now is this moment at the edge of the world, our life on the other side of this catamaran, I'll take it.

It's never been about sex with Timothy. I'd love him even if we didn't have a connection like this. But our connection leaves nothing untouched. He takes unrivaled satisfaction in claiming me inside and out.

My body, my heart, my soul.

I pull him out of his shorts, and his jaw clenches with need.

"In my mind, we're in a bed," he whispers. "It's you and me and nothing but time."

I shift down onto him, arching my back to take him. "Oh my God." I hiccup a breath, fisting my hand in his hair.

My nails scrape his shoulders, the tattoos across his chest blurring into a haze of black lines as my vision blurs at the feel of him.

"I'm spending seconds as if we're going to live forever. Taking you so slow you swear you're going to come from the waiting alone." He grinds me on him, around him, forcing my body to take him all the way in.

The low rasp of his breathing is unbearably sexy against the background of our friends laughing, the occasional shriek of a bird or of Sophia.

Timothy strokes into me, and I clench around him. My hands drag greedily up his abs, his pecs, and I lower my mouth to his neck.

He stumbles back until his shoulders hit the anchored boat. "But every time I touch you, every time I give you pleasure, you take a piece of me. And I want to make it last forever because I want you to see it in my eyes every time you do that."

He lifts and lowers me on him, and I ride him as best I can. I rub my aching breasts against his chest. I can't remember the last time I was this horny, but I've barely seen him all week.

It's not enough.

"You feel so good," I mumble against his ear.

He chuckles. "You have no idea."

His hand strokes down my back, grabbing my ass and squeezing. I know exactly what he likes, and he knows me too.

It's what makes this perfect. Worthwhile. No matter what else it going on for us, we'll get through it. I have to trust in that.

As I rake my nails across his shoulders, as his strokes level out from shallow thrusts into long, purposeful motions, we chase each other toward the peak.

My head drops back. Blue sky, birds, ocean breeze.

And Timothy.

I'm there first, my body tightening around him.

"Yes, like that. Come for me," he murmurs.

He's there a moment later, his damp shoulders tight beneath my hands, his beautiful firm mouth parted in the face I alone get to see.

I memorize it, exalt in it. "More."

He obliges, coming for what feels like forever inside me.

He's leaning against the boat, the waves lapping against the side. I'm collapsed on him, my face buried in his shoulder, when noises from the boat above tear into my haze.

"Where are they?" comes a voice from the boat.

Shit.

Footsteps on the deck of the cat echo in my ears as Timothy and I lock gazes.

We spring apart, hoping it's not too late.

If it is...

I will actually die.