Love Unrehearsed
Page 130
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Scott and Laura are actually taking off soon.
I want to talk to him about getting some parts for the Shelby.” His finger brushed over the edge of my bikini top. “This one of the suits you bought in Spain?” I nodded, fondly remembering our small shopping spree in Barcelona. “You bought this for me.”
“Nice. I have good taste. Well hello there my little nipple friend. I’m glad to see you, too.” Ryan spun my raft around, placing his back to the rest of the party. That’s when he pulled me in closer, dipped his head, and grazed his teeth over the fabric.
So much for being discreet. The sensation made my belly clench. “Ryan.” It came out as a breathy moan.
“Shhh.” He stopped my weak disapproval with a passionate kiss while his finger and thumb slipped under my top, causing me to arch up into his touch. He moved the edge of my suit over far enough to swirl his tongue over the sliver of flesh he’d exposed, sucking so hard I felt it in several different places all at once.
I was losing the fight as to why he should stop. “Someone might see us.”
“He returned his mouth to mine. I don’t care. I want you so bad right now. Climb down on me. No one will see.”
I glanced over at everyone lounging around on the patio furniture, drinking and shooting the breeze. “They’re less than thirty feet away. I’m sure they’d figure it out.”
“I’ll tell them to leave.”
My eyes swept back to the patio. Janelle was rubbing sunblock on little Sarah.
“Ryan . . .”
“Fine. We’ll come back out here tonight after I tell them all to leave.”
“Why, Mr. Christensen? You want to play water polo?”
His face was right in mine, speaking on my lips again, discreetly pinching my nipple hard enough to make me gasp. “No, I want to play hide the submarine. And motorboats.” The sun was so bright that even though I was wearing sunglasses, the reflections off the water were almost blinding. I used my hand as a visor just so I could see Ryan’s face. That’s when I noticed something sparkle in the neighbor’s tree. I moved my swimming suit top up to cover what he’d exposed.
I looked back and saw the flash of brightness again. “What is that?”
Ryan looked over his shoulder to see where I pointed. “Where?”
“Up there, in the tree.” I saw movement, first thinking it was a raccoon or someone’s cat and then I saw a knee.
“What the hell?” He swam to the edge of the pool and pressed his body out of the water.
I saw the man crawl down from the tree as I hurried to get out of the pool. I made it to the driveway when I spotted the rogue photographer come out through the neighbor’s hedgerow, distracted and clutching his camera. He noticed Ryan just as Ryan made his way between the rows of cars in his parents’
long driveway.
The photographer started to run.
Ryan took off like a bullet out of a gun.
Mike pushed past me. “Oh, shit.” Scott and Matt were tight on Mike’s heels.
Scott tossed his plastic cup of beer to the ground just as Ryan’s body became airborne, tackling the paparazzo in the neighbor’s front lawn.
By the time I reached them, Ryan was straddling the guy, trying to wrestle the camera free. The guy tried to hit Ryan, but Ryan dodged his swing. He clipped Ryan’s shoulder instead.
“You son of a bitch.” Ryan hauled back and punched the photographer in the face, making that sick popping sound that could only come from fist hitting flesh and bone.
“Ryan, stop!” I screamed as he continued to swing.
Mike grabbed Ryan around his chest and pulled him off the photographer, tossing him like a 180-pound sack of potatoes onto the grass.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the scrambling paparazzo asked, wiping his fingers over his bloodied lip.
“Ryan. Ryan. Easy, man.” Mike had to use his weight to hold Ryan down.
“Scott, get the fucking camera,” Ryan ordered, pointing. “Rip the card out.”
“No! Don’t touch it,” Mike yelled.
Ryan scrambled to his feet. “He’s got pictures of Tar and me, Mike. Those prints will never see the light of day.”
“Don’t touch my camera,” the photographer said vehemently.
“Give me the fucking memory card or I’m going to finish what he started,” Scott threatened.
“Go to hell. I don’t have to give you shit.” Ignoring Mike’s commands to stop, Scott kicked the guy’s hand, knocking the camera free.
I want to talk to him about getting some parts for the Shelby.” His finger brushed over the edge of my bikini top. “This one of the suits you bought in Spain?” I nodded, fondly remembering our small shopping spree in Barcelona. “You bought this for me.”
“Nice. I have good taste. Well hello there my little nipple friend. I’m glad to see you, too.” Ryan spun my raft around, placing his back to the rest of the party. That’s when he pulled me in closer, dipped his head, and grazed his teeth over the fabric.
So much for being discreet. The sensation made my belly clench. “Ryan.” It came out as a breathy moan.
“Shhh.” He stopped my weak disapproval with a passionate kiss while his finger and thumb slipped under my top, causing me to arch up into his touch. He moved the edge of my suit over far enough to swirl his tongue over the sliver of flesh he’d exposed, sucking so hard I felt it in several different places all at once.
I was losing the fight as to why he should stop. “Someone might see us.”
“He returned his mouth to mine. I don’t care. I want you so bad right now. Climb down on me. No one will see.”
I glanced over at everyone lounging around on the patio furniture, drinking and shooting the breeze. “They’re less than thirty feet away. I’m sure they’d figure it out.”
“I’ll tell them to leave.”
My eyes swept back to the patio. Janelle was rubbing sunblock on little Sarah.
“Ryan . . .”
“Fine. We’ll come back out here tonight after I tell them all to leave.”
“Why, Mr. Christensen? You want to play water polo?”
His face was right in mine, speaking on my lips again, discreetly pinching my nipple hard enough to make me gasp. “No, I want to play hide the submarine. And motorboats.” The sun was so bright that even though I was wearing sunglasses, the reflections off the water were almost blinding. I used my hand as a visor just so I could see Ryan’s face. That’s when I noticed something sparkle in the neighbor’s tree. I moved my swimming suit top up to cover what he’d exposed.
I looked back and saw the flash of brightness again. “What is that?”
Ryan looked over his shoulder to see where I pointed. “Where?”
“Up there, in the tree.” I saw movement, first thinking it was a raccoon or someone’s cat and then I saw a knee.
“What the hell?” He swam to the edge of the pool and pressed his body out of the water.
I saw the man crawl down from the tree as I hurried to get out of the pool. I made it to the driveway when I spotted the rogue photographer come out through the neighbor’s hedgerow, distracted and clutching his camera. He noticed Ryan just as Ryan made his way between the rows of cars in his parents’
long driveway.
The photographer started to run.
Ryan took off like a bullet out of a gun.
Mike pushed past me. “Oh, shit.” Scott and Matt were tight on Mike’s heels.
Scott tossed his plastic cup of beer to the ground just as Ryan’s body became airborne, tackling the paparazzo in the neighbor’s front lawn.
By the time I reached them, Ryan was straddling the guy, trying to wrestle the camera free. The guy tried to hit Ryan, but Ryan dodged his swing. He clipped Ryan’s shoulder instead.
“You son of a bitch.” Ryan hauled back and punched the photographer in the face, making that sick popping sound that could only come from fist hitting flesh and bone.
“Ryan, stop!” I screamed as he continued to swing.
Mike grabbed Ryan around his chest and pulled him off the photographer, tossing him like a 180-pound sack of potatoes onto the grass.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the scrambling paparazzo asked, wiping his fingers over his bloodied lip.
“Ryan. Ryan. Easy, man.” Mike had to use his weight to hold Ryan down.
“Scott, get the fucking camera,” Ryan ordered, pointing. “Rip the card out.”
“No! Don’t touch it,” Mike yelled.
Ryan scrambled to his feet. “He’s got pictures of Tar and me, Mike. Those prints will never see the light of day.”
“Don’t touch my camera,” the photographer said vehemently.
“Give me the fucking memory card or I’m going to finish what he started,” Scott threatened.
“Go to hell. I don’t have to give you shit.” Ignoring Mike’s commands to stop, Scott kicked the guy’s hand, knocking the camera free.
