Kyle might not want pity, but I can’t help but offer comfort. “Don’t worry so much about people finding out. No one’s going to care.” I nudge his shoulder with mine. “I know I don’t.”

“Really?” He tips his head to peer at me, and I can barely make out his face in the dim light. “The girl who dated the captain of the rugby team doesn’t care that her new guy is basically white trash?”

I sigh with exasperation. “Stop saying that! You aren’t that.” I frown. “And did you forget that my ex was a giant douchebag? Having rich parents doesn’t automatically make you a better person.”

“Fair point.” He kicks a loose stone away. “But what would your mom say if she knew you were out here right now with me?”

“My mom? She already knows I’m—” I cut that sentence off, feeling my cheeks flush. My mother saw me fawn over Kyle. So it’s going to be the boy with the Mohawk, is it? she said, and she wasn’t at all perturbed by that. Then again, she didn’t know about his smoking habit or his tattoos, or that half his immediate family is behind bars. “She wouldn’t care.”

“Right . . .” Kyle murmurs, as if reading the doubt in my thoughts. He hesitates, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. “Does it make you wish you’d never taken my dare the first night here?”

When I announced that I’m crushing hard on Kyle in front of everyone.

“Not even a little bit. Is that why you didn’t want me to know about this? You thought I wouldn’t want to be with you anymore?”

He bows his head and mutters softly, “Something like that.”

“Well then . . . you can’t read people nearly as well as you think you can.”

He lets out a slow, long sigh of relief, and then leans toward me.

My heart begins to pound in my chest.

But he stops himself. “I’m sorry.” He holds up his cigarette.

“I don’t care.” I press my mouth against his with determination—to prove how much I don’t care. I revel in the softness of his lips, even tinged with tobacco.

He pulls back suddenly, to drop his cigarette to the ground and grind it out with his toe.

And then he’s moving for me quickly, turning his body, one hand sliding around to cup the back of my neck, the other one gripping the side of my waist.

There is nothing tentative or teasing about this kiss, his mouth smashing into mine with a hint of desperation. He beckons my lips to open and slips his tongue inside to move with mine, a deep moan rumbling from somewhere inside.

All day, I’ve had to restrain my hands, but I no longer have to, letting my fingers smooth over his body, familiarizing myself with the lean body I’ve been aching to touch freely for days.

He sucks in a breath as my fingers slip beneath his shirt, reveling in the warmth of his skin. Hooking a hand under one of my knees, he pulls me onto his lap to straddle him. The stone beneath my shins is hard and uncomfortable, so I wriggle my body to put my weight on his thighs. It earns his soft groan and a deeper kiss, his hands sliding down over my backside, the tips of his fingers trailing the hem of my shorts, teasing my thighs. I fist his T-shirt, itching to yank it off, my mouth working harder against him, my body aching for more.

He pulls me closer, until our chests are flush. His heart beats hard and his response presses against me farther down.

On instinct, I roll my hips against him, and the ache in my lower belly flares with even more need. All hesitation, all restraint is gone, that voice of reason silenced.

He groans, his hands sliding up beneath my shorts to grip each cheek. He squeezes as he pulls my hips against his.

And I want more. I want all of him.

Our mouths break free of our lip-lock at the same time, as if both of us suddenly realized how far and fast this could go tonight, right here atop this rock, if we don’t show some control.

“Whoa.” He laughs.

I giggle. “I know.”

He leans in to press his forehead against mine, his hands now finding a safe place on the rock beside him. “We have all summer.”

I trail his jawline with my fingertips. “Yes. Definitely.”

“And this isn’t the most comfortable place.”

“No, it isn’t.” I flick his lip ring with my tongue and he moans softly. “My mom was right. I am going to love being a camp counselor,” I whisper, earning his throaty laugh.

He cups either side of my face and presses a sweet kiss against my lips. “And it’s only the beginning.”

Chapter 11

 

NOW

Mark knocks on my office door at six P.M. I beckon him in with a wave of my hand.

“Need anything else before I head out?” He’d stay here until midnight if I asked him to, and likely never utter a complaint.

“I’m good, thanks. I’m leaving soon anyway, to meet my brother for dinner.”

He hesitates. “Any follow-ups for me after your call with Kieran?”

Yeah. Start looking for a new job for the both of us. I plaster on a fake smile. “Nope. All good.” I called my father in LA and point-blank asked him if he gave Tripp the go-ahead to work a deal with this unknown KDZ company. “I told Tripp to see what they had to offer,” was his answer. For a split second, I felt immense satisfaction, knowing Kieran Calloway would tear a strip from Tripp’s hide for misrepresenting his wishes.

And then he proceeded to tear a strip out of me, for letting Tripp walk all over me.

By the time we ended the call, I was wavering between running home to hide for the rest of the day and hunting down Tripp to wrap my hands around his stocky neck.

“All right, then. Good night.” Flashing one last smile, Mark throws his satchel over his shoulder and strolls out.

Finally alone on this corner of the floor, with nothing but the soothing hum of white noise to keep me company, I fold my arms across my desk and lay my forehead on top.

And release a loud groan.

What the hell am I even doing in this job? Maybe Tripp is right! Maybe I am just a twenty-nine-year-old spoiled tart. Maybe my father has indulged me for far too long.

It’s always been that way. At six years old, when I asked him if I could design our new house, he sent me off with a box of crayons and a pad of paper. Of course, my design was grossly off-scale and a few things weren’t practical—the seven stories, the slide from the top floor to the kitchen, the pool in the living room, the dolphin tank in the main bath—but he took my better ideas and transformed them into my childhood home, the house my mother still lives in. She has always said that if Kieran Calloway has a weak spot, it’s me, and I’m beginning to think she’s not wrong.

He should have left me quietly managing projects for the next ten or fifteen years, until I was old enough, experienced enough, to perhaps deserve a place among the men.

It’s a silent admission that curls my stomach with disgust.

A knock on my door has me snapping upright, my mind spinning with excuses as to why it might appear that I was napping at my desk.

Until I see Kyle standing on the other side, a brown package in one arm.

Smirking at me.

Every one of my problems evaporates as my heart begins pounding and my lips curl into a sheepish smile. I wave him in, the revelation from Gus lingering in my mind.