Copper Lining (The Cardwell Family Series Book 3) Read online

  Minka

  “What do you want?” asks the Manta Ray Whisperer.

  My heart thunders in my chest as if wild horses are stampeding over it. His voice does something strange to me.

  “From you? Nothing. But from him, I’ll take another drink,” I say.

  His green eyes bore into me. “I saw you staring at me.”

  “I wasn’t staring.”

  “You were. Let me guess. You want to hook up with the local tour guide, huh? I’m a story you can tell all your rich friends about back home?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  He’s so completely off base. Then again . . .

  My eyes take in his full lips and drift up to the mass of wild blond hair. I wonder what it would be like to have his body pressed against mine.

  “It’s cool, sweetheart.” He drapes his arm across the back of my chair and smirks. “I’m happy to give you the one-night stand you’re looking for on your vacation.”

  Again, this offer is tempting. In my mind, I picture us naked—his tall, powerful body gliding over mine.

  “What’s your name, surfer boy? It can’t be Manta Ray Whisperer. I bet it’s something proper and preppy from the south. This whole southern surfer thing is cute, but it feels like you’re hiding something.”

  He laughs a deep rumbling laugh. “Kentucky, sweetheart. And the name is Wes.”

  Wes.

  Too young for me Wes.

  Twenty-nine-year-old Wes.

  This is a bad idea. I’m thirty-five, going on thirty-six. I know that six years isn’t a big deal. But it feels like it.

  He bites his lip as his gaze sweeps over me.

  This man wants me.

  I stifle a laugh at the thought of him being a man.

  Twenty-nine. He’s not even thirty.

  Wow. I’m really fixating on this age thing.

  Wes leans into me. “Let’s get out of here.” The scruff of his jawline temps me. I want to feel it between my legs.

  “Now?”

  “Yeah. What do you say to no strings? No promises. One night and then we’re done. You get what you want, and I get laid.”

  I cock a brow. “You’re arrogant.”

  “I prefer confident. I’ll give you everything you want,” he says. The whisper of his promise slides right over my ear and down to my toes.

  The next thing I know, he drags me off my barstool and onto the restaurant’s lanai. Wes pins me between a palm tree and a decorative surfboard. The railing claws at my back as his fingers dig into my hips.

  “When you said ‘let’s get out of here,’ I thought you meant like your place or mine.”

  His mouth curls into a devious smile. “This is just the beginning.”

  My mind races again. I picture Wes being intense and fast.

  I’ve been with two men since my divorce. The first guy wouldn’t let me take his shirt off. Red flags flew up everywhere. I couldn’t have an orgasm because all I kept thinking about was his chest. What was he hiding underneath his clothes? The various images of him showering and swimming with a shirt on passed through my mind. The second guy was a fumbling, bumbling mess. Absolutely no finesse. He didn’t know his way around a vagina to save his life. It was sloppy and disappointing.

  Wes leans in closer and I lick my lips. The air crackles around us. My body vibrates with heat as the anticipation churns through me. I’m helpless to the spell he has over me.

  “Minka,” he whispers, and one hand comes up to cup my cheek. My dress feels like sandpaper against my skin.

  “One night,” I tell him. Fisting his shirt and drawing him closer.

  “One night,” he repeats. Wes’ lips move over mine and the deep low rumbling in his chest sends me over the edge right into the abyss.

  The moment my lips touch his, his hands slide up my back, coming to a stop and tangling in my hair.

  His mouth claims mine over and over. It’s an extraordinary, dangerous lust that can only be described as combustible.

  Oh god, it is the most insanely beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. Wes knows how to kiss.

  “Damn, sweetheart, you taste incredible.”

  Our hands are as urgent as our mouths.

  “Get a room, you two,” someone calls out.

  Wes laughs against my lips. “Well, I guess we should do what he says.”

  “Your place or mine?” I ask.

  He takes my hand in his and drags me down the steps and onto the sidewalk. “Mine. Definitely mine.”

  “What about the bill?”

  Wes swipes his phone to life. “There, all paid. Feel better?”

  I nod.

  A few people standing under the awning of the ice cream shop next door turn their attention toward us.

  “Have a good night,” Wes calls out to the crowd.

  They all wave back.

  “Do you know everyone on the entire island?”

  “I make it a point to be involved with the community wherever I am.”

  “Wherever you are?”

  “I’m a bit of a nomad.”

  Never in one place for too long. Just like another guy I know.

  Wes and I walk along the sidewalk. The smell of rain hangs heavy in the air. The breeze toys with his hair and he brushes it off his forehead.

  I want to do that for him.

  We stop outside a green wooden door. Wes unlocks it and then pulls me with him. We trek along a stone pathway down the side of a house. When we reach the backyard, my eyes don’t know where to look first. The ocean is a stone’s throw away. It’s absolutely stunning.

  I turn toward the house, which I realize is a bungalow. Dense naupaka, lilies, and heliconia greenery surround the property. It feels remote. Like living off the grid.

  There’s a sizable wooden dining table on the porch that seats six. A large vase of yellow flowers sits in the center. They’re the exact shade as the giant surfboard leaning against the house.

  If I’m honest, this isn’t at all what I pictured when his place came to mind. Part of me wondered if he lived in a van. The other image of his living situation—a tiny apartment above one of the charming gift shops. A mattress on the floor with no pillowcases. Empty pizza boxes and beer cans covering the kitchen table and lining the countertops.

  I’m only outside. The inside has yet to be reviewed.

  “Is this your house?”

  “No, a friend of mine owns the property. I’m the caretaker. He and his partner spend the off-season in London.”

  “Ahh, that makes sense.”

  “Come on.” He smirks and tugs me up the steps. “The inside is incredible. This place has two kitchens. If you’re into that kind of thing.”

  Shit. That is something I’d be into. I wish my house had two kitchens.

  “I’m more interested in the bedroom right now.”

  He opens the back door, and I step inside first. The lights come on and he grips my waist, lifting me with ease onto the concrete countertop.

  His lips press to mine quickly. He clutches the hem of his T-shirt and tugs it over his head.

  My fingers trace over the tattoo on his chest. A Celtic cross with a swirling serpent in shades of blue and green wind up the center.

  His board shorts hang low on his hips. Japanese script inks his lower abs—boketto.

  I can’t help but stare at the word. This guy may be deeper than I originally had him pegged.

  “Boketto—the act of gazing vacantly into the distance without a thought.”

  He cocks a single brow. “Yeah, how’d you know that.”

  I laugh. “My father taught me some Japanese when I was younger and it stuck with me. I learned to speak multiple languages. It’s fun.”

  “Fun. You study languages for fun? No wonder you’re wound tighter than a two-dollar watch.” Wes’ hand brushes my hair over my shoulder.

  “Is that some kind of hokey backwoods Kentucky saying?”

  “Maybe. I think that you’re in need of some serious relax
ation.” His fingers massage the muscles in my shoulders.

  The tension in my neck begins to uncoil, and then his fingertips brush against the zipper of my dress. The sound of metal pricks my ears and goose bumps splash over my skin.

  Wes works the zipper. “Lift up,” he orders and taps my thigh.

  Again, I do as he tells me. He tosses my dress onto the back of the kitchen chair. His large hands palm my breasts.

  When his mouth wraps around my cloth-covered nipple, I gasp. My hands shove into his hair like I’ve wanted to do all day long.

  My bra falls to the counter and Wes focuses on my bare breasts. His hungry mouth devours my skin while his fingers dive between my legs.

  With a sharp tug, my thong slides down my legs and I’m bared to him—raw and vulnerable in some stranger’s kitchen. His big hands smooth up and down my calves.

  Warm, rough hands caress my body as his tongue plays a soft rhythm against my nipple. He moves lower, tasting me, inhaling deeply between my legs. I shiver when his tongue swipes against my center.

  “Fuck, you taste as good as I imagined you would,” he groans against my skin, and then he spears me again with his tongue. Licking. Sucking. Fucking. Taking.

  I’m not going to last long. Not with a tongue that has this much fucking talent. Jesus.

  He wipes his mouth with the back of his arm. His green eyes stare down at me as he pulls down the fabric of his shorts until his cock bobs free.

  Holy mother of . . . wow.

  Wes takes his cock in his hand and strokes it. “You got your eyes full? Like what you see?”

  I lick my lips and smile.

  He picks me up and carries me to the bench in the kitchen. His eyes flash and darken with heat. I lift my hips and rub myself against him. A silent plea.

  Begging.

  Wanting.

  “Hold on, beautiful,” he murmurs.

  I smile, spreading my legs apart and stretching out on the bench for him. I need him inside me. Need his hands on me. I need every solid inch of him against me and inside me.

  The crinkling of foil makes my pussy ache. “I need you,” I tell him.

  The pulses between my legs reach a fever pitch when he drags the tip of his cock through my wetness and his hot mouth closes over my nipple. Shivers rack my body when he passes over my clit—swollen and sensitive from his earlier play of tongue.

  “I’m here.” Lust rages in his eyes.

  He thrusts inside me, and my breath catches in my throat. My back arches off the bench as he fills me with every impressive inch. His first few strokes are slow but hard, hitting me deep.

  “Harder,” I cry out.

  Wes’ hands dig into my hips as he pumps with exquisite force—hard and punishing.

  My arms twine around his neck and quickly fall. I struggle to grip his forearms as he fucks into me. It’s wild. Out of control.

  I moan against his neck, loving the enthusiasm of his movements. Every inch of my skin is on fire for him. He pounds into me over and over. I meet him thrust for rough thrust.

  “Jesus Christ,” he groans, his voice tight with restraint.

  He’s definitely a man. This guy knows his way around a woman’s body. My lungs struggle for air as he continues his relentless fucking. Panting, I grip his shoulders, relishing how he perfectly fills and stretches me.

  “So fucking good. Is it good for you, sweetheart?”

  My eyes snap shut. “So good,” I admit shamelessly.

  He grips my hair, forcing me to look at him. “Look at me when I’m fucking you.”

  This man fucks me within an inch of my life. I’m captivated as his powerful body hammers into me.

  A heated moan parts my lips. “Oh, yes, right there.”

  Light explodes behind my eyes as I’m swept onto the crest of a wave that carries me off to a place where only divine mind-numbing pleasure exists. I lose myself in a blinding orgasm.

  “Good, that’s it, sweetheart, come all over my cock.”

  The dark command has my eyes crashing into his molten stare. A few more hard pumps and he hurls himself over the edge. He comes with a beastly sound. It’s raw and primal.

  His sweat soaked hair falls against my chest. Minutes pass as we stay tangled together, catching our breath.

  “There, that’s one scene from your vacation story,” he tells me.

  “Not sure it’s even worth repeating.”

  The smallest hint of a smirk tugs at his lips. My heart skips a beat.

  “You want another round? I’m here all week.” He pulls me up and tucks me under his arm.

  Hot and sticky—the sound of skin peeling off pleather has me giggling like a schoolgirl.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll clean up our mess.”

  Unable to hide my smile, I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’ll take another go around with you, surfer boy.”

  Wes

  The distant sound of shuffling pulls me from sleep. I press the heels of my palms to my eyes and stifle a yawn.

  “Where’s my dress?”

  The mumbles and whispers have me propped up on my elbows, taking in the view. My cock stirs at the sight of her perfect peach of an ass covered in pink lace.

  “What’s up, princess?” I ask, rubbing at my raw and dry throat.

  She spins to face me. My eyes rake up her body at those tan legs, her flat stomach, and those sweet round tits that my mouth worshiped for hours on end. She’s a firecracker in the sack.

  “I told you not to call me that, Wes,” she hisses my name, and my cock is at half-mast.

  “Come back to bed and I’ll call out your name while you’re screaming mine.”

  I’ve never fucked someone as hard or as much as I did with Minka last night. And the night before and every night this week. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve screwed. Still, I want more.

  Need her. All of her.

  “Oh, you think you’re so clever with your dirty talk.”

  Her hands land on her hips. Her very sexy hips.

  “Come back to bed, Minka, please, let me have you again.” I push up to my knees, giving her a prime view of my half-hard cock.

  Her eyes narrow as her teeth sink into her plump bottom lip. Her hair’s wild and her expression tells me that there’s a pretty good chance she’ll let my cock change her mind about leaving.

  “Where’s my dress?”

  “Who gives a shit.”

  She points to herself. “I do. I need to get back to my hotel room.”

  “Sweetheart, it’s after midnight. Stay with me.”

  She lets out a deep breath. “I don’t even know why I bother.”

  “Come back to bed and I’ll tell you where your dress is.”

  “Such a little charmer,” she says and saunters toward me.

  “Kiss me.”

  Minka’s hands wrap around my cock. My hand layers on top of hers and we move together.

  “I’m going to let you fuck me, and then you’re going to tell me where my dress is,” she tells me.

  “I’ll fuck you for sure, but you and I both know you don’t let anyone slip inside that sweet pussy of yours unless you want it. You’ve got all the power here—not me.”

  She laughs. “Then why are you using sex as a weapon when all I want is my dress?”

  I lift a shoulder. “I like seeing you all riled up—you call me on my bullshit. You’re passionate. I’ve never met anyone with that kind of fire inside them.”

  Her hands weave into my hair. “You’re something else, Wes. If I haven’t said it yet, I want you to know that this week has been amazing. And it’s all because of you.”

  Fuck.

  Women don’t say shit like that to me. Women reserve scathing comments like, “You’re a fucking dick. I thought we had something,” for me.

  My arms band around her waist. I pull her up the bed and then flip her onto her back. She spreads her legs inviting me to settle between them just like I’ve done all damn week.

  I wake up
around six a.m. and my hands reach for Minka.

  No warm body to wrap around me. The sheets are considerably cool. My eyes crack open and I rub at them, bringing more focus in the darkness.

  “Minka?” I call out.

  My legs shuffle under the covers, and then I toss the sheet back. I walk down the hallway to the kitchen.

  One morning, she was up early making breakfast. She stood over the stove braless, wearing my tank top knotted at the waist and that tiny underwear of hers. Minka called them boy shorts. Whatever they’re called, it makes my dick hard as a steel spike.

  She made fresh-squeezed orange juice and banana pancakes with coconut syrup.

  I push open the sliding glass door that leads to the outdoor shower. My heart beats an unsteady rhythm in my chest. There’s no sign of her anywhere.

  “Minka, you out here?”

  No answer.

  Fuck. What if someone took her?

  I walk around the side of the house and inspect every window and door. Then I climb the stairs and walk back down to the home office. I check the security feed.

  Five a.m. There she goes, out the gate and down the sidewalk.

  She left without saying a word.

  No goodbye.

  Blowing out a deep breath, I flop onto the bed. Her scent lingers on the sheets. It’s sweet and intoxicating like her. I breathe deeply, getting my fill.

  It’s Saturday, which means that she’s more than likely leaving the island today. I don’t even know her last name.

  I do know how to make her moan and beg for my cock. I know how she takes her coffee. I know that she thinks Dirty Dancing is the worst movie of all time.

  “I got whiplash from Johnny’s three speeds—annoyed, cruel and sexy dancer. That’s it. That’s all he has. Not only that, their love trajectory is nonexistent.”

  Blowing out a deep breath, I roll onto my side and tuck the pillow under me.

  Minka. Beautiful, sexy, and alluring Minka.

  The weekend crawls by with the normal tourist bookings.

  As of noon on Sunday, no one had booked the boat or paddleboard lessons for Monday, so I took the day off.

  I flip my burger and take a swig of beer. My eyes study the ocean, and I try to keep my thoughts focused on anything but her.