His restraint is so close to snapping, I can feel it in his taut muscles as he fights the urge to touch me.

I study him for a long moment. “Why did you kiss me like that?”

His head cocks, cheek resting on his shoulder. “Like what?”

“Like you actually want to,” I say, my pulse thudding in my ears, “and then act like you don’t. You say you’re not pretending, so why do you pretend you don’t want me?”

He doesn’t answer. He just watches me, his eyes darker than they were a second ago.

“You going to answer me?” My fingers hook into the open V of his shirt, tugging him closer.

Instinctively, his hands lift to my hips and grip softly.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to smirk but thinks better of it. “Maybe I don’t know the answer.”

“That’s bullshit,” I breathe.

His grip tightens, and we are so close I can see the dark ring in his irises, but he still doesn’t kiss me.

And I’m done waiting.

I lean in and take his mouth, my lips pressing hard, my tongue sliding past his. He groans into it, his hands tightening until I can feel each fingerprint.

The kiss turns hot fast, my hips shifting against him without thought. His chest is solid under my palms, his stubble scraping my skin deliciously. I pull back just enough to murmur against his mouth, “Stop pushing me away, Grant.”

“You think I don’t want you?” His voice is rough, breathless.

I roll my hips against his steeled cock and smirk. “Feels like you do.”

He swears under his breath, one hand sliding up my spine, the other anchoring me in place. His mouth is on mine again, but this time there’s nothing careful about it. It’s all heat and teeth and the taste of him.

My fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, impatient, until I can push the fabric back and get my hands on bare skin.

He’s warm and hard everywhere, the ridges of muscle shifting under my touch. When his hands slide under my dress and grip my thighs, I break the kiss long enough to pull the thin straps down my shoulders. My fingers work the knot of my bikini around my neck until it pulls free and drops. The breeze skates over my skin, and his gaze drops instantly, hunger etched into every line of his face as he eyes my bared tits.

“We shouldn’t,” he says, his voice low, but he doesn’t look away.

“Why?” I ask, freezing. “Do you not want me?”

He yanks me down, and suddenly, his mouth is on my neck, then lower, and I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his hair. He palms one of my tits in his large hand, and his mouth secures around a nipple, his teeth scraping against the tender flesh.

My hips buck against him, and I can feel how hard he is through his jeans, the pressure dizzying against my clit.

Suddenly, Grant’s fingers slip beneath my dress, his rough touch sliding between my thighs until...

Oh, God.

Grant effortlessly pulls aside my bikini bottoms, and I cling to him as a single finger traces down the length of me, pausing briefly at my entrance before slipping in. My muscles clench on their own accord, and he groans into my hair, his cock twitching against me.

“God, you’re so tight, Moira,” he mutters.

“Grant,” I say in a breathy whisper.

He responds with a slow pump of his finger, then adds another, stretching me. I can’t believe I’m letting him do this. I’m letting my ex-fiancé’s brother, my husband, finger me on a rock overlooking the ocean.

I release a soft moan as his pace quickens, my hips bucking hard against his hand, searching for more.

He pulls back, his other hand burying into my hair as he angles me toward his mouth. I reach down, and my fingers work at his belt, impatient, yanking it free. He lifts his hips just enough for me to undo the button, the zipper sliding down in one smooth motion.