The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen’s Cove Series Book 2)
The Wrong Mr. Right: Chapter 11

“I THINK you’re on a date with the wrong guy, Hannah.”

Beck’s words replayed in my head as I lied in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. How he winced as he implied I was a bad date. I blew a breath out, frowning.

I had done everything right. With Beck, I still blushed under his gaze, but I forced myself to make conversation instead of clamming up like I wanted to. I asked him about the clinic, about his time in Vancouver going to school, about his volunteer work in South America in between university and medical school. I talked about the surf lessons I had been doing with Wyatt, about the social media stuff I had been doing for him, about the bookstore, something Liya and I had been laughing about the other day, about Wyatt’s idea for me to do social media for the bookstore. I talked about the Emily Carr exhibit we had gone to. About the breakfast food truck we frequented after surf lessons. About the farmer’s market book stand and how many books we had sold.

Wyatt. I had talked about Wyatt the whole time.

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. Poor Beck.

Between the disastrous date with Carter, the would-be date with Holden where he bailed, and the date with Beck where I talked about another guy the entire time, this whole dating thing was not going well.

My mom would replace this funny. She’d replace it hilarious. She’d laugh and tell me to not worry about it, that there were lots of other guys out there to go on terrible dates with.

I could picture it. “I just had the worst date of my life,” I’d tell her.

She’d hold a hand up. “The worst date of your life so far.”

Then we’d dissolve into giggles.

A month from now, I’d be thirty. Discomfort trickled through my stomach and I swallowed. I knew it was stupid, this rule I had imposed on myself, but I didn’t want to be thirty and single still. I had to at least try to replace something special, but I was even further away than when I started this whole thing.

A tap on my window startled me. I jolted and froze. I had the overwhelming instinct to hide under my bed.

Another tap. “Bookworm?”

I relaxed and opened the curtains to see his lazy grin on the other side of the glass.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered as I slid the window open. “It’s late.”

“Wanted to see how your date went.” He gestured for me to move aside before he hoisted himself through the window.

I watched, mouth hanging open. “You can’t be in here!” Why was I whispering? I was the only one home.

There was a boy in my room. I’d never had a boy in here. My gaze darted around my room, cataloguing my belongings, seeing them in a new light. Books everywhere, some of them in neat stacks, some of them laying face-down and open, my way of marking my place when I couldn’t replace a bookmark. My closet with my clothes hanging neatly. My bed with a fluffy white duvet and too many pillows.

Wyatt hovered over my dresser, reading the titles of the books stacked on top. He was so freaking tall. I had stopped noticing it when we were outside. What was one guy next to mountains and trees and the ocean? But here, in my tiny bedroom, standing so close to me, he towered.

Awareness fluttered through me. I shifted on my feet, unsure where to stand. In the small space, I could smell Wyatt, his deodorant or shampoo or body wash and a bit of the ocean, something unique and intoxicating. The muscles in his back and shoulders moved under his white t-shirt as he moved a book aside.

“So?” He picked up a necklace laying on the dresser—a silver chain with a tiny, light-blue stone.

“Avery gave me that for my birthday last year.”

“I’ve never seen you wear it.” His voice was low and his tone neutral. Not the easygoing Wyatt I knew.

He was being careful. Something was up with him.

“Did you wear it tonight?” He lay the necklace back down, turned, and leaned against the dresser. He crossed his arms and dragged his gaze down my form.

“Yes.”

Even in the dim light, his gaze burned hot. My nipples tightened. The air between us charged with electricity and I didn’t know how to respond.

He lifted his eyebrows and tilted his chin at my outfit. “That’s what you wear to bed?”

I glanced down at my pink tank top and shorts. It was a warm night but I wasn’t wearing a bra and the points of my nipples were visible through the thin fabric.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Sometimes I wear a t-shirt.”

That put a hint of a smile on his face. “I meant the date. How’d the date go?”

“Oh. Bad.”

His gaze flared. “What did he do? Did he touch you?” He stepped forward, looming over me. “Did he push you too hard?”

I shook my head and huffed. “I was the one who behaved badly. I was a terrible date. I’m better at surfing than dating and that should tell you everything.”

“What happened?”

His authoritative tone made my stomach flutter. His dark gaze locked on my face and my skin tingled. I stared at the floor, hands clasped together, and shook my head. “The chemistry wasn’t there.”

His fist clenched at his side and I frowned. This was so not Wyatt. What was going on with him tonight?

“Did you do your homework?” he asked in a low voice, and my core fluttered. A clench around nothing.

I shivered, and goosebumps rose on my arms. Something about that line, I knew I’d be thinking about it later. Wyatt didn’t mean it in a sexy way but it sure came out like that.

Homework, right. Wyatt had told me to only do what felt right.

I gave him a tiny nod, and when I lifted my gaze to his, I saw fury flashing in his eyes.

“So you kissed him and there was no chemistry.” He raked his hand through his hair, mouth pressed into a hard line.

“Kissed him? No.” I made a noise of frustration. “We never got that far. I spent the entire time talking about—” I broke off before I said something embarrassing.

“Talking about what?” His dark gaze was back on me.

I shook my head, pressing my mouth closed.

“Talking about what, bookworm?”

“There’s a weird energy in here,” I blurted out, shaking my head. “Maybe that necklace is cursed,” I joked, but he didn’t laugh.

He took another step toward me and I backed up, the backs of my knees hitting the bed. “Talking. About. What.”

I threw my hands up. “You. Talking about you. Oh my god. You’re so pushy.” I rolled my eyes, acting like he annoyed me, when really, my heart raced, my skin tingled, and nipples pinched hard. I had all this energy and nowhere for it to go.

I put my hands on his chest to push him back a step but he grabbed my wrists and looked down at me. A smug grin grew on his features. Paired with his dark gaze, the effect was hypnotic.

“Me?” He raised his eyebrows, cocking his head. His hands scorched my wrists. It was like he ran hotter than normal people. Maybe that was why he was never cold in the water.

I rolled my eyes again. “You came up in conversation because of the surf lessons.”

“Right. Because of the surf lessons.” His gaze stayed glued on me, still heated. “So you didn’t kiss him because it didn’t feel right?”

I gave him another tiny nod.

“Interesting.” His thumb brushed my wrist as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. It sent tingles up and down my arm, making it hard to breathe. That could have been from his proximity, too. Or how he smelled freaking incredible.

I swallowed. Why was he here? What was going on? Having him here in my room, it was electrifying. It was dangerous and bad in a good way. Not wrong. Right. I liked him towering over my books and my bed and me. I liked him holding my wrists like that.

His gaze dropped to the front of my pajama top, where my nipples strained.

He exhaled through his nose, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “Are you disappointed?” His chest rumbled against my hands as he spoke.

I chewed my lip. “No. Beck’s nice—” His hands clenched my wrists at the mention of his name, “—but he’s just a friend.” I swallowed and met his gaze. “I was looking forward to making out with someone tonight, but I don’t want to do it with the wrong person.”

Well, that sounded suggestive. Wyatt’s eyebrow ticked up, still watching me with that dark gaze, and a shiver rolled down my spine. His warm hands seared my wrists.

“And Beck would be the wrong person.” His voice was low and thick.

I nodded again.

“Because you spent the entire date talking about me.”

My heart hammered in my chest. I inhaled a shaky breath but it caught in my throat when Wyatt pressed his fingers into my wrist.

“Your pulse,” he murmured.

I nodded again. Another flutter through my core, another clench around nothing.

He watched my face with heavy-lidded eyes. “It’s been a long time since you’ve kissed someone.”

Another nod from me.

“I don’t want you to be out of practice.” His gaze dropped to my mouth and he cleared his throat. “You know, for when you meet the right person.”

“Right. I don’t want to be out of practice either.”

A pained expression passed over his face and he closed his eyes a moment, inhaling. His jaw ticked. His skin was so warm, and I wondered what it would be like to press my mouth to his neck, the spot where his neck met his shoulder. Would his skin be warm against my lips? What would his skin taste like? What could I do to make his head fall back, to make him groan?

I chewed my lip. That was all I could think of, now, was making him groan. Hesitation and curiosity arm-wrestled in the corner of my brain while in another corner, embarrassment and desire battled in a thumb war. I drew myself up, summoning a bolder spirit. This was what I had been practicing all this time, right? Asking all those guys out, putting myself out there, embarrassing myself both on the street and on my surfboard, making a fool of myself. And for what?

Because I wanted to be a hot girl. Because I wanted to live a full life.

I swallowed again, watching the curve of Wyatt’s mouth, noticing the rise and fall of his chest against my hands. My hands tensed, my nails dug into him, and his breath caught.

“So we should practice.” I lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. Casual, so casual. Like Wyatt.

He frowned like he was torn. He glanced from me to the window, then back to me, then to the bed behind me. My core clenched hard again and I almost whimpered. My underwear was wet. That never happened, and definitely not from standing beside a guy for a few minutes.

I watched his mouth again. I wanted a taste of him. Just one. That would be enough.

You know what? Screw this.

I raised up on my tip toes and pressed my mouth against Wyatt’s.

The first thing I noticed about Wyatt’s lips were how warm they were. The slow brush of my skin over his, the gentle scratch of his stubble on my chin. His mouth was softer than expected for someone who spent most of his day outside. Kissing Wyatt was like sinking into a warm bath on one of those winter evenings where it rained all day, those days you felt like you’d never get warm again. I wanted to sink right into Wyatt. I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth and murmured with pleasure.

Up until now, Wyatt had been still, letting me press my mouth to his and test the waters, but the second I made that noise, something in him snapped. He squeezed my wrists.

“Fuck, bookworm.” He let out a ragged breath.

“Was that okay?”

He growled. He growled. Wyatt. I opened my mouth but he covered it with his.

His mouth worked mine, his hands dropped my wrists, and one hand fisted my hair, tilting my head back. The pull against my scalp made me shiver. He was no longer a spectator in our kiss. His tongue demanded entrance into my mouth and I let him in, whimpering softly as his tongue slicked mine in a glide, lighting up every nerve ending in my body.

He groaned against me, long and low and his other hand wrapped around my back, pulling me flush to him. He tasted me again and again until I was breathless. My head spun. Kisses were supposed to be sweet and loving.

Not like this. Not desperate and needy and demanding and drugging and hot like this.

I looped my arms around his neck. He nipped my bottom lip and the sharp, sweet pinch hit me between my legs. I made a noise, a combination of a laugh and a moan. His fingers loosened on my hair and rubbed my scalp in slow, firm motions, and I moaned against his mouth before his tongue slipped against mine.

I wasn’t standing on my own, but leaning into his arm, hanging with my arms around his neck, letting him hold me up while he took my mouth.

A ripple of delight moved through me at the idea of Wyatt using me purely for his own pleasure. An image flashed in my mind of his hands on my hips, thrusting into me hard, racing towards a release. My core throbbed at the idea.

“Jesus fucking Christ, bookworm, where’d you learn to kiss like this,” Wyatt groaned against my mouth in between kisses. “I thought about you all fucking night. All day. I was going insane, thinking about his hands on you.” His arm that had been around my back, holding me up, slipped lower until he was grasping my ass. My breath hitched again.

My fingers traced the skin on the back of his neck and he leaned his forehead against mine, breathing hard. He shivered as my fingers skimmed higher on his neck, threading into his hair.

“I love your hair,” I whispered, combing my fingers through. “Kiss me again.” I tugged.

He made a low noise of frustration, his mouth came back to mine, and we were back underwater. His mouth was hungry, starving for me, demanding and needy and I loved every second of it. Nothing else was relevant, nothing else existed except Wyatt’s mouth on mine, his possessive hands, and those low groans of pleasure and disbelief coming out of his throat.

I felt the sharp sting of his hand on my butt before I registered the noise of the slap, and I could barely gasp before his hand smoothed over the fabric of my shorts.

“How am I supposed to control myself around you when you wear little shorts like this?” His hand slipped beneath the hem, over my bare skin, and I whimpered against his mouth.

“I don’t want you to control yourself.”

My voice was raspy and breathy. Who was that? Who was this girl, making out with Wyatt Rhodes, the most unavailable guy in town.

He lifted me into the air. My legs looped around his waist in some primal instinct that I didn’t know lay dormant within me. We dropped, and he lowered himself onto my bed with me sitting in his lap, clinging to him, an iron bar pressing against me—

“Oh.” My eyebrows shot up. My heart raced and my head swam with dizziness, but not in a bad way.

In a good way. In the best way. I made a noise of desperation and rubbed my center against Wyatt’s hard length. My body took over. My body wanted more, more Wyatt and more of this achey tension building inside me.

When my center made contact with Wyatt’s cock, something white hot shot through me, right to my core, and I bucked and gasped. It was a fraction of a second but it was too good. My thighs jerked closed, snapping tight around his waist. Wyatt’s length pulsed against me and his hands tightened on my bottom, so hard I’d have bruises tomorrow. The idea of his marks on me made me more turned on.

“Hannah,” he gasped against my mouth. “You can’t do that.”

“Sorry,” I whispered. “Didn’t mean to. Just felt so good.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, leaning his forehead against mine once again.

Right here. I wanted to pull his shirt off, push him down, and ride him right here. I gazed into his eyes, so dark, moody, furious, and desperate in this light. I ached for him. From the way his jaw tensed but his hands didn’t move from my butt, I knew he wanted me too.

And then he was standing, I was in the air, and he was lowering me to the bed.

My body lit up with excitement and anticipation. This was happening. This was so happening—

He straightened up and my body screamed in protest.

“What—” I started.

“You’re going to go on another date.” His voice was low, his chest still rising and falling, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Alarm shot through me. I didn’t want to go on another awkward date with Beck. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“By yourself.”

“Why?”

He leaned over the bed, over me, and the mattress shifted as he placed his hands on either side of my head, caging me in. “Because you need to know what you like by yourself before you can enjoy it with someone else.”

My eyes widened. Why did that sound so dirty?

His heated gaze locked on mine before it dropped to my swollen mouth. “And after the date, you’re going to come home, crawl into bed, and touch yourself until you come.”

Wetness flooded my center and my mouth fell open.

“Take notes this time.” His gaze lifted to mine again. “You need to know what you like if you’re going to show someone else how to do it.”

I swallowed. My body sang for him, buzzing and achey and damp between my legs. He wasn’t even touching me right now but I could come with a few brushes over my clit.

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you understand the assignment, bookworm?”

All I could do was nod.

“Good,” he murmured, still hovering over me. He lowered his head but instead of kissing me, he put his mouth to my neck and sucked—hard.

I gasped and arched my back as the sting made my blood boil.

“Wyatt,” I gasped.

He placed a gentle kiss on the spot where he had sucked. “Goodnight, bookworm.” He straightened up, gave me one last pained, lingering look, laying on the bed beneath him, before he climbed back out the window and slid it closed behind him.

I stared at the window for a long time after he left, my wet core aching and my mouth swollen. I brushed my fingertips over the spot on my neck.

What the absolute hell just happened?