“A few…?”
“Oh, come on. Even you’ve heard of my mother, right? Amanda Joy Yarrow — of course I don’t know who the fuck my father is.” And when Nell still looked puzzled, Eamonn gave her a disbelieving lift of his eyebrows. “Candy Bar Mandy? Sweet Almond Joy? She was a groupie, Nell. The only thing I’ll ever know for sure is I’ve got rock music in my blood.”
“That… wasn’t meant to be an awkward question,” Nell muttered, waving her hand as if she could wave away the words or rewind time. The words Candy Bar Mandy and Almond Joy did trigger a vague memory of clickbait articles about groupies of decades past and glamorous pictures of girls with long legs and big hair clinging to rock stars.
Eamonn snorted. “It’s not awkward. I love my mom. I’m not ashamed of who she was, or who I am. But some people make it into this big weird thing.”
“Right. Let’s move along, then. It’s your turn to ask me something.”
His eyes widened slightly, as if he were unprepared for how easily she let the subject go. Then he narrowed his gaze and leaned forward with a devilish grin. “All right, then. Do you do anal?”
Well. Was that a serious question, or was he just being dirty to get a reaction from her? “Is it a deal-breaker if I don’t? I’m not morally opposed to it or anything, but that kind of trust and vulnerability…” She looked down at her drink and sloshed it around. “You want the truth? Any time I’ve felt remotely close to the level of respect and safety I’d need to try something like that, I didn’t have the sense that the guy would know how to do it right, so… no.”
“Not a deal-breaker. But for the record, I do know how to do it right — slow, fingers first, tons of lube. In case you’re curious.”
She shook her head. “Nope. My turn. Do you give oral?”
He laughed. “Hey, hey. I didn’t say truth yet. I’d love to go down on you, babe — do you want a demonstration? Because I’m choosing dare this time…” He waggled his tongue at her.
“Whoa, that’s…” She couldn’t find words. The hot tub water swirled around her like a caress and her skin tingled. He was teasing, but she could tell by the intensity in his eyes that he meant it; all she’d have to do is say yes please or I dare you and he’d have her up on the tiled edge of the tub, underwear off, thighs spread…
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”
Nell couldn’t honestly deny it. “Who could listen to a suggestion like that and not think about it?”
“And… are you considering it?”
“I don’t move quite that quick. I need a bit of kissing and making out before I let you into my pants, okay?” And even putting that statement out there felt like too much, too fast, but playing games had never been her style. She waited. Would he close the gap between them now?
He grinned. “Babe, you aren’t wearing pants. And there’s a dare on the table right now — what’re you going to ask me to do?”
Dare. Right. Her mind spun with possibilities. But she’d just asked for slow, so she could hardly suggest anything too extreme. “The tattoo covering your left side… is it an angel?” She couldn’t see much of it now in the rolling water of the hot tub, but she’d noticed it earlier. Black-inked wings and flowing robes stretched from his belly button around to his back, from his ribs down past his waistband. Dramatic and gorgeous. How far down does it go? She took a breath. “Will you show me all of it?”
He wasn’t expecting that. And from the look on his face, she’d just asked to see most of what his swim trunks covered, if not everything.
He glanced down toward his abdomen, under the water. “My guardian angel? She’s crying over all the bad shit I’ve done.” Standing up, he moved into the middle of the hot tub, close enough for Nell to reach out and touch him, if she wanted to. Candlelight and underwater rainbows lit up his wet skin. “You want to see the whole thing?”
“Yeah.” Nell’s mouth felt dry.
“Okay, then.” He tugged his swim trunks down a bit, showing more of the angel’s sleeve. “I feel like a stripper.” Another inch. He turned his body so she’d get a better view of his side and hip. There were music notes and a black broken heart blended into the trailing robes, and as he pushed the fabric right down to fully expose one exquisitely formed buttock, she could see the crown and lettering that unmistakably formed the logo for Smidge — the band he was no longer part of. “You like?”
She licked her lips, overcome with an urge to touch and taste him. She’d seen handsome men before, but there was something about Eamonn Yarrow that undid her. “You’re freaking glorious,” she muttered.
Pulling his swim trunks back into place, he sank down into the water, but instead of retreating to the far side of the hot tub, he slid onto the bench next to her, his leg touching hers. And he waited.
“Dare,” she said at last.
He looked at her, his eyes so loaded with sexual intent that she shivered. “Touch me,” he commanded.
“Where?”
“Anywhere you like.” His voice, husky with need, lit her up like phosphorus to a safety match. She started with his chest, laid a hand over his heart underwater and then stroked down across his abs, across the angel tattoo. She brushed his waistband with her fingertips, and paused. “You know you want to,” he said.
“Do you want me to?”
An involuntary upward thrust of his hips answered that question. “Do you need to ask?” He chuckled, slightly breathless.
So shaken by the electricity between them that she
