Summer of Lust [NOOK Book]

He kissed me for the first time in the shadow of the old pier, pushed up against one of the weathered wooden pilings. It seemed as though I’d been waiting forever to feel those soft, full lips of his pressing against my own, my body melting into the sweetness of his kiss. Above us, we could hear footsteps as people passed along the boardwalk, wrapped up against the early evening chill, oblivious to the way our passionate embrace was heating up the night.

His cock pushed at my belly, making its presence felt even through the layers of clothing separating us. I’d glimpsed his bulge earlier, straining against the crotch of his faded jeans, and I knew he was going to be big. I could hardly wait till I had that thick, delicious length in my hand, but something held me back from reaching to unzip him. That seemed far too brazen an act, even though we could no longer pretend we didn’t want each other. Our desire had been on a slow burn since the day we met, and we both knew all it would take was another touch, another kiss to set it blazing out of control.

What he did next took my breath away. He –

‘What?’ I almost pounded the keyboard in frustration. ‘What did he do?’

Staring at that last paragraph till the words threatened to blur into one didn’t help. I’d been struggling with this chapter for weeks now, bereft of inspiration. This was the pivotal scene in the whole novel, the moment when my hero and heroine finally gave in to their overwhelming need and desire for one another. When I’d sketched out the initial storyline, I’d always had it in mind that they’d consummate their passion on the beach, beneath the old pier he’d first arrived in this sleepy seaside town to demolish. She’d fought against his grand scheme to redevelop the area, desperate to make him see he’d be destroying a vital part of the town’s history and heritage, and in winning him round to her way of thinking she’d also won his heart. My editor loved the idea, and waited impatiently for me to deliver the completed manuscript. But for the first time in my writing career, I found myself blocked. The words wouldn’t come, and when they did, they felt trite and predictable, a pale echo of everything I’d written before.

A change of scenery had been intended to cure the problem, taking me away from what I believed had caused it in the first place, but here I was, still no closer to finishing the novel. Giving up for the afternoon, I went down to Amanda’s lavishly appointed kitchen to make myself yet another cup of coffee.

Waiting for the kettle to boil, I let my mind drift back to the conversation that brought me here in the first place.