Playing for Keeps (The Game #2)(51)
Author: Emma Hart

“Up, bend, forward, let go, close,” she mutters, leaning back into me. “I think I can do that.”

“You can.” I run my lips along her ear, nibbling at her lobe slightly. She wriggles and draws in a sharp breath.

“I can’t if you do that.”

I smile against her skin. “Ready to try.”

“No.”

“Three, two, one.” I help her lift the rod straight up and when I feel the flex I flick it forwards. She squeaks. “Let go!”

Megan lifts her finger from the line and it flies out with rod, landing almost perfectly in the water. She grins. “I did it!”

“You did. Now you have to wait for a fish to bite.”

“How long does that take?”

“How long is a piece of string?”

Chapter Twenty-Three – Megan

“Are you telling me I could be standing here all day and not catch a thing?”

Gramps cackles across the boat. “That’s exactly what he’s telling you!”

I turn my face toward Aston, and he grins. “What?”

“I can’t believe I got roped into this.” This is ridiculous. I eat fish. I don’t catch it. Hell.

“Hey.” His hands fall to my hips and he nudges my collar from my neck with his nose. His lips brush the skin of my neck. “This was your idea, remember?”

“Yes …” My idea for them.

Aston’s nose runs up and down my neck, his breath hot against me, and I swallow.

“So you didn’t get roped into anything. You had to know that you’d end up fishing,” he reasons.

“Mhmm.”

“So why are you so surprised?”

I shiver when he takes a deep breath and exhales against my skin. His hands slide down my sides to the front pockets of my jeans. He puts his fingers in them, spreading them out and stroking my legs, before taking them back out.

“I’m not,” I whisper.

“Then don’t complain.” He’s smiling as he brushes his lips along my jaw lightly, and my eyelids flutter shut. Shit. He’s driving me insane. “Megan,” he whispers in my ear.

“Mm?”

“Keep your eyes on the line.”

Bastard. My eyes snap open and I look at him. The desire in his eyes is probably equal to what’s in mine, and f**k this stupid boat. Why do we have to be on a boat? “You did that deliberately.”

He bends his head round and steals a kiss. He grins. “So what if I did?”

I narrow my eyes and look back out at the water. “So not–”

“Woohooooooo!” Gramps hollers. “We’ve got a big one, boy!”

“Hold that steady,” Aston tells me, releasing me and making his way across the boat to his Gramps, grabbing a net on the way.

“Giz a hand, here. Not as steady on the old feet as I used to be,” Gramps orders him. I glance over my shoulder and watch as Aston grabs the pole. It’s bending a hella lot, and he whistles low at it.

“That’s a good one, Gramps.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he grunts. “Prize fisher, me.”

He reels in the fish slowly, and as soon as it nears the surface, Aston swoops it up with the net and drops it onto the boat.

“Late salmon!” Gramps cries happily, taking a seat and bending over to look at it. “And … You got a tape measure on you?”

“In the picnic bag,” I answer. “Dad always used to take one for Braden so I thought I’d pack it.”

“Genius, girl!”

I grin, and Aston leaves the fish flapping on the deck to grab the tape measure.

“Well, is it big enough?”

“I think …” He rolls it out next to the fish. “Hold him still, Gramps.” He rests his foot on the slippery salmon as they double-check the length.

“Well?”

“Just.” Aston grins at Gramps. “Half an inch over the size limit.”

He claps his hands. “Dinner tonight, kids!”

Something tugs on my line and my whole body twitches. I stare at the rod and the rapidly increasing line.

“Oh!” I squeak. “Something is there! What do I do? Help!”

Gramps winks, grabs a stick and kills the fish quickly. Aston steps back up behind me and steadies my hands on the rod.

“There’s a fish – has it bitten?” he asks me.

“How am I supposed to know? I can’t see it!”

He half-sighs, half-laughs, and rests the side of his head against mine. “This is gonna be a long day.”

~

So I’m not cut out to be a fisherwoman.

That’s fine. I’m not particularly fond of the worms anyway … Or the shrimps. Worms are meant for gardens, and shrimps are made for eating. If you wanna catch ‘em or fish with ‘em, that’s cool. I just won’t do it.

Although I might just be tempted if Aston pressed himself up against me the way he did today …

Even in the cold sea breeze, I still felt like my body was on fire when he was behind me. I was so aware of him and the slightest movement of his body I don’t think I actually learned a freaking thing about fishing. All I could think about was his fingers playing with my jeans pockets and his lips ghosting along my neck. Add in the warmth of his breath across my goose pimple covered skin, and I’m ready to melt against him right now at the mere thought.

Now back in his room after eating the salmon, Aston’s hands ease up my thighs and his thumbs brush along the inner side. I look into his gray eyes as he leans into me and runs his nose down mine.

“You didn’t need to do that today,” he mutters as his fingers probe their way to my ass.

“I know, but I wanted to. You guys loved it.”

“It was made better by you being there.” His nose nudges at my jaw, causing my head to tilt back.

“You were pressed up against my body for most of it.” I run my fingers through his hair, and he presses open-mouth kisses along my shoulder. “I’m sure it was better than normal.”

“It was. Much better.”

He dips his tongue in the hollow of my collarbone, my shirt catching as he moves his hands up my back. I turn my head and kiss his neck, resting my cheek against his shoulder. He breathes out heavily, shuddering slightly, and I recognize that movement. He’s remembering. I hold him tighter and press my face into him.

“You don’t have to leave, do you?” His voice is small and vulnerable, cutting into my chest.