Sea Breeze 04 - Just for Now

Prologue
    “Well, if it ain’t li’l Manda, all dressed up and coming out to play.”
    The water I’d been sipping chose this moment to strangle me. Covering my mouth to muffle my hacking cough, I turned away from the warm breath against my ear. I had shown up here tonight for one reason: to see Preston Drake. Wasn’t it just my luck that when he finally decided to notice I’m alive, I started coughing up a freaking lung?
    Preston’s amused chuckle as he patted my back didn’t help my humiliation any. “Sorry, Manda, I didn’t know my presence would get you all choked up.”
    Once I was able to speak again, I turned around to face the guy who had been making a grand appearance in my late-night fantasies for a couple of years now. All the primping I’d suffered through so that I looked irresistible tonight was pointless. Preston was grinning at me like he always did. I amused him. He didn’t see me as anything more than the innocent little sister of his best friend, Marcus Hardy. It was cliché. How many bad romance novels had I read about the girl falling hopelessly in love with her brother’s best friend? Countless.
    “You startled me.” I wanted to explain my sudden burst of coughing.
    Preston tipped a bottle of beer to his lips and took a drink while keeping his eyes cut toward me. “Are you sure it wasn’t my sexy-as-hell voice whispering in your ear that caused your momentary lack of oxygen?”
    Yes, that was probably it. But the guy knew he was beautiful. I wasn’t going to add to his ego. Crossing my arms over my stomach, I struck a defensive pose. I never knew how to talk to Preston or what to say to him. I was so afraid he’d look me in the eye and know that I closed my eyes at night and imagined doing very bad things to his body.
    “Damn, Manda,” he said in a low, husky voice as his eyes lowered to my breasts. I’d worn a low-cut white blouse tonight, and a really good push-up bra, in hopes of at least getting Preston to see that my body was all grown up. Besides, I knew he had a thing for boobs. It was obvious by the girls he dated. . . . Well, he didn’t really date. He just screwed them. My boobs were not big, but a good push-up bra and the right position and they weren’t too bad.
    “That’s a real nice shirt you got on.”
    He was really looking at me. Or at them—but they were a part of me, so it was the same thing. “Thank you,” I replied in a normal voice that betrayed the fact I was breathing a little faster now.
    Preston took another step toward me, closing the small area that had separated us. His eyes were still directed at the cleavage I had pushing up in full view. “Maybe wearing a shirt like that ain’t real smart, Manda.” His deep voice caused me to shiver. “Aw hell, girl, don’t do that. No shivering.”
    One large hand touched my waist. His thumb brushed against my stomach and gently pushed the hem of my shirt up. “I’ve been drinkin’ since four, sweetheart. You need to push me away and send me packing, ’cause I don’t think I can stop this on my own.”
    Small whimper. Oh, yes. Should I start begging now?
    Preston lifted his eyes to meet mine. His long, pale blond hair that girls everywhere wanted to get their hands in fell forward over one of his eyes. I couldn’t help it. I reached up and tucked the loose strands behind his ear. He closed his eyes and made a small, pleased sound in his throat.
    “Manda, you’re real sweet. Real fucking sweet, and I’m not the kind of guy you’re supposed to let get this close.” His voice was almost a whisper now as his eyes bore into mine. I could see the slight glassy look that confirmed he’d had too much to drink.
    “I’m a big girl. I can decide who I let get close,” I replied, shifting my hips so that he had a better view directly down my shirt if he wanted it.
    “Mmmm, see, this is where I think you might be wrong, ’cause untouched little bodies like yours, all fresh and sweet, shouldn’t tempt guys who are only looking for another hot fuck.”
    Something about hearing Preston Drake say “fuck” out of those full, pink lips of his was a major turn-on. He was too pretty. He always had been. His lashes too long, his face too sculpted and you add that in with his lips and hair, you get one lethal package.
    “Maybe I’m not as untouched as you think,” I said, hoping he didn’t detect the lie. I wanted to be one of those bad girls he didn’t mind taking in a back room up against a