Sunkissed (2 page)

Trista Carmichael smiled when she passed over the Florida state line. She was only a couple hours away from her destination. It had been a long, three-day drive from California, and she was looking forward to spending time at the beach. Sugar-white sands, turquoise blue waters, and brilliant sunshine were just what the doctor ordered.

She still couldn’t believe that, after spending three years on a hit TV show and winning two Golden Globe awards for “best television actress,” not to mention her latest SAG award, she was suddenly without a job. And without a fiancé, with whom she had wasted two years of her life. Who knew how many other sluts he had bonked while she was working her ass off? Trista’s love life and her career were simultaneously over in a matter of hours. The only good thing that came out of Blake’s fling with the realtor was a full-price cash offer on her condo. As soon as escrow had closed on her place, she was out the door. Out of Hollywood. Goodbye California. The only place she could think to go that was far from California and her previous life was to Florida, where the beach could soothe her broken heart and soul.

After a grueling drive, Trista was almost home—although the thought of facing her older sister, Nicolette, made her want to turn around and drive back. In order to face her estranged sister, Trista needed a stiff drink. Or two. Or three. They hadn’t spoken in two years, and Nicolette had no idea that Trista was coming home. Even though she had spent the last few years getting her acting career off the ground, first in New York, then California, Trista still considered Florida her home. It’s where she grew up. Her family still lived here.

The Liar’s Club was a well-known local bar, and it was just down the street from Trista’s beach house. She pulled her convertible into the parking lot of the rundown bar. Only two trucks graced the lot. She took a moment to stretch her legs when she got out of the car, groaning at the stiffness. It was almost eleven o’clock in the evening, and the Liar’s Club would be closing soon, but she still had time to throw down a couple of drinks.

The Liar’s Club was detached from the seafood restaurant next to it. It had a large L-shaped counter with around twenty barstools. Patrons from the restaurant next door would come in for drinks while they waited for their tables to come available. During the fall, locals would flock to the bar to watch football games on the big screen TV’s mounted throughout the lounge area and bar. The Liars Club also served typical bar food like chicken wings, sliders, raw oysters, and nachos. However, tonight, Trista just wanted a drink. Or two.

“What’ll ya have?” the bartender asked as soon as she sat down on the barstool. There was only one other customer, and he was passed out cold at the other end of the bar.

“Certainly not whatever you gave him,” she answered, nodding toward the only other guest.

The bartender laughed. “Don’t mind Crazy Jack. He had a rough day. His dog died. Wife left him. And he lost his job.”

“Sounds like the beginnings of a bad country song.”

“Exactly.”

Trista flashed a smile at the handsome bartender. “I’ll take a margarita. On the rocks. No salt.”

“Never seen you around here,” he said, making small talk.

“Is that your best pickup line?”

“Stick around. The more you drink, the better they get.” He plucked a bottle of tequila from the glass shelf. “However, it is the middle of February. The only people who are in town now, besides the locals, are snowbirds. And you’re not quite old enough to qualify as a snowbird.”

“I’m hoping that’s a compliment,” Trista said. She knew he was referring to snowbirds as an affectionate term for the elderly winter guests that frequented the Florida beaches during the off-season. “I’m visiting family, if you must know.”

He set her drink down in front of her, a hint of a smile on his face. “My name’s Riker. Let me know if you need something else.”

Trista watched as he turned around to change the TV channel. His jeans were tight in all the right places, the black t-shirt accentuated his muscular arms, and his dark hair hung just below his collar. The deep tan suggested he probably spent his free days on the water. Surfing most likely. His crystal-blue eyes matched the color of the Gulf of Mexico on a calm day. The three-day stubble on his face and deep dimples when he smiled made Trista think naughty thoughts.

She took a sip of her drink. It was one of the best margaritas she had ever tasted. The first hit of the drink was tangy followed by a sweet, smooth finish. Trista considered herself a connoisseur of the margarita; it was her go-to drink of choice. Most of her girlfriends were wine or champagne lovers. Not her. She loved the taste of good tequila mixed with lime juice. Trista hated the ones that left a sour, bitter aftertaste in her mouth, which was usually because the bartender had used a cheap mix and low-grade tequila. She preferred top-shelf brands, like Silver Patron or Casa Dragones. “This is a damn good margarita.”

“Thank you,” Riker said, putting limes in a Tupperware bowl. “Margaritas are one of my specialties. The key is to use lots of real limes…and a secret ingredient.”

She wondered what else he specialized in. “Which is?” she asked, referring to the special ingredient.

“I don’t give away my secrets to pretty women I just met.”

“I’m sure I can get it out of you,” Trista said, her boldness surprising herself. She was being very flirty with him, which was unlike her. What exactly did he put in this drink? She drank three more trying to figure it out. All the while watching Riker work the bar. Wiping down counters, putting away the limes, drying glasses, and sweeping the floor. There was something intoxicating about the way he moved around the bar. Or maybe she just had too much to drink. And was horny as hell. She hadn’t been with anyone since Blake. And that was over a month ago.

“It’s almost closing time. If you stick around for a few minutes, I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I’m a big girl. I think I can make it home in this very rough area of town,” Trista said sarcastically, hopping off her barstool and then immediately regretted it. The whole room seemed to tilt. She quickly grabbed the side of the bar top.

Riker watched her stumble. He picked up his cell phone. “Let me call a cab for Crazy Jack, and then we’ll get out of this place. I can drive you home.”

Trista regained her balance and made it to the bathroom while Riker closed down the bar. The restrooms were at the back of the bar near the pool tables and dartboards. Along the back wall, the owners of the bar had put up pictures of celebrities who had frequented the bar. There were quite a few country singers, TV and movie stars, and politicians who came to Blue Mountain Beach. A few even had second homes here. The pristine beaches and crystal waters were comparable to the Caribbean, but cheaper and more conveniently located. Trista noticed that her picture was still up on the wall. Her hair was darker and wavy, and she was about twenty pounds heavier and ten years younger. The photo had been taken at the beginning of her career. She looked like a totally different person now. She wondered if Riker knew who she was. If he did, he didn’t let on. Trista quickly used the facilities and washed up, splashing cold water on her face. Those margaritas had done a number on her. Thank goodness her beach house was only a couple miles down the road.

“Ready to go?” Riker called from the of the bar as she exited the restroom.

“Coming.” Trista desperately hoped her sister was asleep when she got home. Even after three strong drinks, she wasn’t ready to face Nicolette. All she wanted to do was take a hot bath and go to bed.

Outside, the air was cool and breezy. The smell of briny salt air was comforting to Trista. She felt she’d made the right decision in coming home.

“Well, it was nice to meet you.” Riker watched as she got in her car. “You know, I never got your name.”

“You never asked,” Trista said closing her door. The top was still down on her car. She pulled a baseball cap off the dashboard and put it on.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Riker leaned over and rested his forearms on her door. “At least let me follow you home.”

“I’m just down the road. I’ll be okay.”

“If you insist.” She watched as Riker got in his truck. He tried to turn over the engine, but the truck wouldn’t cooperate. He banged his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. Trista continued to watch as he got out of the truck and opened the hood. After tinkering around for minute, he slammed it shut. He walked back to her car.

“How about a ride home?”

“Get in,” she laughed. “Where am I taking you?”

“I’m across the highway off Sugar Drive. You know how to get there?”

“Yeah, I do.” Trista pushed a button and watched as the convertible top eased back in place. She carefully backed the Mercedes out of the lot and headed away from the beach.

Five minutes later, she pulled up to a large subdivision situated on a lake and surrounded by Point Washington State Forest. The subdivision had several townhome units as well as single-family dwellings. Riker lived in one of the townhomes. Trista knew the development very well. Her father had originally been one of the developers on the project, but she didn’t mention that to Riker.

“Would you like to come in for a drink? It’s the least I can do for the ride home.” Riker smiled, his dimples popping up.

Trista leaned over the seat and brushed her lips against Riker’s. She breathed in his scent. Leather, woodsy, smoke, with a hint of something else. Vanilla? It was heavenly.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since you walked into the bar,” Riker said before kissing her back. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and placed his hand on the back of her neck. She loved the way he tasted. And the way he kissed, slow and gentle. “How about we take this inside where it’s more comfortable?” Riker suggested.

Trista got out of the car and followed him inside. His home was surprisingly clean and organized. Her ex-fiancé, Blake, was never clean—he was actually a pig in more than one sense. Constantly leaving his underwear and socks all over the condo. Newspapers and magazines strewn about the place. Trista employed a full-time housekeeper just to keep up with Blake’s mess. She was glad she didn’t have to put up with that anymore.

“Have a seat,” Riker said, leading her to a black leather couch. “I’ll make us a drink.”

Trista sank down on the soft, buttery leather. She observed Riker as he made his way into the kitchen. The living room, dining area, and kitchen were all situated in one large room, open and airy. The walls were adorned with framed posters of past seafood festivals and fishing rodeos. A large blue marlin hung above the fireplace. It was apparent what Riker’s favorite pastimes were.

As she studied the various artwork, Riker walked back with two drinks in his hands. He handed one to her.

“What’s this?”

“Something light.” Riker took a sip of his drink. “Try it,” he said as Trista stared into her drink. Taking a sip, she was pleasantly surprised by the bubbles that tickled her tongue. The drink was crisp. “Prosecco?”

“Right.” He flashed a grin at her. “With a splash of peach puree.”

“It’s delicious.” Trista took another sip.

“You know, before we go any further, I think you should tell me your name. I mean, it’s only fair. I told you mine.”

“Trista Carmichael.” She waited for his reaction. Surely he’d guessed by now who she was. But he only nodded, sticking out his hand. She placed her glass on the coffee table before taking his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Carmichael.”

She tightened her grip and pulled him closer to her. “Let’s forget the small talk.”
What the fuck am I doing?
The sensible side of her was thinking…she was sitting in a stranger’s apartment, drinking some fruity drink, and thinking about having sex. The naughty side of her was thinking…God, I’m so fucking horny. Here’s a handsome guy who makes one hell of a margarita and lives in a decent home plus he apparently has no idea who I am.
Go for it.
The naughty side won out.

She kissed him again. Her tongue exploring his mouth. Their kiss was warm and passionate, and it drove her crazy with desire. Trista had never felt like this with Blake…or hell, anyone else for that matter. She wanted Riker’s lips to explore every part of her body. His hand reached up her blouse and caressed her breasts through her bra. She moaned when he lifted the bra and slipped his fingers inside, caressing a nipple. They continued to kiss while he played with each breast, gently rubbing and teasing each one.

“Hang on a second,” Trista said, pulling back. She stood up and took off her shirt and bra. And in one smooth movement, pulled off her jeans. She smiled as Riker studied her. He reached out and pulled her onto his lap. He nestled his head on her neck and kissed her before making his way down to her nipple, sucking and flicking with his tongue. Trista moaned as he continued to take the nipple in his mouth, tugging gently then scraping his teeth across it. He had one hand on her back and slipped the other inside of her panties. She could feel his manhood hard, ready to go. He used his finger to explore her, rubbing her clit with his thumb.

“Oh my God, you’re so wet. You feel so good,” Riker said, as Trista tilted her head back and let out a sigh. He was quickly bringing her to an orgasm. She came so hard and so fast that she almost blacked out from the intensity of it. He wasted no time, scooping her up and carrying her to his bedroom.

Trista smiled as Riker laid her down on silky cool sheets. She watched as he peeled off his t-shirt then his jeans and underwear. He was like a Roman god standing before her with hard muscles rippling throughout his tanned body. His cock was large and impressive. He reached over and pulled open the drawer on the nightstand, grasping a foil wrapper. Unwrapping the condom, he rolled it on expertly with one hand before climbing on top of Trista. She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh. “I can’t wait any longer. Please,” Trista said.

“Please what?” Riker teased.

“Put your cock inside of me.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, before sliding into her with one long stroke, filling her completely. Trista felt herself melt into the silky sheets. It may have been the delicious drinks Riker made her or the fact that she hadn’t had proper sex in many months. Whatever it was, she knew that she would be seeing a lot of Riker.