SUMMER SWAP // Chapter 20

As they got nearer the kitchen and could hear everyone’s voices, she lost her nerve and fell behind Byron. Byron turned to say something to her, then had to turn around to find her. “Get up here,” he mouthed. They stopped in the hall, facing each other. She’d tucked her hands under her armpits and her stomach screwed up tight and uneasy. Everyone was already up and they were all laughing and having a good time. She smelled toast and bacon and ketchup and coffee. She was hungry as hell—no kidding: sex with Cody burned a lot of calories—but she could hear amongst the throng of voices those of Carla and Cody, and she didn’t know what would happen when she was face to face with them. And why did they both sound so happy and carefree?

She presented that fact to Byron. Byron held her shoulders, saying, “Of course those two are fine this morning. They do this all the time.” Then he rolled his eyes around and said, “Well, not all the time. A couple times a year, Carla said. But I bet when they started, they went at it like crazy.”

She smiled and traced hair behind her ear, then looked toward the kitchen at the end of the hall where the voices were coming from. “Yes,” she said, “they’ve done it all before.”

“Don’t lose your nerve,” Byron said, and for the first time since they woke, she saw some unsureness in her husband’s eyes. His expression grew more serious, and he said, “Don’t freak out. Don’t have a panic attack or something, you hear? Don’t give it away. I don’t want anyone to know what we did.”

“You think I do? How about you— How about you don’t have a freaking panic attack.”

“I’ve never had a panic attack.”

She said, “That’s not fair, Byron.”

A voice from the kitchen barreled down the hall to them: “Good mor-ning, sleepyheads.”

And like that, she and Byron got into character. Put to the test, they both recovered and stretched happy, innocent faces. “Morning,” she shouted to Sullivan, who stood with a cup of coffee, wearing a T-shirt and swim trunks. Sullivan nodded in return and continued to stare at them. There was a certain smugness she didn’t like. Like Sully knew what they did.

And as if Byron could read her mind, he whispered, “We’re the last ones up. He called us sleepyheads. Don’t lose your cool.”

“I won’t,” she hissed, and walked away from his grip on her shoulders.

Now out in front of her husband, and marching toward the kitchen, she poked Sullivan in the stomach as she passed, making him flinch. “So what if we slept in?”

Sullivan’s voice trailed from behind her: “You were up all night. I’m sure you needed your beauty sleep.”

She wheeled like she was ready to fight. But Byron had joined them in the kitchen, coming up and squeezing Sullivan’s collar, making him flinch and spill coffee over the edge of his cup. Byron said, “Oh, did we keep you awake?” sucked his finger, then poked it in Sullivan’s ear. The two of them engaged in horseplay for a second, Sully setting down his coffee cup on the kitchen island. She turned and went to the sink to pour herself a glass of water. Eyes were on her. So what? So Sullivan—and therefore Scarlet, probably—heard her having sex last night. They would think it was with Byron, and Byron confirmed that. They had sex last night. That’s what married couples do. Get a grip.

She pulled out a glass from the cupboard and half-filled it from a jug on the counter, still ignoring everyone at the table, pulling down her multivitamins and popping one, knocking it back with a big chug of water. When she turned, no one faced her. Everyone at the table, Sullivan now with Byron in a headlock, wailing soft fluttering punches to Byron’s exposed kidneys. Byron brought his hand up between Sullivan’s leg like an ax and chopped Sullivan’s package. Sullivan howled and jumped, letting the headlock go. Everyone at the table laughed as Sullivan walked it off, hunched over and grimacing. “Barely got me,” he wheezed.

“I’m a street fighter, Sully. No rules on the streets,” Byron said. “I collect family jewels.”

Carla laughed out brightly at that, and a jealous flare shot through Cheyenne. Like Carla shouldn’t be allowed to laugh at her husband’s jokes. So she laughed even louder. Everyone at the table looked at her.

She said, “Scarlet, come get your man an ice pack.”

Scarlet stared at her with a shrunken expression but eyes big and wide.

Cheyenne frowned. “What?”

Scarlet shrugged, pulled over a piece of toast and buttered it.

Cheyenne asked the table how fresh the coffee was. Cody scooted back his chair and came over. “Pretty fresh, Chey. I’ll pour you a cup while you fix yourself a plate. There’s bacon still in the pan.”

Sullivan came around the island, cheeks reddened by the fake wrestling and the blow to his testicles. He said, “Byron fights dirty, Chey. Did you know your husband has no honor?”

She said, “He has honor—” then shut her mouth. Sully was just joking around. They did this shit all the time. No need to defend Byron against claims of disrepute. “You just need to keep your guard up.”

Cody said, “Or down,” and laughed. He set a coffee mug on the counter and slid it her way. “How you take it, Chey? Tell me how you like it.”

It froze her, and her eyes flitted nervously to Cody. Smug. Doing it on purpose. Rattling her or riling her. Working her. Like he’d worked her last night. He wore a loose-fitting tank top and board shorts. Bare feet. His muscular arms showed, one elbow on the counter as he leaned on it, giving her sleepy and very sexy eyes that dazzled in the sunlight coming through the yacht’s kitchen windows. Her cheeks heated, and she glanced at the table. Arlo and Lily and Scarlet were eating. Byron had taken a seat as well—on the same side as Carla, so he wouldn’t have to face her. Byron watched her with Cody. No one else looked her way but Carla. Carla seemed to enjoy watching Cody make her anxious.

Since she hadn’t answered, Cody said in a low and lusty voice, “If you don’t tell me how you want it, I’m just going to guess and see how you react.”

“Yeah, you’re a good guesser,” she said, and regretted it. Just squirting fuel on this fire she wanted contained.

Cody’s handsome smile spread wider. He said, “I can try anything I want?”

Her eyes flitted to the table, and though no one was watching, she said loudly, “Well, I don’t want ketchup or anything like that.”

Cody’s smile stayed confident. He said, “I bet you’d like a little bit of coconut oil. Makes it nice and smooth.”

The heat blazed hotter from her cheeks now, and across the back of her neck. And though it was the worst thing possible, her body betrayed her. Her nipples hardened, and she looked down to see if they were visible. They were visible.

She sneered at Cody, who’d also noted the rapid hardening of her nipples, and leaned both elbows on the counter, pretending to look out at the brilliant lake view instead of concealing the buds pushing out her shirt.

Cody said, “Do you like it sweet? Maybe with a little cream?”

Holy Jesus. She mushed her lips together, tried not to burst out in nervous giggles. She said, “Double-double.”

“Toil and trouble,” Cody said, rose from the counter and snatched a cream pitcher. He poured a generous line into her black coffee and then two spoonfuls of sugar. He said, “Don’t forget to grab yourself some bacon.”

She met his eyes and said, “I don’t like meat in the morning.” A lame and flopping attempt at coy double entendre like Cody. But she had no confidence, had no game—not the way Cody did. She watched his face go through a series of amused poses. Raising an eyebrow, smile going one way, then the other. Like he was going to say something, but out of compassion decided to leave her alone. “That’s up to you,” he said. “Plenty on the pan. There’s toast on the table and I’ll scramble you up some eggs if you want. We got some left over, but they’ll be cold already.”

“I just think I’d like some coffee and some fresh air.”

Cody paused halfway to the table, turned, and opened the door that led up the short series of steps to the deck. “After you,” he said.

Byron and Carla watched as she passed the table, walking underneath Cody’s arm as he held open the door for her. Also watching her from over top of her coffee mug was Scarlet. A definite look of appraisal. Something changed, and she hoped Scarlet was mad that she thought Byron and she had kept them up having noisy sex. Maybe that’s all it was. Maybe Scarlet saw her and Byron in a new light, not knowing that Cheyenne and Byron could be such dirty, long-lasting dogs in the bedroom. Of course, it wasn’t her and Byron. It was her and Carla’s husband—the man following her up the stairs, his eyes level with her bottom. Though she was self-conscious, what was the point? Cody had seen it naked last night. He’d grabbed it and slapped it. Had used his tongue back there, had put that beautiful cock back there. She folded her arms again overtop of her hardened nipples. Could feel their swollen buds on the inside of her arms.

Out in the fresh air at last, she breathed deep, leaned on the handrail as if she’d just run up a flight of a hundred stairs. Cody laughed, coming up to join her. “How you doing this morning?”

She peeped over her shoulder at him, standing there with the breeze tossing his thick golden locks as he squinted into the sun. His face was handsome and chiseled, the tendons standing out in his neck. She’d kissed that spot right there, midway between the corner of his jaw and his collarbone. She’d bit and suckled, and Cody had laughed and pulled her off, saying Carla doesn’t like if you put a mark on him. She hadn’t put a mark on him. At least not there. But right now she could see her teeth marks on the inside of his right forearm. She’d been flat out on the bed, and he’d mounted her from behind. Not in her back hole, but right where it was supposed to go. Right where she begged him to put it. And he’d hooked an arm around her neck and throat, and fucked her so hard and so good she’d sunk her teeth into his muscle when she came. She said, “Good. How are you doing this morning?”

“Never better,” he said and tossed down next to her, imitating her pose with forearms draped over the handrail. His longish blond hair framed the sides of his face and he pushed back one side with one masculine tanned hand.

She said, “That was some risky talk back there.”

“Just wanted to know how you take your coffee.”

She snorted and covered her mouth. “Yeah, right,” she said. “How I take my . . . coffee.”

“I know just about everything else about you. I don’t know why you’re being so miserly with how you take your brew.”

“You’re a devil,” she said, then laughed and sipped her coffee.

“How’s Byron this morning?”

She thought about it a moment, watching the waves. She said, “He’s really good, actually.” She said it how she meant it: she was surprised it had gone so well.

“Hot damn,” Cody said, flexed his shoulders and biceps, hunched up his shoulders and smiled, looking straight down at the water below. “That is good news.”

“We definitely got away with it.”

Cody said, “He say anything about Carla?”

“Not much.”

Cody showed her a sly smile. “He have a good time?”

“I think he did. He seems more interested in what I did with you.”

“Hot damn again,” he muttered.

She peeked over at him, enjoyed seeing him so pleased. He was definitely a fun guy. Super good-looking, really confident. A man, but with a boyish charm and sense of adventure. Last night in bed, everything he did to her—even the dirtiest things—were about having fun.

She smiled and waited for him to see it.

He said, “I’m ready for more,” he said, smile widening, then getting serious again, giving her a sultry stare, dipping his wide chin down and shooting those icy blue eyes at her from under his brow. “I’m up for it if you are, Chey.”