Chapter 7 7

Later that night, a massive bonfire raged on a private Hamptons beach, its flames shooting high into the dark sky.

Ellie sat on a low canvas beach chair, far away from the heat of the fire.

She was only there because her younger cousin, Kian, had begged her to chaperone him.

Ansel sat in the center of the action, right next to the roaring fire.

Cases of expensive champagne and tequila were half-buried in the sand around him.

Sterling stood up and clapped his hands loudly.

"Let's play Spin the Bottle. Old school rules."

The crowd of wealthy twenty-somethings cheered.

Sterling placed an empty green Dom Pérignon bottle on a flat wooden serving tray in the sand.

He spun it hard.

The glass blurred as it spun in circles.

Ansel leaned his weight against Jax's shoulder.

He did not look at the spinning bottle.

His gaze, however, was locked on the solitary figure at the edge of the firelight.

The bottle slowed down.

It stopped, the neck pointing directly at Ansel's boots.

The girls around the fire sat up straighter, fixing their hair and smiling at him.

Ansel stood up slowly.

He brushed the loose sand off the knees of his dark jeans.

He did not choose any of the girls waiting in the circle.

Turning his back on the fire, he started walking toward the darkness where Ellie sat.

The loud chatter around the fire died down.

Everyone turned their heads, watching his tall figure move across the sand.

Ellie was looking down at her phone screen.

A large shadow fell over her, blocking out the light from the fire.

She looked up.

Ansel was standing over her, his hands resting on his hips.

"It is time to collect my favor from the tennis court," he said loudly.

Ellie frowned, confused.

"I am not playing your game."

Ansel bent down.

He placed his hands on the wooden armrests of her chair, caging her in completely.

"The winner decides the favor. And I want you to play."

A few feet away, Kian took a step forward to help his cousin.

Jax and Sterling immediately stepped in his path, shaking their heads to keep him back.

Ellie looked into Ansel's eyes.

In his eyes, the firelight danced, making his pupils look wild.

She knew causing a scene would only embarrass her aunt's family further.

She took a deep breath.

She tilted her chin up and closed her eyes, expecting a quick, polite kiss on the cheek.

Ansel did not move toward her cheek.

He lifted his hand and pressed his rough thumb against her jawline.

He tilted her face up higher, forcing her lips to part slightly.

He brought his mouth down and crushed his lips against hers.

It was clumsy, desperate, and aggressive. It was also his first kiss.

A lifetime of dodging meaningless physical intimacy, of saving himself for something real, had left him utterly terrified.

He masked his inexperience with force, pouring all his raw panic into the pressure of his mouth.

Ellie gasped against his lips.

Her brain short-circuited.

Her hands flew up on instinct, grabbing the front of his cotton shirt to steady herself.

The crowd around the fire erupted into loud whistling and screaming.

Ansel kept his mouth pressed to hers for a full sixty seconds.

When he finally pulled back, both of their chests were heaving.

Ansel's eyes were dark and heavy with real desire.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He turned, casting a dark, territorial glare at the stunned crowd. He didn't shout. Instead, his voice was a low growl meant only for the inner circle, his lips brushing her ear. "This week, you're mine."

Ellie stared at his sharp profile.

She touched her swollen lips with her fingertips.

She decided right then to treat this absurd week as nothing more than a temporary social experiment.