Key West Lacey Alexander (sad books to read .txt) 📖

By the time they took to the street again, night had fallen. Music and raucous cheers blared from bars, and groups of girls and guys scoped each other out as they sought the easy-to-find action of Duval Street.

She parted ways with Chris at the entrance to the Lazy Lizard. He held her hands in his, giving her a long, slow kiss that turned her inside out. “Sure you don’t want to come in for a few drinks? We can grope each other in the phone booth on my breaks,” he added with a wink.

“Tempting, but…” The truth was, at the moment, if she couldn’t have him all to herself, she wanted to call it an evening. Their private dinner had been too short. So despite his tantalizing kiss, she said, “You wore me out today. I need some rest.”

He tilted his head, his eyes smoky with the memory. “You were so incredible, angel. So…generous.”

She found a small smile for him. “I wanted to make you feel good.”

He kissed her again. “Mission accomplished.”

* * * * *

As Chris headed up the street toward home, Duval was littered with late night drinkers and other bar staff who had just closed down for the night. He was exhausted—the long bartending shift, added to his whirlwind, round-the-clock affair with Carrie, was beginning to take its toll. It would be good to get some sleep.

And yet, as his feet took the necessary steps toward the apartment he shared with Scott, his heart ached. Maybe before the last few days, he hadn’t believed a heart could truly ache, but his body was proving him wrong. He wanted Carrie.

It was after four in the morning, and even as weary as he felt, he still wanted to be with her.

She’s gonna think you’re out of your mind, he told himself as he pivoted on the street to head in the direction of her hotel. But he didn’t stop himself, because walking toward her instead of away from her made a whole lot more sense to him.

A few minutes later, he found himself knocking on the door of her honeymoon suite. Two knocks and a short wait later, the door finally opened and…damn, even in the middle of the night, she looked gorgeous. Her strawberry-blonde curls fell in messy disarray around her face and softly tanned shoulders. A slinky red chemise hung to the tops of her pretty thighs, clinging lightly to her curves on the way down. Her luscious nipples made two prominent peaks in the fabric and, despite his exhaustion, one look made him hard.

“Sorry it’s so late. I should have gone home, but I missed you.”

Wordlessly, she reached out, clamping her hand around his wrist to pull him in and toward the bed. She snuggled up to him there, and despite his hard-on, falling asleep had never been sweeter.

* * * * *

By ten the next morning, they were setting out from the hotel. Carrie couldn’t wait to see what special things Chris had planned for her, having no idea what might be on the agenda. She only hoped they’d be alone for the day, since being alone with him was seeming more and more crucial to her happiness. Knowing he had eyes only for her. Having him take her hand in his and, despite the innocence of the touch, feeling it send shoots of warmth all through her.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He only grinned. “Well, let’s just say it’s a place I can’t believe you haven’t already gone.”

She glanced down at her denim shorts and the yellow sleeveless blouse tied at her waist. “Am I dressed appropriately?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

“Of course. Haven’t you figured out yet that we don’t do dressy here—no matter what the occasion?”

Eventually, he led her down a quiet street where lush palms and banyan trees became a more prominent part of the landscape. And just when she was thinking they’d never reach their destination, she saw the sign telling her they’d arrived at the Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum. “A must for any book person, I would think,” Chris said.

She gasped her surprise. “My God, I totally forgot. This was the first thing on my agenda back when Jon and I planned the trip—I can’t believe it slipped my mind.”

Chris delivered a confident grin as they approached the home. “Well, you’ve been busy—constant orgasms can drain your brain.”

“Apparently,” she laughed.

Carrie couldn’t have been more touched that Chris would bring her here—that he’d realize seeing Hemingway’s house would be important to her, and that even as he’d gotten to know the hotter, dirtier side of her, he realized the thoughtful bookstore owner still resided inside her, as well.

Carrie was riveted throughout the entire tour of the home and grounds—most fascinated by the visit to Papa Hemingway’s writing studio in the carriage house, complete with his old Royal typewriter. She also became captivated with the many cats that lived on the grounds, sporting names like Emily Dickinson, Pablo Picasso, and Somerset Maugham. They learned that many of the cats had six toes on each paw and were descendants of a six-toed cat Hemingway had gotten as a gift from a sea captain.

By the time they left, Carrie was wrapped up in the literary history of the Nobel Prize-winning author, awash with the sort of joy that made her love books so much.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Chris asked with a smile as they made their way back up the quiet, shaded street.

She cast a sheepish grin in his direction. “I loved it. I’m such a dork.”

He laughed. “You’re not a dork. I like a woman who’s interested in at least a few things besides partying.”

“It was probably boring for you, though, wasn’t it? You’ve probably been here a dozen times.”

Now it was his turn to flash a sheepish expression. “Uh, not exactly. It was my first visit, too.”

Carrie couldn’t help raising her eyebrows in surprise.

He answered by saying, “I’m not really a book-loving kind