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He dropped whatever he was holding and marched over to me, greeting me with another delectable hug. I liked that we were so naturally comfortable around each other. I took that as another good sign.
"Sleep well?" he asked, his sky-blue eyes gleaming.
"Like a baby," I replied as we walked over to where he was setting up on the beach. "How about you?"
"I slept great." He took my hands in his, lowering his gaze at me. "I know it’s probably not a cool thing to say, and that I should probably just keep my British twat mouth shut...but...I had a really good time with you last night, Mitchell."
I lifted my eyes to his. "I should probably keep my stupid-ass American mouth shut, but I had a really good time, too."
We stood there holding hands and grinning for a few years. Or a few seconds. Who knew? Who cared? Time was standing still, and it felt fucking incredible.
I liked that he was so honest and forthright, telling me how he was feeling. I had been played so many times before that having someone share their real feelings was a welcome change.
We talked for a few moments about casual things: the weather, he pointed out a few small islands that dotted the horizon, I asked him about the lighthouse at the far end of the beach.
"Would you mind doing my back?"
I turned to him, my heart beating like an incoming freight train until I looked down at the sun lotion he held in his hands.
Fuck, that accent made everything sound wicked dirty.
As I rubbed lotion all over his smooth, hard, muscled back, my thoughts turned to last night and how respectful he had been. He totally didn’t push me to do anything more than just kiss. And believe me, I wanted to. So bad. But I needed to give myself a moment, a little time to catch up and process all of this.
Normally, I dove headfirst into everything without applying the brakes—or any proper thought for that matter.
I could tell that Cayman was different. I could literally feel it dancing across my skin that whatever was blossoming between us was different to anything that I had experienced before.
But the last cluster of responsible cells in my brain were telling me that if this really was right, I could slow down a bit. And so, for the first time ever, I was doing just that. But I couldn’t hold out for too much longer.
One, I’d be leaving tomorrow, on a flight back to L.A.
Two, rubbing his back was giving me a semi, which threatened to turn full-on rock-hard if I didn’t stop soon.
"There you go." I stepped away from him once I had slathered his back with lotion.
He looked over his shoulder and flashed me his brilliant smile. "Thanks."
"No problem." I looked down at all the stuff he had assembled at our feet. "So, what are we doing today?"
"Well"—he dropped to his knees and began to take the supplies out of the small crate they were in—"you mentioned you’ve only ever been to L.A. a few times, which got me thinking, you probably haven’t spent a lot of time at the beach, right?"
"Yeah, that’s right… Although, I totally love it," I quickly added. "I’ve been staring out my room at the ocean for hours. It’s so relaxing."
He grinned wide. "I’m glad to hear it. So, I thought you might enjoy this."
He handed me a snorkel mask, our fingers overlapping in a soft touch for a few glorious seconds.
"I—I don’t get it," I stammered, sounding about as clueless as I felt.
"I thought it’d be cool for you to see the ocean from a different perspective." He placed the mask over his face and pulled a silly face, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out.
I laughed.
"I’m going to take you snorkeling."
My laughter died instantly.
"What’s wrong, Mitchell?"
