“Maybe,” I whisper. There are a lot of names on that list, actually. “But not you.” It feels important to add that.
He leans over. “You’d tell me if I did?”
“Of course.”
He smiles. “You been in the water yet?”
I’m relieved he’s steered the conversation back to safer territory. “Nope. Want to come in with me?”
“Now?”
“Sure. Why not?” I wedge my beer in the sand and stand up. “But I hope you brought your sunglasses. Prepare for the glare of the whitest body to ever grace this beach.” I grin, sliding my hands to the buttons on my sundress and working them open. “I always thought it was a strange twist of fate that I could love the beach so much and yet I cook up redder than one of your lobsters if I spend too long in the sun.”
Sawyer hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s frowning at his towel. An impulsive spark of heat burns inside me. I want him to look at me.
So help me God, I know I don’t need to arch my back, but as I peel the dress away and let it flutter to the ground, the movement draws his eyes up, and I love the way his heated gaze locks on the curve of my backside. The cut of this swimsuit is flattering, and my bottom looks round and inviting… even if it is lily white.
His gaze quickly skips away as he stands. “You put on some sunblock?”
Unfortunately. “Yes.”
He drops his chin in a nod. “Good. Race you to the water?”
“Me? Race? I’m going to dazzle you in the water, but not here, on the sand.” I wince. “That’s a big yikes.”
“Walkyou to the water, then?” He yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it over the cooler.
My witty comeback dies somewhere between my brain and my mouth.
Sawyer’s body is…
I snap my jaw shut before any embarrassing noises gasp out of me.
This man spends his days on a lobster trawler. I have no idea what he does. Lifts stuff. Hauls things. Whatever mysterious activities create shoulders that broad, I suppose. Muscles bunch across his chest and arms. Black tattoos cover half his sun-bronzed skin, and there’s a patch of blond hair sprinkled in the middle and a slightly darker trail leading from his belly button, down…down…
My gaze jerks away so fast I nearly snap my neck. I should not be ogling his…
Heat floods my cheeks.
This isSawyer. He’s the nice man who always protects me from Kristen and growls at me when I tell him I’m going to walk home in my flip-flops. My only friend.
I need to get into the water. Immediately. I need to dive under the waves, preferably deep enough to drown the flood of lust surging through my veins. He’s Poseidon. No, a Viking warrior. No matter what myth or part of history my mind wanders to, one thing is clear: the man is gorgeous.
I spin on my heel and bolt down the beach.
“Hey! No fair!” he calls out to me. “You said you didn’t run!”
Usually, no. Today, I’m a gazelle. I don’t slow down. I blaze down the beach, and I’m headed straight for the water until strong hands grab my waist, and suddenly, my feet aren’t touching the sand anymore.
I shriek as he hauls me up into his arms. “Sawyer!”
“Too slow!”
The ocean rushes toward us in a blur of blue and white.
“Put me down!”
“Not a chance.”
