“You really want to make that bet?”
She launches herself forward, paddling for the shore. I bite back a curse as I hurry after her. She wins—barely, and only because of the weight of the bag dragging me down—and dances on the sand as I haul myself out of the water. I catch sight of her ass, pert and tan, and swallow a growl as I toss the gear onto the sand.
“That bikini should be illegal.”
A slinky, sensual smile. This must be the version of Poppy that most men get to see. @itspoppywinfield in the wild. She puts her hands on her hips. Thanks to the breeze, I can see her nipples through the thin bikini top. “I know.”
It’s like she wants me to lose my mind. There’s no way this isn’t payback for acting like such a dick to her yesterday. I must not be as good at hiding my attraction as I thought. My burn, sealed beneath a waterproof bandage, throbs. I rub it with a grimace.
Poppy frowns at me. “You okay?”
“Fine. Have you snorkeled before?”
“Not in a while. Why are we here, exactly?”
The water droplets on her skin are shining like diamonds. I think about licking them, then give myself a firm mental slap. I forgot to take my fucking Adderall earlier; it’s no wonder I can’t focus. “I thought we could both use a day away from the restaurant.”
“Or we’d kill each other?” She reaches across the stretch of sand between us for my arm. Her fingertip traces the edge of the bandage. My skin prickles at her gentle touch. This close, I notice she’s wearing a pair of stud earrings. Pearls. Only a woman like her would wear something that expensive with a bikini. The bathing suit itself is probably one-of-a-kind, too.
“Something like that.” I hiss through my teeth at her prodding.
“Sorry, sorry.” She lets go of me, chewing on her lip. “I want to apologize for yesterday. What I did was stupid. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”
I wasn’t expecting her to apologize first. I reach out, swiping a few water droplets off her cheek. “And I’m sorry I called you a brat.”
“Did you mean it?” She doesn’t sound upset. Curious, more than anything.
I should step away. Keep my hands to myself. My fingers curl around her jaw instead. I feel the motion as she swallows, and it sends a bolt of fire straight through me.
“No,” I say, finally. “And I trust you.”
She blinks those aquamarine eyes. “What was that?”
The tips of my ears redden. I drop my hand. “Don’t make me repeat it.”
“Does this mean I get to film content while you fish?”
I sigh heavily. “As long as we set boundaries for filming in the kitchen.”
“Heard.”
“Then fine.”
She throws me a wink, then puts her sunglasses back on. “Excellent. Shirtless, if you don’t mind.”
Chapter 21
Pop Tarts
Poppy
“This should be in all the Florida guidebooks.” I tilt my head back, reveling in the sun coating my face, my throat, and everywhere except where the bikini is touching. It’s spreading over me like liquid gold. “Don’t mention all the swampy stuff. Just this.”
Jack snorts. He’s underneath the shade of a palm, scraping the scales off the fish he caught earlier. He has assured me several times that it will be delicious, although right now it just looks very, very dead. I swear the eye is staring at me. “We get plenty of visitors. Too many, really.”
“Hey, those are your future patrons.”
He wipes the scales off his fingers with a dishcloth. “True.”
