Trouble.
Even by one flickering candle, that much was obvious. She was sitting in a circle of shells with hair that had been styled by the wind, and eyes that caught the light gold-brown—and the shark in me, the part that should have been reading her as prey or threat, justfixedon her, like it had found the thing it swam up the coast for.
And immediately I imagined biting into the soft skin of her neck as I?—
Wow.
That was not a normal human thought.
I briefly considered adjusting my stance, letting the moonlight hit my abs just right, to highlight my tattoos. Three sponsorship deals and a lot of terrible decisions in beach bars had established a reliable playbook for moments like this.
I didn’t.
I didn’t want to, which was also new. Maybe my shift back to human was taking longer than I thought.
“Did you just come out of the ocean?” Her voice was incredulous. “What the hell? It’s like one in the morning. On my beach.”
Her beach.
Interesting.
All right, I wasn’t sure if I was more human or more shark right now, but either way, I was very sure I was male with a gorgeous woman yelling at me—one of my favorite things.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Cocky was stillthe easiest mask to slip on, even without the posturing. “Who sits on a beach in the dark? That’s how you get murdered. Or stepped on.”
“This is Crescent Cove,” she replied, like that explained everything. “Nobody gets murdered here. We’re too boring for that.”
“Boring.”
I tested the word, oddly offended on behalf of a town I’d never actually visited. Also, there was nothing boring about a woman—especially one who looked like her—sitting in candlelight doing what was clearly some kind of ritual.
“You’re sitting in a circle of shells at one a.m. That’s not exactly standard boring behavior. Should I be worried you’re about to sacrifice me?”
The corner of her mouth moved and she killed it.
“Why’s a tourist swimming at night in June? It’s shark season.”
“Is it?” I asked innocently.
“Tiger sharks, mostly. They run the warm current up from Florida this time of year.” She tilted her head, studying me, like she couldn’t quite figure me out. “Nobody with sense swims at night in June.”
“Maybe I don’t have sense.”
“That’s obvious.” Her eyes flashed, amused. “Or maybe you wanted something only the ocean could give you.”
Maybe she had figured me out. The honest answer came up before I could intercept it.
“It’s quiet out there,” I said.
She absorbed that, and then a small nod. Was that agreement—or maybe even understanding? Then she let it go.
“Sharks don’t scare you?” she asked.
“They’ve got a bad reputation. I think they’re misunderstood.”
“Spoken like someone who’s never met one.”
If only you knew, beautiful.
