Page 61 of The Marriage Mistake

“I promise.”

I nodded, shooting him a glance over my shoulder, then untied the sodden sweatshirt from my waist and shoved my leggings and undies down with frozen fingers. The fabric fell to the asphalt with a wet slap, and I stepped out of them—along with my shoes and socks—to pull on the pair of gray sweatpants Jack had left for me. They were cozy and soft and dry, and they felt like heaven. When I darted a glance over my shoulder, he had his eyes closed and his face turned away.

I faced the car again and started on my sports bra, pulling the wet fabric up so I could tug it off over my head…and quickly ran into the same problem I’d had with my sweater. Except this time was worse, because my arms were pinned above my head, my elbows unable to bend, and my breasts were fully exposed to the cold autumn wind.

“You okay?” Jack asked, the towel moving as he shifted his weight. “You’re making weird noises.”

“Um,” I said.

“Ember?”

“Keep your eyes closed.”

“They’re closed.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a quick peek around to make sure he was telling the truth. Then in a small voice, I admitted, “I’m stuck.”

“…What?”

“My sports bra. It’s wet, and the salt water…” I exhaled sharply, struggling to get the tangle of straps up my arms. “I can’t get it off, and I can’t pull it back on. It’s stuck around my elbows.”

“You really are into exhibition and bondage, huh.”

“Jack,” I growled, and his lips kicked. “I need your help again. But don’t look.”

“Okay. Um. How do you want me to do this, then?”

“I don’t know, just do it by feel?”

“Do it by feel?”

“You know what I mean!”

“I don’t think I do, Ember.”

“Just drop the towel and reach forward,” I said, turning to face him so he could get at the sports bra without ripping my arms out of their sockets. But, smart as I was, I didn’t consider what I’d just told Jack to do.

It was the near hypothermia. It was making me confused.

Because what happened next was Jack, his eyes dutifully squeezed shut, reaching forward with outstretched hands. Hands that were right at my chest height, with my own arms pinned above my head and unable to react.

The instant his palms connected with my breasts, Jack’s eyes flew open. He jerked his hands back with an apology, but then his gaze dropped to my exposed chest. My hard nipples. My sweat- and water-drenched body. Time stood still for a second. Two.

“Jack!”

“Shit,” he said, jerking his gaze away from my tits. “Sorry! Sorry. I just—I wasn’t expecting—hang on.” He wrenched the wet activewear off my elbows and freed me from my Lycra prison. I slapped my hands over my boobs and turned my back to him, hurrying to throw on the oversized T-shirt he’d left for me. It smelled like him. I just about died. While I gathered my wet clothing into the towel and hurried to the passenger seat, Jack threw his sweatshirt on and wrapped a towel around his wet shorts before getting behind the wheel.

He blasted the heat and then we just sat there.

My almost-husband cleared his throat. “I, um.”

I got over my own mortification to slide my gaze sideways and was surprised to see the flush spreading over his cheekbones.

“I’m sorry about…all that.”

“Which part?” I grumbled.

He didn’t answer for a long time. “Probably dunking you in the ocean. That’s what caused…all this.” He shifted, wiping his palm over the orange terrycloth of the old beach towel he’d wrapped around his hips.