Page 179 of Sorrow & Strangers

Summer, what are you doing?

He doesn’t answer me. He just moves his hands up and down my back, and when he applies a little more pressure, I moan softly. I move my hair over my shoulder, and his touch slides higher, massaging my neck firmly.

If this is who I think it is, I should stop this. If this isn’t who I think it is, I should still stop this.

So familiar.

But I tilt my head as he moves his fingers over my neck. He works the muscles along my spine, and with every rub, my ability to make him stop diminishes. Even when he rubs along the curve of my ass where it meets my thighs, I don’t pull away.

“Are you a masseur?” I ask instead, trying to justify this to myself in any way I can.

He chuckles. “No. I massage only one person.”

I tense and reach back to retie my bikini before turning over to face him. I look over his face, the slight stubble that shadows his jaw, the curve of his lips.

“I feel like I know you,” I say, the butterflies that seem to have taken up residence in my stomach fluttering harder than ever.

“Oh?” he asks, tilting his head as his gaze holds mine steadily.

I take the sunscreen and start applying it to my front, but he moves in closer and gently pushes my hands away, claiming the task for himself.

“You don’t think I’m able to do this part?”

“I enjoy it,” he says with a shrug, gliding his palms over my thighs.

His touch just feels too good, so I give in and lie back as he starts to apply the sunscreen to my stomach. My skin tingles everywhere he touches, and I wonder if he can feel the way my stomach muscles tighten beneath his hands. He obviously can because when he looks up at me, his eyes appear to have darkened.

“What is it?” he asks.

I study him, and after a long moment of silence, I find the courage to ask, “What’s your name?”

“You know the name I go by,” he says, watching me. His hands are resting on my thighs, but they’re not moving.

“Stranger,” I whisper, my breath hitching on the word. I knew it from the second I felt his eyes on me, but . . . fuck.

He focuses back on applying my sunscreen, and I just stare at him. What do I say to him?

We are silent as he rubs the lotion into my skin, and then he looks up at me, smiling softly. “Done.”

I open my mouth to say something, to say anything, but there are no words. None.

He watches me for a long moment before moving back to his own lounger. He continues to apply the cream to his own body, and still I have no idea what to say, no fucking idea.

I pull my sunglasses back over my eyes and turn my attention ahead, staring at the relentless motion of the water, but every few moments I glance at him.

After a while, he finally breaks the silence. “What is it, princess?” he asks, opening his book and propping his free hand behind his head.

I turn to look at him fully, and I’m almost completely undone by the sight of him shirtless, oiled up, and holding a book while sitting like he’s sitting. Summer, focus.

“Why are you here? How are you here?”

“Would you like to go cliff diving?” he asks, closing his book.

“I . . . What?” I blink, my brows drawn in confusion.

He stands from his lounger in a symphony of beautiful muscles and holds out his hand. “Would you like to go cliff diving?”

I blink again, looking at his hand. I consider telling him no, demanding answers, and begging him to forgive me for the awful things I said to him. But he’s giving me a reprieve, and honestly, I’ve missed him. I don’t want to do anything that might drive him away. So I reach out and take his hand. He smiles and pulls me to my feet before bringing my hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to my knuckles.