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His mouth twitches.

And because I have apparently learned absolutely nothing about provoking Hawthorne men, I scoop up a handful of seawater and splash him straight in the face.

For a second, he doesn't move.

Water drips from his eyelashes, down his nose and over his mouth.

Then, slowly, one corner of that mouth lifts.

Oh, shit.

Like a panther studying its prey, he starts towards me through the waves. Slowly. Deliberately. His eyes never leaving mine.

My heart rate picks up.

“Don't.”

I hold out a hand to stop him, but he keeps coming, and my palm lands flat against his chest.

Oh… well then.

I swallow.

His skin is warm beneath my hand, firm muscle shifting as he takes another step forward. He towers over me, and that half-smile grows into something positively wicked.

“Jude, I…”

It happens all at once.

His hands close around my waist, my feet leave the seabed, and before I can even scream, I'm airborne.

SPLASH!

The sea closes over my head.

A second later, he pulls me back up, his hands never leaving me.

I surface spluttering, pushing wet hair out of my face, ready to give him a piece of my mind.

Except he's laughing.

Actually laughing.

His head tips back, his eyes crinkle at the corners, and the sound rolls out of him, deep and completely unguarded.

And I forget what I was going to say.

Because his hands are still wrapped around my ribs, his body is close enough that I can feel the water moving between us, and suddenly I'm noticing things I have absolutely no business noticing.

The shape of his lips when he smiles.

The little lines beside his eyes.

The way his broad, muscled chest moves when he laughs.

I stare.

Oh.