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“You’re getting pricked!” She tried to pull the branches from his shirt and a thorn stuck in her fingers. “Ouch.”
She drew her hand back, and a bead of blood appeared on her finger. When she sucked it into her mouth, Quinn’s eyes darkened and the air between them sizzled, causing her pulse to quicken. She couldn't stop herself from imagining what it would feel like to have his mouth on her finger, his tongue licking a lazy path up her skin.
“Shelley.”
She'd never heard anyone say her name with that much heat, with that much desire. Her finger fell from her mouth, making a loud kissing sound that hung in the air between them.
The sound was so unexpected, and loud, that a second later they both laughed, momentarily breaking the spell. Long enough, at least, for Quinn to guide her the rest of the way through the bushes. As they climbed down the steep dunes toward the beach, Shelley stumbled and nearly fell down the last few feet.
He caught her and swept her against his chest. Oh God. He smelled potent, virile. Delicious. So delicious that Shelley’s body immediately heated up and she couldn't tear her gaze away from his mouth. A mouth that had tasted better than anything else ever had.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Her response came out breathy and swoony. She never swooned.
What is wrong with me?
Quinn put his hands on her waist as he lifted her off her feet and set her on the sand. And when their eyes caught and sparks flew again, Shelley suddenly realized she’d gotten it backward about something being wrong.
Not only had things never felt so right with anyone else, but every moment they spent together having fun this afternoon made the idea of an island fling with Quinn look better and better.
Rockwell or not.
Chapter Eight
“CLAMMING?” SHELLEY LOOKED so sexy with one hand on her hip as she looked from the bucket to the wet sand and then to him in surprise that it took all of Quinn’s willpower not to kiss her.
Their outing had started out as a way to spend time with her, but it had already moved way past that. The more he got to know her, the more he wanted her—and the more he liked her, too. Unlike some women who seemed acutely aware of every move they made, almost to the point of appearing calculated, Shelley was clearly comfortable in her own skin and didn’t seem to worry about how she acted. And she was obviously not attracted to his family wealth. She’d nearly run from it, in fact. He definitely wanted to get to the bottom of what that was all about, but right now he just wanted to have some fun with her.
And, hopefully, to also make good on his promise from last night to give her a kiss that she wouldn't be able to forget...
“Clamming is my dirty little secret.” He grinned at the thought of digging around together in the sand with her for a while. It had been a really long time since he’d done something like this, an activity that wasn’t attached to a spreadsheet or a bottom line.
Quinn took off his shoes, and she did the same. Hell, even her pretty painted toe-nails turned him on. Every last part of her was so beautiful, so damn sexy. The sparks that flew between them as he took her hand to lead her closer to the water line were so strong that he once again had to forcefully tamp down the urge to kiss her. He was desperate to feel her curves against him, to hear her gasp with pleasure, and to see desire take her over. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop at just one kiss, and right now he was determined to show her a good time—outside of the bedroom. So, for now he’d have to be satisfied holding her hand as they walked across the bay floor.
“Clamming has always sounded like a lot of fun,” she said. Her words were a little husky, and it wasn't hard to guess that she was right up against the edge of desire the way he was. “But how can we do it when there’s no water? Don’t the clams move around?”
Lord knew he wasn't having any easier of a time staying focused on clamming as he told her, “Most people get big rakes, about as tall as you are, and when the tide is still around waist high, they drag the rakes through the bay floor and scoop up the clams. But when my dad taught us how to clam when we were kids, he’d take us out at low tide and make us use our hands to dig them up. The sand is soft on top, but it’s hard just an inch or two deeper. It makes for sliced-up fingers from razor clams and fingernails full of grit, but it’s actually more fun than using rakes.”
