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“What?” Scotty asks.
“It just feels good. Sand between my toes, like when I was a little kid. I’d almost forgotten.”
“You’re from the California coast, and you’ve forgotten sand between your toes? We need to take care of that!”
I gasp as he swoops me into his arms and carries me toward the water. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you what’s important in life.”
Scotty carries me to the water’s edge, but he keeps going. Soon he’s nearly up to his knees in the water.
“You wouldn’t,” I say.
“Want to bet?”
In the next second, I’m tumbling into the water, splashing.
“That’s a risky game,” I say, spitting out salt water. “What if I couldn’t swim?”
“The water’s two feet deep, pretty girl. You aren’t in any danger of drowning.”
Except I am.
Scotty just doesn’t know it.
8
Scotty
Em looks far from happy. The dunking was a mistake.
A big one.
“Hey,” I say, pushing her damp hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You were just having fun.”
“Yeah, the operative word being ‘you.’ I thought it’d be fun for both of us.”
“How in the world is a dunking fun for me?” She shakes her head.
“Tell you what.” I grin. “I’ll dunk myself, and then we’re even.”
I dash into the water and dive in. Though the water’s warm, it’s still a welcome respite to the tropical humidity. It douses the perspiration from my body as I swim, the water so clear that I see the wonder of the Aquarian wildlife.
When I finally come up for air, I’m a good hundred feet away from shore.
I wave at Em, who looks gorgeous with her wet halter and skirt clinging to her amazing body.
She smiles.
And I feel like I’ve won the fucking lottery.
Does this mean she forgives me? I swim freestyle back to the shore.
She’s laughing.
Nice.
Very nice.
“Are we even now?” I ask.
“Except you went into the water of your own volition,” she says. “I didn’t get a choice.”
“I’d have let you throw me in, but I’m a little bit heavier than you are.”
She shakes her head. “Is there anything you won’t do?”
“A few things,” I say.
“Like what?”
“Hmm… Here’s a good one. I won’t eat goat cheese.”
“Yuck! Me neither.”
“This is so meant to be,” I tell her.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m looking for in a man. A mutual hatred of goat cheese.”
“You found him!”
She shakes her head, smiling again. Trying not to laugh. Her lips are quivering.
“Why, Em?” I ask.
“Why what?”
“Why are you so determined not to succumb to my obvious charms?”
She looks to the sky, smiling, and then she meets my gaze. “If only…”
“If only…what?” I narrow the distance between us, my toes sinking in the wet sand.
“Nothing.”
I cup her cheek. Man, her skin is soft. Like freaking silk. “It’s not nothing. Tell me.”
“I hardly know you.”
“You know about as much about me as anyone. More, even. Most people here don’t know I went to college.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t talk about myself a lot.”
Her eyebrows nearly fly off her forehead. “Really? You? A bartender? You haven’t stopped talking since we met.”
“It’s what bartenders do, Em. We talk to customers about what they want to talk about, not about ourselves.”
Her forehead wrinkles when I say Em.
“You don’t like Em?” I say.
“I like it, actually,” she says. “My brother calls me Em.”
“You have a brother, then?”
“Yeah. Just one. No sisters.”
“What’s his name?”
“Buck. Buck Moreno.”
“So he’s a half-brother, then?”
“No, why?”
I grin. “I thought your last name was Smith. Don’t tell me you’re married!”
She reddens. I mean really reddens. Like I totally want to see how far down that rosiness goes.
“Not married,” she says. “Divorced.”
“Ah…” I smile.
I’m not buying that lie either, but I’ll let her remain a mystery for a few more minutes.
But only a few more minutes.
Because after those minutes pass, I’m going to kiss her again. Then I’m going to take her to my hut and fuck her silly.
If there was ever a woman who needed a good fuck, it’s Emily Smith Moreno.
“Scotty…” she begins.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not divorced.”
I drop my jaw in mock surprise.
“And my name is Emily Moreno, not Emily Smith.”
“You’ve been lying to me?” More mock surprise. “Not just about Portland and your last name?”
“Yeah, but I have reasons. Really good reasons.”
“Which are…?”
“I can’t tell you,” she says. “I can only tell you that it has nothing to do with you. I…like you.”
“I like you too, Em.” I thumb her lower lip. “And you can tell me. You can trust me.”
She scoffs softly. “I’ve been burned by those words before.”
“By the person you’re hiding from?”
She bites her lower lip then. “I have to go. Back to the hut. I’m… I’m tired.”
I should let her go.
She’s got baggage, this one, and if there’s one thing a beach bum like me doesn’t need, it’s baggage. I love the carefree life. I love being as free as the soft wind that blows on the island.
I love my life.
Right. Let her go, Scotty. Let. Her. Go.
