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‘Huh?’ Now I turn and look and... What the...? I give a disbelieving cough. ‘I didn’t mean for you to sit on it.’
‘Oh...’ She looks down at where my sweater is stretched out beneath her, her palms pressed into the delicate cashmere, her wet denim-clad behind too. ‘Sorry.’ She winces up at me. ‘Would you like it back?’
‘Would I...?’ I’m unable to finish. My head is shaking as my lips twist up into a smile—the first genuine smile I’ve felt in ages. ‘No. No, I don’t want it back.’
‘Good.’ She grins once more, her eyes going back to the view. The sun lights her up from top to toe, beads of water leaving glistening trails over her bare skin that my eyes are keen to follow. My throat tightens further, my chest too. Is she doing it on purpose?
I tug my gaze back to her face, to where her lashes create dark crescents over her high cheekbones, and she breathes in deep. She acts like she hasn’t a care in the world, but that can’t be true. As my mother always says, Gran’s foster children come with enough baggage to sink a ship. You steer clear—well clear.
‘Want to join me?’
She doesn’t open her eyes as she says it and I look away, to the far less provocative horizon, and tell myself to walk away, to reset the unfamiliar buzz she’s sparked in my veins.
But I don’t want to. There’s an ease about her, an ease that’s also wild and unfettered, and I want to stay in its orbit just a little longer.
I contemplate going back inside, being robbed of her presence, which is as warm as the sun itself, and my blood runs cold. She’s Summer through and through, and I lower myself to the dock before my common sense dictates otherwise.
‘Was it so hard to decide?’ she murmurs, ripe with teasing.
Teasing that has the smile returning to my lips as I rack my floundering brain for a slick retort. I’m not usually this inept with the opposite sex, but then... I’ve never met a girl quite like her.
She turns away to rummage inside her shoe, draws out a cigarette. ‘Want one?’
I screw my face up, the magic somewhat dampened. ‘No. Thank you.’
‘It’s only been in my trainer for a minute or two.’
‘It’s not the trainer I object to.’
‘Ah...’ She cocks a brow. ‘So it’s the smoking. Not the done thing in your hoity-toity circles, hey?’
I know she’s mocking me; I can see it in her eyes as she catches the cigarette between her teeth and pulls out a lighter. ‘Suit yourself.’
She sparks it up as I watch on—fascinated, disgusted, amazed...
‘You know Gran doesn’t approve, right?’
Is that really my voice? So gravel-like and hoarse? And why can’t I tear my eyes from her lips? The plump bed on which the cigarette rests and the perfect cupid’s bow above...all luscious and pink.
She takes a slow puff, wets her lips to torment me further. ‘Not my problem.’
A defiant fire comes alive behind her eyes, warring with her relaxed ease and I frown, uncaring that I can see the black outline of her bra through the clinging white T-shirt—who wears black under white anyway?
Someone who doesn’t like to conform...a rebel... And heaven knows Gran has seen her fair share of them over the years. Seems Summer is no exception.
‘You’re living under her care, under her roof, don’t you think that makes it your problem?’
She meets my gaze, all steel and ice, and then her eyes trail over me as though she’s seeing me properly for the first time and her lips quirk, her eyes warm. ‘Are you going to discipline me?’
I bite back a curse, smother the excited kick to my gut—Definitely a rebel and definitely trouble with a capital T.
Is she toying with me? Mocking me some more? The public schoolboy, born and bred. Not a hair out of place, my chinos and pale blue polo shirt perfectly pressed... Or is she genuinely flirting, liking what she sees?
Whatever the case, there’s no answer I can give. None that feels safe and correct. And I’m all about that.
My silence has her laughing softly, releasing me from her provocative stare as she looks to the water and flicks it with her toes. ‘How long are you stopping for?’
It takes me a second to trust my voice, another to form a response. ‘Didn’t Gran say?’
