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He takes a step towards me, eyes wild with desperation. “I’ll stop shouting the day you finally get your head out of the fucking clouds long enough to not make decisions that will get you killed! It happens, you know, every fucking day. Women leave their homes thinking they have another forty years of life, and don’t come home…”
Women…
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I planned it!”
“No. You’re just a one-woman fucking disaster zone!”
Before I can tell him to go fuck himself, my attention is caught by two men about a hundred feet away, slowly walking towards us. Greyson turns to look at them, taking a firm hold of my forearm once again and marching me back towards the steps of my rental house.
I yank my arm away from him as we reach the area under the deck and he pivots me, standing with his back to the ocean as if to shield me from their eyes.
“Good morning,” they say.
“Morning,” I reply as Grey’s body stiffens and from his profile, I see his incandescent glare as watches them, waiting for them to pass.
As they do, he turns to me, his eyes roaming down and then back up my wet body.
“What the fuck are you even wearing?” he asks, making me cross my arms over my chest again.
I glance down at my panties, thanking God they’re peach and not the white ones I was going to wear which would have left even less to the imagination.
Shimmers of water drip down his breathtaking but rage-filled face as he glares at me, waiting for an explanation.
“The beach was empty,” I reply, restraining myself from sayingFuck youas my gaze staggers against its will down the hard slabs of muscle that make up his chest and abs, spotting more scars peeking out from under his arm by his ribs.
“Well, this is not a private beach,” he responds coarsely. “You’d do well to remember that. And men on vacation don’t need much of an excuse to misbehave.”
I shake my head in wrathful incredulity, barely able to believe the words I’m hearing.
“Seeing as I enjoy re-educating macho assholes like you,” I stammer, “women don’t get harassed, or worse, for wearing the wrong clothes. Women get harassed becausemenchooseto harass them.”
His demeanor softens a little, and he watches my face intently before taking a single step back.
“On that we agree,” he replies. “But men don’t need much of an excuse to become monsters, whether you like that or not. I don’t want to see you dressed like that on this fucking beach again unless you’re with your friends or me.”
My jaw unhinges at his audacity.
“Well, it’s none of your business what I do and do not wear! And why did you see me in the first place? Were you watching me like some creep?!”
“I happened to be on my deck taking a business call,” he responds grimly. “And could have done without that little adventure.”
“Well, sorry to be such an inconvenience,” I scoff, feeling my eyes well up with tears. “You know I would have been extremely grateful if you hadn’t acted like such an asshole!”
“I don’t need your gratitude. I need you to occasionally be aware of the dangers around you.”
You have no fucking idea, asshole…
“And if I see you get into that ocean again without checking for rip currents first—”
“You’ll what?!”
"Let's put it this way… Of all the humans I’ve met in my life, you’re by far the one who needs the most disciplining… and I have various ideas on how to accomplish that.”
He says the words through gritted teeth, his eyes fierce on mine, making me swallow thickly.
Amidst the tornado of tension between us, I hear the click of the door and see feet under the wooden planks of the deck. Peering up, Rami’s head pops into view over the side of the deck. She stares down at us, stone-faced.
“Do I need to kill someone?” she asks.
