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His eyes bore into hers as, wordlessly, he extended a hand to her, urging her up. She stared at it for several beats before acquiescing, putting hers in it and being pulled higher, her pulse racing so fast she was sure he must feel it through her wrist.
Without his help, she would have managed, but with it, she moved with ease from the water, onto the jet ski, her body brushing his as she lifted one leg over the seat and settled against him. His back was warm and smooth, and shockwaves of awareness overtook her.
Pleasure danced on her skin.
“Ready?”
He asked over his shoulder.
He was asking about the jet ski ride, but the question took on a new meaning to Phoebe, who felt as though she were on the precipice of something new and dangerous, something inevitable.
“Yes,” she said against the crook of his neck, where her head was resting. “Let’s do this.”
There was silence, save for the squawking of a bird overhead, and the words settled amongst them, to Phoebe’s mind almost seeming like an unspoken pact. A moment later, his hand reached down and squeezed hers, dragging one further across his chest.
“Hold on tight.” His voice was gruff, her pulse spiked.
The engine revved, powerful and intent, and then, they were off, so his final words took on renewed importance. She clung to him, not because she thought she might fall from the jet ski but because it was an illicit pleasure that she’d been denying herself since meeting him, and finally being able to touch him like this was sheer, blissful relief. A present, on her birthday.
He drove expertly, cruising up the coastline for twenty minutes, so her eyes feasted on the little Italian towns as her fingers traced lines over his bare chest without her realization, drawing patterns because they were so hungry to touch and feel him.
The vegetation of the coastline gave way to more homes and then, a sight that had Phoebe holding her breath. Perhaps he sensed the change in her, because he slowed down then began to idle.
“What is it?”
She asked, unable to look away from the coastal town with its arched bridges forming a barrier that almost seemed to hold back the village, preventing it from toppling into the sea. Buildings of soft pastel colours rose from the bridge, including a very old church, proud in the center of the headland, with a terracotta roof and a bell tolling to mark the hour.
“The town is called Atrani.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s not particularly famous, though it deserves to be.” He shifted a little in his seat, making her intimately aware of how close they were. Her hands clung to him. “Want to take a closer look?”
Her heart stammered and she answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
His laugh was low and throaty and set her heart tumbling wildly through her chest. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.” The approval was like the lighting of a flame. Before she could respond, he started the engine again, driving slowly this time, in deference to their proximity to the shoreline. Choosing a secluded spot, away from the few people who were dotted in the water, he eased them up to the sand, cutting the engine and removing the key.
“Can you park here?”
“Sure, why not?”
“I don’t know. I’m not exactly au fait with jet ski regulations.”
“It’s fine. Come.” She stepped off, and was instantly braced by a wave of cold. Suddenly, she wanted to be back on the jet ski, her body pressed against his.
“I only have my bathers,” she said, eyeing the town with regret. She’d have loved to explore it better.
“Lucky for you, I planned ahead.”
He reached into the console of the jet ski and removed a brightly coloured kaftan. But rather than handing it to her, he came to stand right in front of her, lifting it and placing the hole over her head. She could have shimmied into it herself from there but instead, his hands lingered, easing the soft fabric over her body, thoroughly checking it was in place before standing back.
Sparks detonated just beneath her skin.
She wanted to beg him to come back and keep touching her, but his back was turned as he pulled a shirt on over his broad chest.
“Shoes?” She pointed out, wiggling her bare toes.
“Ah, of course. Where’s my head at?” He pondered, but the look her threw her was simmering, so they both knew the answer to that.
