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His nostrils flared as he continued with the whole murderous glare thing. “You’re swimming at one of the most dangerous beaches in the area… in a fucking bikini,” he growled, his gaze moving angrily down my body again. This time it garnered no heat. “You could either be caught in a goddamn riptide or get fuckin’ hypothermia.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been swimming in the ocean since I could walk,” I informed him. “My parents weren’t really good at keeping an eye on me, so I learned how to sink or swim real quick. I’ve been swimming inthatwater…” I tried to point angrily like him, but I ended up worrying whether that weird flesh of my triceps wiggled when I did so.
I mentally added some kind of arm routine to my workout schedule.
Then I mentally added ‘workout’ to my schedule.
“I’ve been swimming inthatwater,” I repeated, “since I moved here. And I’m still standing, still breathing.”
Kip’s gaze didn’t falter. “That’s the last time you do it.”
He said it just like that. As if by speaking the words, they were etched into stone. Into law.
I hated nothing more than being told what to do. “Well, mate, here’s some news.” I stepped forward so I was toe-to-toe with him. “You’re not the boss of me.”
Kip’s gaze was thunderous. “First thing, I’m not your fucking mate. I’m your goddamnhusband.”
The word sent shock waves through my body, just as it had this morning.
“And second, I’m goin’ through enough shit for you right now, pretending to be in love with you,” he continued, his voice a low, pissed-off rumble. “I sure as shit don’t want to have to pretend to mourn you at your goddamn funeral.”
“No one forced you into this,” I snapped at him. “And again, I am not stupid enough to die in the ocean. Iamstupid enough to marry you and think I could consume as much booze as I did in my twenties and not want to live in a deep hole for the remainder of the day. What I really need to cure this hangover is a mince and cheese pie. But this fucking country has not embraced meat pies for some ungodly reason. I mean, you have every other grease-filled, deep-fried junk food on planet Earth. Except pies.” I threw my hands up in the air. “Madness.”
The wind cut against my skin again, and I ignored it.
“So, I can’t have a mince and cheese pie to make me feel halfway human,” I said. “But there is an ocean right there, cold and wild enough to shock the hangover out of me, remind me that I’m alive, and jump-start my metabolism or whatever the fuck Joe Rogan and his scientist buddies are talking about it doing.”
Kip looked at me with a measured gaze for a long time. Too long. My teeth were going to start chattering soon, but fuck if I was going to cover myself up. He’d ranted about hypothermia, and I bet it’d make his fucking day to see himself proved right. I forced my body not to shake and met his level gaze.
“You go out there again, I’ll tan your fucking ass,” he said quietly.
Now, I should’ve argued with that in theory. I really fucking wanted to argue with that. Beyond telling me what to do—which he had no fucking right to do—it was such a misogynistic bullshit threat that went against everything I stood for.
Spanking did not do it for me. I did not manifest my daddy issues that way.
So yes, I should’ve argued with him on that.
But I kept my mouth glued shut.
Because I was too busy thinking aboutKiptanning my ass.
And I was fucking liking that visual.
His eyes flickered with something that resembled hunger as if in response to whatever expression was on my face.
Luckily that was only fleeting, and a frown quickly replaced it before he turned on his heel and stomped off the beach.
I should’ve jumped right back in the water the second his back was turned. Just to show I could, that I wasn’t afraid of him.
Except I didn’t.
Because although I wasn’t technically afraid of Kip, I was smart enough to know that was not an empty threat just now. He would literally tan my ass if I got in the water.
And I did not need that on top of everything else.
So I grabbed my shit, dried myself off, and stomped back to my house.
This was going to be a long fucking year.
