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He’s almost superheated with exertion through his wet suit.
The shelter of his arms makes me aware just how massive he really is.
I’m so used to being the same height as most of the men around me—often taller—but this guy makes me feel small.
That’s a miracle in itself.
And he’s breathing harder now.
I’m pretty sure he wasn’t when he dragged my kayak up onto the shore. His arms tighten around me, drawing me closer.
I’m not sure I’m breathing.
Scratch that,definitelynot.
There’s a wild look in his eyes.
My arms are locked around his neck and we’re so close, I can feel his heart beating so, so fast.
He isn’t alone. Mine strums like a guitar plucked by a rock star belting out a nasty breakup ballad.
What is even happening?
“It’s normal for first-timers,” he says softly, and I blink up at him in confusion.
Shepherd Foster is never soft.
...and first-timers?
How do I explain that although I’m way younger, I’m not inexperienced. I’ve had my fair share of male attention, though none of the boys I’ve dated have ever swept me up like a storm.
“Kayaking,” he clarifies, eyeing my blank face.
Oh, crap.
And I thought I was embarrassed before.
Except, it’s too hard to feel bad when I’m being hauled around by this bear of a man.
“It’ll hurt like hell for a while. Eventually, you’ll get used to it. You need to rub the feeling back into your legs. Can you manage that or are your fingers cramping?” he asks a little too gruffly.
I’ve got nothing.
I can’t speak.
I’m a little worried that if I attempt speech, I’ll say something garbled and terrible. Or worse, make some kind of comment about the dusky blue of his eyes in the fading sunlight.
It’s not easy, especially when he’s all Poseidon right now, smelling like salt and exertion and a testosterone brushfire.
His lips are more incredible than ever up close.
When you look at them, you can’t look away.
From a distance, they seem thin and striking, but up close, they’re so full, like they were made for kissing a girl completely senseless.
On a scale of awestruck to smitten, I’m a solidI’m screwed.
There’s a strained moment of crackling tension.
