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He smiled under her palm, before he peeled her hand away. “Provided I succeed, I’d say it’s very fair.”
“That’s not… That’s.” She was a stuttering mess and he was getting out of the truck. And the thing is, he was right. He only had to put his lips to her ear and she was one semi-quaver off choir practice.
She followed him out of the truck into the sun, shutting the door behind her, as stunned in the sudden glare as she was by Damon in her life. Only anxiety about how she was going to fit in with his friends prevented her luxuriating in what he’d just said and how it made her feel.
The gang was all assembled: Angus, Taylor, Jamie and another woman. Georgia recognised her as the one who’d kissed Angus behind the bar—Heather, the other non-singer.
Damon was talking to Angus. She put the back of her hand to the back of his and he took it, held it possessively, only releasing her to let Jamie give her a welcome hug, then taking it again. That helped her deal with the pissed off look she scored from Taylor whose face-swallowing sunglasses didn’t hide her annoyance. It was better to watch the parasail operator on the beach, the boat out beyond the break, than deal with whatever that was about.
Turned out everyone but Heather had done this before. Heather was visibly nervous but insisted on going first and not in a tandem with Angus. She was so skinny it was a wonder there was a harness small enough for her.
On the beach, Angus produced food and cold drinks from an esky. Jamie set up a shade tent. Damon sat behind her, his legs on the outside of hers, his chest trapping humidity between them. They faced the ocean and Georgia fed him strawberries, blueberries and slices of sticky mango over her shoulder and almost forgot they weren’t alone when he sucked at her fingers, until Heather arrived at the tent in a fit of excited laughter.
Taylor went for her turn. Georgia listened to Damon and Angus talk cricket and watched Jamie and Sam throw a frisbee. Beyond some eyebrows going over sunglass rims when they’d showed up together, no one was fussing over her. She wasn’t being singled out for attention or ignored, and although they were with the group, nothing Damon had done suggested he didn’t want her close to him.
Her shoulders felt safe enough to leave her ears to fend for themselves without cover. She relaxed, feeling the tension in her neck ease, and when Angus went for his turn and Damon pulled her down to the surf mat they were on, she was edging towards being comfortable again. She tipped all the way into contented when he said he wanted to go up tandem with her. But he didn’t need to worry about her. “I’m happy to go up alone.”
There wasn’t much of his face to see behind the sunnies and cap, but he put a twist in his lips that told her he was not good with that. “You might be.”
She tapped the brim of his cap, catching on. “Actually, I was cracking hardy. I’m scared to death to go up there by myself.”
He grinned. “That’s better. Don’t worry, I’ll save you.” He flexed his bicep, muscleman, laughing at himself. “Meanwhile, keep an eye on Sam. He can’t be trusted.”
“What’s he likely to do?”
“Make sure I get very wet.”
Georgia closed her eyes. God, she had it bad for Damon. He only had to say the word wet and she was catapulted back to last night and this morning, pressing her legs together as if that would give her relief. She shouldn’t want to kiss him so desperately. Only the thought she might embarrass him in front of his crew stopped her.
“What’s Sam doing?” Damon moved two fingers in a slow circle on the inside of her thigh, where her shorts finished. She hadn’t worn shorts in years and her skin was so milky white, had it not been for the tent she couldn’t have sat outside without courting third degree burns. She wanted to keep watching Damon’s hand, but she dragged her eyes away and looked for Sam, finding him with Taylor and Jamie.
Taylor was wet, she’d been dunked. Sam was telling her some story full of rapid arm gestures, which she was ignoring to look out to the parasail where Angus was. Jamie had his sunglasses pushed to the top of his head and was watching Taylor. Georgia blinked. Jamie was watching Taylor with an intensity that made her sit up straighter. Jamie wanted Taylor, Taylor wanted Angus, Angus wanted Heather.
“Oh boy.”
Damon grunted. “You can’t outrun him. Best just to take it and think about a way of getting him back when he least expects it. Don’t let him see your fear.”
He thought she meant Sam, who was striding down the beach towards the parachute canopy. “We’re safe. Sam is going up next.” That left Jamie and Taylor alone, but Jamie was yelling something after Sam, his whole attention focused on Sam’s muscled brown back, so maybe she’d gotten that group dynamic analysis wrong. She watched while Taylor cut Jamie a look that would wither the hardiest weed and trudged up the beach towards the tent.
And maybe not.
She’d have asked Damon but Taylor was there too soon, dripping on them both.
“Are you piking?” Taylor kicked Damon’s foot. “You can’t pike after dragging me out of bed for this.”
Damon grunted. “I’m not piking.”
Taylor turned her face to Georgia.
“I’m not piking either,” she said.
Taylor reached for her towel and wrapped it around her shoulders. Sam was in the chute harness, Angus and Heather at the water’s edge and Jamie was where Taylor left him. Taylor looked at her toes in the sand. “So you two are an item?”
She said it like they were number thirty-three on a menu with a picture of two ingredients that shouldn’t belong on a plate together, like ham and chocolate custard, and
only idiots ever ordered it.
Damon moved his foot out of her way and grinned. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?” He squeezed Georgia’s thigh.
