Chapter 16 #3
When she steps out, I nearly choke on the water.
Fuck.
She’d promised me swimming trunks.
Instead, she’s standing there in a red bikini that’s doing fuck-all to hide the fact that she’s got curves in every place a man’s hands want to be.
It’s not like I couldn’t see she was an attractive lass before. I’m not bloody blind.
And it’s not like I haven’t seen my fair share of women in bikinis. I’ve dated models who make a living looking good in half this much fabric, women who know exactly what they’re doing and how good they look doing it.
But Georgie… Christ. She’s standing there like she wants the deck to open up and swallow her whole, arms crossed over her chest in a hopeless attempt to cover what that bikini’s putting on display.
Full breasts strain against thin triangles, porcelain skin begs to be touched, red draws the eye exactly where it shouldn’t go.
The bikini’s bold. She’s not. The contrast is wrecking me.
Her teeth worry at her bottom lip while her eyes search mine. The contrast strikes me hard—that nervous gesture while she stands there looking like sin—and heat floods through my veins.
The urge rises, dark and demanding. To order her to drop those protective arms. Tell her to turn slowly. Let me look my fill.
I wrench my gaze to the horizon, jaw aching from how hard I’m clenching it.
She’s not doing anything wrong. She put on a bikini to go swimming. That’s it.
I’m the bastard standing here like some horny deckhand, noticing every inch I’ve no right to notice.
The self-disgust hits almost as hard as the unwanted arousal.
“Is the water very cold?” Her voice wavers on ‘cold,’ fingers fidgeting with the strings at her hip.
I clear my throat, not trusting myself to look her in the eye. “Bit bracing. You’ll get used to it.”
This was supposed to be a quick wildlife tour. Puffins. Seals. Dolphins. Back to shore.
Job done.
Not me standing here, fighting the urge to stare at Jake’s sister—ten bloody years younger than me—wearing a red scrap of nothing that’s making my cock thicken like I’ve got no sense of decency.
“Ready when you are,” I mutter, gruff.
“I just need to put some sunscreen on first.” She rummages through her bag, then glances up with a tentative smile. “It’s crazy how warm Skye gets now. I know climate change is important in the design of your hotels, with all the sustainability initiatives.”
She’s trying to make conversation, probably sensing that I’ve gone tense and distant. Usually, I’ve got plenty to say about environmental impact, and about the balance between tourism and conservation.
Right now, I can’t focus on anything except the way that bikini’s hugging her curves.
Her smile falters. “Are you sure you have time for this? If you need to get back…”
“I have time. Let’s get on with it.”
She nods, then starts smoothing sunscreen over her arms and legs. She twists awkwardly, trying to reach her back.
“I don’t suppose you could—” She stops mid-sentence, cheeks flaming. “Actually, forget it. I can manage.”
She tries again, nearly dropping the bottle in the process.
“Give me the bottle,” I cut in, already striding over before I can think better of it.
She hands it over, gathering her hair over one shoulder.
I squeeze lotion into my palm, the coconut scent sharp in the salt air. My hands connect with her back and she jolts at the contact, muscles tensing under my touch. I try to pretend I’m applying paint to a wall instead of touching skin that’s soft as silk.
A shiver rolls through her, starting between her shoulder blades where my thumbs rest. It travels down her spine in a visible wave, her whole body responding. I feel every inch of it under my palms.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“It’s just cold,” she whispers.
I exhale hard behind her, my palms still spanning her back, and every instinct in me is screaming to let them linger, to follow that shiver down and see how far it goes. To slide my hands around her waist and pull her back against me.
This is the problem. The way she reacts to the smallest touch like it’s something dangerous and new, like no one’s ever put their hands on her properly.
Georgie’s inexperienced. I can see it in everything—how she flusters at the slightest innuendo, the way she’s standing here now, unsure of what to do with her own body.
And it’s killing me how much that appeals to the primitive bastard in me.
It’s fucked up. Most men my age want someone who can match their experience. That’s my type.
But with Georgie, I can’t stop the thoughts right now. Twisted, greedy ones of corrupting all that innocence and shyness.
This is the part of me I keep locked down. The part that wants to possess and take. It’s roaring to life now, with my hands spread across her bare skin.
Get a fucking grip.
I slap the remaining lotion on like I’m waterproofing a deck. No lingering. No savoring the feel of silk under my callused hands.
“Done.” The word comes out almost angrily.
She turns toward me, cheeks still hot. Her nipples are tight against the bikini, and she knows I’ve noticed.
Knows I’m looking.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
Oh fuck. I’m completely off balance. I’ve been convinced this whole time I was some dirty old man looming over the shy, bookish girl.
But she isn’t just awkward. Her pupils are dilated. Breath coming too fast. She’s aroused. She’s into this. Into me.
I tear my eyes away, yank a life vest from the storage hatch, and thrust it at her. “Put it on.”
“Are you wearing one?”
“That’s irrelevant. You are. My boat, my rules. End of discussion.”
“Fine. I would have worn it anyway.”
She struggles with the straps, managing to twist the waist belt.
“You’ll drown wearing it like that,” I mutter, already moving in.
My hands close over the buckles, yanking them into proper position. The edge of my knuckles brush her ribs as I pull the chest strap tight. Her breath hitches, stomach muscles tensing under my touch.
When I look up to check the collar, her eyes are right there. Green and wide, lips parted.
“Let’s get in the water,” I say gruffly, already moving toward the ladder. I need the shock of cold water to snap me out of whatever the hell this is.
I go first, the sea biting straight through my skin. Bracing one hand on the ladder, I wait as she steps down carefully, her smaller hand gripping mine for balance.
As she lowers herself, her bare hand lands on my thigh.
A spark of heat shoots straight up my spine.
We both keep our eyes forward, pretending it didn’t happen.
“Oh God, it’s freezing!” she squeals, knees jerking up as the water hits. “I’m not lasting more than two minutes in here!”
This is fucking torture.
I hover nearby under the excuse of safety. But the truth is I can’t not watch her.
Her joy is back in full force. She swims around the boat like she’s discovered a whole new world, diving down to peer at whatever’s moving beneath the surface.
I tread water closer, unable to help myself.
“This is amazing,” she breathes before slipping under again.
She bursts back up, shrieking and thrashing toward me. “Oh my God, what is that?”
I spot the flash—a school of mackerel, dozens moving as one. “Mackerel. They’re harmless. Just curious about what we’re doing in their territory.”
She looks sheepish. “Sorry for being jumpy.”
“Nothing to apologize for.”
“I think I need to get out,” she says, teeth chattering. “I can’t feel my organs anymore.”
She reaches the ladder first, pulling herself up slowly. Each rung shifts the soaked fabric higher, red material disappearing between curves until I’m seeing far more than I should.
Halfway up, her hand shoots back, yanking at the fabric that’s ridden up. A little wedgie fix, done self-consciously, like she knows exactly how bare her ass looks from where I’m floating and hates that I can see it.
She should hate it. Because I’m definitely bloody looking.
I grit my teeth, force my gaze to the rocks, and count to three before following her up the ladder.
By the time I haul myself over the side, she’s peeled off the life jacket. Water runs off her in streams, and she’s shaking hard, arms wrapped tight across her chest. But it does nothing to hide the nipples pressing taut against the red fabric.
Brilliant idea, this swimming trip. Right up there with that time I ate petrol station oysters and spent two days wishing for death.
I grab towels from the storage bin, and wrap one around her shoulders without meeting her eyes. “Better?”
She nods, then winces, looking down.
I follow her gaze to her knee, where a thin line of blood trickles down her leg.
“When did that happen?” I frown, crouching down to get a better look at the cut.
“I just clipped it on the boat getting in,” she says with a shrug. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine if you’re bleeding.” The cut isn’t deep, but it’s enough to make my jaw clench. I should’ve been watching her more carefully.
I retrieve the first-aid kit from the cabin, then drop to one knee on the deck. “Don’t move.”
“It’s not exactly a frostbitten dead toe,” she says with a quick, breathy laugh.
I rip open an antiseptic wipe. “You’ll live to see another day but I want to make sure this is clean, all the same.”
I clean it slowly. Carefully. Which puts me at the worst possible angle—her crotch right in my eyeline. One tilt of my head and I’d be staring straight at the shape of her through red fabric.
My thumb presses against her calf to steady her leg. When I glance up to check if I’m hurting her, she stares down at me like I just dragged her from a shipwreck instead of patching a scrape. It’s so much worse than someone trying to seduce me on purpose.
I push to my feet abruptly, but that’s worse. Now I’m towering over her.
She tilts her head back to maintain eye contact. Doesn’t step away. Just stands there, windblown and trembling.
This is the kind of beauty that ambushes you. The kind that hides behind cardigans and nervous laughter, behind annotated guidebooks and a desperate need to blend into walls during meetings. That you don’t see coming until you can’t see anything else.
The leash I’ve kept on myself all afternoon breaks.
My hand moves without permission, palm cupping her jaw. Her eyes go wide but she doesn’t pull back.
My mouth crashes into hers.
I’m a selfish bastard. Always have been. When I want something, I take it.
And right now, consequences be damned, I want her.