Chapter 1 Sin in Swim Trunks
Ten days ago
Waverly
I was staring again like some overly hormonal teenage girl instead of the thirty-eight-year-old woman I was.
Who wouldn’t? The guy stalked out of the Caribbean Sea as if he were Poseidon himself.
A god among men, or in this case, sin in swim trunks.
Water cascaded off perfectly bronzed skin, which covered every inch of his toned, muscular body—and there were a lot of inches to cover.
Six feet six of them by my estimation. His thick, dark brown hair, even wet, was messy on top, as if he’d run his fingers through it rather than a brush.
I wouldn’t mind running my—
Stop, dammit. Reflection and relaxation; that’s what I was in Curacao for, nothing more, nothing less.
It’d been way too long since I’d left all my worries behind and just enjoyed life for a while.
As the resident agent in charge of a satellite FBI office, I had enough on my plate.
I didn’t need complications of the male variety.
So why the hell couldn’t I tear my eyes away?
With my pervy gaze hidden behind sunglasses, I tracked his movements up the beach until he reached one of the chaise loungers the resort provided for guest use.
He grabbed a towel that was lying across the back of the chair and began drying himself off one limb at a time.
I was utterly mesmerized by the swirling black ink covering half of one arm.
“The seat next to mine isn’t taken. You know, in case you’d like a closer look.”
Shit.
Slowly, I raised my head, only to be met with blue eyes more vibrant than the sea he’d just been swimming in. They were crinkled at the corners as he squinted against the harsh sunlight. If I wasn’t careful, I could easily drown in their depths.
“I’m sorry. Were you talking to me?”
“It’s okay.” The smile he graced me with was nearly as sinful as his body. “I’ve been watching you too.”
“Not creepy at all,” I muttered under my breath.
“Jesus, I’m a feckin’ arse.” He tore his fingers through his hair, just like I’d imagined. “I swear, I didn’t mean that the way it came out. What I should’ve said was, you’re beautiful and I’ve been working up the courage for three days to talk to you.”
“I believe you, Irish.”
“Irish?” He cocked his head to the side.
“Unless feckin’ is Scottish, in which case I apologize profusely for the mistake.”
He chuckled, tossing the towel on the chair. Pulling a shirt over his head, he started to gather up what few belongings he had. Disappointment churned in my belly at the thought of him leaving until he trudged the fifteen feet separating us, lowering himself into the chair next to me.
Dipping my chin ever-so slightly, I peered at him over the top of my sunglasses. “Whatcha doing?”
“It was rude of me to ask you to switch seats, so here I am.”
“What if I didn’t want company?”
“Just relax, beautiful. You can even pretend I don’t exist for now if that makes you feel safer. There’ll be plenty of time for us to get to know one another later.”
“Presumptuous much?”
“Hopeful.” He winked.
Settling back against the mesh fabric of the lounger, I closed my eyes and let the heat from the sun soak through to my bones. This was what I needed. No cares. No stress. Just the ebb and flow of the waves crashing against the shoreline to soothe my senses.
Working as an FBI agent was everything I dreamed it would be, until it became less about solving crimes and more about the mounds of paperwork sitting on my desk or the umpteen meetings, which could’ve been emails.
I’d wanted to make a difference, especially after witnessing the level of corruption happening in my own family.
Both my father and uncle abused the authority given to them by the people; twisting the letter of the law to satisfy their own selfish needs.
Someone had to keep them in check, so why not me?
Unfortunately, I learned early on in my career that one voice wasn’t loud enough to stand up against the greed of many. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my job, but that had more to do with the group of agents who had become like family to me.
Duncan Palmer, my second-in-command, and I met about seven years ago during an investigation. Our friendship was fast and easy. He was like the brother I never had. When my promotion to resident agent in charge came through, he was the only person I trusted to have my back.
The day I found out we were being tasked with opening a new satellite office in Huntington, West Virginia, I filled Duncan in on my past. He said it was fate.
Why else would I be assigned to a city with the same name as the street Aunt Carolyn died on?
Regardless of my personal beliefs on the interventions of the universe, I had to admit, he was right.
It didn’t take long for us to build an elite team of special agents.
Keaton Clarke was the first to join, then came Noah Anderson, followed by Lanie Biggs, and finally Koen Banks.
The four of them graduated at the top of their class at Quantico, but more than that, they each had a past which led them to the FBI.
We all did, which was what motivated each of us to excel at our jobs and as a team. We got shit done, plain and simple.
“Have dinner with me tonight?”
I jolted a little, having momentarily forgotten about the insanely hot man who’d invaded my space. His voice sounded closer than it had before and when I rotated my head to the right, I knew why. He was sitting sideways on the lounge with his arms resting over his knees.
My brow quirked. “So much for letting me pretend you don’t exist.”
Up close, I could make out the sexy laugh lines which kissed the edges of his mouth, making him appear to be around my age, possibly a few years older.
“I’m running short on time.”
“Sharing a meal with a stranger isn’t something I’m known for.”
“Let’s not be strangers, then.” He held out his hand. “I’m Kier.”
Tentatively, I took it. “Waverly.”
He held on longer than was necessary or customary, stroking his thumb back and forth along the top. Eventually he let go; the remnants of his touch lingering in the chills which skittered down my spine.
“So, dinner?”
Throwing caution to the wind, I answered, “Sure, why not.”
He pushed up from his seat, once again gathering his meager belongings. “I’ve got a conference call in twenty minutes I need to prepare for. Are you staying here at the resort?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” He donned a pair of expensive-looking brown sunglasses, covering up those exquisite blues. “I’ll meet you in the lobby at six. In the meantime, try to contain your enthusiasm.”
With a dip of his head, he walked away, never looking back. I knew because—once again—I watched like a total freaking creeper.
What in the actual fuck was happening to me?
Maybe I was coming down with some rare tropical disease. Dengue fever? Malaria? Oh, who was I trying to kid? I wanted what each of my agents had found over the last year. Love. Or at the very least, someone who could take away the pangs of loneliness.
For a short while, I had Mac to occupy my thoughts and my bed. MacEntire Jones was a fellow law enforcement officer in a town nearby. We only dated for about two months before we both realized we were better friends than lovers. Since then, there hadn’t been anyone else who’d captured my attention.
It was difficult to meet someone who understood the demands that came with my job title. For me, work didn’t stop when the clock struck five or six or even seven. Besides the fact, I was extremely picky about the men I allowed into my life.
Right as I was getting ready to head back to my room to cool off, my cell phone dinged with a notification.
Very few people had my number, so I felt obligated to check.
Digging the device out of my beach bag, I smiled when I saw the time and the text.
One o’clock. She was right on time. Shayne Black was a detective with the Huntington police department and had become one of my best friends over the years.
Shayne: Please tell me you’ve done more than sit on the beach.
Me: I went for a swim.
Shayne: Let me rephrase. Get off your fine ass and do something fun.
Me: I’m on vacation, Shayne.
Shayne: Exactly. I thought you said something about scuba diving?
Me: I’m claustrophobic.
Shayne: Bullshit. Stop making excuses. There’s a whole world out there waiting for you to explore.
Shayne: You’re allowed to have a life, Waverly.
Her words were like a punch to the gut, mainly because she hit the nail on the head. For twenty years, I’d gone through the motions, but something inside me broke that day when Aunt Carolyn died.
Me: I have a life, thank you very much.
Shayne: When was the last time you went on a date?
Shayne: Hell, when was the last time you had sex? You’re probably gonna have to dust off your vagina.
Me: Rude much?
Shayne: Sorry if the truth hurts, but let’s be honest here for two seconds. Unless you want to end up as an old spinster with fifteen cats, you’re gonna have to let someone in.
Me: I’m allergic to cats. How about a bird?
Shayne: JFC.
Shayne thought I subconsciously sabotaged every intimate relationship because of misplaced guilt over Aunt Carolyn’s death.
It wasn’t like there was a long line of broken hearts in my rearview mirror, but maybe she was right, or maybe I just hadn’t met the right man.
My thoughts immediately drifted to Kier.
Me: I have a date tonight.
Three little dots appeared, then disappeared.
Me: Hello???
Shayne: Give me a sec. I think I’m in shock.
Me: Quit being a bitch and tell me I should cancel.
Shayne: If you cancel, I’m flying to Curacao to personally kick your ass.
Shayne: What’s he look like?
Shayne: What's his name?
Shayne: Where’d you meet him?
Me: Are you gonna let me answer?
Shayne: Sorry. Please continue.
Me: His name is Kier. He’s gorgeous, and I met him on the beach.
Shayne: Kier?
Me: I’m pretty sure it’s Irish. He had a hint of an accent.