Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
DEAN
I did my best to tamp down the jealousy that rose when June took off with Thorne to scout a good location for the tents.
As if I could control my unreasonable emotions through sheer force of will. Cutting up oranges and prepping the boil helped. That kind of monotonous work always does, giving me something else to focus on.
Except, now my focus is broken, my attention returning to her again and again.
On the grass-speckled sand dune, her hair slips loose of the tight braid she managed, whipping around her face in a riot of waves.
“Stop it,” Thompson drawls, opening a cooler.
I just grunt.
“Yep, that’s what I thought. You got it bad for her.” Thompson sits a six-pack of Gatorade on top of the lid, pulling one off for himself.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t act like that. You two need to get it out of your system. Whatever it is.”
“Don’t even think about her system.” It was low, a warning. The driftwood fire crackles, accentuating my unspoken threat.
“I wasn’t. Jesus, Dean, I’m your friend. Stop acting like an asshole. Talk to the woman. If you want to be with her and she wants to be with you, you’ll make it happen. And if not, I’m more than happy to talk to her.”
“This is just a job,” I say. “It’s part of the op.”
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”
I swallow thickly. I won’t be sleeping tonight, not with June curled up next to me again, my emotions a tangled knot of distrust and need. And bitter, bitter hope.
“Just a job, my left ass cheek,” Thompson continues, clearly not caring about my discomfort.
“Drop it.” It comes out colder than I intended.
“Yessir.”
Fuck.
A moment passes, Thompson swigging the drink, checking on the status of the crabs.
“James.” I clear my throat. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
Thompson turns back, an eyebrow lifted in surprise.
“I’m sorry.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “No worries, man. I know that whole clusterfuck with Fiona messed you up. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
Fiona. The mere mention of her name typically sends me spiraling into anxiety and regret and I wait for the feeling to come, the sensation of drowning on dry land. The regret is still there, the hurt, a small, coiled thing in my chest. I suck in a breath, the drowning never coming. Fiona is gone, the relationship over as dramatically as it started.
Therapy might be working.
Who knew?
Besides everyone.
“No, you were right to push.” I rub my jawline. The massive pot we hauled to the beach boils furiously, lemons and oranges bobbing next to huge spice packs, and my stomach rumbles. “You might be onto something.”
“That’s good, boss.” Thompson grins, taking a swig from a water bottle. “By the way, I told her you’d help her shower.”
“You did what ?”
He gives me a shit-eating grin.
“He did say that.” Her clear voice rings out from behind me, and my whole body reacts. “But I don’t need help washing . I just need someone to hold a towel up for some privacy.”
June stands off to the side of the fire, flushed from the heat and sun. Her lips twist to the side, eyebrows raised slightly, as if she fully expects me to say no.
“I can squat behind the tent and wash off, but…” Her voice trails off, the hope in her eyes dying. “I’d rather not. I’m gross after being on the boat.”
The woman wants a shower. I can at least be a gentleman about it. I won’t dwell on how she’ll look with water slicking over the curves of her body, soap lathering the soft skin I have no business thinking about.
“Of course, princess.” I dip in a bow, and I catch a hint of a grin on her face.
Her eyes drop to the boiling pot. “It smells so freaking good.”
“Are you ready to shower now?” My heart thumps in my chest, and I force myself to take a long breath in.
“I would love to get clean before dinner so I can crash afterwards.” She coughs delicately, arching an eyebrow at me. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“You heard her.” Thompson shoves me a little, and Thorne, who I hadn’t even realized was sitting behind him, lets out a snort.
“Alright, lemme grab the jug of water. Thompson, Thorne, don’t overcook the crab.”
“Sir, yessir,” they intone in unison, and I roll my eyes.
June’s lips curve in a small smile, catching her lower lip between her teeth as she wanders off, collecting the bag of toiletries I asked Thompson and Thorne to pick up for her. To make her more comfortable.
Because she is an asset . A happy asset is an asset who is more likely to help.
Or, as Thompson so delicately suggested, because I care about her.
I grind my teeth, and I find I can’t deny it.
I do care about her, and it’s time to stop telling myself she’s a means to an end.
She’s more than that already, so much more.
Her hips swish as she walks further down the beach, and I track the movement like my life depends on it. A jug of clean water under one arm, a clean towel under the other, I set off behind her. The sand is soft, leaving graceful footprints behind her, and I step next to them, loath to erase them with my own. Finally, she stops walking and looks around.
The stretch of beach is clear of seaweed, and she inches up toward the dune, light beige sand coating her feet.
“Here okay?” she asks.
“If it works for you, it works for me.” I unfold the towel.
We must’ve walked further than I realized, or I’m hungry, because my knees are a little weak. Carefully, to avoid catching sand on it, I raise the towel up as high as my arms will reach, effectively blocking her from view.
“Wait.” Her voice is soft. “I don’t know if I can pour the water out of that thing.” She points to the five-gallon jug. “I really would like to wash my hair. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought to bring a cup or something.”
“What do you want me to do?” Almost kissing her was one thing. The peck on my lips, that was another. This, her asking for help, her asking me for help with this , choosing to trust me—is something else entirely.
“Could you,” her throat bobs. “Pour the water on my hair? I’ll wait to take off my—” Her voice falters. “Um, I mean, then you could put the towel back up.”
Not trusting myself to speak, I secure the towel around my neck and nod once. Then bend to pull off the plastic cap.
Carefully, I lift the jug, and her back tenses as she braces herself.
“It might be a little cold.” Water trickles out of the jug, turning her dark brown hair inky, goosebumps shivering across her skin.
“That feels nice.” Eyes closed, a stream of water slides down her face and neck. Underneath her bikini top, her nipples pebble.
It takes everything I have to avert my gaze.
“Is that enough?”
“Mmhmm.” A small noise of satisfaction. and I wish I was wholly responsible for it. “Can you put the towel back up?”
I glance back at her, and her eyes flutter open. I can’t help but wonder if what I want to see in them is really there. My own desire, reflecting back.
I snap the towel open, holding it high enough that the top of her head disappears, as much for her sake as mine. Temptation is a dangerous thing, and I won’t give in to it. Unfortunately, holding the beach towel that high means it stops right below her knees.
Pink bikini bottoms fall to the sand, followed by the triangle top.
I bite back a groan. I should look away—but I can’t bring myself to. Behind the towel, I hear her lathering her hair, the swish of soap and water across skin. I imagine it running between the luscious curves of her breasts, her pink mouth parted, eyes closed.
My fingers tingle, aching to touch something infinitely softer than the terry-cloth towel. To see if what my brain supplies matches reality. Or if reality is better. My mouth waters as the scent of coconut wraps itself around me, my body stiffening.
Closing my eyes for a beat, I attempt to regain control. She makes a small noise of contentment, and I open them, zeroing in on a clump of soapy bubbles sliding down the muscled length of her calf.
“Okay, I think I can lift it now that you poured some out.” June’s arm reappears as she wrestles the jug behind the towel. The sound of water running has never been this arousing. Running all over June’s body, in all the secret places I wish to explore.
Thompson was right. I want June like I haven’t wanted someone in a very, very long time. Resolve stiffens my shoulders, and I shift my weight, a bit concerned with other stiff parts.
I’m not going to give up a chance with her without a fight.
“Okay. I think I’m clean.” She tugs on the towel and I let it go, then she wraps it around herself.
The soap bubbles she missed slide further down her calf and, without thinking, I slowly bend, wiping the excess from her skin. My thumb skates over the curve of her ankle, pulling a sharp inhalation from her.
Straightening, a sense of purpose now to my thoughtless movement, I enter the battlefield.
I will win her over.
A wicked smile curves my lips. “You missed a spot, princess.”
“Oh.” Her eyes are huge, her wet hair glued to her shoulders. “Thank you,” her voice is a little breathless.
Breathless is a good sign. My smile deepens.
I still got it.
“Why don’t you dry off, and then I can hold the towel back up while you get dressed?”
“No peeking.” Her answering smile is tentative.
I wink, and a rosy blush brings out the color in her sun-tinged cheeks. Carefully, she peels the towel from her torso and I hold it out lengthwise, then close my eyes.
An eternity seems to pass.
“Tada,” she sings out. I open my eyes to find June in a loose t-shirt. On it, a striped cat wears American flag sunglasses. Long shorts complete the look.
“Walk, walk, fashion baby.” June saunters towards me. “Catwalk, get it?” She plucks at the shirt and lets out a snort. Her amusement is infectious.
“Stylish.” Not that I care about the clothes. Not when my brain has more than adequately imagined what is beneath them. “How do you feel?”
“Much better.”
“Good.” I smile at her. “Glad to hear that the princess is pleased.”
She tugs the towel from me, then flips her hair into it, twisting it up like a turban on top of her head. “There. Now I’m all done. And starving. And so freaking sleepy.”
I resist the urge to tuck her into my side, to hold her close as we walk back to the campsite, worried it will scare her off. The last thing I want to do is break whatever fragile thing is building between us.
Instead, I settle for hauling the mostly empty water jug over my shoulder and carrying the odds and ends of her toiletries back.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” The force with which I say it surprises me. The fact that I mean it, even more so.
“Tonight, when we sleep together?—”
I whip my gaze to her.
She tugs at the turban, now lopsided, as we walk. “I mean, when we share the tent, can we be careful not to track sand in? I hate sleeping with dirty feet. And you know sand. It’s coarse and gets everywhere.”
I narrow my eyes, lips curving up into a smile. Is she quoting what I think she is?
“Yeah. I’ll put the rest of the jug outside and we can rinse before zipping up.” I adjust my grip on the water bottle and her eyes narrow, seemingly waiting for something.
“Not a Star Wars fan then, huh?” she finally asks.
“Not of those movies,” I answer emphatically, a huff of laughter escaping my lips.
She beams up at me, and I wonder if this is what it feels like to win the lottery.
“Me neither. And that would really be nice. About the water, I mean.”
Warmth floods me.
Nice .
She makes a simple word sound sweeter than anything I’ve heard.