Tia
The compound feels like a beautiful cage wrapped in razor wire and leather.
I’ve been here less than forty-eight hours and already the walls press in with all that testosterone and the low rumble of engines that never quite stop.
There’s only so much pacing around my borrowed room I can do before my brain starts inventing new ways to talk to the potted plant in the corner.
I named him Kevin. He seems supportive but not very conversational.
I dig through my backpack and pull out the little red bikini I threw in at the last second.
It’s the kind of swimsuit that makes me feel brave on good days and slightly scandalous on every other day.
The fabric feels cool and slippery against my fingers.
I change quickly in the small bathroom attached to my room.
When I look at myself I tug at the strings and adjust the top. My cheeks flush pink.
I pull a loose sundress over the bikini.
The thin cotton brushes my thighs as I sneak out of the room.
My ankle still throbs a little but it’s nothing I can’t ignore.
I lose the bandage and head out. A couple of men nod at me as I pass.
Their eyes linger but no one stops me. I offer a small wave and a nervous smile that probably looks more like a grimace.
The back door of the clubhouse opens to a path that winds toward the water.
The air grows saltier with every step. Palm fronds rustle overhead.
Their shadows dance across the sandy dirt.
I kick off my flip flops when the path turns to pure sand.
The grains feel warm and soft between my toes.
They shift and slide as I walk. The private beach stretches out in front of me.
Turquoise water sparkles under the bright Key West sun.
Waves lap gently against the shore with a rhythmic hush that soothes the anxious knot in my chest.
I drop my sundress onto a patch of sand and stretch my arms toward the sky.
The sun kisses my skin warm and golden. A soft breeze carries the clean scent of ocean and distant mangrove.
My hair lifts and tangles around my face.
I feel lighter already. Freer. Like the water might wash away some of the fear that’s been clinging to me since Dad showed up.
This is nice. Very normal. Just a girl in a bikini on a private beach owned by scary bikers. What could possibly go wrong?
The sand warms the soles of my feet as I walk closer to the water.
Tiny shells crunch under my steps. A seagull cries overhead.
Its wings flash white against the blue sky.
I reach the edge where the waves foam soft and cool.
Saltwater swirls around my toes. The cold bite makes me giggle.
I wiggle my feet deeper into the wet sand.
It squishes between my toes in the most satisfying way.
A deep voice cuts through the peaceful sounds behind me. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”
I spin around so fast I almost lose my balance.
Kraken stands there like he appeared out of thin air.
Jeans hug his powerful thighs. A black t-shirt stretches tight across his broad chest. The club vest sits over it all.
His arms are crossed. The muscles in his forearms flex as he stares at me.
He looks every inch the dangerous king of this island.
I blink up at him. My mouth goes a little dry. “I’m soaking up some sun. Duh. Have you seen this beach? It’s basically calling my name. Tia come be a normal human for five minutes and let the ocean fix your anxiety.”
His jaw tightens. Those storm gray eyes drag down my body slowly. Over the red bikini. Over my bare legs. Back up again. Heat crawls up my neck and settles in my cheeks. I fight the urge to cover myself. Instead I plant my hands on my hips and tilt my head.
“It’s really hot out here. You should put on some swim trunks and join me. The water feels amazing. I promise not to splash you too much.”
He doesn’t smile. Not even a little. “No thanks. I’m your bodyguard. Not your beach buddy.”
The words should sound cold. Instead they send a little thrill through me. Bodyguard. The way he says it makes it sound possessive. Like he’s already decided exactly where I belong. I bite my lip and turn back toward the water before he sees how much I like that idea.
Do not stare at the scary hot biker, Tia. He’s off limits. Completely. Totally. Even if he looks like he was carved from pure sin and bad decisions.
I wade a little deeper. Cool water laps around my calves.
The waves tug gently at my skin. I glance back over my shoulder.
Kraken still stands there. Tall and imposing against the sand.
Then he moves. His hands go to the vest first. He shrugs it off with a smooth motion and drapes it over a piece of driftwood.
The t-shirt comes next. He pulls it over his head in one fluid tug.
My brain short circuits.
Holy mother of glorious muscles.
His chest and shoulders stretch wide and powerful.
Black ink covers so much of his skin I can’t even process all the designs at once.
Tribal patterns twist across one shoulder and down his arm.
A fierce kraken wraps around his ribs with tentacles that look ready to drag ships under.
Scars mark his body like violent stories.
My mouth falls open a little. I’ve never seen anything so raw and beautiful and dangerous all at once.
Wow. Just... wow. That isn’t a man. That’s a weapon wrapped in skin.
And I shouldn’t be looking. I really shouldn’t be looking.
He’d never go for a girl like me anyway.
I’m the one who apologizes to furniture and names her houseplants after boy bands.
He probably dates women who can ride motorcycles and throw knives and look sexy doing it.
I force my eyes back to the water. My heart races fast. The sun feels hotter on my skin now.
I dip lower and let the waves swirl around my thighs.
The cool water does nothing to calm the heat building inside me.
I sneak another glance. Kraken stands barefoot in just his jeans.
The denim rides low on his hips. Those V lines disappear beneath the waistband and my imagination fills in the rest with very unhelpful details.
He crosses his arms again. The movement makes all those muscles shift and flex under the ink. I swallow hard. My thoughts tumble wild and flirty despite every warning bell in my head.
Don’t think about running your hands over those tattoos, Tia. Do not imagine what it would feel like to trace every line with your fingers. Or your tongue. Nope. Off limits. Danger zone. He’s your bodyguard. Not your extremely hot beach fantasy.
I turn back to the ocean and splash a little water on my arms. The droplets sparkle in the sunlight. A wave comes in stronger and soaks me up to my waist. I squeak and jump back. Laughter bubbles out of me before I can stop it.
Kraken’s voice carries over the waves. Rough like sandpaper. “You’re going to get yourself swept out if you’re not careful.”
I glance back again. He’s moved closer to the water line. His bare feet sink into the wet sand. The sun beats down on his shoulders and highlights every ridge of muscle. My stomach flips in the most embarrassing way.
I'm being very careful. See?" I wiggle in the shallow water. "The ocean is basically medicine. You could come closer and supervise properly. Bodyguard duties and all that."
He doesn't answer. But he takes one step toward the waterline.
I don't think. I just turn and wade back toward shore, and when I reach the spot where the sand goes from dark to dry I stop right in front of him, close enough that a wave washing in swirls cold around both our feet.
His jaw tightens. I reach out and touch his arm—just my fingers against his forearm, light, like I'm steadying myself—and I feel the muscle go absolutely rigid under my hand.
I look up at him.
He's looking at my hand.
Neither of us moves. The wave pulls back out and the sand shifts under my feet and I should step away, I know I should, but something about the way he's staring at where I'm touching him makes me stay exactly where I am. Like moving would break something that hasn't finished happening yet.
"Tia." His voice comes out low. A warning.
"I know," I say.
I don't know what I'm agreeing to. But I mean it.
He finally looks up from my hand to my face.
Whatever he finds there makes something in his expression go tight and complicated—not the blank wall he usually shows me, something underneath it, something that looks almost like it costs him.
His free hand comes up slowly and closes over mine where it rests on his arm.
Not moving it. Not pulling it away.
Just covering it.
His palm is rough and warm and huge, and for three full seconds we stand there in the shallows with the water swirling around our ankles and his hand over mine and his eyes doing something I don't have a name for.
Then he steps back. Takes my hand with him and sets it gently at my side like he's returning something he borrowed.
"Come on," he says. He turns toward the path before I can see his face. "We're done out here."
I follow him up the sand. My hand still feels warm where his was. The ocean keeps coming in behind us like it didn't notice what just happened, but I noticed. And from the set of his shoulders ahead of me, the way he's walking like he's angry at the ground—
He noticed too.