13. Liam
CHAPTER 13
LIAM
I head down to the beach earlier than we arranged to secure us both a spot. There are plenty of other people out, and they must have been here a long time because they all look totally settled.
Women lounge in their bathing suits and men lie next to them, asleep in the heat of the sun. There are beautiful people everywhere, those who know it and are showing it off and those who don’t and catch my eye regardless. It’s that natural beauty that strikes me, the type that doesn’t fully know they’ve got it and is coy about admitting it.
That’s the beauty Emma has, I think. Unassuming but true. She’s not a flaunter.
Eventually, I find the perfect umbrella to pitch myself under. It’s close enough to the water that we’ll be able to go and paddle if we want to, close enough to the hotel where we can still go for food and not have to trek a long way back, but far enough away from all the other people so we don’t have to listen to children screaming or people complaining.
I sling my towel onto one of the lounge chairs and sit back, staring out at the ocean, watching the waves crash against the golden shore. This really is a beautiful island.
It’s the kind of place I could spend a long time in if I wasn’t so wedded to my work.
It’s not long before the sight of Emma making her way across the beach towards me rips me out of my daydreaming. She has a long white robe draped over her shoulders, see-through enough that I can see every inch of her beneath it, light and flowing in the wind. Her hair is piled up on top of her head into a messy bun, and she has big round sunglasses perched on the end of her nose.
I have to force myself not to look too much further down at her body because she’s wearing a gorgeous green bikini with white polka dots that rests high on her hips and low on her breasts, putting way more emphasis than I would have expected on her breasts.
It’s like she wants my eyes to be drawn to the soft curve of her skin.
Maybe she does know how beautiful she is after all.
I smile to let her know I’ve seen her, then look back towards the ocean to stop myself from staring in a way I shouldn’t.
“Hey,” she says, grinning like she’s totally unaware of the effect her body is having on me.
“Hey,” I say. “I hope this spot is acceptable.”
“It’s gorgeous,” she breathes, turning a full circle to look at everything. “I’m impressed you managed to find a spare umbrella.”
“I have my ways.”
“This is a beautiful beach, isn’t it?” She doesn’t rise to my bait, and I almost feel disappointed. The day won’t feel right if I don’t spar with her at least a little.
“It’s lovely and clean.”
“Of course that’s what you would think of,” she scoffs. “Does nothing please you?”
I raise both eyebrows at her, but she’s still smiling, a teasing glint strong in her eyes. “Nope,” I say. “I’m notoriously difficult to satisfy.”
Emma starts to say something, but the first syllable dies in her mouth as she stops herself. Instead, she turns to the other lounge chair and drops her towel down on it, her bag beside it. Then she lies down, stretching her long legs out in front of her, pointing her toes and yawning. “This is perfect,” she says again.
“It is,” I agree. “Maybe there’s something to this vacation thing after all.”
“Maybe,” she hums, unconvinced like I am. “I’d rather be at work, though.”
“Me too.”
With that, she sighs, then stares out at the ocean. “Let’s swim.”
“Swim?” I splutter. I hate swimming. It’s one of the few things I’m not actually very good at, and the shame of that is more than I can bear in front of a pretty woman who thinks little enough of me to begin with. “Is that a good idea?”
“Why not? Swimming is good for you, and the water is so blue and clear, it’s screaming out to swim in.”
“There are plenty of other people obeying its call,” I point out. “We don’t have to as well.”
She gives me a pleading, wide-eyed look, one that’s the closest you can get to begging without saying anything. “But we’ll have fun.”
“I’m concerned about you over-exerting your ankle,” I say, floundering for an excuse. “You should still be trying to take it easy.” She opens her mouth to argue, but before she can say anything, I add, “And anyway, I’m not in swimwear. I can’t swim like this.”
When she doesn’t argue back at me, it’s more surprising than if she had. “Fine.” She sighs. “But we are going swimming later in the week. We have to.”
Avoiding the swimming part of her sentence, I say, “So there will be a later?”
“Maybe.” Though her tone is elusive and the pout on her lips suggests unhappiness, there’s still that glint in her eye that proves she’s not actually upset. In fact, pouting like that just makes her lips look soft and plush and delicious.
Stop it , I tell myself. That is not the point of this week. I’m just spending time with her to stave off the boredom and loneliness. I can get over being attracted to her. “Maybe tomorrow,” I say. “Depending on how you’re feeling.”
“I’ll make sure I’m feeling fine, then.”
Glancing one last time at the ocean, Emma reclines onto the lounger, her arms over her head as she settles in. I look away so she doesn’t catch my eyes drifting to her breasts, which are magnificently on display. But I have a lot of respect for her, and I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.
I turn to my own bag and grab my book, one about neurosurgery. It’s really interesting and covers a lot of cases that I wouldn’t have known how to solve. Not that I am a neurosurgeon, so I would never be in that position. But I like to learn.
And if I’m spending the rest of the day lying down, I should at least fill my head with something useful.
I sit back up on my lounge chair and let out a chuckle when I see Emma has grabbed her own book — an autobiography of a trailblazing female surgeon.
“Great minds think alike,” I say.
“I get bored if I just sit,” she explains. “I brought enough to read for weeks.”
All I do is smile at that.
I don’t get a whole lot of reading done, though. I’m distracted and keep glancing over at Emma, looking at what she’s doing, trying to memorize the way she looks, here and now.
To keep this moment in my heart for as long as it lasts.
Once, I look over at her and our eyes meet. Instinctively, I turn my eyes away, but then I look back at her and she’s still looking at me. Has she been doing the same thing I have? Is she furtively trying to capture this picture in her mind too?
Just for now, this moment, I’m going to believe that’s true. I’m going to choose to believe that she wants this just as much as I do, even if I know that cannot be.