Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
DEAN
The beach, strewn with seaweed and crushed shells provides a less than comfortable landing spot. But I sprawl across the sand, dropping the bag next to me, before propping up on my elbows, feet still submerged below the foamy water. June stayed right beside me, matching my pace until we hit the shallower water. For a second, I worried she would beat me, but I won. And I can’t wait to collect on our bet.
She emerges from the ocean, her ponytail lost to the saltwater waves. Water trickles from the ends, running in tantalizing rivulets down the curves of her body.
I get it now, the myths about mermaids and sirens, because I would let this woman do about anything to me.
She flashes a hint of a smile in response to my steady gaze. Heat rises deep in me, desire making me fist my hands.
It’s a struggle to look away.
All she has to do is smile, and I turn to mush. Well, not mush. Something much harder than mush.
“You lost.” I smile.
“So it seems.” A quick nod, and she settles next to me. Her chest rising and falling.
“Winner take all.” I shouldn’t push her, but I can’t seem to stop.
“What do you mean by that, exactly?” She pushes one palm against the sand, leaning back and inspecting her other hand.
“What’s wrong?”
June leans forward, her wet hair hanging in a sheet against her cheekbone, examining her palm. “Nothing. A cut.”
Before I can stop myself, I grip her hand, inspecting it. “It’s not bad.”
“It’s nothing,” she agrees.
When I run a finger along her palm, though, she shivers.
“Are you cold?”
“A little.”
The sun on the sand is anything but cold.
Her chest rises and falls with her quick breaths. She tilts her head, and my gaze drifts from her hand to her face. To her lips, parted slightly, to the way the water slicks across the angles of her cheekbones.
“What does ‘winner take all’ mean, anyway?” Her voice is breathy.
All I know is that I can’t pretend anymore. I want her.
Still, I take my time answering. I rub a thumb across the back of her hand, marveling that she’s letting me hold it, that she hasn’t reclaimed it.
“I could show you what I mean.”
“Show me,” she whispers, her dark brown eyes large, doe-like.
Moving slowly, I press a kiss to the small cut on the palm of her hand, and she gasps a little.
Would she sound like that if I kissed her again? Really kissed her, and meant it?
I trace the line of her jaw. I revel in the soft skin, memorizing the way her eyes half-close. My hands almost move on their own accord, dragging down the smooth column of her throat, the hard ridge of her collarbone.
I brush my lips there, and the light caress makes her shift toward me.
I breathe her in, dragging her onto my lap, then pause, waiting. Her eyes flutter fully open.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly. As much as I want this, I want her to want it too.
She nods fervently, her fingers scraping across my torso. “Yes.”
My lips are so close to hers I can imagine what they taste like: salt brine from the sea, sweet when she parts them.
I cup her cheeks, pulling her face to mine, my mouth meeting hers in earnest.
Perfect.
She rolls her hips slightly, and I groan as my cock immediately gets hard. She tastes like summer and sunshine, and she feels even better.
It’s just like before, when she wanted to fake it, as some kind of half-baked diversion plan.
Fake it.
The surf chases up to my knees, the cool kiss of water slamming sense back into me, and I pull away from her.
This is a bad idea. No matter how good it feels, how right.
June blinks up at me, her eyes wide with confusion. I close mine so I don’t have to see her disappointment turn to hurt.
“I didn’t see any sea glass on the beach.” I hear her sharp intake of breath, and in the next second she’s off my lap.
I open my eyes, and her lips are pursed, her gaze shuttered. She’s looking down the beach, her arms crossed.
It was the right thing to do.
“It doesn’t wash up all the time.” She won’t look at me. “Just after big storms. The last one we had was about a month ago. There’s probably some buried under the sand, if you want to dig.”
I brush my palms off, sand trickling back to the beach as a I stand.
“Why would your father have brought you out here? To the beach?” I sneak a peek at her.
She’s upset.
I fucked up.
“Hey—”
“Is this some kind of game to you? Am I some kind of game?” Her watch buzzes against her wrist, and she spares it a single angry look before turning her face back to me.
“No, listen, I don’t?—”
“You don’t get to just… use me like some kind of tool on your weird man-squad operation to save the world. Or finish the ‘op.’ Or whatever it is you tell yourself. Whatever you think is happening between us, it isn’t real. This,” she gestures to the space between us, “is the product of hormones and adrenaline. It’s not real. I don’t have energy for your games.”
A single tear tracks down her cheek, and she locks eyes with me briefly before storming off towards the jetty.
“Princess, wait,” I call out.
I can’t help but notice her ass looks really good storming off.
Still, I have no business thinking that.
Across the beach, June walks slowly in the surf playing around her ankles.
She’s right. That’s the worst part. I just treated her like a means to an end.
Exactly like Fiona treated me.
If I’m going to explore the chemistry between June and me, then I’m going to do it right.
If she even still wants me at all.