Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sand was softer than she imagined, warm silk between her toes.
Mia lingered at the shoreline, the surf curling around her ankles, when Luc carried a long surfboard from the jeep and set it down with casual ease.
Luc gripped the hem of his white shirt and tugged it over his head in one smooth motion.
The sunlight caught the motion, gilding his skin in gold.
Mia’s breath stalled.
His body looked like it had been carved from stone—lean, powerful, and honed to precision. Across his back and shoulders sprawled intricate tattoos—elegant, yet raw—dark patterns that seemed alive, winding over the hard planes of his body like whispers of sin.
When he turned toward her, she saw that his chest was unmarked. Muscles shifted under his bronzed skin as he moved, the ridges of his abdomen tight as a drawn bowstring. The contrast made her pulse quicken. It was as if Luc had ink and shadow on one side, purity and restraint on the other.
His black surf shorts rode low on his hips, the faint V at his abdomen drawing her eyes before she could stop herself.
Heat flooded her cheeks. For a fleeting second, a sharp, shocking ache pulsed through her sex.
It was lust, fierce and unbidden. Mia looked away quickly, heart hammering, her throat gone dry.
But the image of him—bare, powerful, impossibly male—stayed burned behind her eyelids, and she hated how much she wanted to look again.
“Come,” he said.
Her heart leaped, half with excitement, half with dread.
The waves looked endless, vast and alive, stretching toward a horizon painted in silver-blue.
Mia hesitated at the edge where the foam kissed the sand, her pulse fluttering with both fear and wonder.
She took a cautious step forward. The first touch of the ocean was startlingly cool, curling around her ankles.
A shiver danced up her spine. The water pulled gently at her feet, retreating only to rush forward again, bolder this time, climbing to her calves.
Her sarong tangled around her legs as she waded deeper.
Sunlight glimmered across the surface, turning every crest into molten light.
When the water reached her waist, she gasped.
The chill gave way to a strange exhilaration, her skin tingling, her heartbeat matching the rhythm of the waves.
She felt small beneath the vast dome of sky, yet utterly present, as though the ocean itself had accepted her into its embrace.
Mia tipped back her head and yelled, “This is wonderful!”
Then she laughed, utterly delighted. Mia took another step, and the water rose to her chest. The current tugged, playful but insistent, and awe washed through her.
The sea was endless, untamed and beautiful in its danger.
Then the tide shifted, stronger now, pulling at her with unexpected force. Panic flickered in her chest.
Mia’s breath hitched. “I—I can’t swim,” she said, her voice barely rising above the crash of the waves as her feet lifted from the sand.
Luc’s arm slid around her waist before the tide could drag her under. “Then hold onto me.”
His voice was low, commanding but there was something else in it, a quiet reassurance that wrapped around her more firmly than his arm.
Mia obeyed, her fingers curling against his skin as the ocean surged against them.
The heat of him contrasted sharply with the cool water, and instinctively, her body leaned into his.
The panic that had gripped her moments ago ebbed away, replaced by a dizzying awareness of his strength, his steadiness.
And then she realized that she trusted him in this moment. The knowledge startled her almost as much as the waves. Luc guided her to the board, steadying it as she clutched the smooth surface.
“Kick. Like this.” His hand skimmed her thigh, nudging until her legs moved properly.
Her body obeyed, legs thrashing, keeping her afloat.
The waves curled and broke around her, cool against her skin, but it was the wild, heart-pounding rush of being alive in something so vast. “Teach me,” she said with a light laugh, glancing up at him.
“I want to be in the water without fear—to feel this thrill, to face the ocean and not run from it.”
“You have a lovely laugh,” he said, lifting a finger to touch the corner of her mouth.
“Is that to say some laughs are not lovely?”
“Hmm, I knew someone who sounded like a braying donkey.”
A choking sound came from Mia. “You are mean.”
Luc’s lips curved faintly, the look in his eyes unreadable. “Honest,” he drawled. “There is a distinction. Come, let me teach you.”
She hesitated only a second before reaching for his hand. His fingers closed around hers, strong and sure, anchoring her against the pull of the tide. “Breathe,” he murmured. “Let the water move around you, not against you.”
Mia nodded, her heart pounding. The water lapped higher, cool silk over her skin. His hand moved to the small of her back, steady and warm. “Lean into me,” he instructed, and when she did, the sea lifted her, weightless.
He guided her gently, his voice low against her ear. “Kick your legs… slower. Let them follow the rhythm of the waves.”
She obeyed, the water buoying her body. It was terrifying at first—the sense of surrender—but Luc’s arm was there, unwavering, a living tether between fear and freedom.
“Good,” he said, his breath brushing her temple. “You see? You’re safe.”
The thrill of it rippled through her chest. She tried again, this time without his full support, her movements clumsy but determined. He stayed close, his palm skimming her waist as he corrected her posture, his touch scorching even through the cool surf.
She glanced at him, breathless. “You make it look easy.”
“It’s not,” he said. “You’re just making it look beautiful.”
Her laughter broke free—bright, unrestrained—and something in Luc’s expression softened. For a moment, the darkness she always sensed in him eased, replaced by something quieter… warmer.
So he did. Patiently, inexorably, he taught her to let the water carry her, to float, to find balance.
His hands were everywhere—at her back, her hip, brushing her arm—firm, commanding, impossible to ignore.
Sometimes it felt unbearably sensual, his chest pressing to hers, his voice murmuring in her ear, heat and salt and power wrapping around her.
But then, at some point, she scarcely realized, his hands slipped away.
Mia kicked, stretched, and found herself moving on her own, the waves lifting her up, bearing her forward.
Another laugh burst from her lips, wild and free.
She turned her head, and Luc was watching her, a smile on his face.
Not the cold smile she had come to fear, but something warmer, unguarded.
The sight made her stomach flutter in ways she didn’t want to name.
She stopped swimming and tried to stand. Mia gasped. She had gone out farther than she meant to. Her toes no longer touched the sand and, for a heartbeat, she thought she could feel the ocean take her whole. Panic flared hot and immediate. She shrieked, and the world turned liquid and black.
Something seized her from behind—hands like iron at her waist—kicking hard, driving them both up through the surf.
He hauled her to the surface, and she gulped air like a drowning thing.
The sky stung her eyes. Her chest heaved.
Heart banging, she was painfully aware of the solid heat of his body pressed to her back, the press of him steadying her in the swell.
His palm spread flat across her belly, fingers splayed. Through the thin fabric of her suit, he traced the old scar along her side, rubbing as if cataloging each ridge.
“I’ve wanted to know what caused this,” he said, his voice low and almost casual against the roar of the sea.
She twisted, outraged and wet, and managed, “How would you even know about that?”
“Your apartment in St. Joseph was bugged. I saw you in the shower.”
The words landed with an ugly clarity. Heat rose to her face, and shame tangled with fury. “You cretin,” she spat, voice raw.
He laughed then, that soft sound that slid across her ear, and before she could think, he nipped her earlobe between his teeth. The small, intimate bite only sharpened the sensations writhing inside her chest. “Did you watch me shower?”
“Yes.”
“You are shameless.”
“A quality I have long owned to.”
Oddly, Mia smiled. “When I was ten,” she said, steadying herself with an effort she didn’t trust, “I fell out of a tree and cut myself. The convent walls were high, and I wanted to see what was beyond them, and I could only do that by scaling that tree, even though it was so intimidating. The next day, they cut the tree down.” Her voice went flat with the memory.
“They said it was to keep me safe from curiosity, which brings its own danger.”
He watched her quietly, his expression unreadable, fingers still tracing along her arm where the sea breeze had cooled her skin.
“You felt trapped behind the convent walls,” he said, his tone reflective.
“I… for a few years, I did,” Mia admitted softly. “But as I grew older, St. Mary’s became my home. It was all I knew. Still, the longing to see the world never left me. I used to dream about the places my frien—”
She cut herself off abruptly, the word catching in her throat.
Luc’s eyes glinted with dark amusement at her sudden silence. “I know of Bianca,” he said quietly. “You can speak of her.”
Mia’s stomach knotted. She didn’t like how easily he had read her thoughts—or how casually he dropped her friend’s name.
The reminder of his reach, of the unseen eyes and ears he commanded, sent a cold ripple through her.
Mia’s throat felt tight, but she forced herself to clear it, trying to dispel the unease clawing up her spine.