Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Fin DeWitt is a perplexity. He’s so annoyingly confident, but I think that admission might’ve been a flash of his soft underbelly. It was almost as though he’d been worn by people’s opinions of him.
The man shaved off his ’stache for you—shaved it off to kiss you! And he shaved off his hair because—
I give my head a shake, cutting off that train of thought. I’m not going to have sex with him, I silently intone as I aggressively tug the sides of my sarong over my bare legs. Even if he did both of those things for me. Whether he did it to please me or because he wanted to kiss me or get me naked, it doesn’t matter.
He can be vulnerable, and he can be sweet. He can have more charisma, more rizz, than anyone else I know. He can make my head swim with desire and my skin prickle with longing, but it makes no difference. I’m just not having sex with him.
Who are you trying to persuade? You remember that prick Adam, right? How he made you feel?
Oh, piss off, not-Ronny!
I can resist. I just need to remember that the longing I feel is often the craving to put my fist in his face. Or maybe his kidneys. His face is too lovely to spoil.
“Come on in!”
My head jerks up at Fin’s voice. Sunlight glistening from his wet chest, his smile wide and free. He’s so easy on the eyes. Nice to kiss too.
Plus, he has a very pretty dick.
I groan, pressing my forehead to my knees. Why, oh why, has my psyche placed Ronny in the driving seat of my train of thought?
“The water is glorious!”
I sigh, because it was warm on my toes and it looks so inviting.
I watch as Fin throws himself backward into the deep water, commencing a perfect-looking backstroke. His strong arms work with perfect timing, the sun and water creating a glorious effect on his body.
I’m a bit of a water baby myself—I always have been. Last year, when things weren’t quite so hectic, I even did a bit of wild swimming. I should be in there, splashing around and enjoying myself. Instead of watching from the sidelines. Or the sand, I suppose, as I dig my toes in deeper.
I was so excited to get this gig, not just in monetary terms, though mostly those terms. It had been a few years since I last experienced a few days in the sun. I was looking forward to a day or two of having fun.
As though my toes pushed into the sand isn’t enough of a wedge against the water’s calling, I begin to scoop up handfuls, depositing them around my feet and ankles.
The truth is, I would be in the water right now if I wasn’t experiencing regret in my packing choices. I didn’t have money to buy new clothes for this trip, but I did have a few things I’d bought last year and put away for my honeymoon.
Before Adam decided to drop me like a hot pie.
The swimsuit I’m wearing is . . . honeymoon appropriate. Very revealing would be another way to phrase it. A plunging neckline, cutout sides, and cut so high in the leg that a wedgie feels just one wrong step away. It’s the real reason I pulled out that awful cover-up, which I brought to use in the place of a beach towel more than anything else.
Fin was right. It does look like a circus tent. But it covered my swimsuit better than I thought the sarong would.
I peel the fabric away from my thigh to examine the other issue with my sarong. My thigh is smudged blue from where I washed my hands and splashed it with water, causing the dye to run.
I cast my eyes to the ocean once more, my stomach somersaulting as Fin jogs toward me, wet and glistening.
James Bond, Casino Royale, eat your heart out. Daniel Craig has nothing on him. He totally looks like he should be in a gladiator ring, wrestling lions or something.
“You don’t like the water.” It sounds more like a statement than a question as he reaches me. He glances down at my sand-covered feet, a tiny smile catching at the corner of his mouth.
“I do like to swim,” I answer, squinting up at him. Though his broad shoulders cast a shadow, it’s not where I need it to be. I wasn’t going to ask him where he hid my sunnies.
“So you just like to turn pink and sweaty.”
“Ladies don’t sweat. They glisten. Did you miss that lesson in health education?”
“I went to an all-boys boarding school. They didn’t seem too concerned about the mysteries of women.”
I pull a face—an expressive eyebrow lift. I’m sure it would be more effective if I could get them to work independently, but you’ve got to work with what you have. “You must’ve committed to an extensive period of . . . independent study following school.”