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)
“Right,” I say again. “Thanks for the clarification.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Do you mind telling me why you said all that?” And maybe why my heart is dancing a rumba and my eyes are a tiny bit leaky.
“Desensitization.” He shrugs.
“To you?”
“To compliments. Let’s call it exposure therapy, DeWitt style.”
“You don’t even know me.” Not really.
“I know enough.”
I make a sound. Pfft! All air and derision.
“I’m decisive. I make my mind up about a person quickly, and I’m not often wrong. It’s what I do for a living.”
“What do you do?”
“Primarily investor liaison.”
“Sounds like another word for party boy.”
“Party man, smut muffin,” he chastises playfully.
I quite like that one, not that I’d admit it.
“Maven Inc. is a private-equity company. Real estate, property development, that kind of thing. Entertaining investors is a big part of that. Reading people is what I do, and I do it well.”
“A good judge of character.”
“I’m an excellent judge of character.”
“Excuse, would you mind moving that bushel over a little,” I say making a fishtail motion with my hand. “I think your light might be hiding behind it. Not.”
“I think I’ll take my bushel with me back in the water.” He bends, ridiculously scooping up air. “You coming?”
The answer is yes, if he’s got anything to do with it, not-Ronny whispers.
I dip my head, then give the tiniest nod. “You first, though.”
“You’re right. I’ll probably get a better view from out there.”
“Wait.” Even as I say it, I know I’m playing into his hands. Taking one of them even as it’s thrust into my line of vision. Fin pulls me to my feet, and it takes everything inside me not to ask him to turn away. But that only would prolong the agony.
“No commenting,” I mutter, reaching behind my neck to loosen the knot of my sarong.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The fabric flutters in a sudden breeze, my fist at my waist the only thing stopping it from blowing away. Without speaking, Fin takes it.
“We should’ve brought towels,” I say as he balls the fabric and presses it into the pink fedora. We don’t need them, really, the late afternoon still warm. I’m just waffling, nervous and waiting for his eyes to rise. For him to say something. Anything.
“Come on.”
It’s what he eventually says, tugging me behind him and into the water.
I smile as we wade in, the warm water so inviting as it licks up my legs.
“Are there sharks? You didn’t answer me before.”
“Just reef sharks.”
“Do reef sharks have teeth?”
“They stay out on the reef and eat the fish. The reef is why there’s so little surf.”
“Miles of sky; endless beauty; calm, warm waters; and no sharks. Remind me, why do you live in London again?”
“Can’t have too much of a good thing.”
“Said no one ever.”
“And I didn’t say there were no sharks.” He turns his head to slide me a wicked grin.
“Just reef sharks,” I say. “Dwellers of the reef.”
“And bamboo sharks.”
“Which are obviously vegetarian,” I say hopefully. “Like pandas.”
“There’s a shelf,” he says as he turns to face me, his hands reaching for my waist. Behind him, I can see the water turns a deeper blue farther out.
“I’m okay. I’m a pretty experienced swimmer. I’ve even done a bit of wild swimming back home.”
“Sharks should be no problem for you. Not when you’ve dealt with water cold enough to turn your extremities blue. Not to mention floating condoms.”
“Ew!”
“And killer ducks.”
My hand lands on his shoulder quite naturally as he pulls me closer. I sense him push off from the ball of his foot, his back gliding through the water as I follow on my side. In my mind, I imagine myself as graceful as a ballerina, though the reality is probably nothing near that, even as my hands glide through the water.
“I forgot the hammerheads.” His lips wrap in the shape of a smile as he moves away from me. “Hammerhead sharks.”
“I think I’ve changed my mind,” I say, using my hands and feet to tread water, keeping me in one place.
“Don’t go.”
We’re suddenly back to touching, his hands on my waist, his eyes a mixture of storm clouds and silver.
“Jokes,” I whisper, resting my hands on his shoulders. Then I shriek as he pulls me under.
Bubbles, air pushed from my nose, before I burst from the water, slicking back my hair. Then I chase after him. We roll, hands touching, skin sliding against skin. We’re like a couple of carousing dolphins twirling, turning, playing.
“Monster!” I eventually say as we break the surface at the same time. “You pinched my bum!”
“Sharks,” he says, sliding water from his face. “One probably couldn’t resist a nibble.”
“You!” Using both hands, I drive a wave over him. I don’t know what devil possesses me next as I duck under the surface and yank at his shorts.
Oh, my days! I so wasn’t imagining things.