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“Where to now?” he asks, jumping in the Jeep.
“Feel like going swimming?”
* * *
“Oh!”
Ryker’s voice startles me as I resurface. I squeeze water from my hair as I stare at him, confused. His enormous hand covers his eyes. Wow. I hold up my hand, comparing it to his from a distance. Dante always joked that a man’s hand represents how big his dick is. I never took much stock in that theory until now. Seems he was right.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, forcing myself to stop thinking of his well-endowed manly parts.
“You… uh…” He points at me with his other hand, keeping his eyes covered. “Wardrobe malfunction.”
What is he talking about? I glance down and notice my left breast is out in the open, my bathing suit pushed to the side. This man is not modest, so it surprises me how he’s acting. It’s not like he hasn’t been staring at them the entire time. I pull the triangle fabric back over.
“Ryker, you act like you’ve never seen a breast before.”
His lips curl up under his hand. “Unlike you, I’m trying to be respectful.”
I huff. “When have I not been respect—” I pinch my lips together, the memory of naked Ryker jogging my memory. He chuckles, removing his hand. His eyes sparkle under the cascade of droplets of water running down his tan rugged face. “All right, let’s talk about that day one more time since you can’t seem to let it go. I was doing my duty as an employee to make sure you were alive. There were liquor bottles everywhere, and you looked dead.”
His face brightens at the suggestion. “Whiskey, dead men don’t have morning wood.”
I blink. Morning wood?
“Erection. Boner. Hard dick—”
Oh, that.
“Okay. I get it,” I snicker, holding up my palm for him to stop. “You’re right. It caught me off guard and I wasn’t thinking clearly. Sorry for invading your privacy.” It’s the only excuse I can think of.
“No need to be sorry. I’m irresistible.”
I want to tell him he’s not.
I want to tell him he’s full of misplaced self-esteem.
I want to tell him he does nothing for me.
But I can’t.
And he knows it.
Instead, I dip down and swim back to the beach. He stays swimming laps. Stretching my legs out in the soft white sand, I lounge back on my elbows and watch him. Large muscular arms slice through the water in an effortless stroke. The sun looks as if it is floating on the water off in the distance, reminding me that our day is almost over. A gentle melancholy sweeps over me, then dissipates with a heavy breath.
Don’t do this.
I demand my heart to stop beating for the foreigner. This isn’t his prison, it’s his escape from reality. And I’m not anything but an island girl being paid to hang out with him. A thick dose of perspective makes me swallow back my emotions. Bringing my legs under me, I push up to my feet as he treads out of the water. Everything about his body is perfection. Whatever he does, it includes a heavy dose of exercise.
“You have a little sand on you.”
I glance down my body and chuckle. “That’s like saying I’m breathing air.” He steps in close to me, stealing that air.
“How about I help you get it off,” he rasps.
Despite my entire being yelling yes, I force my feet to take a couple steps backward. “That would be a no.”
“Are you sure?” Without waiting for an answer, he whooshes me up into his arms and I squeal as he runs with me back into the water, effortlessly. When he’s waist deep, the water covering my butt, he sinks both of us under. I swim out of his arms, putting at least an arm’s length between us before surfacing.
