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“Dance first?”
“Okay,” I answer with alarming eagerness, relieved that the silence has been broken. To his credit, he doesn’t smirk at me for being too keen. I hate smirkers.
He steps in close to me, and that’s when I notice how tall he is. I’m five three and he towers over me. Wearing just board shorts and still dripping from the ocean, he’s a beautiful sight to behold. Tanned, tattooed skin, dark locks, a brooding brow, and cheekbones and a jawline chiselled enough to cut. He has full lips with a Cupid’s bow that could make angels weep, and a five o’clock shadow that is weirdly appealing. His most striking feature however, is his bright green eyes framed by impossibly thick dark lashes. He’s attractive, of course. Summer would say he’s hot or sexy as hell – don’t even get me started on how hell is sexy – but his features combine to make something terrifyingly beautiful, and I’m quite mesmerised by him.
I don’t even protest when he slides an arm around my back and pulls me against his damp chest. Technically, it’s not my clothes that are getting wet thanks to Summer’s makeover, and despite my layers of fabric between us, the heat from his skin sears me. I feel it all the way down to my bones, and it makes me shiver.
“Call me Reef.”
“Why?” I ask, and he chuckles.
“It’s my name.”
“Like a nickname?”
“No, just my name.”
“Surname?”
“My actual name.”
“Oh... Did your parents not like you?”
“Something like that.” He grins and then stares expectantly at me like he wants something in return. It takes a second for me to realise that I’m meant to give him my name now.
I don’t.
What’s the point? It’s just a dance.
Instead, in a moment of insanity that has me internally screaming at myself, I lay my cheek on his bare chest and focus on the music, letting him lead us in a slow sway across the sand. It’s not proper dancing, but it’s okay, and from this position I can check out some of his ink a little better.
I’d already spotted the outline of a large five-pointed star on the right side of his ribs when he pulled me to my feet, but now I can get a much better look at the design covering his left shoulder and pec. It’s a beautiful abstract representation of a hammerhead shark, with whispers of blue ink amongst the monochrome shading. It’s gorgeous, masculine without being macho, bold and yet somehow still beautiful in its intricacy and delicate line work.
I sneak a look up at Reef. The name suits him, even if it is unusual – though I’m hardly one to talk about strange names. I wonder if he likes to surf or what his major is. Should I ask?
He’s staring down at me, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and even though I’m absolutely abysmal at reading people, I get the feeling he wants to kiss me. Which doesn’t even make me feel like throat punching him, much to my surprise.
I can’t tear my eyes away from his captivating gaze, but in my periphery I spy his lips part and the tip of his tongue snakes out along his bottom lip. A fleeting thought that I wish it was my tongue shocks me so much that I stumble.
His fingers flex on my back, sliding down my spine to rest in the dip just above my ass as he rights me on my feet. He doesn’t miss a step in our slow shuffle-dance-spin routine. Through the fabric of my dress I can feel him caressing the spot he’s touching. It makes my stomach…flutter?
It’s such an alien sensation it’s difficult to put words to.
My breath catches as he leans forward to close the gap between us. I have a blind moment of panic – Do I tilt left? Go right? Am I tall enough? Do I need to go on tiptoes? What should I do?! – when his lips descend towards mine and—
“Ohmygod are you gonna kiss?” Summer’s excited squeal breaks the spell and I jerk away from the handsome stranger I was thinking about kissing. More than thinking about it, we were a split second away from doing the deed.
As soon as the contact between us is broken, a cacophony of sounds assaults my ears and I cringe. Reef frowns at me, but I turn to Summer without acknowledging him.
“I really need a drink. Can we go?” I ask, keen to put some serious distance between myself and my almost-mistake.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not the kind of girl to kiss strangers at parties. I’m not the kind of girl who kisses anyone, anywhere. The one and only time I had sex, it resulted in twelve months of intensive therapy with a lady called Shara and her puppets. I’m not looking to repeat that process anytime soon.
“Sure,” Summer replies. She obviously reads the panic on my face or in my voice or something, because she immediately links her arm through mine and pulls me in the direction of the bar.
