He chuckles and looks over at me. “I missed you.”
My heart shoots into my throat. It takes me a few seconds to form a response. “And yet you waited until tonight to have me come along to one of your calls. Or have you really not worked for the past three days?”
“I took a quick trip to Miami. Got back yesterday.”
“And the island didn’t burn to the ground while you were gone?”
“It was a close call,” he says.
“Uh-huh. And you’re surprised the city council won’t pay you a full-time salary plus benefits when the island’s only law enforcement officer can up and leave like that?”
We pull up at the Belacourts’ swanky resort, and he parks and turns off the cart. “Officer Driggs from the mainland was on-call.” His brows draw together. “Are you wearing lipstick and pajamas?”
“What? No! My lips got sunburned.” Yeah. My lips sunburn salmon pink. And now my entire face looks like it did too.
The sudden sound of laughter catches our ears, and our heads turn toward the beach.
“Let’s go,” Beau says. “Come on, Xena.”
I follow him toward the sounds of laughter. Drunk laughter, specifically. Even more specifically, drunk laughter that’s become familiar over the past couple of days because I wake up to it a couple of times a night. You don’t forget a machine gun laugh like that.
We pass around the south side of the resort, Xena following at Beau’s heels. I know he’s easygoing, but I half expect him to put his hand on his holster, at least. He doesn’t. He walkstoward the group of shirtless, beer-wielding men like he’s just late to their party.
“Hey, guys,” he says, completely pleasant. “Looks like we’re having a good time.”
I hang back slightly, my phone out.
“Whoa,” says one of the guys, stumbling back slightly as he looks at Beau. “Good evening, Officer.” He does a lazy salute, drawing laughs from the other five guys.
One of them reaches down to the almost-full six-pack and pulls out a can, offering it to Beau.
Beau’s amused gaze flits to me. I snap a picture, and the corner of his mouth twitches. That’s got to be the last thing he wants to show the city council—him accepting alcohol from drunk trespassers while on the job.
“Thanks,” Beau says, “but I’m good. How are you guys liking the island?”
One of my brows goes up. I was under the impression we were here to kick these guys off a private beach, not shoot the breeze. But this is Beau Palmer we’re talking about here. I can’t imagine him angry or acting in an authoritative way. Which is why his being a cop still doesn’t compute.
For the next few minutes, I watch as Beau charms the pants off—not literally, thank heaven—these guys. He’s got them laughing and playing with Xena. The way he smoothly slips in that this is a private beach they don’t have permission to be on and that, while drinking on beaches is against the law here, they’d be welcome to continue their night at the Beach Break Bar and Grill? It’s, quite frankly, masterful.
They pick up and start leaving not just without a fuss but actually thanking him, like they were having the worst time here, and he just gave them a hot tip on where to find the slickest underground party.
I call Xena to me, and a couple of the guys look over.
“Hey,” one of them says, like he’s just noticed me for thefirst time. It’s the same guy who opened the door for me the other day, but his hair isn’t matted from sleep tonight. He shuffles toward me through the sand, and I draw back a bit out of instinct. My impulse is to tell this guy to get lost, but after watching Beau work so hard to keep things de-escalated, I hesitate, my gaze flitting to him.
Some of the good humor slips from Beau’s eyes, which watch the guy intently. I swear I see his hand steal toward his holster, but the approaching drunkard pulls away my attention.
He gets closer, and as his blue eyes move from my face down to my bare legs, his mouth draws up on one side. “You look ready for a sleepover, little lady.” He reaches toward me, but his depth perception is whack, and he’s a few inches short, making him stumble.
I quickly take a couple steps backward, and suddenly, Beau’s next to me, his arm around my shoulders.
He looks down at me with a smile. “You ready to go, babe?”
I stare up into his brown eyes, and a series of images flashes across my mind: sitting next to him on the dock, his arm around my shoulders while I grab my stomach because it hurts so bad from laughing. Walking down the treat aisle in the grocery store with his arm draped around me and mine wrapped around his waist while we debate the merits of sugary candy versus chocolate. Lying on the sand together, my head resting on his arm as he turns to look at me, closes his eyes, and presses his lips to mine.
What in the world?
Heart racing, I blink. “Um, yeah. I’m ready.”
