He closed the distance between them and stopped when he was only a foot away. She was dressed in flannel from her high neckline to her bare ankles. Her face, hands, and feet were the only things exposed. And she was sweating; it was beading on her cheeks and in her hairline, dripping down her neck.
And she called him stubborn.
He sat down next to her. Close.
She gave him a withering look, which made him laugh because she was the one about to wither.
He didn’t say anything just to see if she’d speak first. He leaned back on his elbows in the sand, and he watched some gulls swoop down toward the sea. He felt her stare and turned.
Her gaze was on his chest. He glanced down but didn’t see anything. When he looked up again, she was looking anywhere but at him.
“If you’re just going to sit here and cook, we might as well call out the cannibals and let them have you.”
“You are so witty.”
“I try.”
“Well, don’t. I’m trying to think.”
He laughed. “Nah. You? Thinking?”
She rolled her eyes at him.
He waited, and she was silent. He watched her, wondering how long it would take before she finally said something. Her hair had turned blonder as if the tropical sun had stolen some of its golden color. Her cheeks were tanned and flushed, and she had a healthier glow about her.
She was damn good-looking, he thought, one of the best-looking women he’d ever seen, but there was more to her than looks. She had a sharp mind, and even though he teased her about it, he liked it. He liked her sassy mouth. Liked the way she called his bluff all the time. She made him think, too, and he supposed that wasn’t a bad thing.
He liked the challenge she offered, that she wasn’t predictable.
“What’s eating at you, sweetheart?”
“I’m not your sweetheart, Hank.”
“You could be.”
She turned slowly and gave him a wry look. “Be still my heart.”
He laughed. “Well, if you don’t wanna talk, we could just—” He started to say a crude word but stopped himself. For some reason he didn’t care to think about, he felt saying it to her was somehow insulting. He wanted to tease her, not insult her. He looked away, pretending he hadn’t spoken.
When he looked back, he saw the same emotion on her face that was eating at him. An awareness of the other. He sat up and twisted slightly, moving closer.
She watched him, then suddenly held up her hand as if to stop him or ward him off. He could see it was instinctive, her natural reaction. He didn’t say a word. But he didn’t move either.
Her hand dropped like a white flag of surrender, and he reached for her. An instant later, she was in his arms, and he lay back in the sand, her body along his.
He gripped her head in his hands and kissed her openmouthed and hard. She tasted better than anything he could remember tasting in a helluva long time. He’d missed this, the feel of a woman. Long, hot, tonguing kisses; the beading of a woman’s nipple against his lips; and the flavor and smell of a woman. Hours in a bed just screwing real slow and easy.
“No!” she said and jumped back, sitting on her heels between his legs. She caught her breath, then stood up and turned around, hugging her arms to her and looking out at the sea.
He got up and stood behind her for an awkward moment. “Still thinking, aren’t you, sweetheart? Don’t you know by now thinking isn’t going to solve what just happened?”
“Go away.”
“I can leave, but that isn’t going to fix things.” “Perhaps not, but it would be a decided improvement.”
“Talk to me, Smitty.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
