“Atlas?” she calls, blinking. “What are you?—?”
I don’t answer.
I grab the towel from the lounge chair I know is hers—because she left her sandals there, her book, the half-eaten pastry I had sent to the house from my favorite shop.
I cross to her fast.
She’s halfway up the beach, dripping water, chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. Her eyes go wide as I approach.
I don’t speak.
I simply drape the towel over her shoulders, my fingers lingering for half a second longer than they should.
And then I scoop her up into my arms.
“Atlas! Put me down!”
“No,” I growl, voice low and rough.
She wiggles, but it’s no use.
She’s mine.
And I’m done pretending otherwise.
Chapter Twelve-Atlas
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You were gone too long.”
“I was swimming.”
“You were fucking naked.”
“Oh, fuck you for not being one of your goddamned supermodels!”
My jaw ticks.
“What?”
“I don’t care if I embarrassed you, Your Majesty, but it was hot and I wanted to swim!”
“You think I’m embarrassed of you?”
I can’t even comprehend what she’s saying.
Is she crazy? Delusional? What the actual fuck are her words?
“Embarrassed? You think I was embarrassed?”
“Weren’t you? I mean, I know the women you date don’t carry an extra forty-five pounds on their skinny asses,” she mutters angrily.
“There are several things wrong with that statement, kardhoúla. First, I don’t date women. Second, you look like a fucking goddess!” I bark.
“What?”
“You drive me out of my goddamn mind with that tempting body of yours,” I snap, lifting her higher as I take the first step up the stone pathway.
