He heard the regret in her tone. Heard the truth of it too. But he was greedy for time with her. “Maybe … I can come shopping with you?”
She let out an incredulous laugh. “Are you offering to push my grocery cart around?”
His pulse jumped. It wasn’t a no. “Sure. I can do that.”
“Okay, then.”
By unspoken agreement, they swung around and paddled back. The return leg felt lighter, the kind of easy glide that came after something beautiful had settled inside them. Their pace was unhurried, and the beach met them with the casual choreography of a rewinding scene, and they tugged the kayaks to dry sand.
He moved with purpose, stripping off his life jacket and kayak skirt in record time, dropping both to the sand without a glance. Sunglasses bounced off the kayak ledge. Then he stopped in front of her and took control as her fingers fumbled with the snaps of her jacket. They gave way easily under his touch, the bulky vest sliding off and thudding to the sand. He pulled the spray skirt over her head, snagging her sunglasses, tossed both aside, and in the next breath he had her in his arms, kissing her senseless.
Everything in him snapped tight with want. She tasted like salt and sunblock, her lips soft and warm. Her response was immediate, as hungry as his, answering something in him he hadn’t realized had been starving. Her fingers curled around his neck, pulling him closer, and the slick glide of her wetsuit against his sent a low thrill through his gut.
He deepened the kiss, tracing the seam of her lips. The world around them — water, sand, gulls,people— dropped away until there was only the woman in his arms and the pulse pounding in his veins.
When he finally drew back, their foreheads brushed, breath mingling, her eyes wide and beautifully dazed.
“That’s what happens,” he murmured, voice rough with delight, “when you kiss and run.”
She gulped in a hard breath. “And that was … punishment?”
“No.” His thumb brushed her cheekbone, slow and sure. “Call it a prelude. Of more to come.” He swallowed, the truth risingbefore he could edit it into something safer. “Suzette, I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but you’ve woken a part of me that’s been dormant for … hell, forever. Waiting for this moment. This time. For … you.”
She stared at him, slack jawed. Then blinked. “What movie did that come from?”
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not JK. That’s pure Justin.”
“It’s very … swoon worthy.”
“Then my task is done for the moment.”
“Well,” she managed, breath catching just a little, “maybe you can take up scriptwriting if the acting gig doesn’t work out for you.”
This woman … the things she said.
They went straight to all the places he had no defense for.
Before he could formulate an answer, one of her staff members approached, offering to take her kayak. She gave a grateful nod, and Justin stepped back, giving her space he very much didn’t want to give.
“I’ll pick you up in an hour?” he asked, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
She arched a brow, the corner of her mouth curving. “How about I pick you up? In two hours.”
“Deal.”
He could hardly wait — grocery aisles and all.
12
It happened at the checkout counter.
“You’re JK Kenzie,” a strident voice called out.
Suzette gasped softly. His head snapped up, the grocery bag slipping from his hand and thudding into the cart. In the next aisle, a far-too-sharp-eyed woman was staring straight at him, scrutiny narrowing her gaze.
Fortunately, he recovered quickly. “I get that all the time,” he replied, faking a Russian accent. It was one role he’d never portrayed.
Suzette, bless her, played along with a light laugh. “My Dimitri. Fresh from Moscow and already causing chaos.”
