I squeeze lotion into my palm, the coconut scent sharp in the salt air. My hands connect with her back and she jolts at the contact, muscles tensing under my touch. I try to pretend I’m applying paint to a wall instead of touching skin that’s soft as silk.
A shiver rolls through her, starting between her shoulder blades where my thumbs rest. It travels down her spine in a visible wave, her whole body responding. I feel every inch of it under my palms.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“It’s just cold,” she whispers.
I exhale hard behind her, my palms still spanning her back, and every instinct in me is screaming to let them linger, to follow that shiver down and see how far it goes. To slide my hands around her waist and pull her back against me.
This is the problem. The way she reacts to the smallest touch like it’s something dangerous and new, like no one’s ever put their hands on her properly.
Georgie’s inexperienced. I can see it in everything—how she flusters at the slightest innuendo, the way she’s standing here now, unsure of what to do with her own body.
And it’s killing me how much that appeals to the primitive bastard in me.
It’s fucked up. Most men my age want someone who can match their experience. That’s my type.
But with Georgie, I can’t stop the thoughts right now. Twisted, greedy ones of corrupting all that innocence and shyness.
This is the part of me I keep locked down. The part that wants to possess and take. It’s roaring to life now, with my hands spread across her bare skin.
Get a fucking grip.
I slap the remaining lotion on like I’m waterproofing a deck. No lingering. No savoring the feel of silk under my callused hands.
“Done.” The word comes out almost angrily.
She turns toward me, cheeks still hot. Her nipples are tight against the bikini, and she knows I’ve noticed.
Knows I’m looking.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
Oh fuck. I’m completely off balance. I’ve been convinced this whole time I was some dirty old man looming over the shy, bookish girl.
But she isn’t just awkward. Her pupils are dilated. Breath coming too fast. She’s aroused. She’s into this. Intome.
I tear my eyes away, yank a life vest from the storage hatch, and thrust it at her. “Put it on.”
“Are you wearing one?”
“That’s irrelevant. You are. My boat, my rules. End of discussion.”
“Fine. I would have worn it anyway.”
She struggles with the straps, managing to twist the waist belt.
“You’ll drown wearing it like that,” I mutter, already moving in.
My hands close over the buckles, yanking them into proper position. The edge of my knuckles brush her ribs as I pull the chest strap tight. Her breath hitches, stomach muscles tensing under my touch.
When I look up to check the collar, her eyes are right there. Green and wide, lips parted.
“Let’s get in the water,” I say gruffly, already moving toward the ladder. I need the shock of cold water to snap me out of whatever the hell this is.
I go first, the sea biting straight through my skin. Bracing one hand on the ladder, I wait as she steps down carefully, her smaller hand gripping mine for balance.
As she lowers herself, her bare hand lands on my thigh.
