“I’m going to go sit by the pool,” I blurt out, shoving myself up from the table abruptly.
“You hardly ate anything,” he points out.
“I’m not hungry,” I smile.
…for food.
I walk into the bedroom to change into a bikini. My eyes skim over the lingerie I had on the other night. Why does that already feel like so long ago? Maybe because I have spent the last several days locked in with a man who has slowly crawled beneath my skin, and everything else seems far away. I sift through the bathing suits I brought along. I thought I was going to be on my honeymoon, so I bought five or six for the occasion.
The first time I wore a green one. I’m told that color makes my red hair pop. The second was black, a color that looks good on anyone at any time. Today I choose purple, my personal favorite. It’s a triangle bikini with a cheeky bottom, almost a thong, but not quite. I wanted to be that girl, the one who wears a thong to the beach and doesn’t care, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. Baby steps.
Afterwards, I look at myself in the mirror. I look good, and I don’t say that lightly. I may or may not have been working on my body a lot in the last couple of months. Daniel is a very husky man, ripped in all the right ways. It shows under the intentionally tight clothing he wears. The last thing I wanted was to strip down in front of him with a flabby butt or a pooch. My stomach is toned, my tits are on showcase thanks to the bikini top and my ass, thanks to the one hundred squats a day challenge, looks fabulous.
A smile tugs at my lips as a thought crosses my mind, and I have a Grinch-like moment. I may or may not have an idea; a great and sort of terrible idea. Ash has made no point of covering up since we got here. The man said it himself: if it weren’t for some sense of decency, he’d be parading around in nothing but his underwear. The workout shorts he’s been sporting around the villa don’t cover much more than that.
I skip the bathing suit cover, tie the suit tight in all the right places, slip on some sunnies, and sashay out the door. I don’t even have to look at Ash to know he is staring with his jaw on the floor.
I canfeelit.
As I set my things on one of the lounge chair side tables, Ash follows and stands next to the pool.
Then he starts stretching.
Of course he does.
Two can play this game, and while neither of us has said a word, we have engaged. From my periphery, I can see his muscles flexing as he squats, lunges, and bends. Of course I pretend not to notice. Instead, I smile as I reach for the bottle of coconut oil.
“Ash?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Yeah?” he answers as he comes out of a squat.
“Do you think you could help me with this oil? There are some spots I am having trouble reaching and I want it all over.”
Asher stops mid squat and stands up slowly. I can almost hear him swallow. “Sure.”
He pads over and sits on the chair beside me. I listen in anticipation as he takes the bottle, pours some into his hands, and rubs them together.
Those hands are going to be on me…
The idea of it is so casual and innocent, but it’s also so very hot. My skin is prickling with anticipation as I wait, holding my breath.
“Your hair,” he says after a moment.
“What? Oh,” I nod, lifting my hair from my back and holding it on my head. Once my hands are clasped overhead, his hands clasp my shoulders. He runs them slowly and softly down my shoulder blades, along my spine, to the small of my back, and then back up. Then he follows the same trail again. His thumbspress into my spine a little, massaging my back as he goes, making my muscles loosen with each glide.
Those muscles anyway. Other muscles are tight, clenched to keep from getting too excited.
As his hands run over the top of my shoulders and down my collarbones, it’s hard to contain the way his touch is making me feel. The way it makes me react. My nipples are visibly hard under the thin, silky material of my bikini, and I know he sees it. I know he’s staring. He swallows hard. I bet he’s thinking about what he would do if he could touch me there. If he could kiss me there.
His hands pull back around my shoulders again, and it’s a relief. I was getting a little worked up. But before I have even a moment to breathe, he does it again. This time his hands dip even lower than before, and his fingertips brush the swells of my breasts.
I exhale and close my eyes. He is so close to me that I can feel his hot breath on my shoulders. I wonder for a split second if he is going to kiss my neck. It would probably send me into cardiac arrest.
Then, without warning, he stands up.
A second later, I hear a splash behind me. My eyes flash open and I let the rest of my breath out. I’m wet. Again. How in the ever-lovin’ hell does that man do that? He barely touched me.
I lean back in the chair and reach for my book. Meanwhile, Ash is in the pool in front of me, swimming laps as if he’s competing in the Olympics. He’s swimming mostly underwater, and other than a couple of ripples on the surface, I see nothing until he reaches the side. There, he comes up out of the water, muscles flexing, skin sleek and dripping, expression intense, and a moment later, he’s under again, bulleting to the other side.
