James smeared water from his face and reached for the running board. “No,” he promised. “It’s my way of saying that I probably should have held onto you, like you said.”
He grunted as he climbed back up and straddled the seat once more. He couldn’t exactly wrap his arms around her waist and chance grazing…parts that he shouldn’t. But there might be a solution. He glanced down at the curve of her hips and gulped.
“Let’s see if this works a little better,” he mumbled. Slowly then, tentatively, James cupped his hands around Camila’s hips. He tried not to get distracted by the feel of her, warm beneath his palms. Leaning forward then, he lifted his chin over her shoulder and whispered close to her ear. “Be gentle with me.”
Camila released a dark chuckle. “We’ll see about that.” She was teasing, of course. They both were. But as more heat brewed low in his belly—a result of her teasing—James mused that warming up to the baking beauty was a dangerous thing. His attraction for her was growing faster than the watercraft’s wicked speed, and well he knew it could end with a crash and burn. Yet even still, James didn’t want to get off the ride.
Chapter 11
Camila took in the layout before her, impressed with Jill’s talent for beach picnic presentation. A thick, blue and white striped canvas kept the nautical theme, while the pair of legless beach chairs would allow them to lounge just inches off the ground. Even better, they’d be seated just inches from one another.
“Towel?” James said, gaining her attention from behind.
She glanced over her shoulder. Just beside the flag indicating their beach spot, a small stand held a stack of beach towels. Beyond that, rolling waves crashed into the ocean floor—a span of white, sparkling sand.
She shifted her gaze to arguably the best-looking attraction there as he lifted a towel toward her. Camila took in the glorious sight. He’d removed his life jacket already, and she couldn’t help but be distracted by the muscular planes of his contoured chest.
“Thanks.” The single word came out softly, almost shyly, although they’d gotten quite comfortable with one another in the last few hours.
“Those were some crazy waves out there,” she said while dabbing her cheeks with the towel. She tugged the hairband from her hair next, sent the length of it draping over her shoulders, and used the plush beach towel to sop up the moisture.
That full, genuine smile crossed his lips. “Yeah. You could say that.”
She laughed as she caught hints of accusation on his tone. The truth was, as choppy as the water had been in parts, James was a very good driver. Of course, Camila wasn’t convinced she’d been so horrible herself, but the fact that James had gone flying off the watercraft said otherwise.
“You know, I’m starting to think that you fell off that thing on purpose,” she accused.
He’d been running the towel over his dark hair, but he stopped short and shot her a look. His eyes widened. “Really?” It was hard to hide her amusement as his brow furrowed. He looked baffled.
“It made me look like a bad driver right off the bat,” she explained.
His face softened as it registered, and suddenly he was stepping toward her. “Actually, it mademelook like a wuss for not holding onto you in the first place.”
“A wuss?” The use of the word surprised her. “Why didn’t you?”
A playful look blazed in his blue eyes. “Maybe I worried I couldn’t keep my hands to myself.” He glanced down at her hips before setting those eyes back on hers. Fire-hot heat stormed through her chest as he held her gaze.
This is dangerous.
Or rather,Jameswas dangerous.
“So what do we have over here?” he asked as he motioned to the picnic. He walked over to the spread, letting his arm graze hers ever so lightly.
Forget the fact that she’d had her arms wrapped around him on the wave runner for the last hour, the contact still caused a dose of goosebumps to spread over her arms in a ripple.
Camila joined him beside the blanket. “Mmm. Cheese, bread, fruit…”
“No,” James said, “say it like you do whenyou’rethe one who makes it. You know, with heart.”
“Okay,” Camila said with a grin. She cleared her throat, preparing to use the low, smoky tone of her voice. “Well, Mr. Benton, we’ve got a selection of fine cheese, everything from smoked Gouda to Swiss. Next we have a basket of herb-seasoned ciabatta bread, savory kalamata olives, and a cluster of fresh, candy-sweet grapes.”
“Andchampagne,” James added, nodding to the brass ice bucket in the shade.
“And our finest bottle of sparkling white wine, sir.”
He tipped his head. “James.”
“James,” she corrected.
