“They’re dancer’s shorts,” I gasped, my lips parting in mock outrage.
“You say ‘dancer’s shorts,’ and I say they should be illegal.” He shrugged, and butterflies flapped around in my stomach at his words. “Get changed. I won’t look.”
He closed his eyes, and I studied his face for a moment. He really was God’s favorite.
“Stop staring at me and get changed, Stevens,” he said evenly, but his lip twitched upward.
That kicked me into action. With one final glance around the beach to check there were no onlookers, I lost my clothes, slid my bikini on, and squeezed into the wet suit. Fortunately, it was relatively easy to get on and zip up. I threw my clothes into my tote bag and hooked it over my shoulder.
“Done.”
Luca’s deep brown eyes opened, and he lowered the towel. I shivered as his gaze swept down my body, but I told myself it was because it was a little bit chilly out. Not because I liked the appreciative gleam in his eyes.
“Let’s go.” He cleared his throat and spoke an octave lower than before.
We headed to the shop to collect our rental surfboards. The older man behind the counter was quiet and polite, barely looking up from the till other than to point us to our boards and tell us that the sea was choppy but not unsafe today.
Luca carried both boards as we descended the cobblestone stairs to the sandy beach before walking to the edge of the sea. We strolled in comfortable silence, appreciating the crash of the waves and the gently falling rain.
“Would now be a good time to tell you I’ve never surfed before?” I announced, interrupting the peace.
Luca’s head swung around to look atme.
“You’re joking.”
I just shook my head.
“Why d’you own a wet suit?” His gaze flickered down my body before reaching my face. “It fits you too…” His brow furrowed before he continued, “Well, to be someone else’s.”
I ignored the way my heart thumped at the almost-compliment.
“I bought it, obviously.”
“Just for today?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, grabbing my surfboard from his arms. “I watched some videos, so I think I’ll pick it up quickly.”
He smirked. “Sure you will.”
Safe to say,I did not pick it up quickly.
I could barely stay on the surfboard, let alone ride any waves. It was humbling.
Luca was fantastic at it. Every time he managed to catch a wave, I ensured Iaccidentallysplashed him when I felloff.
Eventually, I took myself back to the beach, deeming it safer to watch from the sand dunes that functioned as a windbreak. I took some shots of Luca surfing. He looked incredible—strong, muscular, and tanned. His dripping wet hair still fell perfectly over his forehead, adding an extra layer of drool-worthiness to his already good looks.
About twenty minutes later, he joined me. He planted his surfboard in the damp sand, adjusting the angle until it formed a barrier against the faint rain forme.
He dropped to the sand next to me, not bothering to attempt to sit under the cover of his board.
“Thank you.” I gestured to the surfboard and smiled. Luca just nodded and looked out to sea. We sat listening to the rhythmic waves crashing for a few minutes.
“You surfed well.” He flashed a knowing grin.
I pushed him into the sand.
“I got some good pictures of you,” I told him as he righted himself. He took my phone to take a closer look.
