“Yeah,” he says with an insanely handsome grin, not even pretending otherwise. “Mostly because I like what happens to your face when I do.”
That is outrageous, yet also accurate.
I look away before he can see too much, but it’s useless. A flush is climbing my neck, the heat spreading through me while he sits there on the water, staring at me like temptation built itself a surfboard.
He lets me have the silence for half a second, then says, “You really think disappearing was better than finding out what might’ve happened if you’d stayed?”
I swallow. “Safer.”
“For who?”
I don’t answer, because that’s the problem, isn’t it? I still don’t know. But then I finally lift my attention to him properly, to the jaw and the eyes and the water running down everything,and I feel the familiar pull in my chest that I’ve been pointedly ignoring since Seattle. “You make it so hard to be around you.”
He tips his head back and laughs, real and easy, and my stomach is already fluttering with those butterflies that don’t leave me alone.
“I hated waking up and discovering you were gone,” he says, quieter now. His eyes stay on the horizon, but I watch the tension in his face, the set of his mouth, the way his shoulders hold a little too still.
“I like you,” I say, because apparently once I start telling the truth, it comes out all at once. “On the plane, I liked you more than I’ve liked anyone in a long time, and it scared me. So I panicked. And yes, leaving was stupid. I know that.”
“It was a little stupid,” he says softly.
I huff a laugh. “Thank you for your compassion.”
His mouth curves. “I’m being gentle.”
That doesn’t help. “But now I have real trouble following me,” I say, the humor dropping out of my voice. “And I don’t want to be the woman who ruins someone’s life because she couldn’t keep her mess to herself.”
His eyes stay on me this time. “So you do know who’s after you?”
My stomach tightens, and I glance away first. “I’m not too sure.” Then I fall silent, and we both float on the gorgeous water that has us bobbing along. He doesn’t say anything either, so I change tactics. “How did you learn the fire thing? Last night. The dancing. The knives.”
He stares at me for a second, then laughs. “You just swerved so hard I got whiplash.”
“I’m excellent at that. It’s one of my best qualities.”
“We’re coming back to it.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.” He stretches his arms behind him and rolls one shoulder. “Luca wanted to learn first. Got obsessive about the fire and knife dancing. Then North and I got dragged in. Now it’s part of the show.”
“You were both incredible at it.”
His gaze comes back to me, slower this time. “You were screaming for us. I saw it, and I fucking loved it.”
A blush runs up my cheeks. “I was supporting the arts.”
He’s suddenly staring at my mouth, then my throat, and lower for one shameless second before he looks back up. “Go on.”
“Go on what?”
“Ask me what you actually want to ask.” He shifts on the board, easy and balanced, like the water belongs to him. “You’ve been collecting questions about me since yesterday.”
I lean back on my hands. “Okay,” I say. “Who are you really, Ace? Not the surfer, not the luau guy. You.”
He goes quiet, and for a second, I think he’s going to dodge it the way I did. “I grew up doing work for people who never explained the full shape of it. By the time I understood what kind of men they were, I was already useful to them.”
I stop moving entirely. “Useful how?” I ask.
