And then she started rubbing the lotion into her arms and shoulders, lithe muscles popping, her shirt moving enough to give me glimpses of her corrugated stomach.
Oh, okay, this was not a bad viewat all.
Krysta smeared lotion across her cheeks and nose, her neck and the crescent of pale chest exposed by her tank top, and then she closed the cap and went to set the sunscreen back in the basket on the balcony.
In the sunlight.
I swallowed back a gasp. I would have warned her if I’d remembered, but I hadn’t remembered. So I sat there silently, mouth agape, as my bodyguard shimmered in the sun. Like diamonds.
The sunlight kept reflecting off her skin like the shiniest of shiny vampires, and it wasn’t until she noticed her forearm glimmering that she froze and said, “Ms. Hayes. Did you fail to tell me that your sunscreenhas glitter in it?”
I threw my hands in front of my mouth before she could hear me snort.
She groaned, but her voice was stern when she followed up with “And now I look like I just rolled around on the floor of a Claire’s after a Saturday rush?”
I couldn’t keep from smiling at my mean bodyguard mommy. “Well, not all of my sunscreen line is a shimmer formula, and I didn’t even notice in time to tell you. But once you got started... well, it was just too good to make you stop. Besides, you look like Edward Cullen, and it’s kind of doing it for me.”
Krysta scowled and leaned back a little so she was slightly more shaded, but the shimmer ratio on my Glow Up Sunscreen was honestly one of its biggest selling points, so there was no hiding that she’d turned into a human disco ball.
“Is big scary Krysta embarrassed by a little glitter?” I asked.
“Embarrassment would require me to care what people thought, and that’s simply not true.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, not defensive at all. Like she was reading me a weather report.
I shook my head. She might have been skin-tinglingly hot, but that wasn’t enough to stop me from calling bullshit. “I don’t buy that,” I said. “You give a shit. You care about rules and being good at your job... and... and having a really sleek bun and dark black sunglasses so no one can accidentally see into your soul.”
“I care about what the people I love think about me,” Krysta conceded. “I care about being good at my job, and yeah, maybe you’re right about the sunglasses thing. But have you ever considered that you caretoomuch about what people think?”
I stood and stepped into the sunlight and watched the crowd from behind the privacy fence. “That’s really rich coming from someone who only met me properly forty-eight hours ago.” I didn’t actually mean it. I wanted Krysta to see right through me. I liked the feeling of it. “I care just enough to make the world care about me.”
Other than the foam party, which would hopefully be winding down momentarily, the view was so aesthetically pleasing. Each cruiser who had chosen this excursion received their own Wishes by Addison x Lemon Tree–branded beach bag full of products that guaranteed the perfect carefree summertime look. A simple look that, in reality, was far from simple to accomplish. But that was one of those unattainable beauty standards, wasn’t it? Try so hard to look like you haven’t tried at all.
Beside me, Krysta slowly approached until her shadow cast over me. “That sounded like some kind of girlboss sound bite.” Her voice was mild, without rancor, but also didn’t give me any room to wiggle away from her observation.
“How would you recommend that I care less about what people think, then?” I asked.
She stood close enough now that when she inhaled, I felt her chest brush against my shoulders. “Last night was a good start,” she said. “After the show. I didn’t know you were capable of that kind of reckless joy. I’m sure kissing your female bodyguard in front of a theater full of people wasn’t part of the staged coming-out plan, was it?”
“I don’t think anyone saw, and it was a mistake anyway,” I said. “Like when you’re hanging up the phone with your doctor’s office and accidentally tell the receptionist you love them.”
“Sometimes mistakes are nothing more than subconscious intentions made manifest.” Each syllable was hot on my neck.
“I said it was a mistake,” I told her. “Not that I regret it.”
From the corner of my gaze, I watched as she dropped a kiss on my shoulder. “That.” She kissed my warm skin again. “Wasn’t a mistake, just so you know.”
Another kiss. This one was closer to the curve of my neck. I inhaled sharply and gripped the railing on the wall before I melted into a puddle of nonalcoholic sangria and cotton candy–flavored foam.
“Someone could see us,” Krysta whispered against my skin. “Even through all these palm trees.”
“I heard I should care less about what people think.”
She traced the curve of my shoulder all the way to the tips of my fingers before her hand covered mine. I felt the strength of her and all the self-control she was trying to exhibit in the whites of her knuckles. If this was her version of restraint, my mind raced at the thought of what she might do when she let go of all the control she seemed to be clinging to. What might happen if I did the same?
“Tell me to stop,” she whispered as her other hand coasted beneath the curve of my breast and over my abdomen. “Anytime. Just tell me to stop.”
“If this is some hot game of chicken, you should know I never back down.”
She laughed a little, her teeth nipping at my neck. “This whole image you create every morning is flawless. And all I’ve wanted to do for the last two days is undo all of it. I want to see your lipstick smeared and your hair tangled. I want to see this dress in a rumpled pile and this bikini yanked to the side so I can see your eager little pussy. It’s eager, isn’t it, Ms. Hayes? Wet.”
