I wrestle my attention back to his face, wondering if he’s one of the boys in the photo. That fierce jaw, those full lips, the upper one bowed and sweet—at odds with the mischievous grin tugging at its corners. His strange green eyes are even brighter in the sun. I blink before I get lost in them.
“I’m fine.” I twist my arms around. Bruises bloom on both elbows. Between the scrapes on my legs and this, I’m a disaster. “Just a little banged up.”
He leans over the side of his boat, inspecting the damage on mine. “I think you’ll be all right. You should be able to use an oar to push off the rock.” He meets my gaze, eyes shimmering like this is all very funny.
I pick up one of the wooden oars with the confidence ofsomeone who knows what she’s doing. But it’s heavier than it looks, and I lose my grip, almost dropping it into the lake.
“I can help if you want,” I hear him say as if smothering his laughter.
“No need.”
Gripping the oar tight, I push against the rock and end up stumbling back a step. I hear a low whistle. I put all my strength into the next push and move the boat precisely nowhere.
“You sure I can’t give you a shove?”
I glance over my shoulder. The man’s pretty mouth is curved into a lazy grin, arms crossed over his superb chest. My gaze falls to the hard ridges of his stomach, to the waistband of his red bathing suit.
A laugh, and then: “Eyes up.”
I immediately turn as scarlet as a rose on February 14.
His eyes wander to the flaming mass of hair tumbling out from under my hat. “That’s okay, Red,” he says. “I was checking you out, too.”
Ihatewhen people call me Red, though I never say anything about it. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at me, so smug and amused, that has me snapping back.
“Do. Not. Call. Me. That.” I push and push with every muscle in my body. Nothing.
“I’d be happy to give you a hand,” he purrs.
“You can keep your hands to yourself,” I bite out, and then with one final push, the boat slides off the rock.
He claps slowly. “Well done, Red.”
“Are you serious?” I glare at him from beneath the brim of my hat.
“Not usually.”
Not usually.
I’ve heard those words before. I blink at him.
“Charlie?”
Dimples firing, he taps his temple with two fingers. “At your service, Alice Everly.”
My cheeks heat at the way he says my name. TheAliceis as smooth as melted butter, butEverlysounds like it’s being scraped over his tongue.
“How do you know who I am?” I ask.
“You sent me your photo, remember? And that’s John Kalinski’s skiff you just crashed.”
I wince.
“You’re having quite the day,” he says. “Destroying produce displays and crashing boats. Do you always wreak such havoc?”
“Hardly.”
“I don’t know,” he says, his smile teasing. “You seem like trouble. I think I’ll have to be careful when I’m around you.”
