Page 24 of The Trouble with Flings

She laughs.

“Seriously, though. Look how beautiful she is. Men aren’t made with the kind of beauty that transcends violent storms and still makes you want to test your luck. It’s got to be a female.”

Her brows knit, and a fleeting expression of something I can’t read passes over her, but that instinctive reset brings back her smile.

I note that for later, putting it with the other things about Jennifer I’ve been thinking about. “What do you say, wild girl? Ready to do this?” I wasn’t about to let some stranger teach her to surf.

She looks out at the water again. A set is building on the horizon, gathering with the promise of a bigger break. “Not even a little,” she admits. “But I want you to show me anyway.”

“Attagirl. Come on.” I take her hand. It feels like the most natural thing as we head up the beach toward our boards. That is, until she looks down at our joined hands and arches a brow. I squeeze her hand and say, “You’re mine this week, remember?”

“I wasn’t complaining,” she said. “It’s just different.”

“It is for me, too. I’m not a hand holder, but I’ve got to tell ya, Stone, I’m not hating this.”

She laughs like I’m joking, but I get the sense she doesn’t hate it either.

I kiss the back of her hand before letting go to grab our surfboards and place them next to each other in the sand.

“Doesn’t it work better in the water?” she asks.

“You’ve got to learn how to pop up to your feet on dry land first, where the worst thing that can happen is you look silly. I know you watched surfing tutorials, but actually doing it takes balance and understanding the mechanics and the reasons behind them.” I lie down on the surfboard and show her how to pop up to her feet, explaining every step.

She watches me intently. Studying me the way I imagine she studies everything. Taking inventory. Committing it to memory. But there’s no missing the lingering heat in her eyes as they drag over my body. The hot sun has nothing on this woman.

I stand up and point to the board. “Your turn, beautiful. Lie face down, hands flat, like you’re going to do a push-up.”

She looks at the board, then at me, with mild amusement, but she does as I ask, lying down, keeping her legs together, toes on the board. I’ll probably go straight to hell for the dirty thoughts running through my mind as I watch her in that slinky little bikini.

She glances over her shoulder and says, “Hey. Stop gawking and tell me what to do.”

A slow grin spreads across my face.

She swats my leg. “I will not do that here.”

“There are some bushes over there.” I can barely keep a straight face as I hike a thumb over my shoulder and say, “Good camouflage.”

“Fitz!”

We both laugh.

“I thought you were hinting,” I tease.

Her cheeks heat. “Would you focus?”

“I’m hyper-focused at the moment.”

“Yeah, on the wrong thing. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to do naughty things to me,” she whispers harshly, and squeezes her thighs together.

I am never this blatant with women, but riling her up is too fun to resist. I crouch beside her and run my hand up the back of her thigh. “What’s the matter, wild girl? You don’t want to get wet before you get in the water?”

“Fitz,” she snap-whispers, squirming on the board.

I swat her ass and push to my feet, enjoying the glare she gives me. “Stop looking at me like that, Stone. You’re turning me on.”