Page 97 of The Right Kind of Wrong

“Being safe is never silly,” Denny said at the same time he picked up Maisie, spinning her in a circle.

Maisie squealed, delighted.

It was a little surreal to fathom that this was what Monroe’s life had become. Her childhood best friend, back in her life. Raising her niece. Going home to Cypress Falls and spending the weekends doing things she’d never had the chance to experience growing up.

And . . .

“Is that Blake?” Denny asked when he stopped spinning, looking out toward the water.

Monroe put her hand up against her forehead to block out the sun, realizing that she still had the streak of sunscreen across her forehead. She quickly rubbed it in while she tried to follow Denny’s line of sight.

Her mouth went dry.

Blake was about thirty feet out, in a still part of the water, standing up and paddling slowly back toward the beach.

She had on a bikini top and a pair of tight shorts, her skin glistening from a combination of water and sweat—or maybe she was just really that goddamn attractive that she actually glowed.

“Looks like it,” she finally answered, trying to hide that she found it a little difficult to breathe.

Three days ago, she’d had her hands on Blake’s body. On her hips. Her ass. Her perfect face. Monroe could still feel the way her fingers had pressed insistently against Blake’s skin, heat meeting heat wherever they’d connected.

“Miss Blake!” Maisie screamed from Monroe’s side.

Blake saw her and waved back. And, as she headed in their direction, Monroe didn’t think she was imagining it when she saw Blake starting to paddle faster.

Once Blake reached the shallow waters at the bank, she hopped off the paddleboard. Within a few feet, she’d picked it up to carry it under one arm, the other holding the long oar.

It was happening. In seconds, Blake was going to reach them.

And Monroe would act perfectly normal and not like the crazy person she felt like, after something as simple as having laid eyes on Blake’s bikini-clad chest.

Which, in her defense, was even better up close.

Little dots of water beaded on Blake’s skin, and the dark hair hanging in her ponytail was curled at the ends, like it had gotten wet but then dried. She wouldn’t call the bikini immodest—a word that Cypress Falls just loved to use—but Blake’s breasts filled it out perfectly, the swell of her cleavage peaking enticingly over the edges.

Monroe wondered what it would be like to trail her lips along their pillowy softness, and inwardly, she stifled a groan.

Maisie had run to the water’s edge and was now waiting there to greet Blake when she stepped out of the water.

Which meant that Monroe wasn’t surprised when she heard Denny say, right beside her, “If you had a tail, it’d be wagging right about now.”

Monroe glared at him out of the corner of her eye. Fucking Denny.

She’d thought about telling him what was going on with Blake, but there hadn’t been any time away from Maisie’s absorbent ears today.

Now, she was glad that she hadn’t given that lovable jerk even a morsel of information.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, crossing her arms over her chest, even as the smile on her face grew as Maisie and Blake walked closer.

He looked behind Monroe. Anyone else would think that he was checking out her ass. “You’re telling tales about your tail. I can see it wiggly-waggling from here.”

She pushed against him to create space, but he was immovable. And grinning like an idiot.

“Hey,” Blake said breathlessly when she reached them, her eyes darting to Monroe before her face broke into a matching smile.

Yeah, Blake still felt it, too. Which made Monroe both nervous and elated as she remained rooted in place despite every molecule in her body screaming at her to step forward, closer to Blake.

“Hey,” Monroe murmured softly, surprised at her own tone. Like she was soft, gooey honey oozing in every direction, not sure what was holding her up anymore.