Page 48

The river shimmered under the spring sun, the water running fast enough to ripple silver but calm enough to tempt people into wading. The pine trees on the far bank leaned close, their shadows stretching over the rocks.

A dozen people dotted the shoreline, sunbathing on towels or sprawled in beach chairs. Several kayaks skimmed across the water, and further away, the buzz of jet skis competed with music from some teenagers’ speakers. Carson and Olivia had already staked out a spot for the shade tent.

His father set up the grill, and the group put their chairs under the tent. Lucas had reserved some of the inn’s kayaks along with a couple of jet skis, and everyone headed that direction.

Marlowe took a bottle of sunscreen from her bag and walked over to Jace. “My grandmother will never let you live it down if you come back with a sunburn.”

He took the bottle from her and peeled off his T-shirt. She stood there watching him, eyeing him, really.

“You don’t trust me to do it correctly?” he asked. “Are you planning on critiquing my slathering technique?” He squirted out a blob of the white lotion and slapped it onto his face and neck.

“I know you won’t be able to get your back, so I’m sticking around until you need me for that.” She grinned. “It’s all part of being an old-fashioned girlfriend. That, and you pay for all our dates.”

“I think you’re confusing old-fashioned girlfriends with kept women.”

She checked to see how far away his parents were. They had made their way down to the shore, well beyond earshot. “Kept women are more expensive. But if you want to buy me nice jewelry, I won’t say no.”

He lowered his voice. “I don’t think you can be an old-fashioned girlfriend and have a bad girl persona. One cooks dinner; the other cooks meth.”

“Now you’re confusing bad girls with criminals.” She leaned toward him. “But I’m definitely wearing a bad girl swimsuit.” She peeled off her T-shirt to reveal a black bikini top and lots of smooth, creamy skin.

He realized he was staring at her, mesmerized, while she stepped out of her shorts. “Is that what bad girls wear?” he asked, still staring.

She nodded. “I usually swim in a one-piece and board shorts. A lot of times, I don’t even get out of my T-shirt. Do you have any idea how long it took me to apply sunscreen today? I burn in like, three minutes.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’re welcome. Also, this way, everyone can see my tattoo.”

She turned around to reveal that she hadn’t been joking when she told him she had a tattoo. A one-inch Templar’s cross sat behind her left hip, right above her bikini line.

He ought to say something. No words came to mind. There was probably a special place in Hell for men who had unholy thoughts while looking at a woman with a cross on her body.

She turned back around. He took a couple more deep breaths, squirted more sunscreen into his hand, and quickly wiped it across his torso.

Did Marlowe have any idea what she was doing to him? Had she worn the bikini to torture him? All of her handholding and kisses might be her way of getting back at him for breaking up with her in high school.

He took another deep breath. She wasn’t interested in him. She’d made that clear enough when he’d first asked her to be his fake girlfriend. She told him to choose any other woman in Lark Springs.

While he put sunscreen on his legs, he concentrated on her feet. Her toenails were painted bright pink with sunsets on her big toes. He hadn’t even realized it was possible to paint sunsets in nail polish.

Her feet came closer. He lifted his head to meet her eyes. She held her hand out for the sunscreen. “I’ll get your back now.”

He turned around. Breathing was easier when he wasn’t looking at her, right until her hands glided across his back. Then all sorts of thoughts came into his mind that shouldn’t be there.

Yep, this was torture. Ecstasy and torture all at the same time.

She leaned toward his ear and murmured, “What else should a bad girl girlfriend do at a river outing? Maybe we should add some totally inappropriate public displays of affection.”

Nope. Not gonna happen. “Now you’re confusing bad girls with couples who are oblivious to social standards.”

Her hand made one last swipe across his lower back. “There. You’re protected from the sun, at least for an hour, and then we’ll need to reapply.”

He wanted to protest that sunscreen lasted for more than an hour, but the thought of her hands on his back—well, it was better to be safe than sorry, wasn’t it?

He turned around to see her surveying her arms and legs. “Bikinis are a stupid idea,” she said. “They’re literally the worst thing you could wear in the sunshine. Who invented them anyway?”

Men. It had to be men. Only he wasn’t going to say that out loud. “Maybe later on we can get in a fight. You could be demanding or unreasonable.” His eyes traveled back to hers. “In the very least, you need to stop swapping cooking tips with my mother. Do you even know how to bake bread?”

“Yes,” she said firmly and added, “okay, granted, my grandma does all the hard work, and I basically just do whatever she tells me to, but my hands definitely touched the ingredients last night. Grams insisted we bake some for your family so we could offload some jam. She hates to see any of the raspberries go to waste, but with her diabetes, the jam jars are stacking up.”

“I’m sure my brothers will happily finish it off.”