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“Did you touch any of them?” Sierra asks, making the guys laugh again.

Ethan swims in front of me, turning fully toward me, and once again brings his fingers to his mouth.

Locking eyes with me, he says, “Almost.”

And heat floods my face instantly.

“I was about to touch one, but it slipped between my fingers.”

Then he turns and swims off toward open water, a few guys following him, leaving me there—burning, shaken, and far more affected than I want to admit.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Ethan

“For a guy who spends most of his time in an office, you’re surprisingly good at pretty much any sport,” Aiden says, laughing.

“You think this is my first vacation, man?”

Still amused, he chuckles, pushing himself up onto his board before riding the wave rolling toward us.

That’s all we’ve been doing for the past two hours, and none of us seems eager to stop.

My phone’s somewhere on the shore, my laptop back in the bungalow. The only thing I keep on me is my watch, just in case something urgent comes up and I have to handle it.

Before climbing back onto my board to catch the next wave, I glance toward the beach, where the girls have been sunbathing since we returned from the open sea. Sierra’s sitting with her Kindle, probably lost in some cheesy romantic nonsense, while Thalia looks like she’s asleep.

When my gaze lingers on her, I huff a quiet laugh again, the memory of her reaction from earlier slipping back in. She tried to hide it—or maybe she didn’t even bother—but it was written all over her face: jealousy.

Obviously, when she said “your girlfriend,” she meant Antonia. Which means she’s seen the articles.

What surprises me, though, is that she doesn’t seem to know the story behind them. Sierra and all the guys do, so I can only assume she hasn’t brought it up with anyone.

When she pushed me away and started swimming off, I chose to let her go. I’d already heard the others heading back, and honestly, it was for the best. She stopped things before they went too far.

I keep reminding myself that nothing can happen between us again, but she’s been teasing my self-control since we arrived on the island, and it’s getting harder to hold the line.

The proof? A few hours ago, one hand was between her legs, the other on her breasts, with absolutely no intention of stopping there.

If the others hadn’t shown up so quickly, I probably would’ve teased her a little more about the whole girlfriend situation.

What I can’t decide is whether it’s good or bad that she thinks I’d cheat. Just because she’s never seen me in a relationship doesn’t give her the right to think so low of me.

Sure, I’ve always owned the image—the bachelor, the playboy, the player, whatever label the media wants to stick on me—but I’ve always been honest with the women who end up in my bed. I don’t create false expectations, don’t promise more than what’s actually on the table—a few hours of pleasure.

“Ethan, watch out!” I hear Sierra shout from the beach.

“Fuck,” someone says nearby, and when I look up, I catch a glimpse of a surfer riding a wave straight toward me.

I don’t even have time to react before something slams hard into the right side of my chest, knocking the air out of my lungs and dragging me under.

Pain explodes through my ribs, but underwater I manage to shove the stranger away, free myself from the board, and break the surface.

The guys are already gathering around me.

“Fuck, man,” Noah says, reaching for me. “You okay?”

“Who the hell was that?” Colt demands, scanning the water before turning sharply toward me. “You okay? Where’d he hit you?”