Page 23 of Beach Reads: Three Summer Scorchers

I wait with my shoulders bunched around my ears, too goddamn tense to do anything else until Betty slips back inside the tent, safe and whole. The others drift around camp, not even trying to move quietly and disguise their activities.

Someone washes up in the kitchen area; two others drink and chat by the fire. A fourth mercenary has collapsed in his own tent, already snoring, and the fifth is watering a nearby palm tree.

I put my finger to my lips again, and Betty nods quickly. She points at the handheld lantern on her makeshift nightstand, and I nod and sit beside her cot, arranging the blanket to hang down and hide my shadow.

A match flares. Old school, then.

Dim light spreads through the tent, washing over her sparse belongings like a sunrise.

A second snore fills the air. Then a third. One by one, the men fall asleep—all apart from the kid left to keep watch by the fire. The one with a crush on my girl. He’s muttering to himself, boot heel kicking against the dirt. He won’t be any trouble tonight—too busy nursing his wounded pride.

After enough time has passed, Betty huffs out the lantern.

Still, I wait for another hour at least, until a fifth, reedy snore joins the chorus. Then I stand, knees cracking, and shake out my arms. Betty’s stretched out on her cot, wide awake in the gloom. She watches me, with that blonde ponytail splayed over the pillow.

I jerk my chin at the back of the tent—at the slit in the canvas I entered through earlier. Betty presses her lips together and swings her legs off the cot, wincing as it creaks. Nearby, waves brush against the sand.

Our hands tangle together, palms slick from the heat, and I pull my girl out through the tent into the warm night air.

* * *

One month ago

The coffee shop is empty. They’ve closed up for the evening, chairs stacked on top of tables, floors damp and shiny from the mop. Betty’s colleague left two minutes ago, tugging a denim jacket over her polo shirt and calling out her goodbyes as she clattered onto the street.

Betty’s still in there. Alone. Leaning against the brick building opposite, I tell myself every good reason I should turn and walk away.

Like: I might scare her.

She might have somewhere to rush off to. Some one to rush off to.

And the agency could be watching. They might sniff out my weakness for her, and get ideas about using Betty as leverage.

All smart reasons to turn around and never come back, but instead my feet carry me over the street. I curse myself under my breath, even as I push through the coffee shop doorway, bell ringing.

“Sorry, we’re closed—oh.” Betty clutches the mop where she’s cleaning behind the counter, her eyes going wide. “It’s you.”

I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets. “It’s me.” I’m dressed in my usual faded clothes, the worn jeans and t-shirt, all selected to keep me from being too memorable—but Betty stares like a celebrity just walked into her coffee shop.

This woman. She’s so goddamn sweet.

“Um.” Her fingers flex on the mop handle, and she looks at the coffee machine, expression dazed. “I already cleaned everything up for the night. I’d serve you, I really would, but—”

“I didn’t come here for coffee.”

Betty’s throat shifts as she swallows. “You didn’t?”

“No.”

My boots squeak against the freshly mopped floor. She should hate me for that—for messing up her cleaning routine. Betty should hate me for a lot of things. But as I reach the counter, the cash register dim and silent, her breath catches and she inches closer to the wood.

“Do you often lock up on your own?”

She’s still strangling the mop handle, her knuckles pale—but Betty’s smile is dazzling. “You don’t think I can handle it, River Dawes?”

“No, I do.” It’s everyone else in the world I don’t trust. The strangers who could walk in off the street and catch her here alone; the agency, always watching. “But lock the door next time. Just while you’re in here by yourself.”

Blue eyes roll, but Betty seems pleased to hear me fuss over her. She tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear, the movement shy.

This woman is a bundle of contradictions. Brassy and bold in some ways, with her teasing grins and tattooed arms, but sweet and uncertain in others. That shy side has taken the reins, and Betty bites her lip as she watches me.

“If you didn’t come for coffee, why are you here?”

Does she sound hopeful? Has she thought of this too—being alone together? I move as close as the counter will let me, the edge pressing against my stomach, drawn by an invisible rope. Cars rumble past on the street outside, and my heart thumps against my ribs.

Shouldn’t be here.

Shouldn’t do any of this.

Shouldn’t let myself want this woman.

“Needed to see you,” I say, voice gruff, and we both stop breathing as my hand reaches across the empty space. Betty’s cheek is soft as I cup the side of her face; her silky hairs tickle my wrist. My thumb settles over the pulse point beneath her jaw.

Her skin is so warm, her pulse rapid. Over on the wall, the AC hums, gusting out frozen air.

The counter creaks beneath my weight as I lean forward, my free hand spreading over the surface. Betty steps closer too, drawn by my touch, and we meet somewhere in the middle.

The mop handle knocks against wood, and we exchange ragged breaths, lips brushing together in a featherlight touch. So close yet so far.

Don’t.

Don’t do it.

Don’t risk her like that, asshole.

When I slant our mouths together harder, surrendering with a groan, I’ve never hated myself more.

Fuck.

She’s so sweet. So hot, so soft, and each bruising kiss, each nibble of her lip, each stroke of our tongues stokes my need higher. The coffee shop blurs around us, and the sounds of traffic outside fade, and there’s nothing in the whole goddamn world except this woman, sighing against my mouth.

“Mmph,” Betty says, fisting my t-shirt with both hands as the mop clatters to the floor. She kisses me back with gusto, again and again, and heat crawls up my neck despite the overeager AC. “You should,” another deep kiss, “visit more often.”

No, I shouldn’t. I should leave this girl the hell alone.

And finally, far too late, those protective instincts kick back in. My inner caveman recedes enough for me to think straight. I take my hands off her then rock back on my heels, my t-shirt stretching in her grip before she lets go.

Betty frowns at me, confused. Who can blame her? I barge into her place of work, kiss her breathless—then back off. “Oh,” she says, squeezing the edge of the counter. Her pupils are dilated. “Did I… did I do something wrong? I’ve never really…”

This burning sensation in my chest is my righteous punishment. I have no business kissing this woman; no business craving her and dreaming of her and coming back here over and over to get my fix. I can’t offer her a normal life, nor a healthy relationship.

Can’t offer her anything.

“No,” I rasp, already backing toward the door. “That was my fault. Apologies.”

“I—what?” Betty stares at me, baffled, as I wrench the door open, bell ringing. Her name tag got twisted upside down during our clinch, caught in her apron strap. “Are you coming back? Will I see you again?”

“No.”

The door swings shut behind me, but not before I hear a quiet, “Well, screw you too.”

* * *

We make it down to the water’s edge before Betty tears her hand from mine. Base camp is out of sight, hidden by rocks and trees and a long stretch of coast, and the waves out here should muffle our words.

Still, I make a hushing motion as Betty rounds on me. “You asshole , River! You are such an asshole!”

I know. I know I am. Everything this woman wants to say to me—I deserve it and then some, but we still need to be careful.

“Let’s get out of this mess first, okay?” My ears strain for pounding boots or panicked calls; for any sign the mercenaries heard that and noticed Betty’s missing. Nothing, thank god. “Let me get you to safety. Then you can yell at me all you like, I promise.”

Betty huffs, wrapping her arms around her stomach. She looks so vulnerable, glaring up at me in the moonlight. The ocean sparkles where it laps the shore behind her, and the volcanic black sands are tinted silver.

“I am on an island , River. With a volcano.”

“I know.”

“And a bunch of strange, awful men who would kill me for fun.”

“I know.”

“And they made me look for you in that jungle. Do you know how much I hate spiders? There are probably tons of spiders in there!”

I bite my tongue, wincing at the memory of that tarantula on her shoulder. If Betty didn’t notice, I’ll never tell her. She’d never stop slapping at her bare skin. She’d be traumatized.

Besides, Betty shouldn’t be here, sweaty and scared, her bare arms scratched up from the jungle. She should be tucked up safely in her own bed, dreaming sweet dreams, and the biggest hassle in her life should be a picky customer at the coffee shop. Not this.

This is exactly what I feared my interest would bring her. This is exactly why I forced myself to stay away.

“You know the real kicker, though?” Betty’s jaw is set, her eyes hard. A finger jabs the center of my chest as she speaks. “The real kicker is that they brought me out here as bait for a man who kissed me once and then never bothered with me again!”

I catch her wrist, my heart hollow. I’ve done so many things wrong with this woman.

“I was trying to protect you,” I say, willing her to believe me. Her pulse beats rapidly against my thumb, but Betty’s glare is unimpressed. I stroke her soft skin, and every part of my body aches at having her near again.

I gave this up. Forced myself to keep away, even though being away from her felt like sawing off a limb.

Now we’re together again, alone under the stars, and there’s no reason to keep away anymore. The worst has already happened. The agency knows she’s my weakness.

“Protect me?” Betty repeats, her tone acidic. “Well, great job. Five stars.”

And she’s right to be mad—but that’s not why I step closer. It’s the way her chin wobbles, and the sheen of tears in her eyes.

Betty’s not just angry. She’s also scared and tired and vulnerable. And she thinks I don’t want her—that our one kiss was enough.

Fuck that.

A shiver ripples through her whole body as I cup the side of her face, just like I did all those weeks ago. But there’s no counter between us this time; no mop clutched in her hands. There’s just the two of us, sweaty and bruised and swaying toward each other.

“Is this okay?”

Betty huffs out a sigh and steps near, our clothes brushing together. “It’s okay. You giant jerk.”

I can’t help it—I grin. There’s so much fire in her. And she responds, a reluctant smile tugging her lips.

Kicking my boots off, I wait for Betty to follow suit, then pinch the hem of her tank top.

She nods, and I drag it up over her head, ponytail dancing as it slips free.

We undress silently, trading breaths, hopping in the uneven sand, until we’re both bare in the balmy night air. Her nipples pebble, and I swallow hard.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, sweetheart.” Taking her hand, I lead Betty to the water, and it’s warm as it laps at our ankles, our calves, our knees. Maybe it’s not a hot shower and a bar of soap, but right now wading into the sea and letting the waves wash us clean feels like heaven.

“Make it up to me,” Betty teases when the water reaches my chest. She floats past on her back, the soaked strands of her hair drifting on top of the waves.

Oh, I will. I’ll make it up to her. Once we’re safe, once the agency is out of the picture, I’ll make this woman wail loud enough to shake the trees.

But for now, we both rinse off and I let her float for a while, weightless and resting.

My own eyes are glued in the direction of base camp, but no one comes.

No one yells out or comes crashing through the undergrowth, and as we finally stride back up the sand, Betty squeezing out her ponytail, I let my eyes drift to her instead.

Toned. Tall and tatted and lithe.

Beautiful.

You know… my hearing is excellent. My instincts were honed over decades. If anyone comes near, I’ll know.

And meanwhile Betty looks like a goddess, her skin glistening with sea water.

Her tattoos are more vivid than ever, and it turns out they’re not just on her arms. They’re on her ribs, her thighs, her hips.

Her whole perfect body is inked, and after living my whole life in grayscale, she brings so much color.

“Ew,” she says when we reach our clothes, nudging the sad little pile of her tank top with her toe. “How badly do I want to set fire to this thing and never wear it again?”

“Soon,” I promise, moving to stand behind her. A tremor runs through her body as my lips find her neck, and I pause but Betty pinches my hip.

“Oh my god, keep going. You are such a freaking tease, Agent Dawes.”

My mouth curves against her throat. She wants me to keep going? I thought I was done with taking orders, but that’s a command I’ll gladly follow.

Winding an arm around her waist, I drag her back against me. Betty melts against my chest with a sigh.