Page 12 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

“Is that why your teeth are chattering?” I shoot back, wrapping my hands around my bra strap, debating if I want to lose it too. Skinny dipping isn’t usually my thing, but it’s dark, it’s just us, and I’m not about to ruin my bra with salt water.

Before reason can take over, I unhook it and toss it on the sand. Then I grab the waistband of my yoga pants, sliding them down, panties and all, with a little rush of adrenaline.

With his back turned, I slip into the water, and holy hell, it’s like cool silk against my warm skin. I swim out, shadows hiding me as the moonlight sketches Rip’s silhouette. Inches from him, I stand up, careful to keep just enough water to cover me.

He wipes water from his face, smiling like he owns this moment. “Nice, huh?”

“So nice,” I whisper, feeling the chill and the thrill all at once.

I dunk under and swim away, feeling the cool ocean close around me like a secret.

When I surface, Rip’s already some distance off, and I float onto my back, eyes tracing the stars scattered across the sky like glitter.

I close my eyes for a moment, ears submerged in silence—blocking out every word, every feeling.

Then, catching me by surprise, big hands suddenly scoop beneath me, lifting me up like I’m weightless.

“Whoa!” I yelp, twisting, but his grip shifts and suddenly my chest is pressed against his, legs curling around his back like they were made to fit there all along. It’s strange. This man, with all his scars and secrets, somehow feels like the safest place I could be.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he breathes, voice deep and rough.

I’m painfully aware of how my nipples press hard against his chest, the electric pull between us thick enough to cut with a knife. Trying to play it cool as I hold tight to keep afloat, I tease, “You’re out of breath. Guess I’m heavier than you thought?”

His hands tighten, and I shift lower, feeling…. Oh, God.

“No, you’re a lightweight,” he murmurs, voice low and ragged.

“I’m breathless because… fuck.” He slams his eyes shut, his mouth twisted like he’s in total agony.

One hand slides up my spine, cups the back of my neck.

When his eyes now open, they lock on my lips like they’re the only thing that matters. “Because I want to kiss you.”

My lips part instinctively, and I swipe my tongue over them. But I clamp down on the moment. Someone has to be in control here. “Probably not a good idea.”

He exhales hard. “No. I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

“We just met,” I say, voice barely steady, “You have that girlfriend.”

“Not girlfriend.”

Okay, that’s not helping.

I shift a fraction, and swear if I move one more inch lower, we’ll crossing a line that can’t be uncrossed.

He groans low, a sound that drifts through the night like a confession. “Charley.”

I gulp and unwrap my legs, planting them on the ocean floor with a shiver—not from cold, but from something electric buzzing under my skin. “We should head back in.”

“Uh huh.” I turn and swim away.

Why is kissing him such a bad idea again?

Oh yeah, because we just met, and my life’s a chaotic mess.

Not only that, kissing a guy like him would be a disaster.

But…warm hands.

The way he touches me.

The comfort, the safety, the reckless spark of wanting…

And maybe an orgasm or two.

So yeah, nothing good….and everything wonderful.

But if he knew who I really was, knew about the sex tape scandal, I’m sure it would change the way he feels about me. Honestly, my ex likely ruined me for any good man out there.

I swim back to shore, scramble into my clothes dripping wet in all the wrong ways, cheeks flaming. Rip dresses beside me, both of us silent as we walk back to the cottage—yet the air between us is crackling with electricity.

“Maybe we can have s’mores and sing tomorrow night,” I suggest, voice croaky like I swallowed a frog.

He grins. “Sounds like a plan.”

He slides the key into the lock and moves to the side to wave me in. My gaze falls on the guitar. “That was so nice of you, Rip. I promise some music tomorrow.” I stretch my arm over my head. “I think I just need a good night’s sleep.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Would you mind if I borrowed your sweatshirt again?”

“Not a problem.” He walks into the bedroom, and comes back with it. I graciously accept it and resist the urge to bring it to my nose to smell his scent on it. I guess I should have known it had been worn recently when I first pulled it on last night. Call it exhaustion.

“He jerks his thumb out. “I’m going to grab a shower. Did you want to go first?”

“No, I’m okay. You go ahead.” I walk to the sofa and shake out the blanket. “I’m going to make up the bed.”

“Charley,” he groans his voice thick with something like frustrations or…desire. “I can’t?—”

“Yes, you can.”

“It’s not right.”

“How about this. We take turns.” I don’t mean it. I have no intention of taking the bed and letting him sleep on the sofa.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Good think I do. Tonight, I’m on the sofa. No way am I putting you out two nights in a row, Rip.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, they take on a sexual meaning, and we both freeze, that charged silence stretching tight between us.

His gaze drops to my mouth. Lingers.

I swallow hard and, the sound must do something to him. He steps back like the air burned him. “Goodnight, Charley.”

He shuts the bathroom door behind him with a quiet click.

I drop onto the couch and stare at the ceiling, heart pounding.

What am I even doing?

I came here to hide, not to feel. Definitely not to want.

And yet...

As the water starts running behind that door, all I can think is?—

What if I opened it?