Page 6 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

Not wanting him to worry about it. Truthfully, his secrets are safe with me, as long as mine are safe with him. I pinch my eyes shut playfully. “Now I’m never getting the vision of you in a wedding dress out of my brain.”

“It wasn’t me,” he laughs. “But my buddy nearly ended up in one. Fortunately, he found himself in a Mrs. Ropers dress.

“From that old seventies show?”

“Yup.’

“That is fortunate,” I say with a laugh, not exactly sure how that as better.

“He was heling a girl out, who needed to get away from her fiancé.”

“Okay, clearly I broke into the wrong cottage. Does your cross-dressing hero friend have a place nearby? He’d obviously be up for my game.” I glance around casually.

For the briefest second, something flickers across his face. Jealousy? No. Couldn’t be. Could it?

“Nope,” he says smoothly. “And he’s married to that runaway bride now.”

I stick out my hand. “So? We got a deal? No backing out if you catch a wetsuit and a tutu?”

He shakes my hand—his grip firm, warm, and just a little too smug. “You’re on,” he says.

“Prepare to be dazzled,” I tell him, eyes twinkling. “Prepare to be dazzled by my sea trash couture.”

He sets the toolbox down, and takes my rod from me. I watch as he gives a detailed explanation on how to cast my line, and I like that he’s not watering it down for fishing dummies 101. “First we need something shiny to attract the fish.” He gestures with a nod toward the box.

“Open the tackle box and grab me a lure.”

“Is that what this is called?” I ask, as I pop it open. “I thought it was a toolbox. I just wasn’t sure what tools we used to fish. I thought maybe you kept a hammer in here and bobbed them on the head.”

He chuckles.

“That’s okay. You didn’t know. Now see that shiny lure there. Grab me that, and grab that bobber.”

“Bobber?”

The red and white thing.”

I laugh. “I thought this was grenade.” I pick it up and examine it. “Kind of looks like one. You don’t use this to blow the fish out of the water.”

“No, we’re not blowing anything.”

Blow.

God.

We both go deathly silent for a second and when he clears his throat, and holds out his hand, I place the bobber in his palm.

He goes about doing something fancy as he ties it to my line.

“Come here.”

He places his hands gently on my arms and draws me in, chest to back, no space. No air. Just heat. “This is how you hold it.

He positions my fingers with careful precision, and I swear my brain short circuits. His thighs brush mine, his chest is soldi and warm against my back and I can feel his heartbeat thudding against my spine in a steady rhythm that seems to be hypnotizing me.

Focus. Focus...

His callused fingertips skim the line, and all I can think about is how those same fingers would feel tracing down my bare skin.

Get it together girl.

I move against him and a sound catches in his throat as my ass brushes against his…I don’t know what I just brushed. He shifts to the side and I clear my throat and struggling for something other than what that might have been pressing against me, I blurt out, “This doesn’t seem too hard.”

Hard…

Ugh.

I instantly regret every life choice that brought me to that cursed sentence.

Okay,” He murmurs, his voice deeper now. “You hold your finger on the line here, pull it back like this, and as you cast, let go. The line releases. I watch as the lure plunks into the water and the little bobber bounces like it’s doing the macarena.

“If that bobber dips, it means you have something nibbling.”

Nibbling...

Why is everything about fishing starting to sound like a euphemism?

“And if I get a nibble, what do I do?”

“You tug. Like this.”

Tug…

He gives my line a firm pull, just enough to jolt the breath right out of me.

“That will hook the fish and you can reel it in.” He steps away from me, finally giving me room to breathe, or possibly combust. I wet my dry lips. “Why don’t you reel it in, and give it a try yourself, while I get my rod read.

Rod...

Fantastic. I am officially thirteen years old.

I steal a quick glance at him as he fiddles with said rod , and take a cautious step closer to the edge of the rocks, trying to shake it off the weird things I’m feeling, but…bad idea.

A rogue wave surge up out of nowhere and suddenly…

Whoosh.

I’m on my ass, slipping into the water, and I hit with zero dignity. I gasp, cold, wet. Mortified.

Before I can even curse, he’s there—arms around me, hauling me up like some damn romance hero who just happened to be waiting for the perfect moment to rescue a flailing disaster of a woman in distress.

Which I’m not. I’m capable of rescuing myself, but maybe I’ll just let this play out for a second.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, but the words don’t come. Not because I’ve swallowed half the Atlantic, but because I’m in his arms.

And I really like it.

He must see something on my face—something worrisome—because his expression shifts.

“Shit,”he mutters.

Then, before I even realize what’s going on, I’m flat on my back in the wet sand, and this man—this gorgeous Big Bear, a guy with as many secrets as I have is leaning over me.

And giving me mouth-to-mouth.

Oh. God.

Do I stop him?

Do I tell him I’m fine?

Or do I let him keep going…because well it’s so good.

Seriously thought, I really need to put a stop to this.

Yet, here I am, a moan threatening as I enjoy his mouth on mine, even if it’s for unnecessary, medically questionable reasons.

His lips are so warm. Firm. He smells like saltwater and sun and every mistake I want to make twice. Then…that sound escapes. It’s just a tiny one. Barely a sigh. But he hears it. Believe me, I know he hears it, because he freezes, just a breath away, eyes locked on mine.

“You’re not drowning,”he says.

I blink up at him. “Technically, no.”

He stays close, the warmth of his breath on my face when he says, “You let me do mouth-to-mouth.”

I offer a shrug, which is hard to pull off when you’re flat on your back in wet sand. “I panicked.”

His gaze flicks down to my lips again. “That noise you made. What was that?”

“Accident,” I offer.

“Accident?” he echoes, but it’s a question.

“I think it was just a bit of air escaping.” Also known as a sigh…one full of pleasure, if we’re being honest, but we’re definitely not being honest.

What even is my life right now?

Rip leans back just enough to give me space, except now he’s straddling my legs, the heat of him pressing through the chill of my soaked clothes. His brow lifts, droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw. I have the overwhelming urge to follow on with my fingertip. Or my mouth.

“So just to clarify...”he says slowly, like he’s solving a puzzle. “You accidentally fell into the ocean, then accidently sighed while you accidentally let me kiss you while fully conscious?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Kiss me,” I shoot back with a snort, trying to play this cool. “Dude, that was mouth-to-mouth.” A beat and then, “Wasn’t it?”

His eyes glaze over for a second. “It was a lot of mouth.” He doesn’t sound mad about it.

Yeah, me neither.

I sit up too fast, and we both nearly headbutt each other. We moan, then laugh, awkward. Breathless.

“I’m okay and you’re okay,” I mumble, brushing sand off my chest like that’ll somehow erase this moment. “Let’s get back to fishing. I’m itching for a new pair of cargo shorts.”

But his eyes are still on me, trailing down my face, low and slow. But then his search stops, right where my soaked shirt clings tightest. Right where my cold, very awake nipples are making an undeniable appearance.

“But…” he pauses and scrubs his face like he’s in total agony.

Join the club, buddy.

“But what?” I ask, when he can’t seem to finish the sentence.

He swallows. “You’re all wet.”

Wet.

Yes, yes I am and God help me…