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CHAPTER NINETEEN

I expected him to come, but still, I wasn’t prepared to see Jasper in board shorts, shirtless, with every muscle I’d only imagined he had on his perfect body now fully on display.

Nor had I ever pictured someone like him surfing, yet I couldn’t hide a smile when I saw him standing on the sand, watching me, the board resting at his side.

“You’re late.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to surf with you,” I say boldly, dropping my own board to the sand.

He walks toward me—and this time, he doesn't stop until his hand is wrapped around the back of my neck. “You wanted me to come.”

I look down, suddenly embarrassed.

God, what am I doing trying to play games with a man like him?

“Yes,” I admit.

“Even after I warned you that getting too close to me wasn’t a good idea.”

Part of me screams I should run, but apparently I suffer from some kind of paralysis when it comes to this man.

Still, I'm tired of pretending to be someone I'm not. Confidence isn't my thing—so why keep up the act?

“I’m sorry. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

When I look back up, I see something in his eyes—something bright and intense—that makes my stomach clench with a need I can't name, a reckless desire to tempt the beast.

“But you act like you do,” I continue. “I have the excuse of being inexperienced. I don’t think that’s your case. So, if we’re so wrong for each other, why are you here?” I take advantage of his distraction, grab my board, and run toward the water.

Seconds later, when the cold sea hits my burning skin, I calm a bit.

He follows soon after, and for nearly an hour, we just ride the waves. I wipe out several times, distracted by how effortlessly Jasper handles the board, as if he’s done it all his life.

I'm the first to leave the water, sitting in the sand without bothering to dry off. I am too focused on the man walking toward me to care about something as minor as being cold.

In the light of dawn, water dripping down his perfectly sculpted body, Jasper looks like a sea god—like the ocean is his domain.

He doesn't seem as untouchable now, which I know is even more dangerous than before—because clearly, it is an illusion. He could be dressed in a potato sack and we’d still belong to completely different worlds.

Lazarus

The right thing to do would be to walk away. I shouldn’t have come to begin with.

Alexis isn’t for you. Not even for a brief interlude, my conscience screams—and still, I keep chasing her.

Yes, because I’m honest enough to admit that my visit to the restaurant yesterday had nothing to do with the food and everything to do with her.

The woman who doesn’t act like she cares that I find her beautiful, or like she’s trying to impress me, and who nonetheless has kept me completely captivated.

Alexis looks like a siren in her tiny pink shorts and a matching top—not even a bikini top.

Her wet hair falls loose, with a few strands clinging to her lightly freckled face.

Her huge doll-like blue eyes stand out against her pale skin, and her unguarded, innocent expression makes me feel filthy by comparison.

Watching her now, I wonder how I could’ve had such a wrong first impression of her, even if only for a moment.

Alexis is anything but ordinary. She’s stunning.

I can perfectly picture her in formal wear, hair elegantly styled, covered in diamonds—and I know without a doubt that no one would rival her beauty.

Who am I kidding? Even now, soaked and looking like a drenched kitten, she outshines every woman I’ve ever been with.

I can’t even pick a favorite feature. The heart-shaped face or that sexy dimple in her chin. The breasts with nipples teasing the fabric of her top or those seemingly endless legs. Every detail is delicious—and sparks a very unwanted reaction in my body.

Unwanted and uncontrollable.

Looking at her, all I can imagine are those delicate hands roaming over my flesh, her full lips against mine, her sweet, innocent eyes shining with passion when I’m between her thighs.

As I walk toward her, I get the feeling she knows exactly what’s running through my mind—her cheeks flush with color.

I don’t like how she makes me feel. It irritates me that a simple blush from Alexis gets me hard when Jodie offering to blow me the day we broke up didn’t do a thing.

Without a word, I set my board down beside hers and offer her my hand to help her up.

She hesitates, which only makes my blood boil.

When was the last time that happened? I couldn’t say. I don’t need to make an effort to get any woman I want.

She looks me in the eye, those small white teeth biting her lower lip, making that dimple stand out even more.

I touch it, holding it between my thumb and forefinger. “Adorable,” I say.

“It’s caused by fibrous tissue adhering between the skin and bone. In simple terms, a genetic malformation.”

I can’t stop myself from laughing. “Yes, I know. Do you always have to find a logical explanation for everything?”

“Not always. A good example would be the swordfish. Sometimes I let emotions guide me,” she says, slightly breathless.

I slide one hand to her neck, and when I feel her pulse, my body reacts with wild urgency. Testing myself, I reach for my own neck—and I’m not surprised to find my heart racing too.

I take her hand and kiss her palm. Then I place it over mine, against my neck. “This never happens.”

“The beating of your heart?” she jokes.

“The rapid beating of my heart.”

Her cheeks flush even deeper.

“Run from me, sweet Alexis.”

Her fingers, still resting on my neck, press more firmly against my skin. “I’d like to. But I can’t,” she says, the last word sounding like a moan of surrender.

And just like the temptation she is, Alexis gives herself over to my hands.

I cradle her face, both aroused and dazed by the way my pulse spins out of control. And to put an end to the agony—to prove to myself she’s just another mouth—I crash my lips into hers, finally appeasing the desire I’ve felt since the moment we met.