Sometimes he wished for a mythical woman who could not only accept his proficiency at killing but also empathize with the horrific catch-22 of being a good warrior. Dex loved the freedom he'd fought for but hated that it was built on the graves of men he'd shot. A kindred spirit would get that.
Emma of the white bikini was not it. Fragility flitted under her skin, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Someone of his breed would destroy her.
Subject change STAT.
"Oh, no. You're not distracting me so easily. Talk to me about the Hokey Pokey from earlier." Guilt flitted through her expression, and he latched onto it like a drowning man. Lucky guess. "Ah, so you were flirting with me to avoid talking about whatever had you going in circles."
"No," she protested hotly. "I'm flirting with you because I like you."
A smile formed on his lips but he bit it back. The feeling is mutual. He didn't say it.
"Lay it on me." He circled a finger in a get-on-with-it motion. "You lost something in the water? Left your towel at the resort and wanted to go back for it?"
She crossed her arms over her midsection and glanced away. "I'm not a fan of the ocean, okay?"
Lots of people didn't like ocean water. Too much salt, the theme from Jaws on repeat in their mind as they waded out, or too rough. He didn't buy any of those as her reasons though. "So? Don't go in it. Problem solved."
"It's more … complicated than that."
Something told him this was tied to her shadows, and a perverse need to draw it out of her dug in and wouldn't let go. "I'm not going anywhere."
"The ocean scares me," she admitted. "Rachel, my friend, wants to do some vacation stuff, and I've been dragging her down. I'm trying to get over it so she isn't stuck in the room."
Her confession settled into his chest, filling it in a way he hadn't expected-with tenderness. Anyone who could admit to fear in the same breath as a plan to fix it deserved a friendly ear. "What kind of stuff does she want to do?"
"Snorkeling." Emma shot him the side-eye. "I swear I didn't know you did that. I'm not making that up just to get in your pants."
The genuine laugh burst from his throat before he could check it. "Thank God. I wouldn't want to feel all violated and taken advantage of and stuff."
She whacked him on the arm, which didn't decrease his amusement in the slightest.
"You know what I mean. We've got a weird thing going on here where I'm trying to get you naked and you're pretending like you don't notice that I'm mentally undressing you."
"You are?" He processed that as his lower half got in on that action in a big way. In about two seconds, his board shorts would have enough clearance to camp under. "Did I get a gold star when you finished imagining my clothes hitting the sand?"
What was so arousing about the fact that she was thinking about him naked? He spent 90 percent of his day half-dressed and in the presence of a lot of women, some of them smoking hot. It was no stretch to assume she wasn't the first to wonder what he looked like under his clothes. But she was definitely the first to say it to his face.
She snorted. "I didn't think you were allowed to flirt with me. And who says I finished undressing you in my fantasies? Maybe I wanted to wait to see the real thing before I had something fixed in my mind."
There was no scenario where this conversation was going to end well. But he couldn't seem to help himself. "I'll make you a deal. You go in the water, and I'll strip for you."
Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"You heard me." He wiggled his fingers at the crashing surf. "Go on. Wade out to chest deep, and I'll be the star of your private show."
Seemed like a sucker bet based on her Hokey Pokey routine thus far. Except he'd vastly underestimated the chemistry factor. Heat gathered in the crackling space between them as she glanced down at his shorts.
"And then what?"
That snap in his brain could only be the sound of his will being broken in two as he internalized what could conceivably come next. What would inevitably come next when two people who were hot for each other found themselves in a secluded area and one of them started removing clothes.
But that was so not the thing that should come next. And besides, he'd never expected her to bite. "What do you mean, and then what? I'll be naked, and you'll get an ending for your fantasy. What more do you want?"
Without blinking, she shot back, "That's enough. How long do I have to be in the water?"
Not only was she seriously contemplating this offer he'd been smugly certain she'd reject out of hand, now she wanted parameters. Since he'd stupidly throw it out there … "Five minutes."
"Do I have to stick my head under the water?"
"Yes," he insisted instinctively, guessing that was the exact thing she didn't want to do, and sure enough, something flitted through her blue eyes, darkening them. He had her in the palm of his hand. It wasn't the water itself that scared her, but the act of diving below the surface that had her freaked.
He had her right where he wanted her.
"I'll do it," she said decisively.
The upper hand slid away along with a good bit of his composure. What the hell had just happened? Had he just signed on the dotted line to do a striptease in exchange for helping her over her fear of the ocean?
Her lashes dropped for a beat, and when she glanced up, the darkness had been replaced by something altogether crafty. "But you have to go first."
"What? No way. That wasn't the deal."
Emma wouldn't even look at him, which had double cross written all over it. She wasn't going to do it and was scouting for an out. And now he was disappointed. Worse, he was disappointed because she'd chickened out of doing something that clearly meant a lot to her. Even the lure of seeing him prance around like a Playgirl centerfold wasn't enough of a carrot to get her over her fears.
Maybe she didn't actually trust him, which sat funny in his craw. She shouldn't trust him. He had no business caring either way. But he'd have held up his end of the bargain no matter what, because he'd said he would.
"Come on," she purred and took a tiny step backward toward the water. "I'll wade out into the water and you lemme see what you're hiding under those shorts. I can tell your little guy wants to come out and play. He's been waving hello since I got here."
"Little guy?" His disappointment melted away to be replaced by indignation. "Sweetheart, you don't have a clue what you're talking about."
"Oh?" She blinked those baby blues, so full of fresh, corruptible innocence that it hooked him right in the heart. "That was a lot of protesting. Sure you don't have some kind of complex about it?"
Waltzing closer, lashes lowered, she barged into his space without warning, white bikini making the acquaintance of his steel hard shaft with little teasing sways of her hips. Her milky white shoulders called to him, and he ached to put his hands there to haul her up against the planes of his body.
"How about a preview then?" she murmured provocatively, peering up at him. "Just so I have the proper dimensions in mind when I speak of your ‘guy.'"
He inhaled her scent. The sultry perfume she wore melded with the salty tang of the ocean and warm breeze of paradise, and his mouth burned to taste hers from the inside out.
"You're good," he croaked. A lock of her honey-blond hair blew across her lips, and lazily he slid a fingertip along her cheekbone, angling downward to hook the strands while memorizing the feel of her. "I'm almost distracted enough to forget that we're supposed to be dealing with your fear of the ocean. What happened to you that putting your head under the water is worse than playing chicken with a man who's already told you he's not good for you?"
She froze, going so completely still that he worried for a second that he'd misjudged the situation. But then her lower lip quaked once, and he opened his mouth to let her off the hook.
"I almost drowned," she whispered before he could say a word, and the shock of both the content of her answer and the fact that she'd offered one at all nearly knocked his already weak knees out from under him.
He should be running away from Emma faster than a bullet. Women who shared pieces of themselves expected reciprocation. Yearned for it. That was one deal he could never agree to, and therein lay the reason he could never take what she'd so clearly offered.
But he couldn't physically tear his gaze from hers. Anguish bled from her pores as if he might read it like braille by running his fingertips over her skin. As her gorgeous body lay within touching distance, he might very well learn all of her secrets by simply reaching out. One finger flexed, but he didn't move for fear of spooking her.