I stumbled in the sand, wrestling with the side of me that was salivating over his edgy look and the side of me that was a little intimidated. I’d never been with a man who took so many risks with his body, but I’d also never been with a man who defied all of my expectations. Not to mention a man who was so irresistibly attractive.
His lips slowly curved into a smile as he eyed me up and down. “I like the swimsuit. Ready?”
I had to force my gaze to meet his. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
We waded into the ocean, the shallow waves leaving rivulets of water trickling down Vincent’s bare chest. When we were waist deep he dropped our surfboards by his side and turned to me.
“The most important thing to understand is you have to control your board, you don’t want to find yourself overwhelmed by the force of the wave,” he began. “So lay down on your stomach and put your hands here.”
I did as I was told, sliding my stomach across the board’s waxy surface.
“Now press your hips into it.” Without warning he gripped the soft curve of my hips and pushed against them, the callouses of his fingers working against my skin. The way he effortlessly maneuvered my body until it was in the correct position made me think I wasn’t the first woman he’d taught how to surf.
I tried to bite my tongue but I was determined not to be just another one of Vincent Sorenson’s conquests. “How many surfing lessons have you given?”
“A few.”
“Mostly female clientele?” I shot, the words coming out before I even had a chance to consider them.
He pulled his hands from my hips, the heat of his skin lingering where his fingers had been, and I instantly regretted my presumptuousness.
“Are you trying to ask me how many girls I’ve brought here?”
I sat up on the board, straddling it to keep from falling over. His eyes wandered to the water lapping over my clenched thighs. “I just want to know what this is.”
“This is a date, Kristen. Not a ploy. The only lessons I’ve ever given were just that—lessons.”
I averted my gaze. “It’s not your conventional first date, that’s all.”
As my board began to drift, he pulled it closer, his fingers brushing the flesh of my inner thigh. I shivered at the contact and considered maybe it wasn’t anger I was feeling but jealousy. If Vincent’s touch could send me into a fit of desire then I could only imagine what he’d made other women feel, ones who didn’t demand first dates.
“What are you used to?” he asked.
“What most people are used to—dinner, movie. I guess I haven’t gone out with enough CEOs.”
“Who have you gone out with?”
I shifted away from his touch, growing uneasy at the one question I refused to breach. “No one serious,” I said as I leaned forward on the board so I was laying on my stomach again. “Am I doing this right?” I asked, determined to change the subject.
“Move further down the board and keep pressing your hips into it.”
I wiggled down the board and awkwardly extended my abdomen but I was too flustered by the thought of my messy dating history to focus on my form. Suddenly Vincent was behind me, his hands settled into the groove of my hips as he pulled my body toward him. I wished desperately I was wearing a t-shirt, a wetsuit, anything to lessen the direct contact between us. I couldn’t distinguish between the water and the dampness that had been growing between my legs since I first caught sight of him on the beach.
“I can’t—” I began to protest, too overwhelmed by a foreign desire to think about surfing technique.
“You can. I’m right here.” He slid his hand to the small of my back and pressed. My pelvis pushed into the board, the vague contact with my clit sending a heat into my belly. I chided myself for my desperate arousal—I wanted to take things slow, especially with Vincent, a man who was too busy continent hopping to commit.
I pushed myself up again, distraught. “I have no idea why you like this sport so much,” I said, trying to blame my agitation on the lesson. I teetered on the board as I tried to gain my balance and he clutched the top of my thighs to keep me steady.
“Haven’t you ever had an adrenaline rush?” he asked, moving his hands further up my thighs until they were dangerously close to the heated space between my legs. I looked at him, his eyes wild with anticipation, the tendons of his neck taut as he clenched his jaw. “Your body becomes attuned to every sensation, your energy peaks—”
“It’s addicting,” I breathed.
“Don’t you want to feel that way?” he asked as he drew his face closer to mine, our lips brushing briefly. I could taste the salt that had caked to his mouth.