"But you fixed me up."
The corner of his mouth turned up.
He was going to kiss me.
I felt the pull between us so strongly that it took my breath.
He trailed his fingers down from my head, across my cheek, and then traced the line beneath my bottom lip. Then he cleared his throat and pulled away.
I blinked rapidly, shocked that he hadn't followed through. My body screamed for him to come back.
"You need to drink this," he said, his voice still husky. I knew he had to be as affected by me as I was by him. Or was that only wishful thinking? "The sugar will do you good."
"Only if you drink some too."
He nodded and popped the top on the can.
Brown, fizzy liquid sprayed up, making me squeal and lurch away. I looked back at Nash, who was still holding the can out away from him, with droplets of the sugary soda all over his arms and face.
I pressed a hand over my lips, trying to stop the giggle.
He glanced at me. A drop of soda dripped off his nose and he caught it with his tongue. I lost it. I laughed so hard I fell over in the sand.
"You think that's funny, huh?" he said, not amused at all.
He turned away and my giggles died away. "I'm sorry," I said, sitting up, reaching out for his shoulder.
He pounced on me. Literally turned and tackled me into the sand. Pinning me to the ground, he shook his head, his dark curls flinging droplets of soda onto my face. I squealed.
"Not so funny now, is it?" he said, rubbing his damp cheek across mine.
His lips brushed the corner of my mouth.
I froze, no longer able to laugh.
My stomach dropped and then started to dance around. He was literally on top of me, his body pressed along mine. Just the mere tease of his lips was enough to make my hands tremble and my knees weak.
He pulled back just a fraction of an inch, turned his head, and stared down at me. I could barely read his expression because of the way the sun shone around his body like a halo, making him look like he was in the shadows.
But I didn't need to see his expression.
Because something was pressing against my stomach. Something hard and urgent. Something that I had to make an effort not to wiggle against.
His mouth claimed mine. He literally stole every feeling I was experiencing and replaced them with only him. His kiss was so utterly consuming, so all-encompassing, that I could do nothing but allow him to ravage my mouth, again and again.
Oh my God, it was the single most devastating experience of my life. He was truly delicious. He tasted like chocolate and salt. His body was hard and lean. Our toes twirled around together in the sand, the grittiness teasing my skin as his tongue tantalized my mouth.
"Open for me," he murmured against my lips.
I obeyed without thinking and his tongue swept inside my mouth, caressing over my teeth and fondling the roof of my mouth. He sucked my lower lip into his mouth and moved against me. I cried out because the sensation of his body and his mouth at the same time was almost more than I could bear.
There was a gnawing hunger inside me, and it wasn't for food. It was for something else, something I didn't quite understand. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff about to tumble over and there was no parachute or net to catch me.
His jean-clad leg pushed between mine and he brought it up, the firmness of his knee right at my core. I moaned again, his body affecting mine in ways I truly didn't know was possible.
He tore his mouth from mine but kept kissing, down my neck and across my collarbone, where he nipped at the bones and made me shiver. He lifted his head, dark curls falling near his heavy-lidded eyes, and his tongue jutted out between two swollen lips, licking at the remains of our kiss.
"You taste good."
My thighs involuntarily tightened around his knee. I watched as his eyes darkened to a deep leafy green.
He brought his hands up and brushed away my hair. Some of the hair was stuck in dried blood and pulled, making me wince.
He frowned. "I should have cleaned you up."
"I'll do it."
He stood swiftly, the sea breeze brushing over my passion-fevered skin and making me wince. He reached down and grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet. I stumbled a little, feeling dizzy, and I knew it was because of that kiss.
He kept hold of my hand and retrieved the Coke that started it all and handed it to me. "Drink."
I reached up to take it, but he shook his head and held the can to my lips. I watched him as he tilted it up and the warm soda traveled across my tongue. I drank. Then I drank some more. He was rather pushy about it, but I didn't argue. I was still drunk from that kiss.
My goodness, was he going to kiss me like that every day? If he did, I would never want to leave.
After a couple minutes, he relented, pulling the can up to his mouth. I watched his lips wrap around the aluminum as he drank. He drained the rest in seconds flat. And then we were walking back to the plane-our makeshift camp.
When we made it to the door, I glanced back over my shoulder, not remembering a single thing about the walk here.
Oh crap.
I was in trouble.
6
Inside, I went right for my suitcase, pulling out another pair of shorts and T-shirt. Instead of panties and a bra, I opted for my bikini to wear beneath my clothes. Then I fished out my little kit containing my shampoo and soap. I bundled all the items into my arms and turned.
Nash was standing in the entrance of the cockpit, watching me. In his hand he gripped a small duffle bag.
"What's that?"
"A bag that I usually keep on the plane. It has a spare change of clothes and some toiletries."
I felt my brow wrinkle. "Did you stay in Miami?"
"Not this trip, but sometimes I make stops or have layovers and it's nice to have some stuff in case I need it."
"I'm glad you found it."
He nodded. "Ready?"
We went back toward the beach. Bathing in salty ocean water wasn't the most ideal situation, but it was better than being coated in dried blood and sweat.
I stopped at the shore, looking around for a little bit of privacy. There really wasn't much. "You stay here. I'll go a little farther down," he offered.
I laid my stuff on the sand, getting out the soap and shampoo I needed as he walked away. I waited until he was still visible but far enough down and unpacking his own stuff before I started removing my clothes. I stayed in my bra and panties and waded into the water to my knees. I washed as best as I could with the lavender-scented soap while trying not to use too much. Even though it was the ocean, it still felt good to be clean. Once I felt fresher, I returned the soap to shore and grabbed up my T-shirt, which was stained with blood, and the shampoo.
I couldn't get the top of my head wet because of the stitches so I just dunked the ends of my hair and the back of my head in the water and then lathered up the bottom portion with suds. While that soaked in, I used my T-shirt as a washcloth and gingerly cleaned my face, trying to get all the dried blood and grime off my skin.
Once I was finished, I waded in a little farther and took off my panties, using a little of the shampoo to wash them in the water.
I couldn't help but be distracted by the way the water felt brushing between my legs. It was like that part of me was extra sensitive and every caress of the water made my muscles quiver with desire.
I glanced back down the beach toward Nash. He was coming up out of the ocean, water raining from his sun-kissed skin. It slid over his body like a lover, and I watched it travel down over his hips …
He was naked.
Stark ass naked.
The water brushed against me again and I groaned, the sensation making me squirm. Without thinking, I reached between my thighs, almost like my touch could stop my body from wanting something. My fingers met with moisture. Moisture that was not ocean water. This moisture was silkier and a little thicker.
I yanked my hand away.
What was wrong with me?
I couldn't possibly be wanting him. Not that way. After all, my body didn't work the way other women's bodies did.
I glanced back at him again, catching the side of his bare backside. Okay, so I looked longer than just a glance. But then I looked away (because he bent to pick up some clothes) and finished washing.
When he was almost dressed, I hurried out of the water, using my shirt as sort of a wrap, and dashed to my clothes. I realized I hadn't thought things through because my shirt would have made a really good towel-only now it was wet.
I pulled on my bathing suit, thankful it would dry quickly, and then I used the jean shorts I'd been wearing and hastily dried off most of my body. I used my hands to ring out what I could of my hair and then threw the wet shirt and shorts onto the sand. I would rinse those out in a minute.
Noting that Nash was getting closer, I pulled on the black linen shorts with a drawstring waistband and tied them loosely around my hips. I wasn't ready to put on my shirt yet because I wanted to let my hair dry a bit first.
Scooping up my comb, I got to work, tugging the tangles out of my thick blond hair. Here in this climate, I was likely a frizz ball waiting to happen. It certainly wasn't going to be straight like I usually styled it.