“I don’t believe it.” A laugh was in his breath. He was so amazing, confident, determined, impenetrable, and yet vulnerable at the most unexpected times.
He stopped walking, and for the space of two heartbeats, I stood there, wrapped in his arms, his fingers laced with mine at my back, our mouths a breath apart. Then the breath was gone. He kissed me with so much emotion, my legs grew weak. Lips parted, tongues curled together, I struggled to get my hands out of his.
At first he wouldn’t release them, and feeling his strength, the sense of being trapped by him was intensely erotic. His grip loosened, and I pushed my arms around his neck. I loved the way he lifted me, holding my waist, our mouths never parting, only moving in time—open, closed, tasting—until he pulled back with a start.
“Shit! We’ve got to get back!” He lowered me quickly to the sand.
It was so unexpected I had to laugh. “What?”
“Come on.” He held my hand and took off fast in the direction we’d come.
“Slayde!” I couldn’t breathe as he picked up the pace. His legs were a bit longer than mine, and I was gasping before we were even halfway there.
He stopped abruptly, and I ran into him. “Oh!” I cried.
Catching my face, he kissed me fast on the mouth. “Hop on my back.”
He turned so his back was to me. Lifting my hand, I placed it on his corded shoulder. “I can honestly say I never expected this to happen.”
“Hurry, our dinner is on the line.”
With a little hop, I was on his back, shoes in one hand, both gripping him hard across the chest. He reached around and held me as he jogged up the shoreline in the direction we’d come.
My voice was bouncy and breathless, as I strained to hold on. “You’re so fit. We should make this part of our training regimen.”
Once we were within sight of his apartment, he lowered me and grabbed my hand again. We dashed over the boardwalk, across the parking lot to a dingy white door labeled 24-A. It wasn’t even locked.
“Welcome to my place.” He didn’t look back, running across an unbelievably small room with a curtain hanging arou
nd one corner, out a small back door.
While I waited, I looked around the space. The finish on the ancient wood floors was dull. An efficiency kitchen was in the corner opposite the curtain, and a two-seater table with two chairs was in front of it. On the table was a short, glass vase holding two red daisies and three big white lilies. Interesting.
Down from the kitchen was a door that led to what I assumed was the bathroom, since I didn’t see one anywhere else. The space where I stood must’ve been the living room—wait. Correction—he’d said the beach was his living room. I could see why.
Curious about the curtain, I stepped toward it and had only pulled it back a fraction when he was back inside.
“Checking out my crib?” I dropped my hand, and he laughed. “It’s not much, but at least it’s clean.”
I smiled and went to where he stood by the door. “It’s everything you need in one compact space.”
“I read in New York some micro-apartments are two hundred square feet. Total.”
“See? You’re practically in a mansion!” I laughed, and he wiped his forehead.
“I’m a sweaty mess.” He looked down as he wiped his palm on the back of his jeans. “And I only saved one of the steaks.”
The white tee he wore clung to his lined chest where the sweat dampened it, and I wanted to be back against that hard body so badly.
“We could go for a swim in your living room.”
He glanced around the studio. “I’m not following—”
“You said the beach was your living room.”
His eyes traveled quickly down my dress to my bare feet. My shoes were at the door. “Did you bring a swimsuit?”
“No.” The change in his expression made my pulse tick a little higher. “I could borrow one of your shirts, I guess.”