Andrew crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her with curiosity. “You are aware that rescuing someone doesn’t involve a complimentary shower, right?”
“Don’t,” Rory said quietly, his hands flexing in a dangerous way that Olive now recognized. “Do not question her, Andrew. I’m warning you.”
Oddly, Rory’s threat seemed to drain some of Andrew’s irritation. He split a look between Rory and Olive, a groove forming between his eyebrows.
“Why don’t you men talk about this at home?” The woman gave Andrew a pointed look. “When we’ve all calmed down a little.” When no one said anything, she rolled her eyes and approached Olive with a hand extended. “I’m Jiya. I had the misfortune of moving in next door to these stubborn Irish mules.”
Olive couldn’t help her smile as they shook. “Oh…” She glanced up at Rory to find his expression shuttered. “Are you brothers?”
He gave a tight nod. “This is Andrew.”
“And you are…” his brother prompted.
“Olive.” She rolled her lips together in the following silence. “I should head home so Rory can get back to work.”
Andrew nodded curtly. “I’ve only got his chair covered for the next half hour.”
“Perfect. That’s enough time to get her home alive.” Rory bent to one side and picked up her beach bag, which she had no recollection of retrieving from the beach. When she saw her glasses and the Freud towel stuffed inside, she almost kissed Rory full on the mouth. Until he said, “She has a habit of tempting death.”
Her sniff of protest hung in the air as Rory threaded their fingers together and pulled her toward his locker. He set down the beach bag on the bench and replaced the glasses on her nose with a look of concentration. With a few twists of his wrists, he sprung the metal teeth of his locker, reached inside and took out a gray T-shirt, dropping it over her head. But not before a piece of white paper fluttered to the ground between them. It was the straw wrapper with her number on it.
Forgetting all about their audience, Olive beamed up at Rory as he pulled her hands through the arm holes of the massive shirt. With her heart in her throat, she watched him stoop down to pick up the straw wrapper and place it carefully back on the shelf, like it was a priceless artifact. Then, seeming to realize how telling the action was, he slapped the locker shut and guided her toward the exit. “I, uh…forget that was in there.”
“Rory?”
“What, sunbeam?”
“I don’t believe you.”
CHAPTER SIX
Rory was going to drop Olive off and get the hell away.
That’s what he should have done after pulling her out of the water. Wrapped her in a towel and radioed one of the female lifeguards to bring her somewhere warm. Or called one of her friends to come pick her up. He never should have brought her into the Hut—into their own private world where none of the consequences of touching her existed. Where the weight of his past and the shine of her future were blurred by the steam.
Even now, knowing he shouldn’t, Rory couldn’t keep himself from holding her hand. It made him feel like a fucking giant walking down the street, having this girl beside him. And yet it was impossible to miss the way passersby looked at them. Since he’d given Olive his only spare shirt, he was bare chested, his tattoos busier than the intersection they were crossing. Some of the people they passed knew Rory from the neighborhood and averted their eyes, giving him wide berth on the sidewalk. Did Olive notice?
He hoped she did. Hoped she realized the local hothead had no business with a pretty blonde angel in thick-rimmed glasses and college courses lined up. He needed to scare her away once and for all, because this crazy connection between them was like an overloaded circuit breaker, capable of setting his world on fire. He’d been worried that spending time with Olive would amount to him feeling…possessive. Or worse, optimistic that something lasting could come out of it. He’d done a lot more than spend time with her, though. And something had happened in the dark of the shower that felt irreversible. They’d communicated things with their bodies he didn’t know how to say out loud.
Mine.
No. She wasn’t his. Tell that to the organ in his chest that wouldn’t stop racing, though. Tell that to his primed body. His mind, which refused to stop reminding Rory that she screamed when he teased her clit long enough. That she kissed him like she didn’t give a shit about oxygen. Christ, she was incredible.
“Is Andrew your only brother?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “No, there are three of us. Andrew is the oldest, which is why he acts like the king prick sometimes. Not sure if you noticed.” They shared a wry smile. “Jamie is in the middle. Then me.”