Idol (VIP 1)

But then she pops her head back out the door. “Get in here. I got stuff for you to haul.”

Like that, I’m hooked again. There’s just something about her I can’t ignore. I push off the side of the shed and bound to the stairs. “As long as you don’t forget lunch, I’m all yours, Miss Bell.”

Libby

The swath of beach near the house is narrow, butting up against wild dunes. I set up my blanket, umbrella, and chair while Killian looks on, as if perplexed.

“It’s like you’re getting ready to camp,” he tells me when I take the cooler from his hand and plunk it in the shade behind my beach chair. “You gonna pull out an air mattress next? The kitchen sink?”

“I like my comforts. And I’d rather not crisp in the sun like a tater tot.”

Killian snickers. “I’ll be the tater.”

I pull off my tee and ease out of my jean shorts. “You do that. But don’t come crying to me if you burn. I’m not rubbing aloe on your back.” Lie. I’d be far too happy to rub him.

“You will, Libs.” His voice is oddly faint, distracted. “You’re all bark, babe.”

“Babe? That’s no way to get me to…” I glance up to find him watching me. Not leering, but definitely looking.

And I have the urge to pull my top back on. My black bikini is made for comfort rather than sexiness, and it covers as much as my bra and panties would. But I’m not used to a man seeing so much of me. I’m not ashamed of my body—though I wouldn’t cry if I suddenly had a smaller butt and bigger boobs. I’m a B-cup, so I don’t have to wear a bra every day, and I’m not exactly filling it out when I do. Something tells me Killian has seen his fair share of spectacular boobs. It annoys me that I fear I’ll be found lacking.

I catch his gaze, and the air around us seems to take a pause. Killian’s dark eyes narrow, his expression hooded. I wonder what the hell he’s thinking, and my heart starts to pound, little zings of heat going haywire low in my belly.

I don’t know how long we stand there, looking at each other as if we’re strangers who happened upon each other on this beach. It’s probably only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Then he blinks, cutting that cord, and makes a pretense of looking all around the beach. We’re alone here. Though, far in the distance, a few people are walking along the shore.

“I’m going for a swim,” he says. “Want to come?”

“You don’t want your sandwich?” Something in my chest squeezes tight because he’s kind of twitchy now, as though he wants to take off.

Killian eyes the cooler and lets out a breath. “Right. Forgot about that.”

He plops down next to me on the beach blanket, close enough that his thigh nearly brushes mine, and I can feel the heat of his body. He’s got nice legs, muscular and dusted with dark hairs, his skin already deeply tanned.

I shouldn’t be noticing his damn legs. I shouldn’t be fidgeting with plates.

“You come here a lot?” he asks.

“I visit the beach almost daily.”

“With your friends?”

I wipe my hands down my thighs. “No. By myself.”

He takes a bite of his sandwich, his gaze on the sea. “No friends?”

God, the man is like a bloodhound. Or an annoying rat, chewing away at all my weaknesses. With that lovely image floating before my eyes, I set my sandwich down. “Not much of a social life here. Most of my friends are online.” And when was the last time I talked to any of them? It’s a slap to the system to realize I haven’t emailed anyone in months. And no one has emailed me either.

I’m not shy. But I am an introvert. Going out has never been my thing. But when did I grow so isolated? Why hadn’t I noticed? Or cared?

“Anyway, I like my privacy, doing my own thing…” My neck tightens, and I take long gulps of my lemonade.

I have no idea what Killian is thinking. He just nods and eats his BLT in neat but big bites. A sigh of contentment leaves him before he peers down at the cooler, a little frown between his eyes.

“Here.” I pass him another sandwich. “I packed you three.”

His grin is quick and wide. “I knew it. All bark.”

I won’t smile. I won’t. “Eat your sandwiches.”

“I see that smile, Libs.”

“I can take back the food.”

He grabs the third sandwich and sets it on his lap, hunching protectively over it as he wolfs down the second one. “You grow up here?” he asks me after swallowing a huge chunk.

“No. I grew up in Wilmington. The house was my grandmama’s place. She left it to my parents when she died, and they left it to me.” There. I said it. And it only hurts a little. A dull pain, like a boulder crushing down on my ribs. “I was living in Savannah, but after… Well, I just wanted to go home. This was the closest place to it for me.”