time remained her own person. And if Brock had ever doubted her ability to be something other than the perfect daughter, she’d proven it that night out at the swamp.
Ten years should have only made her sense of self stronger. So what the hell was she doing marrying a guy just to please her dad, for God’s sake?
She still raked her fingers through the sand, deeper now, letting it sift between, then rubbing her thumb over the grains that remained on her fingertips like she was blind and they spelled out something in Braille. Why was that sexy as hell?
Forcing his eyes away, he turned his gaze out on the ocean where, thankfully, he found nothing more than a blank horizon, blue sky over blue water. He really didn’t think the Morales boys had any reason to return for his dead body, but his job had taught him never to let his guard down completely.
And if he needed a reminder of that, he need only think back to yesterday on the boat. A few kisses and touches should have been an extremely minor distraction under the high-tension circumstances—yet he’d blown his cover. And if those two girls could distract him that much, where did Kat rate on the distraction scale? A lot higher. Good thing she hadn’t been on the boat. And a good thing he’d shifted into relax-and-recover mode, because apparently he needed to relax and recover from the undercover shit, take a break for a little while.
Reaching down next to the old lounge chair he’d found for himself in a storage shed behind the house, he grabbed the equally ancient radio he’d nabbed from atop the fridge. It had batteries and worked, but he hadn’t had much luck getting reception in the bungalow and thought it might go better out on the beach.
No difference, though—no matter how he turned the dial, nothing but static except for one oldies station that played only seventies music. At the moment, The Electric Light Orchestra sang “Can’t Get It Out of My Head.” He glanced over at Kat, still looking swimsuit-model stunning with her arms raised over her head, sand abandoned now, her breasts jutting upward behind two white triangles, her body long and lean and glistening just slightly from the sun. He swallowed—gulped actually.
Geez, dude, get hold of yourself. She’s just a chick, man. Just a chick.
Just a chick he had some history with. Just a chick he thought about when he was in danger sometimes. Just a chick whose future happiness had suddenly taken on an unexplained importance in his life. Talk about not being able to get something out of your head.
He propped the radio in the sand next to him, adjusted the antenna slightly, and leaned back in the chair, soaking up the rays and letting the steady sound of the tide lull him. It didn’t take long to understand why Kat came here to unwind. The raw, natural beauty of palm trees jutting at all angles, the bright sun and white sand, and the undiluted sense of isolation made him feel like he could be on some deserted isle far, far away—not just a few miles off the Florida coast.
And he found himself wondering what it might be like to be this guy—what had she said his name was? Ethan? No, Ian. What might it be like to lie here on this private island, glance over at Kat to see her touching the sand like it was velvet, and know she was yours, the woman you would spend the rest of your life with?
He looked at her. Let himself sink into that notion, just for a moment. Felt a strange warmth coil low in his belly. Then shook it off—because he sure as hell wasn’t Ian, and he wasn’t the marrying kind anyway. And even if he were...
His gaze settled on her again, closer now—easy since her eyes were shut—and he studied the flat plane of her tan belly, the tiny slit of her belly button, the shapely form of her leg, bent at the knee.
He and Kat were worlds apart, always had been, and they’d both always known it. So despite the attraction, no matter how feral, he thought they’d both always
Ten years should have only made her sense of self stronger. So what the hell was she doing marrying a guy just to please her dad, for God’s sake?
She still raked her fingers through the sand, deeper now, letting it sift between, then rubbing her thumb over the grains that remained on her fingertips like she was blind and they spelled out something in Braille. Why was that sexy as hell?
Forcing his eyes away, he turned his gaze out on the ocean where, thankfully, he found nothing more than a blank horizon, blue sky over blue water. He really didn’t think the Morales boys had any reason to return for his dead body, but his job had taught him never to let his guard down completely.
And if he needed a reminder of that, he need only think back to yesterday on the boat. A few kisses and touches should have been an extremely minor distraction under the high-tension circumstances—yet he’d blown his cover. And if those two girls could distract him that much, where did Kat rate on the distraction scale? A lot higher. Good thing she hadn’t been on the boat. And a good thing he’d shifted into relax-and-recover mode, because apparently he needed to relax and recover from the undercover shit, take a break for a little while.
Reaching down next to the old lounge chair he’d found for himself in a storage shed behind the house, he grabbed the equally ancient radio he’d nabbed from atop the fridge. It had batteries and worked, but he hadn’t had much luck getting reception in the bungalow and thought it might go better out on the beach.
No difference, though—no matter how he turned the dial, nothing but static except for one oldies station that played only seventies music. At the moment, The Electric Light Orchestra sang “Can’t Get It Out of My Head.” He glanced over at Kat, still looking swimsuit-model stunning with her arms raised over her head, sand abandoned now, her breasts jutting upward behind two white triangles, her body long and lean and glistening just slightly from the sun. He swallowed—gulped actually.
Geez, dude, get hold of yourself. She’s just a chick, man. Just a chick.
Just a chick he had some history with. Just a chick he thought about when he was in danger sometimes. Just a chick whose future happiness had suddenly taken on an unexplained importance in his life. Talk about not being able to get something out of your head.
He propped the radio in the sand next to him, adjusted the antenna slightly, and leaned back in the chair, soaking up the rays and letting the steady sound of the tide lull him. It didn’t take long to understand why Kat came here to unwind. The raw, natural beauty of palm trees jutting at all angles, the bright sun and white sand, and the undiluted sense of isolation made him feel like he could be on some deserted isle far, far away—not just a few miles off the Florida coast.
And he found himself wondering what it might be like to be this guy—what had she said his name was? Ethan? No, Ian. What might it be like to lie here on this private island, glance over at Kat to see her touching the sand like it was velvet, and know she was yours, the woman you would spend the rest of your life with?
He looked at her. Let himself sink into that notion, just for a moment. Felt a strange warmth coil low in his belly. Then shook it off—because he sure as hell wasn’t Ian, and he wasn’t the marrying kind anyway. And even if he were...
His gaze settled on her again, closer now—easy since her eyes were shut—and he studied the flat plane of her tan belly, the tiny slit of her belly button, the shapely form of her leg, bent at the knee.
He and Kat were worlds apart, always had been, and they’d both always known it. So despite the attraction, no matter how feral, he thought they’d both always
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