Page 12 of Whispers on the Water

Her teasing voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Sorry! It’s not my fault men are so pervy. We like to keep their egos in check.”

The thought of other men objectifying Sam sends a surge of protectiveness through me, a feeling that’s strange. I’ve never felt this kind of possessiveness, especially over someone I’ve technically just met.

“Does that happen a lot?” I find myself asking, more curious than I probably should be.

“Maybe.” Her tone is still light but confident. It makes me wonder if this ease, this confidence, is a mask, a result of being Elaine, constantly on the move, constantly hiding.

But I have to put those thoughts on hold, mostly because I’m afraid of the answer.

She keeps her gaze pointed out at the open ocean, watching the waves that are approaching with an expert eye. “You mentioned you were an ex-pat. Have you been in Costa Rica long? I haven’t seen you around before.” Her question makes me pause. Sharing too much could be risky, especially now that she’s pinged on my radar as potentially being the person I’m looking for. “A while,” I settle on saying. “I spent some time in Nicaragua. But there’s something about Costa Rica...”

She nods, her movements in the water keeping her board steady. “Yeah, there’s no place in the world like here. It feels like all the other troubles and the world’s bullshit can’t touch me here.” She breathes deeply, eyes closing for a moment.

“And the views…” I can’t resist adding, locking my gaze with hers to ensure she understands the double meaning. “They’re fucking unbelievable.”

Did she just blush? When she looks away, down at the water, I know I’ve got her.

I move closer in the water, positioning myself near her. She watches me, then lies down on her board, presenting the perfect view of her curvy body. I can’t resist touching her. My hand reaches out, fingers grazing her wet back and slipping down over her ass. She shivers under my touch but doesn’t pull away.

“Seems like you remember more than my fake name,” she teases, glancing over her shoulder.

A growl escapes me before I can stop it, and I attempt to pull her closer, but she turns playful and starts paddling away. Her glance over her shoulder is a clear invitation for a chase. She’s playing hard to get, revealing little flirts and glances before retreating.

I won’t let her get away that easily. Diving into the water, I swim after her, the leash around my ankle tugging Big Blue behind me. When I finally reach her side, I swiftly flip her board in a playful ambush. She responds with a playful scream, her strokes through the ocean betraying her familiarity with it. The seagulls above us seem to mock my efforts, cawing like they, too, are fleeing from my grasp, but I’m focused solely on Sam. The waves slow my pace through the water, but I bob along, kicking my legs through the tide. I’m a man on a mission.

Catching up, I spin her around, my finger brushing wet hair from her face. “You’re a tease.”

“Is it awful?” she asks, a playful lilt in her voice that suggests she’s enjoying this as much as I am.

“No, it’s refreshing.” Her hand wraps around my neck as she locks her eyes on mine. Our legs move in sync, churning the warm ocean as the waves roll gently beneath us. Her gaze flicks to my lips, sending a jolt through my stomach.

My free arm ceases its movements in the water, pulling her closer, but our buoyancy falters, and we begin to sink slightly. Sam suddenly breaks away from me with a laugh, then, taking a deep breath, dives under.

I’m left wondering why until I see it—a massive six-foot wave bearing down on us. Reacting quickly, I dive beneath it, swimming through the turbulent foam. As I surface, gasping, “Sam?” escapes my lips as I spin around, searching for her.

She’s already making her way to the shore. Hastily, I swim back to my board, awkwardly adjusting myself before clambering on. With each paddle toward the beach, my thoughts race. Sam, with her intoxicating blend of mystery and allure, is fast becoming an enigma that I’m determined to unravel despite the chaos she’s bound to bring into my life.

Chapter seven

Sam

Being here with Greg again was a mistake. I knew it as soon as I saw him, but he was just so irresistibly hot in his tight shorts and shirt. Watching him with Big Blue, I swoon a bit—unfair really. I spent years mastering not getting thrown off by even the smallest wave, and here he is, making it look like he’s acing his audition for Surfer’s Weekly. Greg handled the surfboard like he was meant to do it.

Briefly, I think about leaving him to find his own way back to the shop, but I find myself waiting on the sand instead. When he jogs up, looking like an advertisement for pure man candy and clearly aroused, I struggle to keep my laughter in. He’s tried to hide it, but Greg is, well, Greg—some things just can’t be hidden.

“Can I rinse you off?” he offers with a playful tone. I shake my head, pretending indifference, but lead the way to the beachside showers. I let the freshwater run over me, feeling his gaze before his touch. “Seaweed,” he says. His eyes are wide and unblinking, like he’s found a gold bar in the rats nest of ocean tossed hair on top of my head rather than some salad of the sea. Where his fingers touch, it burns, igniting something within me. He turns to rinse himself off, leaving me in a mix of irritation and desire. We’re playing a strange game of temptation, and I’m quickly losing ground.

The urge to wrap myself around him pulses through me. Memories of our night together flash in my mind, intensifying my need for him. I want him in all the devious ways possible.

Instead, I watch him. As he removes his rash guard under the shower, water droplets tracing down his abs, I reach out without thinking. My fingers trail down his toned muscles, eliciting his immediate reaction. But he flips around with a laugh. It’s clear we’re challenging each other—who can resist the longest? Right now, I’m not doing so well.

Still under the open-air shower, I decide to up the ante, sliding out of my swim shorts to reveal my daring bikini underneath. Even as he tries to look away, I catch him sneaking a glance over his shoulder, his face turning beet red.

Instead of closing the distance between us, I shut off the shower, grab my board and shorts, and start jogging back towards the surf shack, Greg quickly following. The lesson might be over, and I’m somewhat glad. He needs to take his delicious abs, his surfing talents, and his undeniably adorable smile somewhere far away from me.

But he catches up, holding his board as if he’s done it a thousand times. “You hungry? I’d love to take you out for lunch.”

“Can’t. Working.” It’s all I can manage to say, and even those few words I half choke on. My brain is screaming that I shouldn’t go anywhere with Greg, but my lady bits are yelling at my brain, and it’s becoming a confusing mess within my own body.

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