Page 41 of Scarred Souls

“Your safety here depends on your anonymity, and since your last known location was on board Alvarez’s luxury yacht, miles from the coast, I’m guessing you didn’t arrive in Playa de la Palmera unaided. Not unless you miraculously swam to shore on this very beach and asked Daphne for help.”

It was a fair enough reason, I supposed.

Vaughn tilted his head. “And maybe I just really want to hear how you outsmarted an asshole like Alvarez.”

I’d hardly say I’d outsmarted him. Luck had played a large part in my survival. A dash of bravery and stubbornness might’ve contributed also.

That night wasn’t easy to talk about, but three years had passed since my escape, and I was resolute not to let the trauma of those events govern my life. There was one thing that always soothed me when confronting disturbing memories—swimming in the ocean.

When I’d first started walking along the beach during the early months of my recovery, each step had been excruciating, like walking through quicksand laced with fire, but I’d been determined to grow strong again so I could start my new life. And when I’d felt adventurous enough to take to the ocean, floating in the salty water calmed me better than any meditation technique I’d tried. Maybe it would work now.

Without a second thought, I yanked my T-shirt over my head and tossed it onto the sand.

The astonished look on Vaughn’s face was almost comical. “What are you doing?”

A gentle breeze blew wayward strands of hair across my face, so I tucked them behind my ear. “I’m going for a swim. If you want to hear the story of that night, I’ll give it to you, but only in there.” I pointed to the clear-blue water.

He tensed as though the small waves gently lapping against the shore terrified him.

“What about the dogs?” he asked.

“They won’t go far. You can swim, can’t you?”

“Yeah, but?—”

“So what’s the problem?”

He hesitated before giving a sharp shake of his head and muttering, “Nothing.”

I stepped out of my shorts, leaving myself in only a swimsuit. Vaughn’s uncertain expression turned heated as his eyes traveled over the low neckline of my black one-piece before eating up the rest of my curves.

Did he like what he saw? I told myself his opinion didn’t matter. Yes, I had a round ass and dimples on the backs of my thighs, but my body was strong and capable. If Grim couldn’t appreciate a woman who didn’t look like a rake, then he could damn well look someplace else.

I propped one hand on my hip. “You’re staring.”

“Yeah.” He traced his jaw with one hand. “And?”

“And most people would consider that rude.”

“I’m a man, Hope. I could pretend I’m not looking, but any straight guy is going to appreciate a set of tits and an ass like yours.” His hungry gaze roamed over my assets as if he were deciding which morsel he should devour first.

I had a few suggestions.

Wait. He couldn’t get away with speaking to me like that. How was it possible that with one crude compliment from Grim every ounce of feminism had left my body faster than you could say objectification? I’d failed the sisterhood by allowing a hot bad boy to ogle me the same way I looked at pizza after a long shift.

I wasn’t used to someone speaking so boldly. Rarely did anyone comment on my figure at all, not when they struggled to see beyond my scars.

I might’ve lived a sheltered life when it came to the opposite sex, but I’d assumed American men preferred a leaner physique than mine. After all, that was what Hollywood and fashion magazines stuffed down our throats.

Vaughn’s comment had surprised me, but I refused to let it show, so I folded my shorts and placed them on the sand, letting him look his fill if he enjoyed it so much. “You might want to wipe the drool off your chin.” I spun and headed for the water, and if I swayed my hips a little more than usual, it was absolutely intentional.

Glancing over my shoulder, I called out, “You coming or what?”

My feet entered the cool water, and once I’d made it in far enough, I dipped below the surface. Wiping the salty sting from my eyes, I found Vaughn wading in, fully clothed in his jeans and long-sleeve Henley.

What the hell was he doing?

He dove underwater and resurfaced a short distance from me, smoothing his wet dark locks from his face.

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