Page 47 of Beauty and the Boss Man

“I guess,” she mutters as if trying to convince herself more than me. It’s not working, though, because she’s still frantically looking around.

“Do you want to go back up on the beach?” I ask.

“No. No, I’m fine.” She shakes her head, forcing herself to calm down.

She leans up to kiss me, but before our lips can touch, she jumps once again.

“Holy shit, it touched me again!” She cries.

I look around us and see a small fin breaking the surface of the water. My heartbeat quickens, but I try to hide it as not to freak out Romy.

But it’s too late.

She’s already high-tailing it straight out of the water, holding onto her boobs as she attempts to run.

“You told me there weren’t sharks!” She calls to me.

My eyes move back toward the fin, which is now moving closer. But suddenly, a blowhole pokes out of the water, spraying a gust of air.

It’s not a shark—it’s a damn dolphin.

I try calling after Romy to tell her that, but she either doesn’t hear me or just doesn’t care because she’s still heading for land.

This whole thing has made my dick go back into hibernation, so I start to follow her—but without the rush.

I’m walking at a normal pace until I hear Romy cry out again. She’s grabbing her foot in pain. Now, I start mimicking her awkward run until I get to her.

“What happened?” I ask when I reach her.

“I think I stepped on something and cut my foot,” she says, trying to balance on one foot to show me.

“Let’s get you out of the water,” I say, leading her to the beach.

When we get to the sand, I see the slight cut bleeding like a son-of-a-bitch.

“Okay, let’s rinse it off one more time in the water, so we don’t get sand in it,” I tell her, helping her dip her foot back in the ocean.

She lets out a little shriek as the saltwater hits the exposed wound. “Boss Man, I don’t know if you have noticed, but there’s sand literally everywhere, and we left our shoes upstairs.”

“I’m aware.”

“So, I don’t think we can avoid sand getting into—”

Before she can finish her thought, I lift her into my arms and start to carry her toward the path leading inside.

It doesn’t take long for her to say, “Okay, I know I’m heavy. Your arms must be killing you.”

“You’re not heavy, baby,” I reassure.

Once we are through the doors of the resort, she offers to walk three different times on the way back to her room. I say no every time and don’t put her back on her feet until we are in the bathroom.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she scoffs as I take a look at her foot.

The bleeding has almost stopped, and once I wipe it off with a rag, I see it’s not too bad.

“And you don’t have to take care of me,” she insists. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are, but I’m going to take care of you anyway. Deal with it.”

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