Page 3 of Christmas in Paradise

As if that weren’t distraction enough, there’s a tattoo barely visible under his white sleeve that covers his bicep and highlights the contours of his muscles. If his ink were barbed wire, I wouldn’t give him a second glance. But it’s something intricate—maybe even beautiful—and I want to study it closer.

And… I’m staring at his tattoo.

And he’s smirking at me.

So, yes. Very distracting.

I force my eyes back to the lake, but not before catching his smug grin. It’s that grin that snaps me back to myself and my resolve.

He thinks he’s already lured me into his leather-jacket-wearing, motorcycle-riding realm. But I’ve had my heart broken more than once by a bad boy. I’m not getting smoldered again.

I’m NOT.

But maybe…I could be the heartbreaker this time.

In eight weeks, I’ll go back to my normal life. Back to Charly. Back to full-time momming. I won’t be in Paradise long enough to pine over a guy who’s moved on to his next victim.

This is my chance to turn the tables.

I’ll break his heart before he can break mine.

I’ll break it for every girl whose heart he’s broken. I’ll break it to get retribution for the times I’ve hadmyheart broken by boys just like him. The kind who will take everything, then walk away without a word.

I’m considering whether I can really muster maneater energy, or if my ego has taken control of my brain when he tips his Corona toward Evie, who’s fast-walking from the party toward us.

“Looks like I’m about to get an earful.” There’s a lot of delight in his voice for a man who’s in trouble.

When she steps from the dirt pathway to the beach, her high-heels sink into the soft sand. She barely breaks eye contact with me as she bends down and unbuckles the first tiny strap around her ankle. The irritation on her face makes my adrenaline pump harder. Danger is the only drug I’ve ever been addicted to.

I smile at her, then turn toward my heart breaker. “You want to get out of here?”

He glances at Evie who’s shaking her head at us while tugging at her second strap, then grins at me. “My bike’s parked on the street.”

I almost laugh out loud. Because I totally called it.Of course,he has a motorcycle.

In the past, that would have been my downfall, but I’m not a teenager anymore (barely). I see his motorcycle for what it is: a prop to go with his image.

This guy is such a cliché, I can guess his every move. As long as I know what I’m in for, I’m in no danger of actually falling for him. And if Evie were really concerned, she wouldn’t be on the verge of smiling as she slips off her other shoe.

He pops up and reaches for my hand, pulling me upright. I grab my sandals, and then we run, leaving Evie and our drinks behind.

“Hope! Wait!” she calls, but I barely hear her over my bad boy’s laugh.

We both laugh all the way up the shrub-lined path leading away from the beach to the street. The whole thing is so ridiculous. I’m still laughing when we stop in front of a bike.

Not a motorcycle; abike.The kind with pedals and a little bell.

Mr. Not-Quite-So-Bad hands me a helmet. “Get on. It’s a two-seater.”

“I see that.” I hesitate long enough for Evie to call my name again, and I realize I’m too far in to back out now. I drop my sandals and shove my feet into them then I put on the helmet. “Is our first stop the gas station for Tootsie pops?”

“If you want it to be.” He cocks a smile at me, then swings his leg over the seat. “If we’re making this getaway, you’d better climb on.”

“Hope!” Evie calls again, still hidden by the shrubs along the path, but getting closer.

I climb on the back of the bike, then realize there’s no bar behind me to hold, so I clutch the seat.

“Hold on!” My still-nameless accomplice yells before pumping the pedals. With one rotation, the bike jolts forward, nearly throwing me off the back.

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