Page 23 of The Wrong Move

I swivel in the water to scope out my towel and bag. Paddling to keep afloat, I spy a bikini-clad girl standing near our belongings. “You picked her?”

“Yeah. She was sitting closest to us.”

“I doubt she could even tackle me.”

This is the Los Angeles I remember. Gorgeous women are slim. I now have curves—more than I did the last time I saw Byron.

“Twenty yards from our towels, there’s a guy with a red umbrella and a black top.”

I strain my eyes, barely making him out.

“That’s Colton, my security guard. If anyone touched you, they would have meandhim to answer to.”

What?Butwe drove here together. “How is he here?”

“I gave him the details before coming to yours. And he tracks my cell.”

“Is he undercover?”

Byron’s lips curl into a grin. “Good security isn’t seen unless they need to be.”

“Your life is very different than what I remember.”

He reaches for me and pulls me close. Both hands are on my back, and we are squished together. This close, it’s difficult to stay afloat. Byron guides my legs around his waist. I use my hands to paddle like mad because I’m scared what it could lead to if I touch him. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. It’s light and salty. Lost in the moment, a wave dumps over the top of us, and we surface, spluttering, my hair covering my face like Cousin Itt.

“Jesus. I’m used to swimming in Mediterranean oceans.”

Byron’s expression drops. He takes my hand. “Let’s go ashore.” He holds my hand while we paddle in, not letting go as we emerge from the water.

Thank God I’m wearing a one-piece bathing suit.

With my free hand, I adjust my red bathing suit, but it’s tight and has barely moved. Both girls are still safely tucked in. While I bathed in a bikini in Italy and topless at Dante’s private pool, I’m not as comfortable in my skin in LA, especially not around Byron.

Byron releases my hand and chats to the girl, who eyes me up and down. I lie on my stomach, my forehead balancing on the back of my hands.

“Lorraine, our PR administrator, will email the tickets to you,” he says. He then talks to someone on his cell. Byron has always been good on his word. “You should have them in your inbox any minute.”

“Thank you so much,” the girl says excitedly. “Will we see you there?”

“Not this week. Thanks again.”

There is movement beside me.

I take a discreet peek under my arm. Byron lies on his back, perched on his elbows. He’s staring at the water, deep in thought.

What am I doing? I’ve been home ten days. I go over my mental list about dating again.

Rule #1: Do not get your heart broken in LA.

I should have added stay away from Byron Hendricks.

Rule #2: Only date people you’re not attracted to.

I wanted to date people who are good communicators. I’m done with monologues with men talking about themselves. And there’s much more to life than seductive eyes and a hot body.

Rule #3: Be open to new things.

Number three is my new priority.

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