Page 94 of Love Me Tomorrow

“—do,” Owen finishes, biting out the words.

I check the image, then nod to myself in satisfaction as I pocket my phone in my purse. “One step at a time. You’ll grow to love each other at some point. Preferably in this lifetime.”

A moment of silence, and then, “Savannah?”

I glance back at Owen over my shoulder. “Yes?”

“You better ditch those shorts before I do it for you.”

Stifling a laugh, I bite my bottom lip, solely to tease him. “Is that a promise?”

He growls deep in his throat, and, knowing not to push his restraint any further, I do as he commands and push my shorts down the length of my legs. I stuff them into my over-the-shoulder purse but choose to leave my tank top on. Turning, I hold out the bag to Owen, kicking my chin toward it. “Want to add anything before I put it in the locker?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Setting Pablo down, Owen grasps the nape of his T-shirt in that sexy way that men seem to know will incite a woman into losing her clothes, along with all of her sensible decision-making skills. Seriously, do they learn that move as children? Is it taught in Sex-Ed classes, with the tagline:How To Make Women Hot And Bothered?Whatever the case is, my heart positively flutters as every inch of Owen’s naked chest makes an appearance, inch by excruciating inch.

First the angel-wing tattoo, then all those ridged abs, and, finally, his tatted, hard-as-stone chest.

It is a certifiablecrimethat he’s expecting me to put myself on a paddleboard instead of dropping to my knees and putting my tongue to work.

The white T is shoved into the depths of my bag, just as Owen releases a deep, masculine chuckle. “You keep eye-fuckin’ me like that, and it’ll be a miracle if you last ten seconds on that board.”

“I still think you’re playing dirty by bringing me here.”

Big hands grasp the hem of my tank top and reel me in with slow, seductive intent. Dropping his head, his mouth finds mine for a hot kiss that has me straining on my toes to get even closer. He pulls back, just enough to graze his lips over mine again, before murmuring, “With any luck, you’ll be wet all day and won’t mind at all.”

My mouth falls open at the blatant sexual innuendo.

“You didnotjust make a joke about—”

“Pick a paddleboard, Rose,” he says, all sunshine and happy rainbows as he winks at me, “any paddleboard. And give me one, too. Time to get the antichrist into position.”

Because I have all the revenge tactics of an eleven-year-old girl, I select the pink one for him and fake a neutral expression when he takes it from me. But, beyond an arched brow on his part, Owen doesn’t comment on my choice for him. Instead, he drops to his haunches, clearly being careful not to disturb Pablo, and then wraps a black strap around his ankle that’s also attached to the board. From there, he drops the paddleboard into the bayou, a scant foot over from us, and somehow slips his massive frame onto the pink surface without wobbling all over the place.

His balance is perfect, his instinct for how to position himself right on par, and it’s pretty obvious that this is not his first rodeo.

From his back, Pablo watches me with a gleam in his sharp, blue eyes that would worry me if he actually had access to Owen’s junk for round two.

Time to make the magic happen.

After grabbing my own board from the lineup of rentals, I try to follow Owen’s experienced lead. Black strap around my ankle. Paddleboard in the murky water. I don’t bother asking if there are gators in here because I already know the answer is yes.

All the better to not end up face-first in the shallow water.

Still on my knees, my stomach muscles clench as the gentle waves push the board up, and I try to hold on tight to the sides. I can do this. I can absolutely do this.

One foot up, right? Then the other?

All or nothing.

“Savannah,” Owen says as I struggle to plant one foot down and gain enough traction to do the same with the other, “take it easy. You don’t need to—oh, shit.”

It’s the last thing I hear before my weight teeters to the side and my knee, already wet from the water seeping onto the board, slips left, and then I’m going down, down, down. Down in a flurry of wet legs, a waterlogged shout that gets caught in my throat, and with the sudden realization that my bikini and tank top are all white, white, and you guessed it, white.

It’s a damn good day to be me.

28

Owen

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