Page 62 of Savage Beauty

“It feels good. Right. How’re things there? Is Sloane driving you crazy?”

She steps into the swirling water up to her calves. Her back is to me, and she kicks a leg, sending a foamy spray through the air. She’s like a kid playing around on the shore, oblivious to anyone watching her.

“Nah. She’s not so bad.” She’s staying strong, all things considered. She’s not the only Watson to lose something important. “She’s clinging to hope she can return to work, but I’m not sold that’s the case.”

“Sage told me her work is everything to her. How’s she handling it?”

“All right. She still believes once we clear this up, she can safely return.”

“Sage wants to talk to her.”

“I’ll have her call her.”

“She’s not with you?”

“Took a walk on the beach.”

“Is that safe?”

“I’ve got eyes on her.”

“Do you, now?” I snort at his innuendo. Well-deserved innuendo, as it stands. “Nah, in all seriousness, man, don’t go playing around with her. She’s Sage’s sister. I don’t want things getting awkward years from now.”

“So, it’s like that, is it? Already doing long-term planning?”

“It’s exactly like that. And you’re family to me, so don’t go making the holidays awkward.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Fuck off.”

We end the call, and I throw the phone down and fold my arms behind my head, kicked back to watch the slender sexpot meander along the secluded shoreline.

She’s not really my type. With each day that passes, the thought feels more like a barrier I’m constructing.

But it’s not bullshit. I go for blondes with serious curves. I’ve always loved a full rack. But there’s something about her. Like now, just watching her, I’m totally turned on in spite of those barely there tits. She’s not trying to be sexy; she just is. Maybe that’s what it is. She doesn’t doctor anything. Her words, her face. What you see is what you get. Compared to Ginger and the frog hogs who followed her, she’s refreshing.

If she ever found someone else attractive, she’d tell me. She might explain it with an in-depth tutorial on chemistry and pheromones, but she’d tell me.

Knox doesn’t want me messing around with her because he’s worried we’ll cross paths in the future and it will be awkward. But, you know, I don’t think it would be with someone like Sloane. Things get awkward when someone doesn’t come out and say what they’re thinking. If something bothers Sloane, she’ll tell you.

She washes her feet at the spigot and doesn’t seem to see me until she’s climbing the steps.

“How’d the meeting go?” She lifts her sunglasses and blinks to adjust her eyes to the shade.

“Good,” I tell her as my gaze tracks down those slender legs to a smear of sunblock above her knee that needs to be rubbed in.

“Still heading out tomorrow?”

“That’s the tentative plan.”

“What’re we going to do until then? Market?”

Those shorts of hers are flimsy fabric, the kind our high school girls’ soccer team wore. Short enough to reveal the smooth curve of skin where thigh blends to ass.

I push up off the chair, stalk toward her, and pop that fine tush. She squeals, and I smooth my palm over her, just like I did last night, letting my fingers trace the seam of her panties, because yes, her shorts are that short.

“Get inside. I’ll show you a few things we can do.”

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