Page 113 of Gilded Saint

“Same,” Sam says.

I remove my swim cover-up and sprawl on the plush towel.

“Come here. Grab that sunblock.” He does as he’s told and sits beside me, giving me his back. “Do you burn easily?”

“No. And if I do burn, it’s usually a tan the next day.” He glances over his shoulder, and I feel his gaze roam my body. “What about you? How well do you tan?”

“I tan easily, but I also wear sunblock religiously. A young woman has to take care of her skin,” I say, imitating my mother. It’s hard to believe I won’t see her again. I haven’t debated with Sam as I don’t want him to think I harbor regrets, but I have to believe that with enough time, I can see my family again. At least my mother, father, and brother. If they’re too much of a danger thanks to their position in the Lupi Grigi, then I should be able to see Scarlet again. She will always prioritize me over the family she hates. She’d never rat us out.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to change your hair color after we’re stateside,” Sam says, bending his head as I massage lotion into his shoulders, oblivious to the emotional wave that swept over me and my train of thought.

“Will I be in disguise?” I tug on him, forcing him to turn. “Are you in disguise now?”

He chuckles. “No. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea for us to change a few things, so we’re not instantly recognizable. I was thinking about growing a beard. I stayed mostly cleanshaven before, so I could easily attach facial hair as needed to alter my appearance. Growing a beard will be a welcome break from shaving. If my wife wouldn’t mind it?”

I scratch my nails through the short growth darkening his jaw. “I think I’ll like it. I love you in any form.” I wiggle my eyebrows, and he grins. “You could grow your hair long,” I say, moving my nails to his scalp and earning a low moan. His dark hair has a natural curl to it, and as it’s grown longer, it’s gotten wavier.

“Do you have a thing for men with long hair?” I still, thinking of my first boyfriend…my only boyfriend. He’d had straight, shoulder-length, sandy blonde hair that he either pushed behind his ears or held back in a man bun, out of the way when he painted.

“I don’t mind long hair.”

“Hate to break it to you, but if I grow this out, it’s closer to a seventies Afro than sexy Italian.”

I snort then press my lips to his shoulder. “You’re sexy to me, no matter what.” I tap him, letting him know I’ve finished his back. He takes over, applying lotion to his front.

“I would like to take care of my roots before I meet your family.” I’ve been dyeing my hair blonde since my eighteenth birthday as an act of rebellion. Or maybe not rebellion, just a statement that I would not be like the other women in the Lupi Grigi. I’d been determined to make my path, to choose my hair color, my clothes, and my education. This turn of events is unexpected, but it’s also a choice I pushed.

“Your roots are getting pretty long.”

My hand flies to my part, not that I can exactly hide it. I am overdue. I like having some roots showing against the blonde, but… “Do you hate it?”

“No.” He’s smiling, genuinely smiling. “You’re beautiful. With straight hair, wavy hair, any color…with those eyes, you’ll always be stunning.” He caresses my cheek, warm brown eyes thoughtful. “In any form, you’ll always be beautiful to me.”

The door slides open, and our drinks are delivered to us, and just as quickly, Thomas disappears back inside the boat.

“I imagine your natural dark shade contrasting with the blue in your eyes will be heart-stopping.”

“Straight, dark hair,” I say, fingering a section of the windblown salty strands. “I get the waves from braiding it at night.”

“Come here. Lean back with me.”

I do as he says, sprawling beside him. My sunglasses shield my eyes, but the sun’s heat sizzles my skin and relaxes my muscles. This is the first day on our journey the air has been warm enough to lie like this.

Sam’s fingers and the sun work in concert on my skin, scattering tingles across my limbs. I close my eyes, reveling in the ease of the moment.

My bikini strap slips from my shoulder and cool air circulates over my breast, and a hot, wet warmth encapsulates my nipple. Sam slips a hand beneath my bottoms and fingers my folds. My legs spread wider, giving him ample room.

The breeze, the sun, the salty air, and his fingers and tongue feel amazing, but we’re outside.

“The crew,” I gasp, attempting to push up to see inside the cabin.

“If they come out here, they’ll leave.”

“But…”

There’s a tug on my top, and the stringy piece falls to the side. He sucks in my other nipple, circling his tongue as his fingers press against my mound, massaging in a way that feels incredible.

“Mrs. Watson?”

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