Page 8 of Submit

This man is very clearlynotDutch. His bronze skin, short, dark hair, matching stubble, and molten eyes give him an Italian look, but what the hell do I know?

His eyes. Ohmigod, his eyes.

Emeralds would kill to be this pure, vibrant color. He has to be wearing contacts. There’s no way human genes produce that shade of green naturally. Almost reptilian, his gaze is striking and I’m torn between needing to look away…and not being able to.

As if he can sense my thoughts, Casper closes his eyes and takes a deep breath saying, “Yes, they’re real.” A twinge of a Spanish accent hangs onto his words.

I guess he gets that question a lot. Considering the reactions my own eyes get, you’d think I’d be a little more cool about it. The only problem is that I’ve never met anyone whose eyes compete with mine inwow factor… until right now.

“Oh,” I whisper on an exhale, finally realizing that I’m slack-jawed, my mouth still hanging open. My response is lacking but it’s all I’ve got. I swear his eyes narrow and darken for some reason when he opens them and returns to see mestillstaring.

I’m being rude and I can’t seem to stop. My brain conjures up an image of the way Marcel’s eyes roved over my body at dinner and I mentally smack myself.Stop eye-fucking him! You’re no better than Marcel or the taxi driver.

Stopping is much easier said than done becausehisshirtless frame is huge. He’s also so close I can almost taste him in the air and suddenly, the flavor of his skin is the only thing I can focus on.

He appraises me slowly from head to toe and I assume he’s visually measuring me to see which board size I need but I have second thoughts about that when Casper turns to Jörn with a wicked grin that threatens to have me in a puddle at his feet.

“She signed the paperwork, right?”

“Cas...” Jörn lets his name hang in the air like a reprimand…or a warning.

Casper chuckles darkly as he turns around and heads toward a small room off to the side of the counter. Oh, that sound. My body doesn’t give a shit that he’s sharing a laugh with Jörn at my expense. I’ll allow it if only he’ll do that again. Preferably as a whisper across my pus…Jesus, Libby! The lesson hasn’t even started yet, whorebag.

Casper doesn’t hold out his hand to shake mine like a man with manners would before turning into the room but truth be told, the lack of contact is probably a good thing so my brain doesn’t short circuit all at once.

He’s wearing a thin, neoprene wetsuit but only the bottom half is pulled up, leaving his back and chest exposed. This man is solid. Not bulky like a tank but fit and sleek like a GMC 2500 with a two-inch lift kit and leather seats. He exudes testosterone and raw power. He also looks like he should be modeling something, or lifting something heavy, or committing crimes for the mafia, more than teaching kitesurfing lessons, but hey, I’m glad he found his passion.

He comes back out of the room only a moment later carrying my gear. “You’re staring, again. If you want to wrap that up, maybe we can get to the lesson?”

Ouch.

Okay, so he’s an ass. I honestly didn’t realize I had started ogling him again as soon as he came back into my line of sight. Then again, I’m not sure I’d ever be prepared for his face, let alone the body it’s attached to.

Appropriately mortified, I try a bald-faced lie on for size. “Who said I was staring? Besides, I thought I saw something crawling on you.”Yeah, like my naked body crawling over every inch of your delicious skin.I think I catch an almost-smirk form on the right side of his mouth at my blatant lie, but it’s gone before I can confirm.

“No, you didn’t,” is all he says and damn him, he’s right. Iwasstaring and thereisn’tanything crawling on him but I was caught red-handed and I’m frustrated at my very visceral reaction to him. It was the best I could do in the heat of the moment.

I follow him to the protected lagoon behind the hut praying that I pick up on this sport as fast as I think I will and don’t end up looking any more like a complete fool in front this man than I already do.

Casper spends an hour teaching me the parts of the board and the parts of the kite, how to stand up, the angle of pull, and how to increase and decrease power. I won’t lie; I only catch about half of what he says. The other half of the time I’m staring at his mouth. It should be illegal for a man to have such perfect lips. God, they look soft. They keep his straight, white teeth partially hidden as he talks and every few words his tongue darts out to wet them, rolling over his bottom lip. I follow the movement with lust-filled eyes.

Seriously, where did they find this guy?

He clears his throat and gives me a condescending look.

I roll my eyes and plant my hands on my hips. If you don’t want people to eye-fuck you, then don’t look so eye-fuckable! Or at least pick a job that requires you to wear a shirt and not skin-tight neoprene…half of which isstillhanging off of you and the rest of which hidesnothing! Double standard because Will’s boss was gross?

Maybe.

Do I care about that right now?

Not even a little bit.And just so my inner feminist voice and I are on the same page, this man can eye-fuck me back all he wants.

Tapping into Harper’s last pep talk about being more assertive, I open my mouth. “Come on man, you have to be used to this reaction by now. It can’t just be me.” I surprise myself with my own boldness and words but am happy that Aruba Libby seems to be gaining confidence and be less willing to take shit than New Hampshire Libby.

His eyebrows raise and I can tell my audacious admission surprises him as well - probably since he caught me when I tried to lie my ass off the first time. For a second, I think he isn’t going to answer and I’ve totally crossed some kind of line when he finally stops messing with the kite harness and agrees quietly. “No, it isn’t just you.”

An unexpected hit of jealousy flies down my spine as if Casper was mine to lay claim to. It’s strong and feral and definitely not good for me to feel this way about any man, let alone one I’ve known for an hour. I can’t explain it but no part of me likes that other women have the same thoughts about him that I do.

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