Page 101 of Surfer's Paradise

Her knees nearly buckled when the first stream of hot water hit her skin, and he caught her instantly, wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her up.

“Easy,” he said, tucking her against his chest, letting the water cascade over them both.

She let out a soft, broken breath, her head tipping forward, forehead resting against his shoulder.

His hands were everywhere.

Not hungry. Not desperate. Just careful.

He was washing her.

Running soapy hands down her back, over her arms, along her stomach, rubbing slow, steady circles into her skin.

Fingers tangling in her hair, working shampoo through the strands, massaging her scalp until she melted against him.

She let her hands drift up, pressing lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

Then—

A bottle against her lips.

Isaac tilted her chin up, pressing cool plastic against her mouth.

“Drink,” he ordered softly.

She opened her lips, letting him tip the bottle of electrolyte water forward, letting the cool liquid soothe her raw throat.

She swallowed, then coughed lightly, and he was already rubbing her back again, already tipping the bottle forward for another sip.

Then, she felt a pill against her palm.

She blinked blearily up at him.

“Advil,” he said.

She took it, swallowing with another sip of water.

And then, when she finally looked at him—really looked at him—her chest tightened.

He was watching her.

Watching her like he had never seen anything like her before.

Like she was the first thing that had ever made sense.

His eyes scanned her face, his hands still smoothing over her skin, still anchoring her to him.

Her fingers curled into his chest, her breath uneven, shallow.

This man.

This stupid, reckless, infuriating man.

This man who made her crazy, made her weak, made her want.

And now—

He was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

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