Page 75 of Steel Beauty

When I step back onto the deck, his eyes meet mine, holding steady for a beat before drifting over me. His lips curve into a slow, appreciative grin.

“Bloody hell, you are a knockout. But, lovie, you better put on some sunscreen before you fry in that sun.”

Lovie?

I roll my eyes, grabbing the sunscreen from the nearby bench. Before I can start, he holds out his hand with a teasing glint in his eye. “Come here, small pale one.”

“Small? Nah, I don’t think so.” I arch a brow, stepping closer, bottle in hand. “And I’m not pale.”

He looks me up and down, entirely unbothered by my protests. “From where I’m standing, you’re very much both of those things.”

I hand him the bottle with a resigned smile, turning around to let him get to work. His hands are warm as he spreads the sunscreen across my shoulders, gliding over my back in firm strokes. His fingers press just enough to make my breath catch, and as he moves lower, his hands sneak under the edge of my swimsuit bottoms, massaging my butt cheeks. Then he toys with them, making them jiggle.

“What the hell are you doing back there?” I smirk, glancing over my shoulder at him. “Pretty sure that’s covered by the swimsuit. No chance of a sunburn in that area.”

He grins, utterly unrepentant. “I’m looking out for your safety.”

“Uh-huh.” I let out a small laugh, amused by his playfulness with my butt.

He finishes, and I turn to face him, one eyebrow raised. “Are you going to lay out with me?”

He chuckles, crossing his arms as he looks down at me. “My tan was well-established years ago. And I didn’t have to cook in the sun to get it.”

“You have those good genes.” I shake my head, smiling. “All you had to do was incubate in your mother’s womb.”

“Something like that,” he says, watching me settle onto the sun pad.

I stretch out, letting the sun seep into my skin, but I don’t have long to settle before he steps beside me, casting a playful shadow. “While you soak up some sun, I’ll be your cabana boy for the day.”

I raise an eyebrow, smirking up at him. “Is that so? All right then, cabana boy, what’s on the drink menu?”

He glances over his shoulder at the drink cart parked on the far side of the deck in the shade. “I’m not sure what’s stocked, so we’ll have to take a look. But I’ll say this—the yacht’s caretaker usually keeps it well supplied.”

Together, we stroll over to the drink cart. I lean in, scanning the array of bottles and mixers. “How about a classic mai tai?”

He pauses, brow furrowed. “Sounds good, but I have no idea how to make that.”

“JC, you’re a sad excuse for a cabana boy.”

I grin as he gives me a playful scowl, gesturing toward the bottles and ingredients in front of us. “It’s simple. Light rum, dark rum, orange curaçao, fresh lime juice, and orgeat syrup. Even you could pull it off.”

A grin tugs at his lips. “I may be your cabana boy, but I’m no bartender.”

“No worries.” I wink, grabbing a few bottles and the bar tools, already feeling in my element. “Lucky for you, I happen to be a very well-trained mixologist.”

He steps back, watching with an amused glint in his eyes as I get to work. I shake, stir, and pour with practiced ease, throwing in a little flair as I spin the shaker and flip it back with a flick of my wrist. When I finish the drink with a flourish and toss him a playful wink, he lets out a low whistle.

“I’m not gonna lie. That was hot.”

He watches me as I mix the second drink.

“Where in the world did you learn to do that?”

“Robin and Charlene—both bartenders.” I pause, seeing his reaction shift. “I learned how to mix drinks at a tender age.”

He shakes his head, not looking particularly amused this time. “The more I hear about Robin and Charlene, the less I care for their parenting skills.”

His jaw tightens, a storm in his gaze. Maybe protectiveness?

---