Page 50 of Tourist Trap

My desire for her to be happy beats out common sense, and I shrug. “I don’t see why not. It’s kind of my job, you know.”

“Yeah, but you hate spending time with me,” she says with a fake cringe.

I roll my eyes, and her smile goes wide. I realize she’s fucking with me, and my voice drops a bit. “I don’t, Claire, and you damn well know it.”

“Well, I’m glad. Now we just need to get you to admit you think I’m hot, and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about me since I moved in, and it’s driving you crazy that you can’t have me.” She winks at me and reaches out, brushing off some sand from my shoulder, and I don’t know what happens.

Blame the beating sun or exhaustion, or maybe that tumble I took out on the water.

No matter the reason, something in me snaps, and I reach out, gripping her wrist, wrapping my fingers around it, and pulling her in close. Instantly, her hand moves to my shoulder, holding herself steady, while mine moves to her waist, holding her to me.

My voice sounds low even to me when I say, “Never once have I denied you’re gorgeous or that I can’t stop thinking about you. But let’s be clear: you and I both know I could have you if I wanted.”

Her breath hitches at my confession, her mouth dropping open just a hair, her lips full, and I wonder what she would do if I leaned down, if I pressed my lips to hers. The look in her eyes shifts in a heartbeat, moving from awestruck to that snarky and teasing one.

She lets out a small laugh, and the sound of it, the way it vibrates through me, makes my fingers tense.

She is too fucking sweet, too fucking good-looking, and far too fucking tempting in this bikini.

What am I saying?

She’s tempting in a pair of pajamas or those little cut-off shorts or one of her workout sets or…or…or.

She’s justtempting,period.

“Could you now?” she whispers, her fingers wrapping around the back of my neck, and right then, I decide to throw common sense out the window and begin to lean my head down slowly.

What option do I have when I have this dream of a woman in my arms, when she’s smiling at me like that, when?—

Her eyes shift to somewhere behind me, and her face changes almost instantly.

“Fuck, please.Pleasehold this thought,” she says, eyes closing as she takes in a calming breath, and I furrow my brows in confusion. It grows when she steps away from me and then jogs in a direction behind us.

When I turn, I find eyes moving in her direction, a magnet to her at all times. She’s moving with a purpose toward a group of kids, four older kids, probably fifteen or sixteen, a few of whom I recognize from around town, and a smaller one, maybe twelve years old. They don’t realize Claire is moving their way, her shoulders back, her ponytail swaying behind her. When she’s still ten feet away or so, one puts a hand to the smaller kid's shoulder, pushing him.

Fuck.

I recognize the kid now, Jonah Davis. He’s smaller than most of the other kids, and I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for him, considering I, too, was raised in this small town by a single mom and faced similar teasing because of it.

Quickly, I grab my things and tuck them beneath the lifeguard chair, out of the way, before moving in their direction.

“Hey, Jonah!” Claire says, none of the irritation I can see in her shoulders bleeding in her voice, as she starts jogging now, closing the gap and waving. Instantly, the older boys step away from Jonah, their eyes going wide.

I follow behind a bit slower, closing the gap but taking in what’s going on.

“Oh, uh, hey,” Jonah says.

“Hey, gorgeous,” the older of the kids says, with what I’m sure he thinks is a slick, playboy smile on his face as he gives her a head-to-toe look.

I catch Claire giving him a pitying smile, then shifting her attention back to Jonah.

“I’ve been looking for you all afternoon,” she says. The youngest boy’s eyes go humorously wide.

“You know him?” one of the other kids asks, and Claire looks at him like he’s crazy.

“Well, duh. He’s my favorite coworker. We work really closely together,” she says, putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in to her.

“Really? But he’s so—” The girl pauses, looking at Claire, who raises an eyebrow at her, visible beneath her sunglasses in a challenge.

---