Page 60 of Tempt Me

“Yes,” I lied. Clearly, our skin-to-skin contact wasn’t affecting her the same way it affected me. My skin buzzed as she continued from my neck down my spine to the back tie of the bikini, then over each shoulder blade. Then—holy cheezits!—she poked her fingers under the string tie and smoothed her hands down my back, all the way to the ticklish spot at the base of my spine.

“A little bit under the waistband,” she said, slipping two fingers inside. It was only her fingertips gliding over the very top part of my butt, but I couldn’t help it. Every hair on my body stood erect. “Wouldn’t want you to get burned.” I shivered again and had to hold in a groan.

Suddenly, her lips were at my ear. “Later. First, you get your beach time. And lunch.”

I pressed back against her, feeling the warmth of her skin against my back. “What if I want something else first?”

“We spent five minutes on sunscreen. Let’s get some rays.”

“What about you?” I turned around and held out my hand for the bottle. “Everyone needs UV protection.”

“I’m covered.” She snatched a garment from the counter and slipped it over her head. The swim cover-up was a gauzy white with long sleeves that hid her tempting curves and ended at the middle of her thighs. “Literally. Let’s go.”

She picked up the picnic basket, and I grabbed the blanket. On the way out, she tossed a giant sun hat onto her head, then smashed another onto mine. “Now we’re both covered.”

We stepped out onto the wood deck and descended a set of stairs onto the sand. We found a spot several yards away from the families with an unobstructed view of the beach.

I shook out the blanket, and Jamila unpacked the basket. She set out a bottle of sparkling water, cheeses, crackers, grapes, and strawberries. Carefully selecting a sample of everything, she set it on a melamine plate that she handed me before repeating with her own plate. She poured water into two clear acrylic cups.

“So fancy,” I teased her.

“What’d you expect? Lunchables? I asked you out.”

I widened my eyes. “So this is date food? Not friend food?”

“Date food.” I wished I could see her eyes behind her mirrored aviators. “If it weren’t for the no-booze policy on the beach, I’d have brought sparkling wine for you, princess.”

I nibbled a cracker, savoring it for the romantic gesture it was.

“You like it?”

“Yeah. I do.” I set a hand on her knee, which was splayed out toward me on the blanket. It was as silky as it looked.

She lifted my hand from her leg and held it briefly before setting it on the blanket. “I’d rather not do that here.” She softened the words with a smile, but prickles formed in my chest.

“Why not? Those kids over there are making out.” I tipped my chin at a teenage boy and girl. They’d tossed a towel over themselves, but anyone could see he had his hand under her bikini top. “I thought you were out.”

“My bisexuality isn’t a secret, but I try not to make it anyone’s business but mine. Besides, as I recall, you’re not out. Not to your family.”

I grimaced, thinking of the nuclear war that would ensue if I brought a woman to the Memorial Day political picnic. “Not exactly.”

“It’s best to keep a low profile. Remember, I’m a Black woman in tech. All eyes are on me. Isn’t that what my PR consultant would tell me?” She winked.

I groaned. “I guess. Though I was hoping not to be your PR person today and to just be”—I took a deep breath—“your person.”

She held my gaze and her lips turned up playfully. I’d wanted this for so long, to be the object of Jamila Jallow’s focus. Despite the day’s warmth, the hairs rose over my exposed skin. I rubbed a hand over the goosebumps on my arm.

Breaking our stare, Jamila reached into the basket. “Try these. They’re caprese salad skewers.”

I pulled out a short skewer of mozzarella balls, cherry tomatoes, and basil leaves, drizzled with balsamic glaze. I worked off a bite with my teeth. “Mmm,” I said.

“They’re good, right? It’s the first thing I learned to make for parties after I figured out Rotel dip and Texas caviar wouldn’t cut it in Northern California. Even the way my nana used to make it, with a bit of spicy chorizo tossed in.”

“Rotel dip?”

“Jesus Christ, you don’t even know.”

“That’s sad you had to give up your favorite foods when you moved here.”

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