Page 145 of Say Yes to the Nemesis
I’m falling for Jay’s little sister while strapped to a parachute three hundred feet above the ocean. There’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
After we land, we take the jet ski back to the villa’s private beach. Wren sits behind me, her arms wrapped around my waist, her chin resting on my shoulder. I could get used to her holding on like this. But I don’t know how to ask her to stay.
“That was incredible,” she says into my ear.
“Better than controlled falling?”
“Significantly better.”
We hit a wave and she laughs, the sound vibrating through my chest. Her hands are splayed across my abs and every timewe bounce, she grips me tighter. It’s torture and paradise all at once.
Back at the beach, we collapse onto one of the oversized lounge chairs. Wren immediately starts digging through the bag the villa staff packed for us, pulling out water bottles and snacks and enough sunscreen to coat a small army.
“Come here,” she says, patting the space next to her. “You’re already turning red.”
I settle beside her and she starts working sunscreen into my shoulders. Her hands are cool against my sun-warmed skin. She’s being completely practical about it, but every touch sends electricity shooting through me.
“Turn around,” she orders.
I do. Her hands smooth across my back, working the lotion in with slow, thorough strokes. When her fingers trace the scar from the shoulder surgery I had two years ago, I tense.
“Hockey?” she asks quietly.
“Shoulder separation. Nothing dramatic.”
Her fingers linger on the spot for a moment longer than necessary. “Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore.”
She doesn’t say anything else, just continues spreading sunscreen across my back with careful attention. When she’s done, she caps the bottle and settles back against the chair.
“My turn,” I say, reaching for the sunscreen.
“I can do it myself.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
She gives me a look but hands over the bottle. I squeeze some into my palm and start with her shoulders, taking my time, letting my hands glide over her skin. She’s trying to act casual about it, but I can see the way her breath changes when I work the lotion down her arms.
When I get to her legs, starting at her ankles and working my way up, she goes very still.
“You’re being very thorough,” she says, her voice slightly breathless.
“Don’t want you to burn.”
My hands slide up her calves, over her knees, along her thighs. The bikini bottoms she’s wearing are practically nonexistent. When my fingers brush the edge of the fabric, she makes a soft sound that goes straight to my cock.
“Ryan.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re supposed to be putting on sunscreen, not trying to get me naked.”
“Can’t I do both?”
She laughs and pushes my hands away. “Behave yourself.”
But she’s smiling when she says it. When I lean back against the chair, she curls up next to me, her head on my shoulder.
