Page 93 of Catch a Kiwi
I blinked at him. Slowly. I was a little dazed, to be honest. All he’d done was take off his shirt, but it was like the stove had been turned up under us, or maybe like everything I’d been getting from him all day, distilled into this moment.
He put out his hand, and I sort of forgot to breathe. Slowly, he unfastened my last button, then brushed the edge of the shirt back, his fingers trailing over my warm skin. He was looking down at his hands, at my body, and then his eyes lifted to mine again and he asked, “Can I take it off?”
Oh, boy. I wasn’t telling myself anymore that I didn’t have sexual feelings. I was so warm, I was liquid, and the tingle was right there. I said, “Yes.” It came out as a breath, and I watched him start to smile. Slowly, and with so much assurance. His hands came up to my shoulders, he pushed the shirt over my arms, and he watched it fall.
“We’re …” I had to moisten my lips to continue. “We’re on a public beach.”
His smile got more amused. “I know. Bugger.”
I had to laugh. It came out a little breathy, but who could blame me? “Are you still OK with looking after me in the water?”
“I’m OK with looking after you anywhere,” he said.
I may not have been looking for a savior these days, but I could tell that wasn’t what he was talking about. Unless it wasthe kind of dark savior who takes you over. Who takes you someplace beyond thought, someplace brand new.
A dark lord, in fact.
“Then let’s go,” I said, because I couldn’t just stand here and embarrass myself. And I ran.
Roman
When she ran, I was frustrated as hell, and I was grateful, too, because I was about to embarrass myself. The way her eyes had lost their focus when my hand had popped that little button?Mybutton? Yeh, that was doing it, and then there was the thrill of taking my shirt off her and the way her chest was rising and falling. All I wanted was to keep going, and at the same time, all I wanted was to slow this down. I had a feeling she didn’t believe in pleasure anymore. I wanted to convert her. Very slowly, and absolutely thoroughly.
But like she’d said—public beach. So I ran with her, saw the way her hands flew involuntarily to her breasts as the cold water hit her there, and when she stumbled, put my hand on her upper arm. She looked at me, so much light in those gray eyes, and said, “I’m going to dive under. Are you ready to catch me on the other side?”
“You know I am,” I said, and I did. When she moaned, “It’s so cold on my tender parts,” and laughed, I laughed, too, and knew what she meant.
Exhilarated. Breathless. Diving into the dark, and bursting into the light again. Watching her turn, finally, out beyond the breakers, and float on her back, riding the swell, her arms stroking against the resistance of the water, her face turned to the sun.
I didn’t float with her. I treaded water instead and watched. I told myself it was because I needed to look afterher out here, and it was true, but it was also because this was what I was here for. To watch her losing the reserve and the fear and soaking in the moment.
She turned her head and looked at me, then smiled, moved gracefully in the water, and said, “You’re one terrific lifeguard.”
“You’re easy to want to guard,” I said.
Another smile, and she reached out a hand, clutched my shoulder, and said, “Are you ready to go in?”
Oh, yeh. I was.
“Oh,” she said. “Delilah. How could I have forgotten?”
I almost groaned. How couldIhave forgotten? I tried, “She’s eighteen. I’m guessing she knows people sometimes have—” I stopped myself just in time from saying “sex,” and ended with “romantic entanglements.”
“Is that what you want to have?” She was still holding my shoulder, my hands were somehow on her waist, and our legs brushed against each other as we treaded water. “An entanglement?”
“The tangling sounds good, anyway,” I said, and she laughed, let go of me, and said, “I’m body surfing to shore, then. But not entangling in front of Delilah.” She did that body surfing, too, seeming more confident in the water already. Practice, that was all she needed.
Practice in a pool, maybe. I had a pool.
Following that curvy backside to our towels was no kind of hardship, and neither was looking at the impression of her hard nipples under the fabric as she toweled herself off. For once, I wasn’t averting my eyes. She knew how I felt, and I wasn’t shy about showing her more.
Unfortunately, she put on my shirt again, but then again, it clung to her body in all the wet places, and it also wasn’t a terrible feeling to see the male heads turn as she walked by, all curves and grace, her hand in mine, or to give those blokesa warning stare and watch them look away. Summer didn’t want me to be possessive? Too bloody bad.
Delilah wasn’t swimming, not at the moment. She was playing beach cricket in her bikini, hitting the ball a mighty wallop and saying, “I hit it! What do I do now?”
“Run!” the bloke beside her shouted. And she did. Delilah was little, but she was fast. A squirrel of a girl, all speed, twitching tail, and cheekiness.
I told Summer, “Looks like Delilah’s sorted. Let’s go.”
