When I reach a bluff, I stop, jogging in place while I check my black smartwatch. I’ve run almost two miles, and my heart is pumping at a slightly lower rate than my trainer suggests for high-intensity cardio.
Turning around, I head back up the beach, pushing myself harder to get my heart rate up a smidge. My form is as perfect as it can be running on sand, arms churning and long legs eating up the distance to my cottage. By the time I arrive, I’m a sweaty mess. As soon as I get inside, I remove my shirt and drop down to knock out my daily allotment of pushups and situps.
Then I text my numbers to Otto, which reminds me of someone else I’ll be leaving behind in Denver. Otto has been my trainer since I started in the NHL. I’ll miss that big, hairy bastard.
I’d neglected to unpack last night, so after showering, I take out a few things from my suitcase and place them in the dresser drawers. Checking my watch, I decide it’s time to try out one of the restaurants for lunch.
Swing On Inis a buffet-style restaurant that offers a wide variety of dishes, and after getting my food, I sit at a table by myself. I’ve just cut into my Moroccan apricot chicken when the air around me changes. With a thousand tiny bolts of electricity sparking against my skin, I jerk my gaze up from my plate.
And there she is.My moon nymph walks through the wide arched opening to the restaurant in a cute little yellow sundress. I recognize her immediately even though her blonde hair is fashioned into a loose braid that hangs over one tanned shoulder. A pretty smile kisses her lips, and her eyes sparkle in the light from the elegant chrome and glass fixtures hanging overhead.
I realize I was wrong last night. This woman doesn’t need to be taken in the moonlight. She should be fucked in broad daylight, maybe even with additional lamps and spotlights so I wouldn’t miss a single perfect inch of her. She’s the picture of brightness and sunshine all balled up into a tall, lean frame.
She. Is. Magnificent.
My eyes are riveted to her as she crosses the room to the long stretch of food laid out along one wall. And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one staring. It would be impossible not to. The woman walks with confidence and grace.
And then she trips.
I’m halfway out of my seat on reflex, but she rights herself with a laugh. And not a tittering, girly laugh. No, this gorgeous creature lets out a belly laugh that flies across the room and strikes me in the gut.
Then, in the ultimate act of self-deprecation, she performs a little curtsy and waves with a royal air, a brilliant smile still on her face as chuckles bubble around the room. In that moment, self-deprecation becomes my favorite personality trait in the whole world.
My chair is facing the buffet line, so I’m able to watch the temptress choose her food, laughing with a couple beside her. When she turns, our eyes meet, and all the damn cheesy clichés take effect.
The entire world stops turning on its axis. Time stands still. My mouth goes dry.
One tiny cell in my brain seems to have some common sense and yells out a reminder.No more women, Swain. Remember?
But my chin ignores the warning and gives a welcomingcome herejerk. Her cheeks inch upward, and straight white teeth are revealed in a sweet, engaging smile.
Her white-sandaled feet bring her toward the dining area—toward me—and I smell that sweet aroma again, the one I’d smelled last night.
“Can I sit here?” She indicates the turquoise padded chair across from me, and I nod.
“Of course,” I say, forgetting all about my stalwart vow to avoid women.
“Thank you,” she replies in an alluring southern drawl. Her voice is a slow melody with a softness around the consonants. “I’m Juliette.”
She holds out a hand, and I realize I’m still holding my fork with a chunk of chicken on it. Setting it down, I reach for her hand and shake it. Juliette has a firm grip, but her skin is soft.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Reno. You smell really good.”
Fuck’s sake. Where’s your game, Swain?
But she doesn’t seem to mind, holding up her arm to give me a sniff. “It’s pomegranate. Isn’t it yummy?”
I hold her wrist gently and run my nose up and down her skin—just a couple inches—and I love the small hitch of her chest at my touch.
So, so yummy.
“Best thing I’ve ever smelled,” I tell her.
A flush rises on her cheeks, the same color as one of the flowers I saw outside my cottage this morning. The pink highlights a few freckles that dot her cheeks and nose, which only makes her more appealing. She manages to be adorably cute and a vixen at the same time, the perfect combination of charming and sexy.
In the light of day, I see that her eyes are actually aqua, framed by thick lashes that don’t seem to have even a swipe of mascara onthem. In fact, I don’t think she’s wearing makeup at all. Juliette is a natural beauty, something I’m not used to from the puck bunnies that usually chase me.
I release her arm, and she reaches for her glass of water, taking a long drink. “Did you see my grand entrance today?” she asks, surprising me by not shying away from her stumble.
