Page 84 of Take It Till You Make It
“Oh, this isn’t the best part.” Crispin holds his hand out as he walks past. I notice he isn’t experiencing the same jilted gait that I am. Figures, he even looks good walking in sand.
We walk around a shrub into a smaller clearing that has some large rocks, smoothed by years of tides. The sweet scent is stronger in this smaller space. I breathe it in, feeling a little heady.
“Do you mind getting sandy?” Crispin asks.
I frown, not really understanding his question. “Aren’t I already?”
He sits on a rock that looks like a loveseat. A flat rock, just wide enough for two, rests against another, taller rock that acts like the backrest. Patting the empty seat beside him, he invites me. “Have a seat.”
I smile and tuck up next to him, under the arm he holds out and wraps around my shoulders. He pulls me close, his body heat acting like a shield against the cool evening breeze.
“I’m glad we have the place to ourselves,” Crispin says. “It doesn’t happen much during the day anymore.”
My heart lurches. “Oh, you bring all your dates here?”
He jerks and looks at me like I’m crazy. “What? No! This is my favorite beach, so I tuck in whenever I’m here surfing.”
“I didn’t know you surf.”
“My whole life. I think Dad had me out on a board when I was four.”
I grimace. “That seems young.”
He chuckles. “I might be exaggerating.”
I lean my head back against his shoulder and breathe in the scent again. “I’m pretty sure I’ve found a new favorite flower. That scent is intoxicating.” I find I’m speaking in low tones so as not to disturb the nature around us. “This really is a great spot. Thanks for sharing it with me.”
“Thanks for being willing to get sandy with me.”
I laugh. “I can’t believe you’re sitting in the sand in that gorgeous suit.”
“Ah, that’s why we have dry cleaners.”
I chuckle. “I’ve never even owned an article of clothing that requires dry cleaning.”
“Give it time. Soon, your closet will be filled with beaded gowns and fairy princess ball gowns.”
I squint up at him. “Why would I need those?”
“To attend premiers and award shows and fancy parties where you shmooze with directors and producers.”
I chuckle and shake my head. I can’t imagine that being my life. “Do you do all that?”
“Of course. It’s all part of it.”
“I guess I'd better get used to wearing heels then.”
Crispin chuckles and pulls me into him. For a second, his expensive cologne and clean scent are stronger than the jasmine and sea salt in the air, and I turn my head to draw in more of it. Then I leave my cheek resting against his shoulder. My forehead is so close to his neck, I feel the warmth of him. I close my eyes and imagine tipping forward until my skin rests against his. A little thrill shoots through me.
We sit in silence for a bit, which gives my mind too much time to imagine what I’d like to have happen next. My heart begins to beat faster, and soon, I can barely hear the crashing waves over the pounding in my ears. I gulp, hoping to calm myself, but then realize my palms are now sweaty too, which means Crispin must know my temperature is rising. Will he know why? Do I know why? Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with insecurity and wish I was anywhere but here. I don’t know what I’m doing, and Crispin is…well, he’s Crispin Moore. Teen heartthrob. The guy who has dated models and leading ladies and everyone far more sophisticated than me.
I’m just about to bolt from my seat when he disentangles his hand from mine. I’m sure it’s because he can’t handle how gross my sweaty palm is. But then his fingers rest gently against my jaw, and he turns my head to face him.
His brows arch, and concern fills his expression. “Are you okay?”
I’m so thankful his voice is low and doesn’t carry a hint of humor or accusation. He truly seems concerned. Or maybe confused.Join the club, Crispin.My swallow is audible, and when his gaze tracks the action all the way down my neck, a new fire lights in my core. What is happening to me? My intelligent reply is, “Um…” because his fingers still rest feather-light against my jaw, but they feel like they are aflame.
His gaze lifts leisurely to meet mine, retracing the course up my neck. When his eyes lock with mine, his fingers take over for his eyes, causing goosebumps to rise all over my body as they trace their way down my neck and come to rest against my clavicles. I swallow again, and humor and heat sparks in Crispin’s gaze, which then drops to my lips.
