Page 40 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
“Yeah, and instead, they get a guy who comes home stinking of B.O. after working ten-hour-plus days. He drinks beer that smells like it was fermented in old college socks, and snores louder than the freight trains running through Philly.”
My cheekbones lift as the grin spreads across my face. Even a rowdy giggle manages to escape my lips. I can’t help but laugh. A man like Isaac Holt would never have to worry about being compared to a book boyfriend. A real-life man would have a hard enough time competing against him, let alone a fictional character.
Air snares in my throat from the intense look radiating from his exquisite eyes. My giggles halt as my body stiffens. When he remains quiet, I tilt my head and cock my brow in silent questioning.
His eyes appraise my face before he says, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh.”
My cheeks inflame, and another grin furls my lips high. Our intimate gathering plummets into silence, but it isn’t uncomfortable or awkward. It’s electrifying. The intimacy bouncing between us is so sharp it feels as if we’re being invisibly bound.
I sigh when he stands from the chair. I’m disappointed by his hasty retreat. My disappointment doesn’t linger for long when Isaac thrusts his hand out in offering.
He pulls me up from the daybed. We stand across from each other with only the merest portion of air between us.
His enthralling eyes study my face before skimming my body. Once they return to my face, he smirks. “Did you pack a swimsuit?”
Unable to form a reply through my dry, gaped mouth, I nod.
“Go and get changed.”
“Okay.”
I reluctantly walk away from him.
I clench my fists at my side before begrudgingly turning around to face the full-length mirror in my room. I’ve spent the last ten minutes debating on whether I should wear the semi-indecent string bikini or the full one-piece suit I packed. Stupidly, I listened to my lust-fueled heart and put on the tiny bikini.
“Okay, it’s not too bad.”
No nipples are showing, and most of my breasts are covered. Turning around, I frown. There’s more of my backside exposed than I’d have liked. My apprehensive eyes dart over to my hideous Hawaiian print cover-up and my more conservative suit.
Before my rational thinking head overrules my naughty inner vixen, a knock sounds at my door. Panicked, I yank my denim shorts up my legs before advising my caller they can enter. Time slows to a snail pace when Isaac walks into the room wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks.
Holy shit!
His body is just as good, if not better than I’d remembered. I gulp harshly, aiming to soothe my dry, scorched throat as my eyes absorb every spectacular muscle, dip, and plane of his perfect body. His eyes assess my body just as thoroughly, and my insides cheer when a broad smile etches on his face.
No words escape either of our lips as he encases my hand within his and walks us toward the expansive beach that stretches each way for miles. Although it’s Fall, the weather is beautiful, and my shoulders happily absorb the warm sun.
Once we reach a wooden shed attached to a jetty, Isaac releases my hand to gather a short-sleeved wetsuit and a life jacket from inside.
When he returns, he clutches my hand in his and guides us down to the end of the wooden jetty. Excitement rushes through my body when I notice two Wave Runners tied to the end of the pier. I’ve always wanted to ride a jet ski.
He dumps the life jacket on a wooden bench before demanding, “Strip.”
I eye him curiously, unsure of what he means. I’m barely clothed as it is. His brazen gaze darts down to my denim shorts. Cringing, I slide my shorts down my quivering thighs, which are shuddering from Isaac’s intense gaze as he watches me. Once my shorts are removed, he crouches down in front of me to assist me into the wetsuit. Images of me kneeling in front of him yesterday morning come flashing back into my mind. Even though it was less than twenty-four hours, it seems like it was a lifetime ago. I shake my head to clear my thoughts before placing my feet into the tight openings of the wetsuit.
It takes several pulls and yanks to get the rigid material of the wetsuit up my thighs and over my stomach. During the process, his hands brush across my inner thighs and stomach. Every fine hair on my body bristles as my sex pulsates with desire. Isaac inhales loudly before his eyes lift to mine. My breathing shallows from his commanding gaze. He winks before continuing to pull the wetsuit up and over my shoulders. By the time he has the wetsuit zipped, my rampant horniness is teetering on the edge, threatening to fall at any moment.
“Do you want to wear a lifejacket?”
Unable to form words, I shake my head.
When Isaac straddles the Wave Runner, the muscles in his arms flex, and an unexpected, bold moan spills from my lips. Hearing my shameless response, his lips tug high before he offers me his hand. The muscles in his stomach clench when I band my arms around his waist. I let out an excited squeal when our Wave Runner darts away from the jetty.
The past forty-five minutes have been pure torture. Every jolt the Wave Runner does makes my sex convulse. My barely-covered chest is squashed against Isaac’s naked back, and my erect nipples scrape his smooth skin as they bounce along with the movements of the Wave Runner. My bikini is so thin it feels like I’m naked under my wetsuit, so my vivid imagination is getting carried away.
A sense of reprieve washes over me when the visual of the jetty comes over the foreshore. Having Isaac so close and fighting not to touch him is the worse form of cruelty. I adjust my position to lessen the immense tingling sensation running rampant through my body. My thighs tighten around his hips when he yanks me back in close to him until my chest is once again plastered to his back, and my pussy is rubbing his backside. We’re so close, not an ounce of space remains between our bodies. Not even air exists between us.
Excitement sparks through my body when every feeble movement I make causes his muscles to contract. Something in the air shifts when I stop fighting the Wave Runner’s actions to allow my hands to slither the ripples of his stomach. My pulse thrums in my fingertips when I run them along his six-pack. My lengthened breaths indicate I’m treading into dangerous territory, but I can’t stop myself. My body’s needs, desires, and cravings are outweighing my shrewdness.
