Page 67 of Beautiful Enemy

16

Rae

“Ifeel like a mole,” I say.

Blackness surrounds me, but the sun warms the bare skin of my face and shoulders.

“The spy sort? As inMission Impossible?” Ash calls from somewhere ahead.

“No, the underground animal sort. As in I can’t see shit.”

The wind tugs at my hair, but the cloth around my eyes holds it firm as I walk. It doesn’t help that the firm hand on my back is warm and distractingly low.

“Being blindfolded is not my thing,” I mutter.

“Then you’ve never been blindfolded by the right person.” Harrison’s mouth at my ear sends shivers down my spine.

I'd glare if I could see him. Lucky for him, I can't. “I got up early on my birthday—”

“Eleven,” Ash corrects cheerily, sounding farther away.

“To be kidnapped and forced to trek through God knows where.” All my attention goes to my other senses—the scent of the sea and the sound of shorebirds. The next step I take, the surface changes, giving and creaking beneath my feet.

“I could carry you,” Harrison suggests.

“I’d rather be thrown into the ocean.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Then the blindfold is gone and light floods my eyes, leaving me blinking in the brightness.

Blocking part of the sun is a huge white boat.

I’m riveted by the monstrosity tethered at the dock.

“You got me a yacht?” My voice rises an octave as I turn to take in Harrison, who’s watching intently.

“It’s a charter.”

“It’s a behemoth. A leviathan. This thing blocks out the sun.”

Yet it’s not the boat but the faces appearing over the edge that take my shock to the next level.

“Hey, birthday girl!” Annie calls. My roommate from performing arts school waves. A big, straw hat protects her pale complexion.

Her husband, Tyler, is next to her, a possessive arm around her shoulders.

Elle, another friend from school, who’s now a comedian, holds a bottle of champagne over her head. “Get your ass up here before I drink this all myself.”

Ash heads for the boarding ramp, but I turn to stare up at the man by my side.

He’s wearing chinos and a dress shirt, his hair ruffling in the barely-there breeze as if even nature can’t resist the chance to touch him.

His handsome face is drawn, eyes shielded from the sun with a hand.

I’ve been to some of the biggest parties in the world, but here, at a private dock with a handful of friends and this man, I’m overwhelmed.

“This is… obscene,” I say, struggling to form words.

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