Page 8 of All I Desire

Chapter Three

NATALIA

Well.This is an unexpected surprise. Epic, indeed.

I honestly thought that I’d be paired with a beach bro. Or a beach babe. I was prepared for a man or a woman, and wouldn’t have minded either. I figured it might be one of the lifeguards who supervise the public beach because they’re all beautiful.

Or possibly Beau, the 65-year-old who gives windsurfing lessons at North Beach on Wednesdays. Opposites and all that. I know he applied for this gig.

I didn’t expect to be canoodling with a legit beefcake. Didn’t expect him to have eyes the color of liquid silver or a mop of unruly, dark hair or that sexy stubble on his jaw. Didn’t expect him to have shoulders like a linebacker.

Leilani is going to squeal at the top of her mermaid lungs when I tell her about this. Matthew. Matt. Mancandy.

Mattcandy.

“Your hair’s beautiful, too. Can I touch it?” I coo. Why am I cooing? I never coo. Usually, I growl. More importantly, why am I sweating buckets? I mean, it is Florida in September, and I am swaddled in miles of pink tulle. Could that be the reason?

Or is it because I’m close to him?

“Sure can. You’re letting me play with yours, so you can play with mine.” He sweeps more hair off of my sticky forehead.

Oh, I’ll definitely play with yours, sexy man. Dear God, he smells like Irish Spring soap.

While licking my lips, I ruffle his hair with my fingers. It’s dark, almost jet-black, and soft. Tuggable.

“I have some greys coming in.” He lets out a low chuckle. It’s true, he does. And it’s freaking hot.

Hello, Daddy Matt.

I tilt my head. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-nine. You?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Hmm.” His grin is adorable.

My fingers delve deeper in his hair, a slow comb and then a soft tug. His lips part and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. Which is insane because we’ve known each other for five seconds — all of which have been captured on film — and I’m ready to do a tongue tango with a total stranger. Okay, this isn’t that out of character for me; I’m known as the wildest of the Hastings family. The quirky one.

Though that reputation is more for my solo travel, my hobbies, and my snarky attitude. Not for my approach to men.

I never take risks with men. Well, haven’t in a long time.

Still, this is edging toward insanity, right? Maybe this instant lust is because I haven’t been on a date this entire year. Between running the resort and creating jewelry, I haven’t had time.

And the Paradise Beach dating pool seems to be getting more and more shallow with each passing year. Matt here has raised the water level by about ten feet.

“Hmm, is thirty-two too young?” I ask.

“Not too young at all.”

“Do you like younger women?”

He tilts his head and squints. “Not usually. If you’re asking whether I’m one of those guys who only wants a twenty-year-old, the answer is no. I like women. Not girls.” He winks.

Yasss. I haven’t flirted like this in years. Maybe this photographer’s onto something —this is more exciting than any stupid dating app. It’s like an arranged relationship with the added pressure of sucking in one’s gut to look good in photos.

While sucking in said gut, I flutter my eyelashes and lean closer. So, I probably look like I’m a little constipated, but from his grin, he doesn’t seem to notice. I’m assuming Nina wants us to kiss. Since this is a totally controlled environment, what could go wrong?

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