No one cared. And it was the biggest, most impossible relief.
Jo was strangely still beneath Adam’s hands as he massaged the sunscreen into the skin of her arms. She was even paler than he was, and she probably would burn if they didn’t follow the instructions to the letter. Protectiveness surged inside him, telling him to take care of her however he could. But there was also an instinct to get her down the beach and into the water right now.
She felt so good, and she’d look even better out there in the surf, salty and wet, black and blue hair shining bright in the midday sun. The bra she was wearing would keep her covered, but once it got wet, he bet he’d be able to make out her piercing through the fabric. The shapeless, too-long trunks hanging off her hips would cling to her skin.
Kind of like his own shorts were clinging to him, and he really needed to start thinking about other things before he gave the game away but good.
Who could blame him, though, getting a little excited while rubbing her down like this? Maybe her kludged-together suit wasn’t as revealing as what some of the other girls were wearing, but he hadn’t been lying. It was the kind of swimming getup she looked like she belonged in. And that was more than enough of a turn-on for him.
Slathering his hands again, he coated her shoulders before shifting to stand behind her. And he had to stop—for a second he had to squeeze his eyes shut tight, smoothing the cream into her neck entirely too thoroughly to buy himself some time.
When he’d gotten himself under control again, he opened his eyes and swallowed a groan.
The bra blocked the upper half of her tattoo, but this was still the best look he’d gotten of it. The lines of ink twisted and curled around the top of her spine, tendrils of it spilling out toward her arms. He’d been right about it being an animal of some sort, maybe a dragon or a lion, legs with talons or paws standing strong beneath the line of her bra.
“Adam?”
He bit the inside of his lip and forced his hands to move again, slipping his fingertips just under the elastic around her shoulder blades.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
He made a pained noise, and she started to turn around. He dropped his hands, grasped her waist, the skin slick with sweat and lotion. And he was trying so hard to be good.
Pressing his brow to the top of her head, he exhaled long and slow. “I am having a very, very difficult time not throwing you over my shoulder and finding a dark corner somewhere to take this”—he snapped her bra strap—“off of you.”
“Oh.”
“Your tattoo looks so gorgeous. You look so goddamn sexy. I know you’re trying to keep this quiet.” He drew in another, sharper breath. “But I cannot explain to you how much restraint is involved in keeping this PG right now.”
She went very still, just the expansion and contraction of her ribs beneath his fingertips even betraying that she was alive. A low, deep fear rose inside of him.
Maybe this was Shannon all over again. A girl who didn’t want as much from him as he wanted from her. Maybe this was him, building something up inside his mind.
Cursing himself, he squared his jaw and took a step back. With mechanical motions, he finished rubbing the last of the sunblock into the flesh at the dip of her spine, then made to pull away entirely.
Except she caught him. Closing her hand around his wrists, she held him where he was, and his heart lurched. Ever so slowly, she turned around to face him.
And maybe this wasn’t what he’d thought it was at all. Maybe it was better.
Her eyes were darkened with a wanting he could recognize well enough by now, but her mouth had that stubborn set to it. Like she was about to tell him off for waiting to be loved, like she was about to tell everyone off for having gotten to this island based on their connections. Like she was about to kiss him.
He held his breath. But then she was reaching up, settling her forearms on his shoulders to clasp her hands behind his neck. He gripped her by the hips, trying like hell not to get the wrong idea. She eased up onto her tiptoes.
Leaning in close to his ear, she whispered, “There’s a pier, maybe a quarter of a mile down the shore.”
“Excuse me?”
“Looked like a dark corner to me.” She inched back so he could see her face, one of her eyebrows wickedly arched.
“Oh.” Just like that, his breath returned to him.
“For later. Just so you know.”
He could so get behind that idea.
Just like he could get behind the way she was closing in, the way her lips approached his, and her eyes closed.
And yet he made her close the gap, standing motionless but for the press of his thumbs into her hip bones. She was the one with all the reservations, all the restrictions. If she wanted this, she’d have to take it. And then he’d give her everything he had in return.
She kissed him, gentle and slow and in the broad light of day, and it was his heart restarting, blood pulsing fast into every one of his cells. His hesitation fell away, and he hauled her in, lifting her and spinning her and claiming her mouth exactly how he’d been longing to since the very first day. She tasted hot and filthy, like sex and want and something so much more—something better because she’d offered it to him. Here. Where he’d thought he’d never have it.
And he was so damn glad. So happy.
She broke the kiss after a few long, heart-pounding moments, but he kept her, safe in his arms and flush against his chest. With a growl in his throat, he nipped at her jaw and then her ear, just to hear her laugh and feel her squirm.
“You sure you want to hold on to that whole dark corner idea for later?” he asked.
Swatting at his head, she hugged him back, those lean, strong arms of hers wrapping around his shoulders as if she didn’t want to let go, either. She did, though, and a whole lot sooner than he’d have liked her to. “Put me down, you lug.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” The words came out a shade too serious, too soft.
He let her go, setting her on her feet on the sand. Grasping his hand, she gazed up at him, eyes just as tender as her voice had been.
“Take me into the ocean with you?”
She said it like she wasn’t sure if he’d say yes.
He squeezed her palm. “Happily.”
With her hand secure in his, he led them down the beach. The scorching sand beneath their toes pulled a squeak out of her, and he grinned, tugging her along faster until they hit an all-out sprint. At the shoreline, cool dampness eased the burn. “You ready?” he asked, facing the surf.
Nodding, she took the first step. He watched her as she slipped her feet into the ocean, an unusual tentativeness guiding her movement. But her eyes were bright, her smile unguarded in a way it rarely was. Until the water lapped at her knees and they hit the jagged patch of rocks and shells. She winced, her steps faltering.
“It’s just a few feet of this.” He pointed to where the rest of the gang played in the waves. “Just a little farther and it all goes smooth again.”
“If I get stung by a jellyfish or step on a sea urchin…”
“I’ll carry you to shore.”
Grumbling, she said, “And this is why I never go barefoot anywhere.”
As promised, the way eased quickly enough. “There. Better?”
“Something just touched my leg.”
“Probably seaweed. You’re fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He stopped them there, still a little ways off from everyone else. The water came up past his waist, the low rocking of the waves sliding in toward shore making them sway.
He turned to her. Rested his free hand at her hip and ducked to put them face-to-face. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“Fine-fine, or fake fine?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, and that right there made him feel a little better. He looked her up and down. Then with his arm, he jostled her. “Loosen up a bit.”