Стейси Кестуик - Wet

“What the fuck?” The surfer jerked upright.

Coughing and sputtering, I treaded water and tried to inhale, not getting any air. I wheezed, spitting salty water back into the ocean.

Managing to look both irritated and concerned, the surfer grabbed me around the waist, lifting me a little higher out of the water. I glared at him as I hacked my lungs up, realizing he could more or less stand by hopping along the bottom as the waves sucked at us. Shoving his arms away, I tried to copy him, but my head went under when I put my toes on the sand, and I swallowed a mouthful of water.

The guy yanked me back up, anchoring me against his side this time, his arm across my ass, fingers tight on my hip. His other hand brushed at the hair plastered to my face. Turning away from him, I continued coughing, my lungs burning. I tried to inhale through my nose. My eyes watered, and my mouth hung open like a fish, but all I could do was focus on trying to breathe. In. Out.

“You okay?” His hand moved to grip my ribs, holding me against him, keeping my head out of the water. I nodded, closing my eyes as my lungs remembered how to work. My hands clutched his broad shoulder.

Getting some much needed oxygen, my focus narrowed to the solid slab of his muscles pressed against my stomach. I was straddling his side, my pelvis snugged up to his hip and my legs tangled around his. It was closer than I’d been to a guy in months. Unexpected desire flared where my sex rubbed his skin, my shorts the thinnest of barriers. The waves jostled us, teasing me with the friction.

Peeking from under my lashes, I watched him shove the surfboard, and it caught a wave, riding to the shore. His biceps flexed under my fingers, the muscle hardening. That small motion snapped me back to reality. Humping a possible drowning victim wasn’t appropriate, no matter how good he felt between my legs.

Taking another tentative breath, I pushed against his shoulder, trying to create some space between us.

“Don’t think so,” his deep voice rumbled in my ear. Rearranging me, he cradled me in his arms like a child and started moving toward the beach.

Wait, what the hell is he doing? Stiffening, I struggled to free myself.

Drops of water fell from his hair and the tip of his nose, splashing down on my face, making me blink. The sun was behind him, blocking his facial features. His arms tightened around me.

“Let go of me!” I sputtered and squirmed within his grasp.

“Nope. You have trouble breathing and keeping your head above the water at the same time. I’m scared to see you try to walk.” He chuckled.

I glowered up at him. “You kicked me.”

“After you attacked me out of the blue. It was an accident.”

“Attacked you? I was saving you!” I smacked his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch.

“From what? Floating?”

“You were just lying there — not moving, not responding. I called out to you, and you didn’t answer. I thought you were hurt!”

He moved through the water, holding me easily against his chest. I tried not to notice how warm his skin felt under my fingers, but I shivered, hunching closer. Now that I could breathe again, the chill from the ocean became obvious.

Like my hard nipples under my sports tank.

I glanced up at him, but still couldn’t see his eyes because of the damn sun again. His mouth had quirked up on one side though, and he was looking down at me.

“So you thought you would rescue me?” he asked.

“Something like that,” I muttered, realizing how ridiculous that must seem to him, considering he was the one carrying me out of the water. “I can walk, you know.”

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Pressed this close to him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other resting on his chest, embarrassment warred with awareness of how very caveman his actions were. A small part of me couldn’t help but feel an answering thrill.

We reached the shore, and the dog bounded over, my shoe in his mouth. The guy frowned. “Yours?”

Huh? I tore my eyes away from the cords of his neck and glanced at the furry behemoth again. “He’s not yours?”

“Not the dog. The shoe.”

“Oh. Yes,” I said dumbly.

“General Beauregard! Drop it,” he ordered. The dog whined but obeyed, dropping the shoe and watching us with sad, droopy eyes. “Good dog.” His voice warmed several degrees and filled with affection as he praised the animal.

I raised an eyebrow. “General Beauregard? Really?”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s a good, strong Southern name,” he countered, his own accent sounding only slightly Southern, more like it was acquired, not born and bred into him.

We stared at each other. I could finally see his eyes. They were beautiful — a clear blue with chips of gray mixed in, his thick eyelashes spiky from the ocean. I lifted myself higher, trying to get a closer view. He tilted his head, and his gaze drifted down my face, stopping on my mouth. My tongue responded, slipping out to lick my salty bottom lip.

“You know,” he said, “There are easier ways to get my attention.”

It took a second for me to realize his implication. I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?” The tone of my voice should have been a warning to him, but he didn’t seem to catch it. I might have been horny, but I wasn’t desperate.

He shrugged. With torturing slowness, my body slid along his as he set me on my feet. I shivered from the loss of his warmth and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hide my nipples. Standing on solid ground, his height became more obvious. My head came up to his chin, making me eye level with his throat. I shook my head at him and turned to look at the dog instead. “Egotistical ass,” I said under my breath, annoyed.

“You seriously thought I was drowning? In chest-deep water?”

“You seriously thought I was so overcome by lust, I attacked you in the ocean?” I mimicked his tone.

“It’s happened.”

I stared at him before rolling my eyes. Plopping down on the beach, I grabbed my wet shoes and with shaky hands tried to brush some of the sand from them. I was freezing.

He dropped to his haunches beside me, picking up my right foot. Long gentle fingers brushed the sand off my foot, taking a second to trace my tattoo. I had a paper airplane with a dotted line trailing it that made it look like it had flown in a loop. His finger followed the path of the plane, and I felt another shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature. He looked up at me as he worked my foot back into my shoe and tied the laces for me — double knots. “What’s it mean?”

“Escape,” I answered after a beat. It wasn’t the truth, but it’s what I wanted to do at the moment. I gazed at his shirtless body, my eyes drinking in his lean, ropy muscles and his sun-darkened skin. His torso was sculpted without being bulky, and a half-sleeve of Japanese style waves cascaded down his left arm, tattooed in black and gray. I couldn’t decide if my attraction to his body or my irritation with his ego bothered me more.

Scowling, I picked up my other shoe before he could help me with it too. I shoved my foot into it, not bothering to untie the laces in the first place. Scooping up my phone and ear buds, I stood and turned to leave. “You’re welcome, by the way,” I tossed over my shoulder.

He caught my elbow, stopping me. “For what?”

I spun back, yanking my arm free, annoyance winning out. “For trying to rescue you! Clearly, no one else was around to care if something happened to your sorry ass. I dragged myself out into the water, and I never go into the water, and you think it’s some dumb ploy—”

“Why don’t you go into the water?” he interrupted, head cocked to the side.