“Satisfied?” I ask, stretching out my sand-free arms.
His grin fades, leaving behind heated desire. “Not in the least.”
The air between us thickens. The waves delicately crash when they hit the beach, the only sound around us. For a few endless seconds, I’m frozen in place. The desire that I keep running from, fueled by the heat in his eyes.
He exhales and takes two long strides through the water toward me, and I hold my breath as he nears. “Keep telling me no,” he whispers and falls back into the water. His eyes never leave mine.
Relief squeezes out from the cocoon of disappointment.
I don’t know how much longer I can.
Chapter Seven
Ryker
There’s fucking romance voodoo vibes on this island. It’s the only reason I can think for asking her to show me around the island.
A second time.
She was pushing off the dock in her canoe, and I was ready to say goodbye. The words I’ll see you around were on the tip of my tongue. I need to distance myself from the woman. But what came out surprised the hell out of me.
“Are you available tomorrow?”
She wasn’t. But she was the next day.
So, here we are. Day two. Same rule—no shagging. I needed a day to train, to warm up my arm. Maybe take a few pics to send Bree to show the world I’m ramping up my training for the game in two weeks. That is where my head should be. Not swimming in the ocean, trying to get close to this woman.
I stare at her, floating on top of the water. Water frames her face and her eyes close, exposing the most perfect smooth face. Between her high cheekbones and dainty nose dusted with freckles to her lush lips, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And I’ve dated a few international supermodels.
My fingers itch to touch her. If I was less of a man, I would have covered her mouth with mine two days ago. Her eyes were begging for it. Fuck, after seeing her tit pop out of her bathing suit, so was my dick. Seeing her hard nipple out in the open, damn it was hard to walk away. But I won’t touch her while I’m paying for her to be here. I don’t want to make her feel devalued as a woman. If she wants me after today, she knows where I’m at. Then all bets are off.
“Do you know how to play football?” She rolls her head to the side, letting her body sink, and she stands up. Water hits at her waist and I force my eyes to not drop to her chest.
“Oui. I used to play with some boys in the streets.” When she mixes her French in with English, it’s sexy as hell even though I don’t understand what she’s saying. Most of the time she’s not aware she’s doing it.
“I have a ball, you wanna play?”
She shrugs. “You’re paying me, I’ll do whatever you’d like.” My mind turns dirty. The things I’d like to do to her. A splash hit me square in the face. “Mr. Dallas. I said no shagging.”
I laugh, wiping saltwater out of my eyes. “Don’t say things like that then. I’m a man. Our minds are filthy.”
Her cheeks flush, and she points to the beach. “Go get your ball,” she says, her voice flustered. I inwardly chuckle to myself, thinking I could make that comment just as dirty.
“Okay, stay there.” I take heavy steps toward the beach and then remember she told me to shuffle my feet so I don’t step on a stingray. When I step onto the white sand, I hop on the hot surface. I grab my bag and jump to the wet sand, blowing out a quick sigh of relief.
Holy shit, that’s hot!
“How are we going to play football if I’m still in the water?” she asks. I pull the football out and hold it in the air, throwing my bag up onto the beach.
“We’re going to throw it.” Her lips twists as she comes closer to me, staring at the brown ball with brows cinched.
“What kind of football is that?” Palm up, she stretches her hand out. I give it to her and she wraps her other hand on top of it so it doesn’t fall. She inspects the ball as if she’s never seen one.
“I thought you said you’ve played before.”
Her eyes meet mine. “I have. How do you kick this?”
“Kick?” Her confusion clicks and I chuckle at the misunderstanding. “American football,” I clarify. Her freckled nose wrinkles. “You’re thinking about soccer, with a round ball. You kick it into the goal box?” She nods. “Have you never seen an American football game?”
“I guess not.”
I take the ball back and hold it up. “This is a football. We throw this instead of kicking it and someone runs it into the end zone for a touchdown, rather than a goal. There’s a lot more, but that’s the gist of it.”
“So, in America, the football I know is called soccer?”
“Yes.”
“Weird. But okay. How do you throw it?”
“Take your ring finger and put it on the second lace and then your first finger should hit the stitch line. Don’t grip it too tight. There should be a little air between your palm and the ball.” I lift my hand to show her. She eagerly watches. “So when you throw it, it’ll spiral out of your hand.” I throw it up on the beach, not too far. Her eyes widen at the perfect spiral.
“You’re good at that.”
The best. Her compliment makes my ego balloon, although she has nothing to compare it to. She runs up the beach to grab it. Gripping a football while wearing a skimpy red bikini is a wet dream come true. I’m glad I’m deep enough to hide my semi. She remains there, following my instructions on how to throw it. When she launches the ball toward me, the wobbly football lands at least ten feet from me.
“You could have caught that,” she teases, walking toward me.
“Hold up. Stay there,” I instruct while grabbing the ball. Catching might be easier when she’s not knee deep in water. When I throw, she catches it. “You’re a natural.” I beam with my arms out. She does a small curtsy. The next few throws, her technique improves with each pass.
“Woo-hoo!” she boasts when the ball spins in a somewhat tight spiral.
“Good job, Whiskey.” I spin away from her to give myself a moment. Watching her play my game, her excitement over it, makes my cravings for her intensify. I glance up to the blue sky and pull in a deep salty breath.
“Did I do something wrong?” She calls out from behind me. I shake my head and blow out a ragged breath. Definitely did nothing wrong.
“I’m going long,” I say over my shoulder, swimming further out. The shallow end of these beaches go on forever. But that’s okay because I need space.
“That’s a little ambitious,” she screams at me, making me laugh.
I stand up, a good forty yards away from her. “Are you ready?”
“To swim for it,” she teases. “Sure.”
I cock my arm back and snap it. The perfect spiral launches through the air, straight for her. Her eyes widen and she readies herself to catch it.
She catches this and I’m marrying her.
I squeeze my fists, not able to look away. Not even as something brushes against my leg. I jump up as the ball lands in her arms for the perfect catch.
“Yes!” I snap, surprised as hell. But then my feet hit ground. A soft, rubbery ground. “Fuucckkkk!” I scream, tumbling down in the water with pain shooting from my foot up my leg. It feels like I just stepped on a knife. Pure adrenaline pushes me through the shallow water, afraid a shark bit me. And might not be done snacking.