Brighter Than the Sun

This time when he unhooked the fish, Zoe was staring at him, her eyes glowing with pleasure and excitement and with such a rapt expression that he had to physically control the urge to kiss her senseless and keep on kissing her until fishing was all but forgotten.

Her lips were moist from her repeatedly running her tongue over them in abject concentration. Even now, her tongue darted out frequently in an endearing nervous gesture. He was having some serious fantasies about what she tasted like and doing his own exploration of her lips, nibbling over every delicious inch. God knew she smelled good enough to eat. When, not if, he got his mouth on her, he might spend the better part of a week just tasting her delectable skin from the top of her mussed hair right down to those dainty, feminine, hot pink–painted toenails.

“Joe?”

Shit. She’d totally caught him out with his head in the clouds. Or rather with his mind solidly focused on her and those groan-worthy fantasies he was torturing himself with.

“Yeah, honey?” he asked absentmindedly as he continued to watch her work her lower lip with her teeth. He focused on baiting her hook again, praying his thoughts weren’t as transparent as they felt.

He had to shift position because his balls were aching and throbbing like a son of a bitch and his dick had already pushed past the opening in his swim trunks and was pressed so tightly against his zipper that the marks were going to be a permanent tattoo.

“Is this one a keeper too?” she asked.

He smiled at her anxious question. “Yeah, honey. It’s definitely a keeper too.”

Just like you are.

He damn near said the last aloud and clamped his lips shut to prevent his thought from escaping.

She clapped her hands together in satisfaction. “How many more do we need?”

“We fish until you get tired of catching them or they stop biting,” he said in amusement. “The more we catch just means the more people I have to invite over for a fish fry.” Then he paused and pretended to give the matter great consideration. “On second thought, let’s quit at a dozen. That way I don’t have to invite anyone over and I’ll have you all to myself for dinner. I’ll be a gentleman and wait until I drop you back by Ma’s this evening to clean them so you don’t have to help. Then I’ll head home, clean and ice down the fish and I’ll fry them up for you for dinner tomorrow night. How does that sound?”

She had a complete deer-in-headlights look going on. Her eyes were wide and panicked, but more than that, her mouth was open in apparent shock that he’d invited her to spend time with him again. Anger stirred within him, making him restless and edgy. Why the hell it should surprise her that he—or any man—would be interested was beyond him. She had to see her own beauty and appeal. But that was just it. She didn’t. She didn’t see what he and everyone else saw. Her vision of herself in the mirror was flawed. Marred by some selfish, unthinking dickhead’s perception of her, and worse, he’d apparently taken every opportunity to knock her down a few notches. To remind her just what he thought about her and to make her feel like less of a woman and more insecure.

He wanted . . . Hell, Joe had no idea what the asshole wanted. What more could he have wanted when he had Zoe? She had been his. Though the idea left a bad taste in his mouth, he had to accept that she had once belonged to a bastard who hadn’t appreciated her, hadn’t realized what a treasure he had. But that didn’t mean that Joe wouldn’t now move heaven and earth to make her realize that he would never make the same mistakes her ex had. He’d never squander the beautiful gift she’d once given another man. Herself. If he were blessed enough for her to ever entrust herself to his care, he’d never give her a single reason to doubt him or the fact that he’d spend every single day showing her just how fortunate he believed himself to be.

He roused himself from his dour thoughts and regarded her solemn features. “Is that a no?” he teased lightly, bringing the topic back to his dinner invitation. “Or is it that you’re just dying to help me clean the fish and would prefer we do that together?”

She shot him a startled look over her shoulder and then a giggle escaped her.

“Zoe! You’ve got one on!”

She nearly dropped her pole as she scrambled back around, her feet tangling as she sought purchase. She yanked upward on the rod and let out a sound of jubilation when the tip bowed and the cork disappeared even farther from view.

“I’ve got it!” she yelled. “Holy crap, Joe. This one must be huge!”

He moved quickly behind her and pressed his chest against her back, reaching around her to steady the pole. “Like this,” he murmured close to her ear. “Hold the tip upward at all times. Don’t let him have any slack. As you pull up, reel in every bit of slack. Keep the line tight at all times.”

He rested his hands over hers, guiding her movements as the pole wiggled and danced against her palms. He inhaled the sweet scent of her hair and wrinkled his nose when the wind blew soft strands over his nostrils, tickling them slightly.

She felt warm and so very soft in his arms. Like she belonged. Like it was where she’d always belonged. Though she was concentrating fiercely on reeling her fish in, he could see that she was very aware of his close proximity. Her tongue darted over her lower lip and then her teeth sank into it as if to steady her nerves. Or perhaps disguise her reaction. He smiled to himself. He hoped like hell she wasn’t immune and that he wasn’t flying solo here. It would suck if his attraction wasn’t returned, but that clearly wasn’t the case. She may not want to feel the sexual tension between them but it was there, acknowledged by them both.