ADEN

This woman is a walking contradiction.

Nothing about her adds up.

Gorgeous face and body but no clue how to use them.

She’s lived the life of an adrenaline junkie, but freaks out around live bait.

Even now, looking at her soft shoulders as the sun turns them a light shade of pink, I have to wonder when was the last time that beautiful skin had even seen the sun.

I’m on my third beer, the boat rocking gently, a fishing pole between my legs and Jimmy Buffett’s “A Pirate Looks at 40” filtering through the speakers and I’m thinking thoughts that I should not be thinking about my uncle’s favorite little tenant.

I crush my empty beer can and chuck it into the garbage.

Celia turns to me, startled by the sudden noise. “I think I lost my bait.”

I grab a fresh beer from the cooler. “Reel it in, let’s see.”

She reels it in, her eyes on the line and her mouth pursed in concentration. “I felt a tug, but then nothing, and that was a long time ago.”

I snag her line from the water and, sure enough, it’s an empty hook. “Yep, you’re fishing naked.” I pass her the hook. “You know the drill.”

I watch in fascination as she swings her leg over to slide off the fighting chair and moves to the bait tank. She doesn’t ask for help, and after a few tries she snags a sardine and hooks it.

“I did it!” Her bright smile is almost blinding as she holds the baited hook up with pride.

“Good job.”

“I’m the master!”

I shrug. “Eh . . . you have a great teacher.”

She hands me the pole to cast. “Admit it, you didn’t think I could do it.”

“I had my doubts.” It’s too much to look right at her when she’s dropped all the stuffy formal crap so I keep my eyes on the water. “You proved me wrong.”

“So . . . you’re saying I am the master.”

“Fine.” I settle back into my seat. “You’re the master. Feel better?”

“I’m the master!” She yells it loud and out to no one.

“Baiter.” I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“I’m the master baiter!”

“Say it again, freckles.” I can’t stop laughing. “A little louder.”

“Oh my gosh!” She’s smiling so big and seeing it makes something uncoil in my chest. It’s a weird feeling. I don’t question it, but I’m grateful nonetheless.

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me girls don’t do it, I know they do.”

She brings her beer to her lips and mumbles, “Maybe the girls you date.”

“I’ll give you that.” I turn away from her grinning face because looking at her smile makes me smile and then we’re just smiling at each other, which makes me want to kiss her and I can’t kiss her.

She clears her throat. “Where’d you learn to fish?”

“Grew up on the water.”

“Here in San Diego?”

“North of Santa Barbara. My parents still live in the same house I was born in, my sister lives twenty minutes from there.” I take a swig of my beer wondering why I’m giving away information she didn’t ask for.

“You didn’t want to stay close to your family?”

I tried. But being around my family only served as a reminder of how far I’d fallen. The pitying looks would only lead me to outbursts and I couldn’t stand the way they’d look at me as if I were a stranger. I knew if I stayed I’d kill what little relationship we had left. “I’m only a four-hour drive away.”

We stare ahead at the water as Jack Johnson’s voice fills the space between us until I see her move out of the corner of my eye. She’s pressing on the bright pink skin of her shoulder.

“Shit . . . you’re burning.” I shove off my chair and grab a bottle of sunscreen from inside the cabin.

She presses a delicate fingertip against her forearm. “I guess I am. It feels so nice, it kinda crept up on me.”

I grunt and squirt a liberal amount of lotion into my palms, then push the thick life vest aside to expose the cap of her shoulder. She stiffens and I take advantage of the fact that she’s locked in the fighting chair.

“I got it.” I run my hands over her skin and—fuck me—it really is as soft as it looks. Warm, and like silk beneath my palms. Sliding my thumbs beneath the vest, I press into the tight muscles of her shoulder blades. Awfully tense for a woman who spends most of her life traveling. I could get lost in a moment like this, forget who she is, what she means to my uncle, and seduce the fuck out of her.

Get your head out of her pants!

I hurry to thoroughly cover her shoulders with sunscreen, then work my way to the tops of her arms.

She tenses again. “You don’t have to do that. I can get my arms.”

I’m sure she can, but I’m incapable of taking my hands off her.

“One of us needs our hands free in case we get a bite. Unless you want to trade—”

“No. I’m good.”

I run my thumbs down the lean muscle of her forearm as the seconds tick by and she slowly relaxes under my hands. Her body falls limply forward as I move back up to her shoulders and massage there. Walk away. Right fucking now.

She hums low in her throat, a sweet and sultry signal to continue. If that’s the noise she makes when she’s being touched innocently, what kind of sounds would she make if I were touching her with purely sexual intentions? Who am I kidding? My thoughts regarding Celia are far from innocent.

Don’t go there, Colt. I blame the beer, and the sun, and the quiet solitude of the sea. “What do you do for a living?” It’s the first thing I think of as my hands refuse to release her.

“Accountant.” Her spine goes upright as if she’s holding her breath. “I mean . . .” She slips out from under my hands. “I think I’m good now. Thank you.”

Hidden at her back, I adjust myself in my shorts before I move around to my chair. My dick may not care about social politeness, but I do. “So between your bucket list jaunts around the world, you’re a number cruncher.” I guess I could see that. Living the straight life in the city has to be boring as hell. I’d need to skydive on the weekends too just to remind myself I was still alive.

“Mm-hm.” She peers over at me and not for the first time I regret giving her the sunglasses and wish I could see her eyes. “How about you? What branch of the military were you in?”

I hear nails on a chalkboard in the back of my brain, but I’ve learned how to talk about my military experience without giving everything away. “Army.”

“Huh . . .” She turns to stare back out at the ocean. “Listen, I know I said it earlier but . . .” She seems to try to avoid looking at me. “I’m really sorry about what I said this morning. I’m sure you were a very honorable soldier.”

If she only knew.

“I tend to . . . lash out when I feel threatened.”

And doesn’t that make me feel like an asshole. “You felt threatened by me?”

“Not you, but about what you were implying.”

Now it’s me who’s avoiding her eyes. She’s right, I practically called her a gold-digging slut to her face. “I’m sorry about that. I find I usually say the first thing that comes to mind without giving it much thought.”

“It’s okay.” The boat rocks steadily. “You were mostly right about what you picked up from those pictures.”

“Nah . . . I don’t believe that.” Because nothing about this girl screams money-hungry leech.

She laughs, but it lacks humor. “It’s true. She . . . the girl in those pictures had a lot of growing up to do.” There’s sadness in her voice now.

“Or maybe she had life all figured out.” I’ve known too many men who lost their lives too soon. Who lost their chance of living by their own rules and enlisted and risked it all to fight for the freedom of others. No chance of once in a lifetime opportunities because of one pivotal moment, one split-second decision, and their chance at lifetime was taken from them.

“Because life is beautiful and terrifying,” she whispers. “And we deserve to feel it down to our bones.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I study the horizon, poring over her words and being calmed by the gentle swell of the ocean when the pole between her knees arches, suddenly followed by the whirr of the line. “Fish on!”

“What do I do?” She squeals and reaches for the pole with both hands.

I race up behind her and grip the reel, locking it down. “Hang on tight! We’re gonna reel this bitch in together, got it?”

“Got it.” Her hands are shaking.

The delicate scent of her skin mixed with coconut sunscreen assaults my senses. I lean in so that my lips nearly touch the shell of her ear. “Deep breath, Cece.”

She gulps the air, then blows it out and I can’t help the satisfied smile that pulls my lips.

It takes almost an hour before the fish tires and I’m able to reel it in. My muscles are soft from exertion and my shirt soaked with sweat.

“What is it?”

Pulling the tired fish to the side, I grab the line and peek over the railing. “’Bout an eighty-pound yellowfin.”

She pushes up next to me. “No way! You caught that?” The excitement in her voice is contagious, there’s just something euphoric about reeling in big fish.

“You baited, so . . .” I hook it by the gills and heave it up and on the boat. Blood spills onto the deck. “Guess we both did.”

She covers her mouth with her hand. “Aren’t we going to throw him back?”

“Throw him back, are you kidding? This is dinner, freckles.”

Her jaw falls open, and those lips taunt me.

“Feel like lunch on the fly bridge?”

“The what?”

I point up top to my favorite spot on the boat.

Her gaze follows my line of site. “Sure. What’s for lunch?”

I wipe the sweat off my forehead and grin. “Sushi.”

SAWYER

Oh no, fuck no!

I thought he was kidding. I should’ve known better. Aden’s intentions with me since I stupidly boarded this boat have been my torment for his enjoyment. He loved watching me squirm over the bait tank and when I proved I wouldn’t shy away from a challenge, he pulled out the big guns. From his flirty smiles to his teasing touches, he’s discovered my weaknesses and is exploiting them for his own entertainment.

Now this? Raw fish probably still warm from fighting for its life.

And now I’m God knows how many feet above water sitting on a two-seater bench held up by rusty ladders and staring down a piece of glistening pink meat.

“You have to eat it, it’s a rite of passage.” He offers the meat to my lips and I quickly turn my face away.

“I’m really not hungry.” As if the idea isn’t enough to turn my stomach, watching him clean the fish before sectioning off enough for lunch wasn’t much of an appetite builder.

“Of course you are.” He brings the piece to his own mouth and takes a bite, closing his eyes with a moan as he chews.

I feel a rush of bile hit my throat, or maybe it’s beer, either way it’s warm and it burns. “That’s disgusting.”

“You’re telling me you don’t like sushi?”

My eyes widen. Sawyer would say she’s never had sushi. But Celia’s a different story. She ate a live cricket in the eighth grade on a dare. She didn’t even flinch. “I like sushi, just not directly from the . . . um . . . source.”

“Doesn’t get fresher than this.” He takes another bite and I can’t deny that his response to eating it does give it some appeal.

“I think I need soy sauce or that green stuff.” What’s it called?

“Just try it.”

“I really don’t want to.”

“Oh come on.” He smiles in that cute crooked way that makes my heart dip and dive. “Live a little.”

I chew the inside of my mouth debating the cost/benefit of taking a bite of this fresh-out-of-the-ocean fish. On one hand, I’ll impress Aden. That in and of itself is worth the ick factor. But what if I throw up all over his boat? Is the chance of impressing him worth totally humiliating myself? I groan when I realize what I’m doing, exactly what I swore I wouldn’t do. I’m making an internal pros and cons list. I close my eyes and steel my resolve and my spine. Don’t think, just decide. I pop open my eyes followed by my mouth.

“Yeah?” He stares at my parted lips.

I nod, hoping he’ll hurry before I change my mind.

Lifting the rose-colored flesh forward, he places it between my teeth. It’s a small bite so I close my lips around his fingers expecting him to pull away . . . but he doesn’t. For a moment I’m suspended in his gaze, totally stuck while his hot fingers rest between my lips. This should be grossing me out; after all, I watched him gut this fish with his bare hands and to wash off all the blood he merely dipped them into the ocean. But all the thoughts of raw fish and a stranger’s finger do nothing to stave off the warmth blooming in my belly. My tongue pulls the meat deeper into my mouth, brushing against the rough pad of his forefinger. He bites his lip but finally drops his hand.

He watches intently while I chew and swallow.

“How was it?” His voice is low and gruff.

Lost in the heated moment, I barely tasted it. “Good.”

His hand cups the back of my head and he pulls me toward him, stopping just short of our lips touching. “I can’t fucking take this anymore.” His breath is sawing in and out, bursting against my mouth with impatience. “Let me.” It’s a demand, not a question.

A kiss. I don’t need to channel Celia or flip a coin . . . I know what I want.

I lick my lips and close the slight distance between us.

The moment our mouths come together a fire like I’ve never felt before bursts through me. He presses against my neck, tilting my head and probing my lips open with his tongue. I gasp as the heat of his mouth invades mine and he takes full advantage. My eyes slide shut on a long moan as his attention pulls at something deep inside me. His other hand comes up to cup my jaw and the touch is so innocent yet conveys a feeling of being cherished. Protected. Like I’m something valuable and breakable.

He sips from my mouth while taking time to lavish each of my lips in sensations. Alternating between gentle tugs from his teeth and soothing suction as if my mouth is his favorite playground. My hips tingle, my thighs tremble, and I ache in places I never knew it possible to ache in. He slows the kiss, and I chase down his lips, not ready to give them up. He chuckles but indulges me, kissing me so deep my body seems to liquefy. This time when he pulls back and I go after him again, he presses his thumb against my chin and nips at the corner of my mouth.

“I’m sorry, Celia. I can’t.”

Hearing him call me by my sister’s name does the work of a cold shower. Reality crashes down all around me and shame at what I’ve done fills my chest. How could I lose all control so easily?

I scoot as far back as I can on the love-seat-sized bench in the sky to reestablish a safe distance between us.

“Shit. Don’t do that.” He runs a rough hand through his hair and I turn to hide my quickly heating face.

“Do what?”

“Don’t act like I’m rejecting you.”

That gets my attention and I brave a peek only to find him staring at me looking as close to regretful as I’ve ever seen him. “But you are.”

Stop it right now, Sawyer. Cut this off right here. Whatever I’ve been feeling since I met Aden is nothing more than the backlash of being Celia. This isn’t me, it’s nothing like me. I don’t kiss men I hardly know.

His beautiful face twists in a grimace. “I guess it would seem that way, but it’s not.” He scoots closer to me so that our thighs are touching and when he leans in I’m grateful the sunglasses are blocking the shock my eyes would surely give away. “If you were any other woman . . .” He blows out a breath. “The things I would do to you.”

My entire body warms and I resist the urge to rip the hat from my head and use it as a fan.

“But you’re not. You’re Celia Forrester.”

His words douse the raging fire in my belly.

“Uncle Cal thinks the world of you.” He laughs, but only barely. “Pretty sure he’d disapprove of me fuckin’ his favorite girl.”

Fucking.

Right, because we’re virtual strangers.

No, he thinks I’m Celia Forrester, which means we’re literal strangers.

My skin practically crawls when I realize how close I came to doing something I’d surely regret. A one-night stand with a handsome man I hardly know. “You’re right. I’m not the type to sleep around—”

He lifts an accusing eyebrow, but it’s more of a gentle tease than an accusation.

“Okay, maybe I was once the type, but I’m not anymore.”

“No?” He readjusts to put some space between us. “You one of those born-again virgins?”

“Not exactly, but let’s just say casual sex has lost its appeal.”

He flashes me a playfully confused smile. “Is that English you’re speakin’?”

I laugh and just like that we’re back to comfortable conversation.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Damn straight I wouldn’t.” That beautiful crooked grin shines in the sun. “We better get back to fishing. Here.” He reaches into a small cooler I thought was only filled with beer and hands me a wrapped-up sub sandwich. “I’m assuming you’re no longer a vegetarian?”

My cheeks warm beneath his gaze. “It would seem that way.”

He chuckles. “I hope you like roast beef.”

I take the sandwich from him, smiling. “You had this the whole time?”

“Of course.” He pushes up to stand. “Man can’t live on raw fish alone.” He eyes me in a way that ignites my blood again, as if he could live off me if I were on the menu. Which he’s made very clear I am not. And I agree. “Fishing.”

“Yeah.” It’s agreement with a hint of disappointment, because I won’t lie to myself. I want Aden, in more ways than my imagination can even conjure. And what’s the harm really? People have summer flings all the time. In a week or so I’ll be gone and he’ll never know who I really am.