Lily toweled off and slipped into her cover up. The man was as undeniably rude as he was handsome. “Why are you here?”

“I heard this was a nice place to enjoy the sunrise.” He reached up and handed her a cup.

She could already smell the teasing aroma, but still she asked, “Coffee?”

“What else?” He leaned back on his elbows as if he didn’t have a care in the world, no longer the uptight businessman she’d met the other day. No longer like her ex-fiancé who was always about work and money, money and work.

“Don’t you need to get back to your office in New York? Or are you here until you can convince me to sketch another piece for you?”

“You already know why I’m here. I’m not going to pretend otherwise, but if I’m going to be here, I might as well enjoy it.”

Honest and to the point, but not demanding. Still, she didn’t like it. “Only locals are supposed to know about this beach so you can’t tell anyone. Got it?”

He saluted. “Got it.”

She eyed his appearance. “Your hair looks much better that way.”

He ran a hand through the waves and nodded. “I only use the gel for business meetings.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, convinced he was exaggerating the truth on that one. “Really? On weekends you never gel your hair?”

“Nope.” He lifted his cup to his mouth and took a sip, drawing her attention to his strong hands and jaw.

“And your clothes? You brought those with you?”

“I don’t always wear a suit,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Really?”

“Really.”

She bent down and peeled off a sticker on the back of his shirt then held it out for him to see. “Then you must never wash your clothes.” His perfectly calm persona shifted for a second, but long enough for her to catch it. Busted, she thought. His eyes, the eyes always gave a man away. “Once a businessman, always a businessman.” She snatched her sketchbook and yanked at the blanket under him, but it wouldn’t budge.

“I might not have brought these clothes with me, but that doesn’t mean I live in suits. What do you have against suits and nicely dressed men anyway?”

She yanked again. “Get off my blanket.”

“Answer my question.” He peered over his sunglasses, his eyes prying into her life.

“Fine, then keep the blanket.” She shuffled up the beach to her bike.

The roar of the surf had already picked up, and she knew the storms would be here earlier than usual. So much for having alone time to sketch, she thought.

“Wait.” He caught up with her and stood with a leg over each side of her front wheel, hands planted on the handle bars. “You’re right. I don’t tend to wear anything but suits and even my casual wear consists of khaki pants and button-up shirts.”

She sighed. At least he wasn’t lying anymore. “Why?”

His eyebrow rose over his shades. “Why?”

“Yeah. Why are you telling me this? Why do you think I care? Why are you always dressed in stuffy, uncomfortable clothes? Why?” She stood straddling her bike with her hands on her hips. “Are you OCD or something?” Not that there was anything wrong with that. She had OCD moments herself.

“No, I’m not OCD.” He ran his hand through his hair again. “I guess I’m PMW.”

It was her turn to raise a brow at him. “PMW? What does that mean?

“Proving Myself Worthy.”

She watched him shift between his feet, clearly embarrassed. It was honest, so honest he didn’t want to look her in the eyes. “Okay,” she said, deciding to give him a chance. She flipped the kickstand on her bike back down and headed back to the blanket.

“Okay?” he asked, jogging after her.

“Yeah, you earned another five minutes.”

He followed her back to the blanket then sat beside her. For a long moment, they watched the clouds roll in. “Wait, does this count as part of my five minutes?”

She laughed. “No, the time starts when you start talking business.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to know why I’m trying to prove myself worthy?”

“Do you want to tell me?”

He shook his head and took a long sip of coffee. “I don’t get you.”

She turned to face him. “What do you want to know?” A seagull flew overhead, squealing in warning about the coming storm, but she knew there was still time to make it home before the clouds opened on them.

He leaned back on his elbows. “When I first looked you up, I discovered you’d once been a prominent artist in the city. Yet now you live here doing commissioned paintings you obviously don’t want to do.”

“What makes you say that?”

He nestled his coffee cup in the sand to keep it from tipping then rubbed the back of his neck as if buying some time. “Sorry, I’m not going to fall into that trap again. No more answering questions with a question.”

She took a long cleansing breath, seeing the most recent atrocity in her mind’s eye. “It’s work. It’s fine.”

“Now who’s lying?”

She sighed. “Fine, I hate it. I hate it more than I can even express.”

“Actually, I think your work does a great job of expressing that. I saw that painting you were working on.”

“Yeah.” She noticed that the small dimple he had deepened when he smiled. Had it always been there? His brows also seemed darker, so dark they made his blue eyes pop even more. The man was definitely paint worthy, but she swore she’d never paint portraits again. Connecting with someone on that level was unimaginable, especially if she already knew what the end result would be.

“So, why are you painting them if you hate it so much?”

“I already told you, it’s work. Besides, now it’s my turn.”

He sighed. “Okay, shoot.”

“Why does my picture mean so much to you?”

He closed his eyes and took a long breath. “My advertising company is in trouble, and getting this contract would save it.” His eyes popped open. “I’m not trying to guilt you into taking the job…well, unless that would work.” He winked playfully. “I just don’t want my business to fail. I enjoy what I do, and working with artists is enjoyable. Most of the time.”

When was the last time she had fun at work? Sketching on the beach by herself was fun in its own way, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had fun with another person. The only memories that came to mind were the night Stephon announced that she was washed up and he wouldn’t sell her paintings anymore, and the night she found him in bed with another woman.

“Where’d you go?”

“Huh?” She blinked to find Josh staring at her with a confused look on his face. Fighting the sandy grit and tears that always came with the memory of her ex-fiancé’s betrayal, she scrubbed at her eyes. “Sorry. The wind…”

“Are you okay?” He reached over, but she backed away. “You have more sand about to go in your eye.”

She closed her eyes, and his thumb grazed the arch of her eyebrow then along her cheek. It left a trail of heat, scorching her skin more than midday sand on bare feet. She opened her eyes to find him close, too close.

“Someone did a number on you, didn’t they? Do you think he’s the reason you can’t work anymore?”

“Who said I can’t work anymore?”

He leaned back with a cool air about him. “If you could, you would’ve jumped on the chance for thirty-five thousand dollars.”

“Thought it was twenty-five.” She caught his eye twitch, the same gesture she had seen earlier when he had lied about his clothes, and knew it was his tell.

“After what I saw in there,” he pointed to her sketchbook, “I think it could be worth thirty-five. That is, if you can do it.”

A clap of thunder rolled in the distance, warning of the storm’s approach. She got up on her knees. “We best head back.”

He helped her stand, his soft hands on her elbow, his breath on her ear. She pulled away and fought the quickening of her pulse, but it won, deafening in her ears. No, not happening, she told herself. No man, however good looking or softhearted he might be, was going to trick her into believing in him again. Not now, not ever…not again.