6. Sutton

6

SUTTON

I was setting myself up for a day of torture. Just being in June's presence had a heady effect on me, but this?

I was in trouble.

She climbed on the four-wheeler first, with the most irresistible blush coloring her neck and cheeks as she swung her crossbody bag around in front of her. Once she was situated, she shot me a look loaded with defiance. "You coming?"

No single straight man in his right mind would say no. There was just one complication. The second I settled in behind her, my mindless cock rose to the occasion. It didn't seem to matter in the slightest that I'd jacked off in the shower that morning to prevent just such a situation.

In hindsight, it probably didn't help that I'd been picturing her the entire time.

Still, I was thirty-two. So what if it'd been years since I'd felt a genuine attraction to a woman? That was no reason for my body to respond like I was a randy twenty-one-year-old.

Add in that I'd underestimated just how awkward it would be trying to "arrange" myself with June's lush rear end planted right in front of me, and maintaining even the illusion of disinterest was pretty much a lost cause. The best I could do was scoot as far back on the seat as possible and hold onto the rack behind me.

"Hands on her hips," the tour guide said in his unique Creole-French accent.

I flashed him a pleading look. "I'm good like this."

His brown eyes crinkled with humor as he shook his head. "Safety first, my man. Hands on her hips."

Fuck. Me.

June twisted around, uncertainty dimming her natural glow. Did she think I was avoiding touching her because I didn't want to?

I licked my lips and planted my hands on her hips. My body didn't care that there wasn't any skin-on-skin contact. Just the feel of her under my palms was enough to pull every damned part of me to attention.

The tour guide chuckled and patted me on the shoulder. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Speak for yourself," I grumbled.

June stiffened, and I instantly felt like an ass for the comment. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

She didn't bother looking back when she replied, "I didn't say anything." She didn't have to. The shift in her body language sent the message loud and clear.

"It's not you," I lied, because it was all her. And my body's reaction to her.

If offense had a sound, it was the huff that slipped through her lips. "This is all for show, anyways. Right?"

Oh, no. There was no way I was letting that attitude stand. I gripped her hips tighter and slid forward on the seat, pressing the undeniable evidence of my attraction against her backside.

Her soft gasp was the best sound I'd heard all day.

I leaned in, bringing my lips close to her ear. "Now do you understand my dilemma?"

Her head bobbed up and down twice.

"If this makes you uncomfortable?—"

June shook her head. "It's fine," she rushed out. "We're both adults."

True, but I was apparently more primitive than she was, judging by the way my hands itched to explore her luscious curves. I swallowed hard and tried to think of anything that would return the flow of blood to my brain.

A cold shower? Nope, because then my gutter-bound mind just pictured her naked with water cascading down her body.

Baseball? I couldn't even remember the rules of the game with the sweet, green apple scent of her shampoo invading my senses.

What about numbers? That was one thing that used to help, about a million years ago.

I started listing off prime numbers in my head. 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19... I made it to 223 before the tour guide finished his safety brief and everyone fired up their engines.

It got easier after that, thankfully. And since I wasn't the one driving, I could distract myself with our surroundings rather than focusing on the need coiling inside me.

Nassau was crawling with people, as was every place we stopped, but it was also vibrant and steeped in history. We visited an old rum cake factory, a small stone fort on the eastern shore, and the Queen's Staircase, a structure dating back to the 1700s in which every step was carved out of solid limestone.

In truth, it was an interesting tour. After our first stop, I offered to drive so June could check out the scenery, but she refused. She also didn't seem as interested in sightseeing as I thought she would be. Tension had her shoulders pulled tight, and every time we climbed back on the four-wheeler, despite my warning before I reached out, she jolted at my touch.

Was it a flinch or something else? I couldn't tell and getting that reaction from her more than once did more to quell my hunger than anything.

It was entirely possible the woman wasn't interested in me at all. She was stubborn, independent, and I was just a means to an end. A tool to keep her blonde bestie from playing matchmaker.

That was what I'd convinced myself of by the time the tour left the paved and cobblestone streets and hit the dirt. After that, I found myself gripping her hips not because the tour guide said I had to and not because I wanted to. It was because the sight of the dirt flying past, along with the rest of the lush landscape, reawakened a fear that had lain dormant for years.

My chest tightened like everything inside was being squeezed by an invisible fist. I broke out in a cold sweat despite the heat. And I ended up focusing on the back of June's neck and the way her off-white bikini top tie dug into her tanned skin just so I wouldn't have the visual reminders of my crash.

This was precisely the reason I built road bikes and stuck to the pavement.

The steady growl of the engine slowed, and June turned to look over her shoulder at me. "Hey, are you okay?"

I gritted my teeth and forced my gaze up. "Peachy."

"Wow. You suck at lying. Are you going to be sick?"

I shook my head. At least, I was pretty sure my anxiety wouldn't get that bad. I just needed a minute to get my shit together.

"What's wrong?" she asked, worry lacing the question.

"Nothing. I'm good."

She brought us to a stop and twisted around to get a better look at me. "If it's nothing, then why are your fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave bruises?"

Shit.

I loosened my grip the instant the words were out of her mouth. She was right. From the twinge in my knuckles, I'd been holding onto her for dear life. "Sorry. Just having a moment."

She eyed me for a beat before understanding rearranged her delicate features. "Your accident," she breathed. "Jesus, I am such an idiot. I'm so sorry."

I let my gaze dip to her lips without answering. It was too hard to look her in the eye. No one wanted to admit to weakness like this.

When the couple on the four-wheeler behind us blared their obnoxious horn, June waved them past with a yelled, "Sorry, I'm just feeling a little queasy."

"You don't have to lie for me."

"And they don't have to be dicks. We're all going to the same place."

She had a point, but still. She was standing up for me, taking the blame for slowing everyone else down so I could have a minute. It was something I wasn't used to.

In my past relationships—of which there weren't many, admittedly—I was always the one doing the defending. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to do it. Even when I was an asshole twenty-something who was riding high on his own delusions of grandeur, I took my role as a protector seriously.

No one fucked with my family, friends, or girlfriend and got away with it, which was part of what made the fallout from my accident so rough. I learned the hard way that just because I was willing to put myself on the line for someone, it didn't mean they would be there for me when the time came.

"Would you be better off driving?" she asked.

I forced my gaze up. "On the road maybe. Out here?" I shook my head.

"Have you tried since the accident?" The softness in her golden-brown eyes was like a punch to the gut.

I peeled my fingers away from where they'd migrated to clutching my own thighs and stretched them out wide. "Yeah, but not for a long time. In the first couple of years after, anytime I so much as drove down a gravel road in a car I would get these horrible panic attacks. I'm fine walking or hiking but strap me to something with wheels and an engine and it's like I'm back there on that racetrack."

She studied me thoughtfully. "Do you want to walk the rest of the way? I can drive this thing super slow so I'm right beside you the whole time."

It was tempting, but I refused to let a decade-old fear steal this day from both of us. "I can make it to the beach," I said with a hell of a lot more confidence than I felt.

Her responding smile was enough to steal the breath I'd just managed to catch. "I thought you might say that, but if we need to stop again, just say the word. I'm not in a hurry to get anywhere," she said, turning around to face the trail ahead.

This time, when I put my hands on her hips, she didn't jump. Before she hit the throttle lever and got us moving again, she reached down and laced her fingers through mine, giving my hand a little squeeze. "It'll be fine. I promise."

When we took off again, she kept the four-wheeler cruising at a mellow pace. She tried to dodge the worst of the ruts without jerking the handlebars, and while every muscle in my body was pulled tight, it was easier to breathe.

We were slow, though, and when we made it to the beach, the others from our group were already off their machines and playing in the water.

I let go of June and climbed off, grateful that my knees were solid. There weren't many things I truly hated in the world, but feeling weak was high on the list.

"How was that?" she asked, swinging her leg over the seat.

"Better."

She eyed me before checking her watch. "We've got half an hour left here. Are you up for a swim?"

Now that my feet were on solid ground and my nerve endings weren't on fire, I was feeling more like myself with every passing second. Which included realizing that if we went swimming, I might get to see the rest of the bikini peeking out from under her tank top.

Right back to being a heathen, in other words.

I reached back and pulled my shirt off over my head before tossing it on the handlebars. "Absolutely."