7. June

7

JUNE

Sutton was still tense, but at least he was trying to make the best of the situation. Trauma had a way of getting its hooks into people, and one of the crappiest parts of recovery was digging those hooks out. It was hard and painful. It was also a necessary evil if a person wanted to overcome it.

I couldn't imagine what he went through after his accident, but the fact that he had it in him to drop me a wink before turning his attention to the beach—especially after the panic I'd seen written all over his face twenty minutes earlier—spoke volumes about the man.

So did the intricate tattoo covering his back.

When he first pulled off his shirt, I made an effort not to stare, but when he turned away, the yin-yang symbol spanning the width of his shoulders commanded my attention. Instead of the traditional, simple black and white, one side of the bisected circle was filled with the image of a fierce white wolf with golden eyes and wisps of golden smoke swirling from its fur. The other was a focused black wolf, again with those startling golden eyes.

It was stunning. The contrast in the imagery was stark, and yet so artfully done that the meaning was unmistakable. He was a man learning to live with two sides of himself. And hidden beneath all that beautiful symbolism lived the outlines of old scars. A few looked like they were from surgeries, judging by the shape and size, but not all.

He cast a glance back my way and offered me a hesitant smile. "You coming?"

Any fleeting thoughts I might have entertained about sexy moments in the water with Sutton evaporated when I saw how many people were clogging that small section of beach, but we didn't let that stop us from enjoying the waves. We floated far enough out that my feet couldn't reach the sand before swimming back. When we were thigh deep, we got in a silly splash fight that ended with him picking me up and plunging us both back into the water.

Between the heated glances and the casual touches, anyone who saw us would have thought we were a couple. Hell, even I was almost convinced. Which was why I spent a good chunk of the drive back to port reminding myself that this was all an act. Nothing more.

"Where is he taking you tonight?" Missy asked. She scanned my body up and down with a clinical eye.

"We're meeting for drinks at the Sunset Cocktail Party."

"Ooo, that's where I'm going. Sunset parties are all kinds of sexy."

I tried and failed not to roll my eyes, but she was too busy choosing the "perfect" outfit for me to wear to notice.

I probably should have shown a little more excitement about the prospect of another date with Sutton, but I was already starting to regret the ruse. The whole point of setting up this farce was so I wouldn't have to deal with two things: Missy's matchmaking and other guys hitting on me. What I failed to consider was what would happen if I roped the wrong guy into my little scheme.

On the surface, Sutton looked like so many of the bad boys I'd lusted over in the past. The dark hair, the wicked eyes, the mysterious ink. That damned smirk. He oozed the kind of mischief that made him the perfect candidate for a faux vacation fling. But I was starting to think I'd misread him.

What if he was actually a good guy?

"Put it on," Missy ordered, shoving the gauzy white ball of fabric at me.

I moved automatically, too wrapped up in my thoughts to process what I was slipping over my head. When I saw myself in the full-length mirror in her room, I did a double take.

Whoa.

The dress wasn't exactly risqué, but I wouldn't call it modest either, not with the way the thin layers of fabric overlapped so my left thigh would peek out with every other step. It was so light I could barely feel where it hung from my shoulders, and the bodice wrapped around my curves like a delicate hug.

"Holy shit, Missy," I breathed. "This is gorgeous."

"Correction: You are gorgeous. The dress just highlights your natural beauty."

I spun in a slow circle, loving the gentle swish as the fabric brushed my legs. "You can never tell me how much this cost."

She laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it. But damn girl, I'm good."

"Yeah, you are."

"Now we just have to get your hair sorted out. I'm thinking you should wear it down."

I shook my head. I never wore my hair down. It wasn't like I tied it up in a messy bun every day. I usually took a few minutes to make it look nice. Okay, nice-ish. But down wasn't practical when your job involved having your own boots on the ground in emergencies and disasters.

"Will you just trust me? Please?" she pleaded.

With a semi-patient exhale, I reached up and pulled out the soft elastic that had been holding my brown locks out of my face since I'd stepped out of the shower twenty minutes earlier. It was still damp, and it hung in stringy clumps around my face.

"Don't give me that look," she said. "It's all about potential, June Bug. A little blow dryer action and my big curling iron to give you some beachy waves, and you'll look even more stunning." She held up the hair dryer and gave it a shake.

An hour and a half later, after spending a solid five minutes convincing Missy that I could, in fact, do my own hair, we stepped through the glass doors leading to the sunset party. Outside, a sprawling deck greeted us, topped off by a startling view of the endless ocean stretching out beyond it.

A gentle breeze carried hints of saltwater and the sweet fragrance of tropical flowers from the enormous bouquets decorating the open space. Despite the warmth of the day, the deck was just cool enough to be comfortable, and there were already a few people on the dance floor shaking it to hip-hop mashups from twenty years earlier.

"Wow," I whispered.

"My thoughts exactly." Sutton's appreciative hum sent a prickle of goosebumps skipping across my skin as I turned to find him staring at me.

I opened my mouth to respond but nothing came out.

"You must be the infamous Sutton," Missy said.

"Which would make you Missy, right?" he asked.

Her brow twitched up the tiniest bit. "I heard my girl took you for a ride today." The way she said it, thick with innuendo, made me want to reach out and slap a hand over her mouth.

Sutton's response was a low chuckle. "One I will never forget." Except he wasn't looking at her when he said it. His attention was squarely on me.

Missy nudged me with her elbow, and I peeled my gaze away from Sutton's deep blue eyes to cast her a sideways glance. Her smile would have given the Cheshire Cat a run for his money. "I think I'm going to go find myself a drink and mingle."

"We can go with?—"

She held up her hand. "Oh, no you don't. I'm looking for a date. You already have one." Then she dipped her head toward Sutton. "Take care of my girl or I will come find you and murder you in your sleep."

"Missy," I scoffed, but Sutton was smiling right back at her.

"I will treat her like a princess."

She shook her head. "This woman right here is a queen."

He arched a brow. "Duly noted."

I waited until she'd sauntered out of earshot to open my mouth. "I'm sorry about her. She can be a little overprotective."

"And you're not with her?"

"I didn't say that. I just usually wait until she isn't standing right there to threaten murder. Fewer witnesses," I joked.

"Plausible deniability. Smart." He tapped his temple with the hand that wasn't holding his very colorful drink and dropped a flirtatious wink.

"What, like you wouldn't kill someone for your bestie?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny." He brought the neon pink straw to his lips, but before taking a drink, he lowered the glass. "What am I doing? I need to get you a drink. Everyone knows a queen drinks before her subjects, right?"

Again with that damned smirk.

I just stared at him for a few seconds. "You are not at all what I expected when I approached you last night."

He motioned me toward the bar where two bartenders were busy pouring champagne into a tower of sparkling flutes. A few minutes later, holding a slushy drink that matched his, we made our way to a quieter, more secluded part of the deck. It was like our own private escape from the drone of conversation and the thump of bass-heavy music.

"So, what were you expecting?" Sutton asked. He leaned back against the railing and stirred his drink with that silly pink straw.

"What?" I was too busy watching how the simple movement made the muscles of his tattooed forearm flex to process his question.

"You said I'm not what you expected."

"Oh. That."

He tipped his head in a slight nod.

"I thought you would be..." Less charming. Less irresistible. Just less. "More awkward," I finished.

He barked out an unexpected laugh. "Are you really saying I wasn't awkward enough for you?"

I shrugged. "I mean, we both started out that way, but now I'm wondering if that whole foot-in-your-mouth thing was just for show."

He brought his straw to his lips and took a long draw.

"Like that," I pointed at his glass. "How can you make drinking this ridiculously festive cocktail through a pink straw look sexy?"

"I think it's actually the drink that's sexy, not me," he countered. "Not to mention straws are inherently sensual." When I scoffed at him, he lifted his glass in front of me, angling the straw toward my mouth. "Don't believe me? Try it yourself."

Never mind that my own drink was sweating in my hands. I leaned forward, wrapped my lips around the straw, and sucked down a mouthful of the sugary concoction.

Sutton watched me with a hunger in his eyes that heated my blood despite the icy goodness sliding down my throat. He swallowed hard. "See? The curvy glass is one thing, but the straw is what draws attention to the lips. It is the single most erotic way to drink something." He pulled the drink away slowly before bringing it to his own lips and taking another sip.

Okay. Damn. He wasn't wrong. "It's not just the drink," I argued, and by some miracle, my voice sounded almost normal.

"No?" He set the glass on the tall table beside us. "What else isn't awkward enough for you?"

The way he looked at me. The way he smelled. The way his voice rolled over me like a caress.

I cut a glance to the ocean sprawling out behind him to buy myself time, then I lied. "I don't know."

He reached behind him, gripping the railing with both hands. "If it helps, you were also unexpected, but in all the best ways."

"There you go again. Who talks like that in real life?" I asked, trying to ignore the flutter in my middle. It was a cruel trick of the mind—or maybe it was my heart—that made me wish, for just a second, that I was brave enough to start something real with Sutton.

"The same guy who put his foot in his mouth last night. I'll admit, it wasn't my finest showing. I've been out of the dating game for a long time, which means there is a high probability that I'll find myself chewing leather again soon."

That pulled a laugh out of me. I dropped my gaze to my drink and stirred it, grateful for the temporary distraction. Sutton's pull was magnetic, and it wasn't just physical. There was a good chance I could fall for him if I let myself.

If there was any doubt, all I had to do was look up. Somehow, in the space of that brief conversation, I'd managed to inch closer to him without realizing I was moving.

"Any chance you can turn down the charm?" I asked, though I was only half joking.

He shook his head. "You bring it out in me."

Another breathy scoff escaped my lips. "Right." I took another long drink of the cavity-inducing elixir. There was enough flavored syrup in it to mask the rum, of which there was plenty. That had to be why I was standing so close to him.

And why, when I realized it, I didn't immediately back away.

He held his hand out. "Can I steal that from you for just a minute?"

I glanced down at my glass, then back up. "Yeah, I guess." Though I couldn't think of a reason why he wanted it. His own half-full cocktail was right there on the table.

He took it, his fingertips brushing mine in a caress that sent a shiver of anticipation through me. Then he set my drink beside his. "That's better."

"How is that better?" And why wouldn't those damned butterflies calm down for one freaking minute?

"Because I want your eyes on me when I ask you this question."

The butterflies ramped up their assault, but I kept my focus on him. I would not let him see how much he was getting to me.

Sutton took my hand and brought it up, brushing his lips across my knuckles. "You are stunning, June. Do you know that?"

I blinked back at him because I didn't know how to answer that question. I could play coy, but the truth was, Sutton had a way of making me feel beautiful just by looking at me.

His gaze searched mine before his attention dropped to where his hand was trailing up my forearm, leaving a ripple of want in its wake. Those blue eyes returned to mine, trapping me in their hold as his rough fingertips drifted over my elbow and up my upper arm. When they skated across my shoulder and up the side of my neck, I tipped my head to the side the tiniest bit to give him better access.

His light touch was heaven. It brought every nerve ending in its path to life, and when his hand cupped my cheek, it took every drop of my self-control not to lean into it.

"Can I kiss you?" His low voice drowned out the distantly thumping bass coming from the dance floor, rolling over me with its own delicious rumble.

I should say no. That was the smart thing to do. We'd known each other for one day—one—and he was already getting under my skin.

Come on, June. Use your brain.

Shake your head.

Take a step back.

Whatever you do, don't say...