2. Amelia

"Are you enjoying your trip, honey?"my mom asks.

"No. Tell her to come home," my dad says in the background, making me smile as I clutch the phone to my ear and lean back in my lounger on the beach, staring out at the sun reflecting on the blue-green water.

Waves crash against the sand a few feet away, their peaks capped with frothy foam. The salty tang of the sea mixes with the warm scent of sunscreen and coconut oil. The unique scent is calming.

"Asher Reynolds, go tattoo something and leave our daughter alone!" Mom says, exasperated with him. "She isn't coming home. She earned this trip, and she's going to enjoy it!"

"She's too young to be in Barbados by herself."

I roll my eyes, fighting laughter. I'm twenty-three, but according to my dad, I'll always be too young. He said the same thing when I went to college, again when I officially moved out, and when I started my job. I love him to death, but he's a crazy man.

Luckily, my mom is on my side, and he never tells her no. He's kind of obsessed with her. It's adorable, honestly.

"Go away!" she says, laughing at him. "She is not too young to go on vacation. You're just mad that she wouldn't let you ruin her fun."

"I didn't want to ruin her fun. I wanted to fucking go to Barbados," he grumbles. We all know that's a lie. He doesn't give a crap about exotic beaches unless it means keeping my mom out of a bikini and off of said beaches. He wanted to come to keep an eye on me. He's the same way with my older sisters, Catherine and Coraline.

"Well, vacation is boring so far," I say softly, knowing he'll love that. It's only a tiny lie. I haven't really done anything or met anyone yet. I've only been here for a couple of hours. But the beach is beautiful, my room is amazing, and the free drinks are nice.

"Thank fucking God," my dad mutters.

"Asher Reynolds!" Mom huffs. "Go away!"

I laugh again, shaking my head. I know he doesn't want me to be miserable on vacation. He's just overprotective. A beach full of strange men around one of his daughters is basically his version of hell. I don't think he has anything to worry about, though.

Everyone here is tiny and tan. I'm thick, curvy, and pale. I stick out like a sore thumb. I feel awkward. But I usually do. Beaches and bikinis aren't exactly my comfort zone. I prefer the library and stacks of books. That's where I thrive.

I take after my mom and Uncle Jared in that respect. They're both writers. I live in a world of books. That's my happy place. But when your employer offers you an all-expenses paid vacation, you don't say no.

"I'll let you go so you can deal with him, Mom," I say, scanning the beach. "I just wanted to let you guys know that I made it safely, so Dad can stop worrying now."

"Not going to happen!" he shouts in the background, making me smile again.

"Okay, sweetheart. Have fun, and don't worry about him. He's just being dramatic. We love you and hope you have fun."

"Behave, Amelia Reynolds," Dad growls. "Or I'll fly my old ass down there."

"You aren't old, Dad."

"Damn right, I'm not. Love you, kid."

"I love you, too. Love you, Mom."

"We love you."

I disconnect, dropping the phone into my lap with a big smile. I swear, I have the best parents. I don't know what I would do without them.

I pick up my glass, taking a sip of my cocktail as I scan the beach, looking at all the people. It's still early, but it's already getting crowded.

A man with a large back tattoo striding toward the water catches my attention. Even from a distance, he's beautiful. His tattoo, however, is… well, it's something. My dad is one of the best tattoo artists in San Diego. I've never seen anything like this tattoo. It's a sinister-looking clown with creepy eyes that seem to follow you.

It doesn't exactly fit the gorgeous hunk striding toward the waves like Poseidon. His messy dark hair falls over his forehead, and his penetrating blue eyes blaze in the sunlight. Not even his beard hides the perfection of that jawline. He's big—massive, honestly. Like a freaking linebacker.

He moves with quiet authority and grace that's fascinating to watch. I press my thighs together, wondering what it would feel like to have that much power between them—to feel his beard chafing my skin.

My womb clenches at the thought.

"Jeez, Amelia," I mumble to myself, my face blazing with heat. I glance from him to my glass and quickly set it aside. Maybe I shouldn't be drinking. It's clearly messing with my head.

I'm a freaking virgin. I don't look at strange men and wonder what they'd feel like between my thighs. Good grief! I don't look at strange men and wonder anything at all. I don't date. Period. I've never had time.

Well, okay, maybe that's a lie. I could have made time. I just never had the desire. The men who've been interested in me were never the type of men I was interested in. They wouldn't have given me a second look if it weren't for my mom. She's a billionaire, which makes me an heiress. When people find that out, they suddenly don't care so much that I'm not their type. I'm instantly more attractive to men when they know that I come with a hefty bank account. It's not flattering. So, I never date.

Back home, everyone knows who I am. My dad does everything he can to protect me and my older sisters, but people know who we are. They try to get close for the wrong reasons, and it never ends well for them.

Catherine and Coraline don't date either.

I glance back up, watching as the hunk wades deeper into the water, wishing that, just once, things were different.

A wave knocks him off his feet. I laugh to myself as he gets dunked under the water. He really should have seen that coming. I wait for him to pop back up, spluttering and offended, but laughter fades to concern after a moment.

He doesn't pop back up.

I stand up from my lounger, watching the spot where he went under.

Where is he?

My stomach twists in knots when I don't see him. Seconds tick by. I hurry to the water, not taking my eyes off the spot where he went under.

He still doesn't come up.

No. Oh no.

"Someone get the lifeguard!" I shout, ripping my t-shirt off over my head as instinct kicks in. My heart races as I plunge into the cool water, running as fast as I can.

Salt water splashes against me as I run. The ocean swallows the confused cries of the beach-goers, their shouts vanishing in a roar of white noise. My muscles burn with each step, and my feet sink into the soft sand beneath. Adrenaline surges through me as my mind runs rampant with terrifying images of what could be happening under the deceptively calm waves.

My lungs scream for air as I dive beneath the water, closing my eyes to shield them from the sting of the sea. I reach out, grasping for anything. But I find only cold, empty water.

Panic blooms as precious seconds pass by. The hunk with a beard and those alluring blue eyes lies somewhere beneath me, and if I don"t reach him soon… oh, God.

The thought propels me deeper beneath the surface, past my pain, past my fear.

My fingertips graze against something.

It's him!

I reach deeper, wrapping my arm securely around him as my lungs burn for air. I kick upward, hauling us both toward the surface, praying he doesn't fight me. He's a lot bigger than I am. If he fights, he's going to drown us both.

He doesn't fight. He works with me, allowing me to drag us toward the light.

We break the surface, both gasping for air. He chokes and coughs, heaving for breath. He's so beautiful up close. So, so beautiful. And so alive.

His wild eyes are locked on me as if he isn't sure he's still breathing.

"Are you okay?" I ask as he blinks at me.

He shakes his head, still staring at me. We begin swimming toward shore. I keep a close eye on him, a little afraid he might slip through my fingers and disappear beneath the surface again.

Within seconds, we're on land again. He immediately drops to the sand, taking deep breaths, those blue eyes locked on me.

I shiver as I pace toward him, my stomach turning flips. The way he's staring at me… Lord, he's not looking at me like a man grateful to be rescued. He's looking at me like a man who wants to devour me.

My blood heats in my veins, my heart running wild in my chest. I kneel beside him, trembling. Nervous. Excited.

His eyes bore into me, stealing my breath.

Several beachgoers surround us, murmuring to themselves. I tear my gaze from him, focusing on them.

"He's fine," I say softly. "Everything is okay."

"The lifeguard is on the way," a petite blonde informs me, her camera phone pointed at us.

"Jesus," he mutters, the first word I've heard him say. His voice is like aged whiskey, deep and smooth. "I don't need the fucking lifeguard. I'm fine."

"You should really let the lifeguard check you out. You almost drowned."

"I was on my way up."

I narrow my eyes on him. "You were under the water for a long time."

"I got turned around," he mutters defensively.

"Right." I roll my eyes, not impressed. "So, you're one of those, then."

"One of those?" His dark brows furrow with confusion.

"One of those macho men who thinks they're infallible and can't possibly need help from a little ole woman. Well, buddy, you're wrong." I poke him in the ribcage, annoyed beyond belief. Why are the hot ones always jerks? Just once, can't a hot one be sweet, too? "You were drowning. I saved you. You're welcome."

He grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together before I can pull it away. "I know you did, mermaid. I've been sitting here, trying like hell to figure out how I got so fucking lucky since you dragged my miserable ass out of the water," he rumbles. "I'm still trying to figure it out."

"You just said?—"

"I lied," he growls. "I don't want to deal with a lifeguard or anyone else. I want you all to myself for five minutes so I can thank you properly."

"Oh," I whisper, my cheeks heating as his blue eyes run all over my face, eating up the sight of me.

"Jesus, baby. Where'd you come from?"

"California."

A smile curves his lips, turning him from beautiful to some level of gorgeous I'm not nearly prepared to deal with right now. He's dripping wet, looks like sin, and he's staring at me like I'm the prize here.

Best vacation ever.

"What's your name, mermaid?"

"Amelia Thorne Reynolds," I whisper.

"Amelia Thorne Reynolds," he says.

"Yes," I repeat.

He grins at me, a wolfish, roguish grin. "Well, Amelia Thorne Reynolds, I'm your future."

I blink rapidly, positive I didn't hear him correctly. "Your name is Future?"

"No, baby." His smile grows. "I said I'm your future. My name is Sinclair Midnight."

My heart sinks as realization dawns. I shouldn't have given him my name. He must have recognized it. Now, he wants to marry me. Great. Just great.

Not even in Barbados can I find a normal man who doesn't treat me like a bank account. Awesome.

"No, thank you." I try to pull my hand from his, but he refuses to let me.

"No, thank you?"

"You heard me. You can let me go now."

"What the fuck?"

"Don't curse at me." I poke him in the ribs again with my other hand. "And let me go."

"Not until you tell me why you're mad at me."

"I know men like you, Sinclair Midnight." I lift my chin in the air, glaring at him. "You heard my name and suddenly heard wedding bells, right? Well, no, thank you. I'm marrying for love, not because someone wants an heiress on their arm."

He stares at me for a long moment, his expression completely level. I expect him to let me go or deny it or try to convince me that we'd make a great couple or something. It's the usual MO. Instead, he simply stares at me for a long moment, and then he throws his head back and laughs loudly.

That's a new one. I don't know how to react to laughter. So, I poke him again. Harder this time. I don't think he means to do it, but he accidentally releases me.

I hop to my feet, putting distance between us.

"Baby." He chuckles, climbing to his feet. "Wait a minute."

"Leave me alone, Sinclair Midnight."

He starts toward me, his arms outstretched as if he's going to grab me. But for once in my life, fate is on my side. The lifeguard comes running up before he manages to get his hands on me.

"He's the one who almost drowned," I squeak, pointing at him.

Sinclair narrows his eyes on me.

"I think he might have bumped his head. He definitely needs to be checked out. He may even need to go to the hospital."

The lifeguard, a burly man with rippling muscles and tiny red shorts, stalks toward him.

"When I get my hands on you, mermaid, you're going to pay for this," Sinclair growls at me.

"Am not," I call, rushing toward the lounger where I left my phone. I snatch it up, taking a final peek over my shoulder.

Sinclair's eyes are still locked on me.

I shiver at the intensity burning in them, ripping my gaze from his as I flee toward the hotel, out of sorts, frustrated, and sad. For the first time in my life, I find a guy that I think I actually like, and he's worse than the rest.

Vacation sucks.