peaked. “How old are you anyway?”
He shrugged a shoulder and leaned forward, answering me in nearly a whisper. “It’s impolite to ask a person their age, you know.”
“It’s impolite that you never told me your name,” I responded.
His smile widened to show straight, white teeth. “Locke,” he said. “And I’m twenty-six.”
He extended his hand to me and I leaned forward to accept.
His grip was firm. Confident. Assertive. He locked onto my eyes. There was something about the way he watched me, observed me that made me feel comfortable, yet vulnerable.
I broke the stare and nodded at his tattoo. It was an intricate design, richly colored in burgundy, navy and gold with what appeared to be a lion holding a tiny gold circle.
“You don’t seem like the tattoo type,” I blurted out. Not that I knew what this stranger’s type was.
He ran his fingers across the design. I shivered at the thought of those fingertips running down my body.
“It was done on a dare,” he said as his gaze locked on mine. “It’s my family’s crest.”
“Family crest? Wow, how very British,” I responded, giving him my best British accent.
“Yes, it is very British. Unlike your accent.”
“What’s wrong with my accent?”
“It’s Australian,” he said with a teasing smile on his lips.
“No, it’s clearly British.” I pronounced ‘British’ with the accent and waited for his response. He raised his eyebrow as if he realized that he was not going to win this argument. I couldn’t help but smile.
“Where did you go to college?” I asked.
He took another sip of his beer before he answered, “I attended Cambridge.”
Warmth spread through my body. Locke was hot and well educated.
“Cambridge University,” I said, attempting to correct my accent.
“That was Jamaican.”
I swatted at him and tipped from the chair. I swung my foot down to catch my balance and winced. Damn, my foot throbbed.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, adding another lie to the long list that continued to accumulate.
“Is there a first aid kit inside?”
“I don’t know, maybe in the bathroom,” I said with a shrug. “It’s not necessary, I’m okay.” I tossed back the last of my beer. Alcohol could numb any pain.
“So are you going to tell me why you were shouting at the ocean?”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was enjoying myself. A fun, flirty conversation was what I needed.
His eyes narrowed as if he were studying me. “I can see that you’ve been terribly hurt,” he said with a soft, understanding expression.
There was something in the way he spoke—I’m not sure if it was the tone of his voice or the genuine expression of care on his face, but it made me feel protected from my demons. I wanted to talk to him.
I opened my mouth to tell him about Colin, about the jet, about everything, but stopped myself. This was ridiculous. I barely knew him. I pressed my lips together with a silent reprimand and reached for another beer in the cooler. I wasn’t sure how many I’d drank, but there were a lot of empty bottles on the ground and my cheeks were beginning to numb.
“Besides being a great punching bag, I’m a decent listener.”
“I lost someone very close to me and very suddenly,” I confessed. My voice cracked as I admitted the truth out loud to someone other than my own reflection in the mirror. “It’s been rough.”
Shit. I definitely had too many beers.
“A breakup?”
I shook my head. I wish. A break up would’ve been easier.
“A death?”
I nearly choked on the lump that immediately formed in my throat. I dropped my head down and nodded once. A few seconds of silence passed. He slid down the chaise toward me.
“I’m sorry.”
I was, too. I stared at my bottle, ready to crumble. Damn it, I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t open this wound I struggled to keep sealed up. It was too much of a risk. I needed my head in place for tomorrow.
“Thanks, but I can’t talk about it.”
He took the beer from my hand and placed it on the table next to us.
“I’m a firm believer that life will never give you more than you can handle,” he said and leaned toward me. I glanced up into his eyes. “You seem like a survivor.”
The words stung like someone had poured a carton of salt into a large gaping wound. In a sense, he had. He’d called me a survivor. I was a survivor, but Colin wasn’t.
“Well, looks are deceiving,” I muttered and looked to the side.
His hand touched my cheek and directed my face to look at him. I forced myself to meet his eyes. He held my stare, imploring me to hear him. It was ironic that a total stranger believed in me more than I believed in myself.
The back of my eyes burnt, I needed to change the subject before my heart dove into a tailspin. I shifted my leg and a pain jolted through foot. I hissed.
“Here let me take a look,” he said as he scooted forward. I bent my knees closer to my chest. My foot was red and it hurt, but medicating with alcohol dulled most of the pain.
“It looks wicked.”
He lifted my foot into his hand as if caring for a wounded bird. Delicate. Gentle. His touch spun my world into another universe. He looked at me with a mixed expression of shock and desire. His grip—the strong, lithe fingers and muscular forearm—tightened its hold.
For a moment, I sat frozen in silence, not breathing, only hearing the pounding of my heart. I wanted to pull away. No one had touched me like this since college, before Colin’s accident. And even then, no one had touched me, especially my foot, like that before. Apparently, I’d been missing out.
His palm glided upward toward my ankle, and my skin blazed along its path.
His hand wove a path up my leg until it reached my hip. His fingers grabbed the belt loop of my shorts, pulling me closer. I gasped and he smiled. The sexy half-lip smile and my whole body shuddered with excitement. His gaze never faltered and I didn’t dare blink, afraid he would disappear if I closed my eyes even for a second. He was too good to be true.
Locke leaned in and the smell of honey lager and the warmth of his breath invited me closer. I licked my lips lightly and parted them. His kiss was soft and playful and I felt as if I had been kissing him my entire life.
I never believed in fairytales, but this had to be how ‘Once upon a time’ felt. I shifted my body without breaking our embrace, straddling my legs around him and sitting on his lap.
Locke’s hands rested gently on my hips. His fingertips pressed into my lower back and sent heat spiraling through my body. He sighed softly.
Nervous chills traveled down my spine. I was kissing a stranger. A charming, sexy stranger. My mind raged in a tug of war against my heart. Just a few hours earlier I’d been ready to call the police and now I was considering inviting him into my bed. I’d never done anything like this before, but it felt too good to quit.
I opened my mouth slightly and his tongue entered, swiping against mine. His soft moan gently vibrated against my lips.
“What’s