Oh crap.
I was in trouble.
6
Inside, I went right for my suitcase, pulling out another pair of shorts and T-shirt. Instead of panties and a bra, I opted for my bikini to wear beneath my clothes. Then I fished out my little kit containing my shampoo and soap. I bundled all the items into my arms and turned.
Nash was standing in the entrance of the cockpit, watching me. In his hand he gripped a small duffle bag.
“What’s that?”
“A bag that I usually keep on the plane. It has a spare change of clothes and some toiletries.”
I felt my brow wrinkle. “Did you stay in Miami?”
“Not this trip, but sometimes I make stops or have layovers and it’s nice to have some stuff in case I need it.”
“I’m glad you found it.”
He nodded. “Ready?”
We went back toward the beach. Bathing in salty ocean water wasn’t the most ideal situation, but it was better than being coated in dried blood and sweat.
I stopped at the shore, looking around for a little bit of privacy. There really wasn’t much. “You stay here. I’ll go a little farther down,” he offered.
I laid my stuff on the sand, getting out the soap and shampoo I needed as he walked away. I waited until he was still visible but far enough down and unpacking his own stuff before I started removing my clothes. I stayed in my bra and panties and waded into the water to my knees. I washed as best as I could with the lavender-scented soap while trying not to use too much. Even though it was the ocean, it still felt good to be clean. Once I felt fresher, I returned the soap to shore and grabbed up my T-shirt, which was stained with blood, and the shampoo.
I couldn’t get the top of my head wet because of the stitches so I just dunked the ends of my hair and the back of my head in the water and then lathered up the bottom portion with suds. While that soaked in, I used my T-shirt as a washcloth and gingerly cleaned my face, trying to get all the dried blood and grime off my skin.
Once I was finished, I waded in a little farther and took off my panties, using a little of the shampoo to wash them in the water.
I couldn’t help but be distracted by the way the water felt brushing between my legs. It was like that part of me was extra sensitive and every caress of the water made my muscles quiver with desire.
I glanced back down the beach toward Nash. He was coming up out of the ocean, water raining from his sun-kissed skin. It slid over his body like a lover, and I watched it travel down over his hips…
He was naked.
Stark ass naked.
The water brushed against me again and I groaned, the sensation making me squirm. Without thinking, I reached between my thighs, almost like my touch could stop my body from wanting something. My fingers met with moisture. Moisture that was not ocean water. This moisture was silkier and a little thicker.
I yanked my hand away.
What was wrong with me?
I couldn’t possibly be wanting him. Not that way. After all, my body didn’t work the way other women’s bodies did.
I glanced back at him again, catching the side of his bare backside. Okay, so I looked longer than just a glance. But then I looked away (because he bent to pick up some clothes) and finished washing.
When he was almost dressed, I hurried out of the water, using my shirt as sort of a wrap, and dashed to my clothes. I realized I hadn’t thought things through because my shirt would have made a really good towel—only now it was wet.
I pulled on my bathing suit, thankful it would dry quickly, and then I used the jean shorts I’d been wearing and hastily dried off most of my body. I used my hands to ring out what I could of my hair and then threw the wet shirt and shorts onto the sand. I would rinse those out in a minute.
Noting that Nash was getting closer, I pulled on the black linen shorts with a drawstring waistband and tied them loosely around my hips. I wasn’t ready to put on my shirt yet because I wanted to let my hair dry a bit first.
Scooping up my comb, I got to work, tugging the tangles out of my thick blond hair. Here in this climate, I was likely a frizz ball waiting to happen. It certainly wasn’t going to be straight like I usually styled it.
Nash arrived and I slid a glance at him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt either. He was well defined and not quite as thin as I was expecting. He was definitely lean, but there was some bulk there too, mostly from muscle. His skin was bronzed and darkly tanned, smooth and hairless… except for a little trail of dark curly hair that started just below his navel and traveled into the tan cargo shorts that hung loosely on his hips.
It made me think of the yellow brick road—follow the yellow brick road—except this wasn’t yellow. It was dark and led somewhere naughty and delightfully sinful.
I shivered.
“Are you cold?” Nash asked, concern lacing his tone.
“Me?” I said dumbly.
“Well… since there’s no one else here,” he said like it was obvious.
“No, I’m fine.” I averted my gaze, embarrassed. I returned to combing my hair, thinking it was a good distraction from his body.
“Here, let me,” he said, his voice suddenly much closer than just seconds ago. And then the heat that radiated off his skin touched me, wrapped around me, drew me closer. He took the comb from my slack fingers and started combing my hair.
How much of an onslaught was my body was supposed to take before I literally melted and slid into the sea?
Did he not know the effect he had over me? First he covered me with his body like he was a bodyguard and I was some royal princess, he held me all night after a nightmare, and then he kissed me… he freaking devoured half my soul with a single kiss… and now this. Now he was sliding his fingertips through my hair and massaging the base of my neck with a powerful hand.
“Bella,” he murmured. He spoke so low and with such an accent I didn’t understand what he said.
“What?” I asked, turning my head slightly toward him.
He leaned up into my ear and repeated the word again. “Bella. It means I think you’re beautiful.”
He thinks I’m beautiful.
I shivered again.
The comb paused. “I will build a fire.”
“A fire?”
“Si, for warmth.”
I let him think I was cold. Telling him I was about to jump his bones was beyond my vocabulary at the moment. Not to mention the fact I was literally stunned that I actually did want to jump his bones.
And all this time I thought my vagina was broken.
‘Course maybe it still was. Just because I felt the stirrings of desire didn’t necessarily mean my vagina was ready for a full-on sex romp.