out the outline of a man, she recognized Elliottâs voice. The clink of dishes drifted through the window behind him. âMax is inside.â
âThanks. I just wanted to ask you to keep an eye on the cabin for me. If Jenn comes looking for me, tell her Iâm going for a little late-night swim.â
Glass crashed inside the cabin, and before the last pieces had fallen to the floor, Max jerked the door open from inside. âHey!â he said brightly.
âUm, is everything all right?â
Elliott started to stand up, but Max waved him down. âEverythingâs fine.â
Right. Fine. âOkay⦠I was just going to take a swim, so if you couldââ
âCare for company?â
Despite her plan, Chloe couldnât keep the doubtfrom her voice. âYou want to go swimming? Right now?â
Dish towel still in hand, Max leaned against the doorjamb, pretending casualness. âSure,â he said, the straight line of his shoulders giving away his tension. âIf youâre going to be there.â Enough light filtered from the living room that she could see his flirtatious smile. He aimed it right at her, oozing charm.
Oh, my God, Max Sullivan was a total faker.
Chloe smiled up at him, letting her expression melt a little. âSure, Max. Thatâd be great.â
His shoulders dropped half an inch on his next breath. He tossed the towel aside and jogged down the stairs to join her. Some of her analytical detachment faded as he drew closer. She remembered the way his thighs had flexed in those Speedos, as if the muscles were barely contained by his skin. Man.
âItâs a little cool to swim, isnât it?â he asked, pausing to wait for her to turn and start their walk. It had taken him all of one second to try to change her mind.
âI like it. It feels⦠thrilling. Tossed around by the waves in the pitch-black.â
âMmm. Well, sure, I like to swim at night, but I have a special connection with the sharks who swimafter dark, too. It comes with the profession, you know.â
âSharks?â she asked, just as heâd wanted her to.
âYeah. They like to hunt at night.â
âIâm sure itâll be fine.â
He nodded. âAs long as youâre a strong swimmer. The riptides can be a real bitch this time of night.â
âOh, sure. Iâm pretty strong.â
Her feet finally touched damp, packed sand. She turned and followed the waterline, watching Maxâs large feet make hollows in the sand next to her.
Max audibly sighed. âSo tell me more about your job,â he said.
She tossed him a smile. âIâm an accountant at a big accounting firm. What do you want me to talk about? Spreadsheets?â
âOkay, then. Tell me about your family.â
âI have a mom and a dad and a big sister. I grew up in Richmond in a house with an honest-to-God white picket fence.â
âNo way.â
âYep. It was perfectly boring. No scandals. No drama. My sister and I arenât close, but we get along fine.â
âBoring is nice.â
âHmm. I detect a not-pleasantly-boring childhood.â
âNah, it was fine. There was no white picketfence, but I was hardly Oliver Twist. So why did you decide to become an accountant?â
So he didnât want to talk about himself? Well, she didnât particularly feel like talking, either. âI like numbers. And puzzles. I like figuring things out.â Turning to face him, she smiled and began to walk backward toward the water, wondering what heâd do. She pushed down her shorts and tossed them up to the dry sand.
âAre you coming?â she called as she backed into the breaking waves and slipped her shirt off, as well. The wind touched her belly, warm air rubbing against her like a cat, and she hoped he was checking out her red bikini, since the blue one hadnât thrilled him.
âOf course.â Maxâs
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