again. She glanced out over the ocean and the curved shoreline and drew in a breath.
“Umm…I was just wondering…”
He glanced up from his book with an impatient glance in her direction. “What?” he prompted.
“If I’m out on the beach…” She glanced around the shoreline again. “Can people see me?”
The impatience in his eyes faded. “You’re safe here. This place is totally isolated, the beach is not visible from the road. Your boyfriend won’t see you.”
“ Ex -boyfriend,” she corrected.
He put down the book. “Tell me something. If you hadn’t found out he was a criminal—”
“And that he killed a woman.”
He nodded. “Sure. If that hadn’t been true, would you still be together?”
Her heart compressed. She’d asked herself the same thing too many times to count. When she’d met Rip, she had been sure he was a strong, dependable, caring man. The possibilities that had blossomed in her mind had swept her to visions of a wonderful happily-ever-after with him. Sure, he’d ridden a motorcycle, and had that hard-edged, bad-boy look, but she’d sensed that he was sensitive and loving. And fiercely loyal. She’d been right about the latter, but that allegiance was to his biker comrades, not to her.
“The question is meaningless. He is a criminal.”
He continued to stare at her for a long moment, then picked up his book and started to read again. But she was sure he’d seen past her words to the desire for it to have been different. She’d wanted it to work with Rip so badly. She’d wanted him to be what he seemed. She’d almost given up looking for the man of her dreams, a little because she really hadn’t known what she was looking for. Every time she got into a promising relationship with the right kind of guy—a nice guy with a stable job who seemed to share her interests—it always failed terribly. He got bored. She got bored. Everything became too predictable. With Rip, there was enough of a difference between them that every day together had been charged with excitement.
They’d never gotten to the point of having sex. She’d thought that odd—that he’d held back, despite the fact she was raring to go—but even that had intrigued her. And made her want him more. She had been sure that being with him would have been exhilarating. Maybe because she sensed that he would take total control of her in the bedroom, and that thought excited her beyond belief.
Like being with Killer did. When he took control…
Her heart began thumping. It was definitely time to go for a swim.
She walked to one of the lounge chairs and kicked off her sandals, then stripped off her shirt and skirt and dropped them on the chair. She stepped off the tiled patio and the hot, warm sand pushed between her toes. She walked the twenty yards or so to the wet sand smoothed by the wash of water gliding back to the ocean. As she continued walking, another wave rolled forward and the water curled around her ankles, then washed back again.
She kept walking into the shallow water, then to her waist. A wave crashed toward her, and she pushed through it. The next one knocked her off her feet to land on her butt in the soft sand. As it washed away, pulling her deeper, she stood up, laughing. She ran forward, past the tumultuous pounding of water against the sand and swam out further.
Killer tried hard to read his book, but found himself glancing up often to watch Marissa in her tiny bathing suit, walking into the water. When she was thrown ass first onto the ground, he wondered if she was in trouble, but she stood up laughing, her wet body glistening in the sunlight, then bounded through the surf.
Now she swam out into the water and he kept an eye on her, concern about undercurrents and sharks on his mind. But people swam in the ocean all the time and she was a big girl.
After a while, she walked back to
“Umm…I was just wondering…”
He glanced up from his book with an impatient glance in her direction. “What?” he prompted.
“If I’m out on the beach…” She glanced around the shoreline again. “Can people see me?”
The impatience in his eyes faded. “You’re safe here. This place is totally isolated, the beach is not visible from the road. Your boyfriend won’t see you.”
“ Ex -boyfriend,” she corrected.
He put down the book. “Tell me something. If you hadn’t found out he was a criminal—”
“And that he killed a woman.”
He nodded. “Sure. If that hadn’t been true, would you still be together?”
Her heart compressed. She’d asked herself the same thing too many times to count. When she’d met Rip, she had been sure he was a strong, dependable, caring man. The possibilities that had blossomed in her mind had swept her to visions of a wonderful happily-ever-after with him. Sure, he’d ridden a motorcycle, and had that hard-edged, bad-boy look, but she’d sensed that he was sensitive and loving. And fiercely loyal. She’d been right about the latter, but that allegiance was to his biker comrades, not to her.
“The question is meaningless. He is a criminal.”
He continued to stare at her for a long moment, then picked up his book and started to read again. But she was sure he’d seen past her words to the desire for it to have been different. She’d wanted it to work with Rip so badly. She’d wanted him to be what he seemed. She’d almost given up looking for the man of her dreams, a little because she really hadn’t known what she was looking for. Every time she got into a promising relationship with the right kind of guy—a nice guy with a stable job who seemed to share her interests—it always failed terribly. He got bored. She got bored. Everything became too predictable. With Rip, there was enough of a difference between them that every day together had been charged with excitement.
They’d never gotten to the point of having sex. She’d thought that odd—that he’d held back, despite the fact she was raring to go—but even that had intrigued her. And made her want him more. She had been sure that being with him would have been exhilarating. Maybe because she sensed that he would take total control of her in the bedroom, and that thought excited her beyond belief.
Like being with Killer did. When he took control…
Her heart began thumping. It was definitely time to go for a swim.
She walked to one of the lounge chairs and kicked off her sandals, then stripped off her shirt and skirt and dropped them on the chair. She stepped off the tiled patio and the hot, warm sand pushed between her toes. She walked the twenty yards or so to the wet sand smoothed by the wash of water gliding back to the ocean. As she continued walking, another wave rolled forward and the water curled around her ankles, then washed back again.
She kept walking into the shallow water, then to her waist. A wave crashed toward her, and she pushed through it. The next one knocked her off her feet to land on her butt in the soft sand. As it washed away, pulling her deeper, she stood up, laughing. She ran forward, past the tumultuous pounding of water against the sand and swam out further.
Killer tried hard to read his book, but found himself glancing up often to watch Marissa in her tiny bathing suit, walking into the water. When she was thrown ass first onto the ground, he wondered if she was in trouble, but she stood up laughing, her wet body glistening in the sunlight, then bounded through the surf.
Now she swam out into the water and he kept an eye on her, concern about undercurrents and sharks on his mind. But people swam in the ocean all the time and she was a big girl.
After a while, she walked back to
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