Sliding the door open, I stepped out and brought the binoculars up to my eyes. I peered out, wondering who the fuck was intruding on my personal little slice of the world now.
“Hmph.” I furrowed my brows, curious why some woman in a white dress was edging up to the water. Her long brown hair fluttered wildly in the wind. “What the fuck are you doing, lady?” I whispered to myself.
I adjusted the magnification on the binoculars and brought them back up to my eyes. She was knee deep in the water and seemed like she was in a goddamn trance. I thought maybe she was in trouble, or stupid, or insane, or drunk; maybe all of the above. I’d be the one to know.
I groaned throatily then hurried inside, slamming the binoculars back onto my counter and slipping on my flip flops. It took all I had in me not to let irritation send me spiraling out of control. All I knew was that some crazy person was intruding on my personal space and it was more than likely a trap of some sort. Some photographer was probably lying in wait, ready to capture me playing lifeguard.
I could see the fucking tabloid headline in my head—Alexander McBride accosts beachgoer—as I skipped in a hurry down my wide stairs.
I never expected this. I never expected to find her.
Her.
I damn near lose my grip on her when I work at fishing her up out of the water. She flings her thin limbs around and fights against me. She’s stronger than I’d imagined; I swear, the spirit of a warrior radiates from her small frame. I tote her feathery light, soaked body to the sand and set her to her feet. She teeters and I get a look at her while I hold her in place and then I feel like I’m the one teetering.
Damn.
Fuck, she’s breathtaking. Her thin white dress clings to her skin and the mortification she’s wearing only makes her wide chocolaty eyes wider, her plump lips parting, forming an O just before she tries explaining her little excursion into the Atlantic. She searches for words and I find it difficult to disguise what I’m thinking about. I grab hold of the irritation I feel and hope that it does the trick to cover me as she tries to search for words. Her brown hair is dark with seawater and sticking to her everywhere, looking wild like bare vines crawling in every direction up a trellis. Her hair is long and out of nowhere, a highly unnerving image of me tangling my fist into it and tugging it backward until that neck of hers is helplessly exposed to me cascades into my head. Parts of me that have been long forgotten begin to stir.
It’s been too long. Far too long. I need the company of a woman soon. Maybe this woman’s company.
She stutters out some poorly formed explanation and before I know it, she’s turned away from me and is headed in the opposite direction. Her ass is perfectly formed into a tight, round little shelf. It’s not too big. It’s not too small. My hands ache to pull her back to me so that I can squeeze her in my hands. My reverie pauses just long enough for me to see that she’s leaving. She’s walking away.
I can’t just let her go. I need her name. My head screams out for me to stop her. To get her name. To invite her to my house. To drag her to my house if I have to. I have to spend some time with this woman. On some animalistic level, my body picked its mate and I feel compelled to talk to her. I panic at the thought of her walking away. I don’t know why. That’s not like me. I like my seclusion. I’ve given up a lot to keep my privacy. It’s better this way. It’s easier this way. No temptations.
But she—she’s the first person who I find myself wanting to be closer to. It pisses me off. Who the hell does she think she is, coming to my stretch of beach and screwing with my head like this? I’ve had everything in order, under control, just long enough for me to forget that at one point it wasn’t. I was spinning, tumbling, spiraling dangerously out of control and it seemed that fate or God or whoever stepped in and smacked me in the face with a cruel wake up call. I can’t go back. I have to keep things in order. It’s how I’ve needed it to be. It’s the only way for me to survive. But...the way her eyes flick from side to side, the way her body seems to cower right in front of me, everything about her calls to me. She summons me. Her presence speaks to me without saying a single word. Something inside feels like I more than want the beautiful woman in front of me with haunted brown eyes, I need her. My body wants her. The twitch in my cock tells me that loud and clear. It’s the little pang of sadness filling my chest that tells me that I need her. Maybe she needs me too.
She stops and turns to face me again when I call out for her.
Thank God.
“What’s your name?” I fire off like I’m barking an order. It’s a dick way to sound, but I feel a little urgent. I feel…off.