Libby ignored the flush warming her neck and cheeks. “Will they send someone looking for us if we don’t get back to the rental place soon?”
“Probably. But how about we meet them halfway?” After another contented stretch, he instructed, “Sit up and turn around. Slowly. I’d rather you didn’t dump us with that shark swimming over there.”
Her heart jumped into her throat. “What shark?”
“Ha. Gotcha.”
She slapped his chest. “You’re an idiot, and you’ll pay for that. Now I hear the Jaws theme playing in my head.”
Standing up on the board with an easy grace she envied, he scooped up paddle. “So. You want to give it a try this time?”
“Yes,” she said on impulse. “I’d like that.”
He flashed one of his brilliant grins and held out a hand to help her up. The board wobbled under her feet, but it was quite a bit easier to stand on it than she would have expected. Jude gave her the paddle and with his hands on her waist, turned her around to face forward. His breath whispered over her ear as he explained the basics of how to move the board, sending shivers down her spine. It took a couple tries to get the hang of it, but then they were sailing smoothly forward. The underused muscles in her arms and torso ached with each pull of the paddle, but it was the delicious kind of ache, warm and heady, much like sex with Jude.
“You got it,” he said and nuzzled her earlobe. He still hadn’t removed his hands from her waist, and in that moment, with the sun turning to rust and sinking toward the horizon, the wind tangling her hair and his warm, solid weight pressed to her back…in that moment, she hoped he never let go of her.
More foolishness, she told herself and concentrated on making the board go straight.
Jude Wilde didn’t hang on to anything for long.
Chapter Nineteen
Jude was in an excellent mood. A day of playing tourist, soaking in the sun and natural beauty of the Keys, followed by sex…
Oh, man, the sex. The off-the-charts-hot sex.
It was all exactly what he’d needed and he suspected, what Libby had needed, too—although he bet she’d never admit it.
He smiled to himself and spared a glance for her, sound asleep in the passenger seat, her cheek pillowed in her hand against the window. Her hair had frizzed from their swim and the soaking they got from an evening storm as they raced across the marina parking lot for their car. He resisted the urge to reach over and soothe down the sun-kissed locks. Made himself focus on the road, but found his hand wandering from the steering wheel to rest on her thigh. She stirred but didn’t wake, and he smiled again.
Now the rain tap-danced on the roof of the convertible and lightning zigzagged in the distance over the ocean as the car sailed the Overseas Highway toward home.
Jude felt better than he had in days. Sure, his back was sunburned all to hell—damn Libby for being right about the sunscreen—but even that discomfort couldn’t put a damper on his mood.
Damn near perfect day.
He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this light, this free. He could become addicted to this. To her. Maybe he already was.
Unable to resist, he sneaked another peek her way. Deep in sleep, she looked completely at peace—no worry lines etched into her forehead, no trace of the sour grapes pinched expression around her mouth. She needed to sleep more, work less, and play more, he decided and then snorted as he imagined her response to that suggestion. But someone had to apply the brakes on the race car that was Elizabeth Pruitt or she was going to burn out her engine. After this was all over, he’d talk her into a worry-free day like today at least once a week. She carried way too much stress and—
Whoa. What? After this was over? Goddammit, he was an idiot for even considering an “after” with her. No chance. Hadn’t she told him as much the night she started their affair?
It was sex. No emotions. No strings attached. No after. And he’d gone along with it because he was just desperate enough to be with her that he’d take her any way he could. Except an affair had never been what he wanted when it came to Libby. He’d loved her and had wanted the whole package the night he proposed eight years ago. Libby in a white dress, vowing to stay with him forever. Her pregnant with his two-point-five children. The quaint house with the white picket fence, dog, and minivan.
Loved? No, he was lying to himself. Love, present tense. It was still there, strong as ever, just like their ring in his pocket. But he’d be damned before he told her. She wouldn’t accept those words from him anyway. He’d hurt her too badly, which had been his goal, and he’d done a bang-up job of it. Hurt her to protect her. Wasn’t he just noble as fuck?