“In France you’re supposed to be free with your body. Besides, all the important parts are covered.”
“When you showed it to me this morning, you swore you’d keep your shorts on in public.” The whine in his voice is more than I can handle, and I lose the battle with my laughter.
“Right before you stripped it off me and made love to me on the ice-cold marble countertop.”
He sighs then tilts his head back to look up at me. “Yeah.”
I push his sunglasses off his face to prop them on his head. His eyes are practically glinting with that internal struggle between giving me freedom and protecting me. “I got the bikini specifically for this experience. I mean, when will we ever be in St. Tropez again?”
“I’ll bring you back every year if you promise to keep those shorts on this ass.” He cups and squeezes my backside then groans and drops his forehead to my stomach.
“I didn’t let you train me, grunt through an hour of weight lifting and one-hundred squats a day for the last thirty days, to keep my booty covered up in St. Tropez.”
His shoulders drop in defeat. He knows I’m right. He also knows I’m going to do it anyway, but because I love him, I’ll give him the chance to come to terms with it before I completely piss him off. It’s a routine we’ve fallen into that seems to work well.
“When you become a McCreery, will you start listening to me?”
The mention of my future last name brings my eyes to the single princess-cut diamond set in platinum on my ring finger. He proposed three days ago at the Eiffel Tower, surrounded by candlelight, thanks to the prep work of Fleur and the boys. It was the single most romantic moment of my entire life, and even though the ring has only been on my finger for days, it feels as if it’s part of me.
“You mean will I be a good little obedient wife?” I rake my nails along his scalp, and his answering groan vibrates in his chest. “Not on your life.”
“Fine.” He drops a kiss to my belly and pushes himself back to recline. “But if anyone stares too long, I’m throwing you over my shoulder and locking you in our room until you come to your senses.”
My stomach tumbles at the threat in his words. I know exactly what he’ll do to convince me, and having Kill’s hands and mouth all over my body gives me a moment of pause. “So you’re saying this is a win-win for me.”
Finally, the corner of his mouth lifts in a half smile. “Can’t deny the birthday girl.” He pulls his T-shirt up over his head, and my mouth goes dry. No matter how many times I’ve seen him naked, I always get the butterflies as if it’s the first. His pecs contract as he balls up his shirt and tosses it to my beach bag. And he’s worried about me? Kill’s body is like a dinner bell to the female gender, calling not only eyes but shameless flirting, which he’s great at ignoring.
I turn my back on him and pull the drawstring on the cute linen shorts I bought while shopping with Fleur in Paris last week.
I wanted to hate her—I really did—but she’s one of those girls who’s impossible to dislike. I mean unless she’s kissing the love of my life, which she hasn’t done since Kill and I became official. She’s funny, and I get the feeling that if we lived closer we’d be great friends. And for a girl who hangs out with dudes all day, she has amazing taste in clothes.
With a little wiggle, I push the shorts down over my hips, and the rumble of a growl sounds at my back. I shake my head and do a quick knee bend to snag the fabric from the sand rather than an at-the-waist bend that’ll only irritate Killian more.
“So?” I turn and toss my shorts on the lounger then prop my hands on my hips and strike a pose. “What do you think?”
I already know what he thinks. He made it clear when I showed him the suit in the privacy of our room, but I’m hoping that, however indecent he felt my uber-expensive designer suit was then, he’s seeing now it’s not as bad as he thought.
It has a black triangle top with gold band embellishments at the ties. The bottoms are also black, but at the back, gold beads make a triangle pattern right above where the fabric disappears between the cheeks of my overly-toned and spray-tanned ass.
“Fuck, Ax!” He grabs a nearby towel that’s been rolled and placed on each lounger. With a quick whip of his wrist, he shakes it out and places it over his hips. “You’re killing me,” he says through clenched teeth.
I shake my head at my incredibly protective, gorgeous, and sexy fiancé then put a knee to the lounger and crawl between his legs, pressing my body to his sun-warmed chest to rest my head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
He tosses one side of the long towel over my ass, making me laugh. “You thank me like I had a choice.” His voice sounds less tense, and his arms slide around me. “You were gonna do it anyway.”
“Yeah.” I sigh and nuzzle his throat. “But that’s not what I’m thanking you for.”