The Sapphire Affair (Jewel #1)

The woman never broke contact with his gaze as she stepped away. His brain didn’t issue any orders to look elsewhere this time. She was inviting him to stare, and he did unabashedly, drinking her in, his analytical mind adding up details both practical and physical. The fact that she was here in a bar alone told him she was either an alcoholic or a local. The deep tan said local was more likely, and the bikini top, covered up by the tank and surf shorts, suggested she was a beach bum or simply part of the tourist industry. The toned legs and firm arms said she wasn’t afraid to break a sweat.

He could think of plenty of ways to get sweaty with her.

She broke the eye contact, raised her arm, steadied her stance, and tossed. Right down the center.

“Holy shit,” he said with a low whistle of appreciation.

She shrugged playfully and blew on her nails. Too hot to handle. “My stepdad taught me,” she said, and something dark passed in those blue eyes when she said that, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came.

“He taught you well. But can you repeat?”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” she said, taunting him as she jutted out her chin. She proceeded to demonstrate her dart prowess, landing shot after shot, and schooling him in the barroom game.

When the match ended and Jake was thoroughly demolished, he extended a hand. “Congratulations. You are officially a goddess of darts and I am humbly destroyed.”

“I’ve always wanted to be a destructive goddess.”

“By the way, real name’s Jake.”

“Mine’s Ariel,” she said.

He quirked his eyebrows together. “Like the mermaid?”

She nodded, her blue eyes lighting up. “Very good.”

“Most men don’t get the reference when you give them your fake bar name for strangers?”

Her eyes widened, nearly popping out of her head. Her mouth fell open. “Wait. You knew my name wasn’t really Happy Turtle?”

He laughed, but he wasn’t bothered by the fake name or the way she teased. “It’s OK, Ariel. One, I have two sisters, so I know who Ariel is. Two, I have two sisters, so I know about fake bar names. Three, is your best friend a starfish?”

She leaned in closer, and he caught a faint whiff of her shampoo—smelled like coconuts. Perfect scent for an island woman. “I do that, too,” she whispered.

“Do what?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“That whole one, two, three thing.”

“You count?” He pretended to sound shocked. He slapped a palm against the bar. “Then we absolutely, positively must meet up later for another drink,” he said, and though the offer was made playfully, he fully meant it.

She shoved his shoulder. Oh, she was feisty. He liked that. “Listing numbers and answers—that’s what I meant by the counting thing. And why do you ask if my best friend is a starfish?”

“One, you can do that again,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “I really enjoy getting smacked in the shoulder.” She pretended to pout. “No, honestly. I do. It’s this weird thing of mine. I completely crave shoulder punches,” he said, in an intensely serious tone that made her curve up the corner of her lips and nudge his shoulder again, lightly this time. “Two, I knew what you meant by the counting thing. Three, I asked because I saw you have a starfish on your belly button, and it’s ridiculously sexy.”





CHAPTER FIVE


She’d had the piercing for years. So long she didn’t even think about it anymore. She was barely aware of the sky-blue starfish belly ring that dangled along her stomach.

She ran her thumb across the sparkly surface. “I practically forgot I had this. Got it when I was sixteen.”

“So a few years ago?”

“Ha ha ha,” she said drily. “More than a few years.”

“Well, you might have forgotten about it, but I could barely take my eyes off it,” he said, his deep voice going low and sexy. Then he feigned seriousness. “I meant, while I was being a perfect gentleman and not checking out your smoking-hot body when you bent down to pick up the dart—that’s when I noticed the starfish.”

She tingled all over from the compliment. There was something so enticing about this kind of praise from this kind of man. He was tall, built, strong, and with the kind of jawline that made a woman want to reach out and touch that face. That made this woman want to run her thumb along his sandpaper stubble, feel it brush against her chin, and mouth, and lips.

His brown hair boasted golden streaks, and his green eyes crinkled at the corners. Something about the whole package, sans the Tommy Bahama shirt, said strong and rugged. Which was an utterly delicious combination, one that made her skin warm up all over and her mind wander just a little further into let’s-picture-him-undressed land. Yup, she could see him clearly in her mind’s eye: hard planes across his chest, grooves in firm abs, arms so strong she couldn’t even wrap a hand around them.

She blinked, like she was a computer rebooting, as she tried to chase away the dirty thoughts landing in her head. But that body. Oh Lord, that body could cause some kind of sin.