And there he was, ninety minutes later, striding across the sand to the agreed-upon meeting place, where she’d set up her umbrella. Talk about dukeish casual. He wore blue gingham swim trunks, a white T-shirt, and a pair of tortoise-shell Ray-Bans. She could just see him on the Mediterranean yacht that had made him into the Depraved Duke. She scrambled to her feet, suddenly—weirdly—shy. She wasn’t sure how to greet him, which was dumb because they talked on the phone all the time. She thought back to the couple of times on his first trip to New York when she’d surprised herself by blurting out something really personal and ended up exposing too much of herself, making herself too vulnerable. She felt that way now, except literally. Physically. She should have put a cover-up on. She should have—
He scooped her into his arms, engulfing her in a great big hug. Apparently he wasn’t feeling any of the awkwardness she was. Which was good. She hugged him back, and he picked her up so that her feet rose a few inches from the sand. He still had that spicy pine smell, as he had last Christmas. She tried not to inhale too overtly.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he declared, and with a final, extra-hard squeeze, he plopped down on her beach blanket, laid on one side facing her with his head propped on his hand, and said, “Tell me everything.”
“I just talked to you yesterday.”
“So?” he said, sticking his hand into the bag of potato chips she had open. “Tell me everything again.”
“Okay, give that back now,” Dani said a couple of hours later, holding her hand out for her phone, which Max had commandeered to pass judgment on her Tinder prospects. He was a little taken aback at how many messaging threads she had going. She couldn’t find anyone decent in this large a pool? “You’ve done enough damage,” she said laughingly as she pried the phone out of his grip.
“I’m not sure I’d call it damage,” he said, but he gave the phone back. He had done some trawling on her behalf, and he was pretty sure he’d found a few diamonds in the rough, a few princes among the bad grammar and ill-advised tattoos. He still wasn’t convinced that any of them were actually worthy of her, but he considered this an exercise in harm reduction. “I’m hot. I’m going back in the water.”
They had spent the day cycling between swimming and sitting on the beach talking. Dani was always easy to talk to, but in person it was even easier. He told her the latest on the mine project and how it was bringing him and his brother closer than they’d been for years. She told him a highly amusing story about her current renter, who was in the city to attend an intensive miming workshop. He had mining; she had miming. The hours had flown by.
She got up with him and brushed sand off her legs. He’d tried not to be too obvious about checking her out, but he was only human. Every time he did, his previous conclusion that she was too good for the men of Tinder was ratified anew. To begin with, she was gorgeous in a sleek, black one-piece swimsuit, tall and lean and gently curved. But what grated on him was that the most gorgeous thing about her was her brain. Her brain was going to be wasted on the Mr. Carnivores and HarlemHipsters of the world.
“Ahh! It’s so cold!” she said, as she had every time they’d ventured into the water.
“If you think this is cold, you should try an Alpine lake.”
“Ooh, do you have a lake?” She took another step and made a face as if she were being tortured.
“I do. Well, the estate does. It’s small but deep—and cold. It’ll freeze your nuts off.”
“I don’t have nuts, Max.”
“I am aware.” Was he ever. “I’m trying to speak American.”
She snorted.
“We also have a natural hot spring.”
“Wow, I can see why you love it there.” Another step, another tortured grimace. “What I would give to be in a hot spring right now.”
“The trick with cold water is to plunge in and get your body moving.” He came back toward her and stopped when the water was at his mid-thigh, as it was on her. Since he was taller, it put them a meter or so from each other. He pointed to a red umbrella on the beach about a hundred feet off. “I’ll race you to that umbrella. Not literally, but to that spot at this depth.”
He took off, leaving her shrieking and splashing behind him. He beat her and turned. She was laughing as she slogged through the water, but she slowed to a stop well before the finish line.
“That’s it? You’re giving up?” he teased.
“I sure am.”
The idea popped into his head fully formed and fully absurd. He splashed back toward her, then out deeper, until the water was mid-chest on him. He raised his arm and beckoned her with a “bring it” gesture.
“What?”
“Come here.”
“Why?” she asked, but she started coming.
“Let’s do the Dirty Dancing lift.”
Her mouth fell open as she stopped walking. “Are you insane?”
“Come on. The iconic lake lift.” He gestured again. “You know you want to.”
She grinned but quickly slammed her mouth shut like she was trying not to appear delighted by his idea. Too late. And more critically, she started moving again.
When she arrived, she raised her eyebrows incredulously. “We can’t do the Dirty Dancing lift.”
“On the contrary. We can do whatever we want.”
“But why? Why would we do this?”
“Why would we make snow angels in Central Park?” he countered. “Because it’s fun.”
“You are—”
He wanted to know what she’d been going to say before she cut herself off. “What?”
“All right,” she said, ignoring his question. “Let’s do it.” She smiled, a bright, unreserved one, and he loved seeing it, her mouth and eyes big. Happiness looked good on her.
He forced his eyes from her face and pondered the logistics of the task. He was going to have to grab her by the hips. Well, in for a pound . . . He stepped closer, bent his knees, and hovered his hands near her body but not touching it, under the surface of the water. “Okay?”
Still grinning from ear to ear, she nodded and put her hands on his shoulders.
Not wanting to grab her ass by accident, he rested his hands on her sides and slid them down and forward until he was cradling the points of her hips in his hands. Oof. The juxtaposition of soft flesh and pointy hip bones was really . . . something.
Her smile ignited into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” he teased, but he was laughing, too.
“This. You. Everything.”
He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her. “Here we go.” He bent his knees and crouched to get some momentum, then launched her up into the air above his head—or tried to. He only got her about halfway up before he lost his balance.
“Ahhh!” She was shrieking and laughing at the same time as she came down, and it was contagious. He tried to break her fall and she tried to dive, and they ended up tangled together as they went under the water. He grabbed her, feeling bad about the sudden plunge, and she wound her arms around his neck as they resurfaced. She was sputtering but still laughing.
It was the summer version of Central Park. A stumble had turned into a hug. Except instead of wearing winter coats, they were skin to skin. Goosebumps rose, though he wasn’t cold. He pulled his hips away from her even as he kept hanging on to her upper body. He didn’t want her to feel his embarrassing erection. He felt like a teenager.