“Don’t forget sunscreen,” he calls. “There’s some in the bathroom.”
“Got it,” I say without breaking stride. “But you’ll have to do my back for me.”
I swear, I think I actually hear him groan in response.
CHAPTER 13
Cruce
I’m not exactly sure when the semi-nerdy scientist started looking not so nerdy anymore. I imagine it was the evening I’d escorted her to the president’s state dinner.
But right here and right now—as Barrett walks back into the living area—is the moment she goes from semi-nerdy scientist to the sexiest woman in the entire world.
She chose a baby-blue matching bra and panties in a satin material. Her breasts are fantastic… heavy and testing the strength of the straps. The satin is thick enough to shield her skin, but not so much it can hide her nipples popping against the material.
Those fucking panties, which cut high on her hips and low on her flat belly, have me dying to know just how much of her ass is going to be shown. I know it’s going to be as beautiful as her front view.
No, I wasn’t thinking straight when I packed for Barrett. I just threw as much shit in the suitcase as I could. Yes, I’d known I was pulling handfuls of stuff out of her lingerie drawer without really paying attention to it.
And no… I didn’t know she’d need a swimsuit. Had no clue we’d be hiding out on a tropical island.
But as I watch her saunter my way, I’m thankful as fuck I didn’t grab a bathing suit or two and that Barrett apparently has an appreciation for fine lingerie. Also, incredibly grateful she doesn’t seem to be shy.
It’s only after I focus on Barrett’s face that I realize my eyes spent a little too much time on her body parts. Her cheeks are flushed, her arms coming almost protectively over her stomach as if she’s trying to hide from me.
I play it off, giving a dismissive wave. “See… not much different from a bathing suit.”
Without waiting for her to reply, I pivot toward the door, snagging two beach towels I’d gotten out of the linen closet while she was changing. I open the front door, motioning for her to precede me out.
She does, and I follow.
Big mistake… because I almost trip a few times since I’m not watching the cobbled stone path as much as I should as we descend toward the beach. That’s because my eyes are pinned to her ass, much of which is not covered by the thin blue satin.
And weirdly… the thing that makes her the sexiest—the most attractive to my senses—is she still comes off as the nerdy scientist. Maybe it’s because her hair has been pulled back in a rough ponytail since this morning, pins holding her bangs out of her way while she bent over her laptop.
Or maybe it’s the way she sometimes talks to herself, low and under her breath, about formulas and hypotheses. Or better yet, the corny, scientific jokes she makes and snorts over that I don’t get at all.
Or perhaps it’s the total package. More brilliant than most people on this planet, the body of a goddess, the face of an angel, and a certain amount of dorkiness to round it all out.
Whatever it is, I’m coming to the realization I’m not sure I’m going to be able to handle this.
Protect her? Fuck yes… got that covered.
Being in her presence, alone, with no good reason why I shouldn’t kiss her?
That’s becoming more difficult to fight against.
This morning, waking up with her snuggled into my side—her hand innocently resting on my stomach—was an instant fucking hard-on. I’d laid there trying to get myself under control for I don’t know how many minutes, but all I could think about—fantasize, really—was that I wanted to roll over on top of her, spread those pretty legs, and drive in deep.
Yeah… might be one of the most difficult things I’ve ever been faced with.
Barrett Alexander.
“Your eyes are on my ass, aren’t they?” Barrett’s voice penetrates my thoughts, and I stumble again.
I right myself, guiltily lowering my gaze down to the path so I can walk straight, but I mutter an admission, “Just a man, Barrett. Not a saint.”
She snorts in reply, so I defiantly look at her ass again, the whole way down.
The beach area is a swath of silky, fine, white sand that runs about thirty yards from the dock, curving inward to make a tiny, shallow cay. It’s set up with several Adirondack-style chaise lounges with large yellow umbrellas to provide shade if wanted. At the end of the sandy beach, there are a line of flowering bushes that lead into more trees and vines, giving way to a thick jungle of native plants. Earlier this morning, I’d pushed my way through it armed with a machete I’d found in the maintenance building to navigate the exterior of the island.
I walk over to one of the chaise loungers, then lower the top half so it lies flat. Placing one of the beach towels over it, I ignore the umbrella beside it. Barrett needs some sun, which is good for the soul.
“On your stomach,” I order.
She doesn’t hesitate. First, though, she holds out a can of spray sunscreen. I hadn’t noticed it before, but why would I have?
“I already did my front,” she says before turning away.
Her knee goes to the chaise, palms to the top, and she lowers herself down. Barrett turns her head, stretches out, then nestles her hands under her cheek.
For a moment, I let my gaze swing out across the blue water. I scan the horizon where I can make out the hazy outline of Virgin Gorda. No boats in the water near us. Nothing in the sky.
No threats at the moment.
Taking a deep breath, I focus on the gorgeous woman before me. Bending, I use a hand to shield her face and start to spray her shoulders and back. I have no clue if she managed to get any part of her backside, but I liberally shower the exposed parts of her ass and legs.
When I’m done, I push the can under the chaise to shield it from the hot sun.
“You want that massage I promised?” I ask, hesitant to actually touch her body without explicit permission.
“Mmm,” she replies lazily, her eyes closed against the brightness of the late afternoon sun.
I take that as a yes, but I don’t have any intention of doing anything other than relieving her muscle tightness. Her upper back and shoulders have to be a mess based on the long hours hunched over a computer.
“Scoot a little,” I murmur as I sit on the edge of the wide wooden platform near her hip.
Barrett complies, and I twist at the hip, placing my hands on her skin. It’s already warmed by the sun. The spray is oily but not thick, making it easy to glide my hands over her. A few light strokes before I start digging my fingers and thumbs into her muscles, eliciting groans from her. I don’t go heavy with my pressure because she’s a delicate woman. I don’t want to bruise her.
But I do try to make my moves therapeutic, concentrating on her shoulders for the time being.
I try not to think about other parts of her body I’d like to stroke. Because it’s way too easy for my mind to go there when my hands are on her, I strike up a conversation.
“You a beach person?” I ask.
She shrugs, never once opening her eyes as I continue to massage her. “I’m not sure. I’ve not been enough to really know. My mom tended to take me on educational vacations… like a week touring the Smithsonian or something like that.”