Page 3 of Take Me Back
My tone is hushed when I reply. “I don’t have it.”
Disbelief is stamped all over his face. “What?”
“I didn’t bring it.”
“You didn’t bring it.” He says the words slowly, as though he’s attempting a phrase in Swahili.
His shock isn’t surprising. I even brought my laptop on our honeymoon. I don’t remember the last time I went somewhere without it. Probably before I started the company, the week I met Dane ...
* * *
Two and a half years ago
Holy. Shit.
They were the only two words my brain could conjure. Okay, not the only two, because there was definitely an F-bomb in between them.
Holy. Effing. Shit.
The straw in my coconut drink, some kind of rum deliciousness only Mexico could come up with, fell to the side as my mouth dropped open.
The most gorgeous man I’d ever seen strode out of the ocean like a tatted-up Greek god. Call it cliché all you want, but this man ...Wow.
A snorkel and mask dangled from one hand as he wiped the water off his face with the other. Every inch of his perfectly built body was lean, muscled, and tanned golden bronze. And then there was the ink wrapping up his arm and spilling onto his chest. When he shook his head and water flew from his short dark hair, my heart slammed into my ribs.
“Holy shit...” Benjie, my best friend, said from the chair beside me.
“Mine. Mine. I’m calling it.” I flung out my arm to cover his eyes so he couldn’t get any ideas, but I misjudged the distance and knocked Benjie’s drink all over his lap.
“Damn, girl!” Benjie jumped up from his chaise lounge and spun toward me. “Watch yourself. Besides, we both know you don’t get to call it. You wouldn’t even know what to do with it.”
I sucked in an outraged breath and bolted to my feet. Rum deliciousness sloshed over the edge of the coconut, splashing my skin and soaking into my bikini top.
Benjie’s gaze zeroed in on the freezing-cold drink dripping from my cleavage. I knew he wasn’t looking at my now very prominentnipples because he liked boys and not boobs.
And so do I, dammit.
“Take it back. I do so know what to do with it.” Since I was mildly intoxicated, I didn’t realize my voice was carrying.
“Oh, really?” Benjie dropped a hand to his hip. “Tell me. Right here, right now. What would you do with that sexy piece of tattooed man meat? In detail.”
“I’d ... I’d ...” I stammered like an idiot, trying to come up with something that would shock Benjie into conceding.
I was thinking so hard, the fact that his gaze darted over my shoulder didn’t register. Or maybe it was the three coconut drinks I’d had earlier that stole my observational skills.
“I’m waiting,” he said, taunting me.
“I’d ride him so hard, he’d need a new saddle when I was done.” I raised my coconut in salute, a little too enthusiastically.
The remaining liquid went flying in a backward arc, and a low, soft curse came from behind me. I spun around, coming face-to-face with my newly claimed stallion.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
Instead of water dripping from his face, the remains of my drink now trickled down his cheek.
“I think this is yours.” He lifted the hibiscus flower that had decorated my coconut off his inked forearm and offered it to me.
I stared at him, not moving to take it, probably because my brain had stopped communicating with the rest of my body due to stimulus overload.
