Page 33 of Under His Protection
“Yes.” I jog down the steps to the sidewalk. I’m tempted to tell him it’s not the first time Mark has done that, but I don’t want to ruin our outing by thinking about Mark.
Philip reaches for my hand. “So, do you want to drive or walk to the beach?”
I gaze up at a clear blue sky, thinking it’s a perfect day to go to the beach. “Let’s walk. I could use the exercise, and it’s not that far.”
“Okay, walking it is.”
* * *
It’s a twenty-minute walk to the beach, and fortunately the weather is ideal. It’s warm but not boiling hot. The sun is out, but there’s a breeze coming off the lake, which keeps the day from becoming too humid.
The public beach is crowded, but that’s not a surprise. We pass a wooden sign that says:
NO LIFEGUARD ON DUTY.
SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK.
“You can swim, can’t you?” I ask Philip.
He grins at me. “Yes, I can swim.”
“Good, because I don’t want to have to save you from drowning. I’m not planning to get my hair wet.”
Summer is winding down, and like me, people are realizing they should get in the water now while they still can. Lake Michigan is cold pretty much all year around, so I don’t plan to go out in deep water. I’ll be happy with just getting my feet wet.
We find a spot on the beach to spread out our towels. I slip off my shorts and T-shirt, leaving me in a purple floral one-piece swimsuit.
Philip does the same, kicking off his loafers and losing his tank.
Once he’s shirtless, I find myself staring at his broad chest. I know it’s a cliché, but his body really does look like a Greek sculpture—a broad chest and shoulders, well-defined muscles. There’s a light smattering of brown hair on his chest, which narrows down to a happy trail that travels below his navel anddisappears beneath his waistband. His board shorts ride low on his hips, and the sight of him makes my knees go weak.
He must realize I’m ogling him, because he smiles as he gestures to the water. “Shall we?”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I pull a bottle of sunscreen out of my beach bag.
“I usually don’t bother with that stuff.”
“I’ll tell you what. If you let me put sunscreen on you, I’ll let you put it on me.”
That gets his attention really quick. “Deal.”
I gesture to his beach towel. “You have to sit down for this. You’re too tall for me to reach all your places if you’re standing up.”
He grins but refrains from saying what I’m sure he’s thinking—that I can reach the spot he’d like me to touch just fine. But he doesn’t say it. He’s a gentleman.
I spread sunscreen on his back, arms, shoulders, the back of his neck. I ask him to turn, and I spread it lightly on his face, chest, and abs. I’m about to start on his legs, but he draws the line there.
“My legs are tan already,” he says. “I think we can skip that.” Grinning, he holds out his hand for the sunscreen. “Now it’s my turn.”
I hand the bottle over, and he climbs to his feet. I stand in front of him and hold up my ponytail so it doesn’t get goop on it.
Philip takes great pains to cover every inch of my exposed skin, including my legs, with sunscreen. “This is where a bikini would have come in nice,” he mutters.
After he’s done with my body, he gingerly spreads sunscreen on my face, taking his time like he’s fingerpainting a masterpiece.
“Okay, I think that’s enough.” Laughing, I swipe the bottle of sunscreen from him and pop it back into my beach bag.
We walk down to the surf and let the water wash over our feet.
