Page 89 of Wicked Dares
Levi stands on the upper deck with one hand braced against a metal pole while he adjusts part of the sail rigging above him.
And he’s shirtless.
My brain immediately short-circuits on that fact alone.
Sunlight glints across bronzed skin, tattoos, and hard muscle. The sharp cut of his abs flexes with every movement he makes, tapering into the black shorts hanging low on his hips.
Between the ocean behind him and the wind moving through his dark hair, he looks less like a real man and more like some mythical sea god dragged straight out of one of Aunt Bess’ trashy romance books.
I stop walking.
Because wow.
How in the hell did I walk away from him last week?
As if sensing me staring, Levi glances down toward me.
The second his eyes land on me, his entire face changes.
And then he smiles.
Levi walks over to the railing and rests one forearm against it. “Good morning, Butterfly.”
The nickname does something maddening to my stomach every single time he uses it.
“You sail?” I ask, still staring up at him.
A cocky smile pulls at his mouth. “Among other things.”
Of course.
Levi glances out toward the open water behind him, then back at me. “Perfect day for it, too.” The wind shifts around us, tugging at the sails. “It’s quiet out there. No phones. No meetings. No people. Just the ocean. Want to come?”
The question catches me off guard enough that I answer too quickly. “No.”
One dark brow lifts.
“I mean…” I shift awkwardly. “I actually came out here because I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?” Typical Levi, acting like there really isn’t an elephant-sized matter we need to discuss.
“You do realize you kind of brought me to your house last night with my stuff.”
“And?”
I take a breath and bite back a smile. “I can’t stay here, Levi.”
For a second, the only sound between us is the soft movement of water against the dock.
Then he lets out a quiet huff of disbelief and shakes his head once.
“No, no,” he says calmly. “That’s not happening.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Levi, come on. I can’t stay with you.”
“Actually, you can.” A smug look settles on his face. “Clause nine of our contract allows for adjustments to the terms during emergencies.” He flicks a hand toward me. “This qualifies as an emergency.”
I’m pretty sure that clause was meant for sickness or accidents.
