Page 50 of Sucker For You

“Oh. . . T-thank you.”

“Sure.” He winced, massaging his ribs. “But,uh—how about we get out of here, before any pelicans join the mix?”

Her look skyward must have revealed the gular pouches descending; she didn’t protest when he extracted their octopus’s feed and gear bags from her white-knuckled grip, then guided them past the mess, farther up the pier. He shielded her with his own elbows and shoulders until they’d exited the worst of the crowd and the smell, until the breeze cleared their noses and whipped her hair against his cheek. Then he stepped back.

Isabel reached for the railing. Her chipped nails dug into its splintered timber. She drew a short, harsh breath. “I’m sorry, I. . .”

“. . . don’t like crowds?” He leaned beside her.

“No.”

He waited, swinging the shrimp bag in one hand, his other palm on his ribs.

“I. . .” She ran her tongue over her wind-roughened lower lip. “You. . . you should know this. For the interview. I don’t like crowds, or—or loud noises. Both at once are worse. They mean I’m in a situation where people are likely to touch me when I’m not expecting it. When I haven’t prepared myself.”

Though at least here, catching her breath, she hadn’t retreated out of his reach.

Not that he meant to grab her again.

“Is all touch bad? Even when you’re expecting it?”

“All. . . I—think. . . yes, usually? But sometimes I. . .” She stopped. A slight tinge of pink returned to her cheekbones. Maybe from the breeze? Then she shook her head. “No, it’s not always bad.”

He dropped his massaging hand. He should have dropped his questions, too. “Not when it’s an octopus?”

“Not when it’s an octopus.”

That answer should have been the end of it. It should have been enough to bank the simmer in his sore stomach.Are you surprised that she doesn’t want you to touch her?Except that after a few more slow breaths, Isabel sneaked a glance at him through her hair.

Just like that, another traitorous flash of heat hit his gut.

One look from a wild creature meantawareness.

Two looks signifiedcuriosity.

If there was a third?

What would have happened if he’d kissed her over the reef tank today? If he’d lingered with his fingers tracing her pulse and her jaw, before moving closer, exchanging hands for lips, tracing his mouth over hers instead? If he’d tasted and explored her while the octopus likewise explored their intertwined hands, learning the warmth and wetness of their human skin? Would his kiss have been a bad touch? Would she have shied away?

Or. . .

No.

He fumbled for his Nikon. Wes busied his fingers and his brain by popping off the lens cap. He hoisted the camera strap over his head and offered the equipment to Isabel, with the lens turned toward their faces. “We never got around to taking pictures during our dive.Um, since we’re supposed to be on a date right now, what if we took our first photo here? It’s not the golden hour yet, but we have bokeh off the water and there’s good moisture in the air for a natural color saturation. The conditions are decent.”

“I. . .”

“I’ve got my hands full with these feed bags. Can you control the angle and the flash? I’ll show you how, if you want.”

“I’d have the camera?” She didn’t take the Nikon. Her flush persisted, though, and she didn’t outright refuse. Or leap off the wharf.

He took the win.

“Is having your picture taken like being touched? Bearable if you’re prepared? If you can control it?”

One of Isabel’s shoulders twitched. “I managed it at UCSF Medical Center. When I was. . . motivated. So—maybe?” But her fingers knotted, grinding against a phantom diamond.

She was thinking about Chase.