Page 46 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

I had seen him shirtless before at the hotel. But that had been dark, frantic, and blurred by the champagne.

This was broad daylight.

His eyes found me across the deck and stopped.

He drank me in slowly, starting at my bare feet and traveling up, lingering on my hips, my waist, the curve of my breasts in the bikini top, before finally meeting my eyes.

“Fuck you,” he said accusingly.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

He closed the distance in two strides and pulled me close. He wasn’t touching me, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper.

“Why the fuck do you have to look so hot all the time?”

My face felt hot, and I slapped his chest. His very solid and warm chest. “Shut up.”

He grinned, clearly delighted at making me flustered, and reached up to tug gently at one curl framing my face. “You’re blushing, Sharma.”

“I’m sunburned.”

“We just got here.”

“Shut. Up.”

He grabbed the sunscreen from a nearby table, his grin softening into something almost... sweet.

“Turn around.”

I turned and immediately regretted it.

His hands on my shoulders were warm and confident. He squeezed the sunscreen into his palm, rubbed his hands together, and then⁠—

Oh god.

He started at my shoulders, fingers pressing into the muscle, working the sunscreen in with soft circles. Down my shoulder blades, following the line of my spine, his thumbs dragged down the center of my back in a way that made my breath catch.

“Relax,” he murmured, close enough that I felt it reverberate.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re tense as hell.”

His hands spread across my lower back, fingers dipping just under the band of my bikini bottoms, not crossing any lines, but toeing them expertly, and I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.

It was supposed to be innocent because he was just applying sunscreen on me. Except his hands were magic, and I was remembering what else those hands could do, and that was absolutely not innocent.

“Done,” he said finally, stepping back.

I turned, grabbed the sunscreen from him, and pointed. “Your turn.”

He turned without arguing, and I tried not to think about how his back muscles moved under my hands, how his skin was warm and smooth and I wanted to put my mouth on it.

Focus, Deepika.

I finished his back and capped the bottle.

He caught my wrists before I could step away, turning around and placing my hands flat on his chest.