Elle Thorpe

Fine, whatever. I took my shirt off and then my jeans, and moved toward the water, still clad in my bra and panties. The tide washed over my feet. “Oh, holy hell!” I spun and headed straight back to dry sand. “Nope! Not today, Satan.”

Because seriously. That water was icy enough to freeze straight over.

Cold, wet arms wrapped around me from behind. The scream I let out was deafening, but if it bothered Colt, he didn’t let on. He hauled me to his chest, my back pressed against his front, his thick forearms and biceps locked tight around my middle.

He hoisted me straight off the sand and strode back to the water.

“Colt, no!”

Instead, I breathed in the night air and let the crash of the waves fill my ears. “I love the beach.”

“I know.”

“No you don’t.”

He glanced over at me. “Actually, yeah, I do. We used to come here when we were kids. Your family and mine.”

I gawked at him. “You remember that?”

“You don’t?”

“Do you always answer questions with questions?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know. Bits and pieces. You, mostly. You followed me around a lot.”