“You wanted to be away from the cameras, right?” She eased deeper, and when she turned I got a glimpse of one of the most perfect breasts in the entire world. “So, this is how we do it.”
“We probably could have just outrun him,” I said gruffly, and why on hell was I arguing with this idea? Screw the cold. I was in reach of Emma, and she was practically naked, and we were swallowed by the dark, away from the others, all on our own. If we didn’t get eaten by a shark, this was the best idea I’d ever heard.
“It’s better once you’re underwater.” She hissed out a breath as she sank further in, and I struggled to keep up with her. She was right. My waist had either gone numb or gotten accustomed to the temperature, and after that experience, my chest was a piece of cake.
“Don’t look at my boobs.” She swiveled to face me, and it was a physical impossibility not to look down. I struggled with it, fixating my gaze on the center of her forehead, but it slipped for just a moment and Jesus. If I died tonight, I’d die happy. I forced myself to meet her eyes and reminded myself that I was Cash Mitchell. I’d seen thousands of naked women. Touched hundreds of breasts. These, even if they did belong to Emma Blanton, were not insurmountable.
“You’re looking at them,” she accused, and a wave screwed me over by lapping away from her and exposing more.
“Come here.” I captured her hand under the water and tugged, wanting to bring her into my chest. “You’re shivering.”
She tugged her hand back and flicked some water at me. “I’m fine. Tell me about your mom.”
I glanced at the shoreline, where I could see a huddled group of the crew. One dark figure—probably Dana—stomped back and forth at the surf, gesturing toward us.
“There’s not much to say. She’s a diva. Wasn’t exactly the most nurturing mom.” I ran my wet hand through my hair.
“Okay, so? Some moms are selfish, my own included. I mean, you’ve read the interviews, right?”
Yeah, I’d read the interviews. Her parents shared everything about Emma to one of the gossip rags, presumably for a chunk of money. They didn’t hold back, but you could read between the lines. Every time they called her ungrateful, my dislike of them had doubled. “Yeah.” I coughed and watched as she started to tread water. Reaching out with my leg, I hooked one of hers and brought her closer. “I’m not saying that you had it easy, but my mom isn’t what she played on the show. She’s an actress. People forget that.”
“Okay, so then tell me what she’s really like.” She rested her hands on my shoulders, and it was probably just to stay afloat, but I still liked her hands there, leaning on me, depending on me.
I shouldn’t tell her anything. This was a woman who sold out our first date to the tabloids, then manufactured press items around our movie awards fight, then posed naked for a milk ad just for shock value. Telling her things that I’d never said to anyone… things that any tabloid would pay millions of dollars for… it was insane. I wasn’t that stupid, but then she wrapped her legs around my waist and tightened her grip on my shoulders. The lace of her underwear rubbed against the top of my pelvis, and the tips of her nipples brushed against my pecs as I stood still and let the waves push her up and down my body. I lost all reasonable thought processes then. I lost everything but the scent of her, the feel of her, the look in her eyes as she stared into mine.
“She’s a monster,” I said. “She’s terrible. To me. To my brother.”
“Terrible, how?”
I closed my hands around her ass and pulled her against me, my erection awakening despite the chill. I could talk for an hour about everything my mother was, but I didn’t want her right here, right now. I wanted to kiss Emma. I wanted her hands rough in my hair and her gasp against my lips. “Kiss me.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Talk to me about your mom.”
“Is that what it takes to get a kiss?” I scowled. “You kissed Layton without an inquisition.”
She tried to pull away. “Yeah, for episode five. What’s your point?”
“And what is this? Episode 6? Emma seduces Cash on the beach?” I let go of her, and she pushed away, her face almost lost in the darkness.
“Don’t be a jerk.”
“Don’t be a tease,” I shot back. “What are you even doing out here with me?”
“I’m trying to get to know you,” she spat out across the water. “You say stuff, and when you get called on it, you deflect. Stop saying you’re normal. You’re not normal. You don’t get to lump yourself in with everyone else. You are on a tv show. You have eighty million followers. You have Jockey as a sponsor, and it isn’t because of your sparkling personality, Cash. It’s because of your last name, your zip code, and the press that has been following you around since before you could talk.”