Belle chewed harder on her gum as Wyatt led her to a shack with wide-open doors and an assortment of Jet Skis lined up outside. Despite herself, she felt a little thrill. They were big machines, bikes for water. Perhaps it would be fun, especially if she were clinging to Wyatt’s naked torso.
“Hey, Wyatt my man, how you doin?” A tall guy with a thick beard and a mass of graying body hair stepped from the shadows. He was wringing his hands on a grimy cloth.
“Sam, good to see you.” Wyatt knuckle bumped him. “Not much business today?”
“Nah, there’s the big game on. Everyone’s watching that.” He tucked the cloth into a pair of faded blue boarder shorts.
“Not us.” Wyatt grinned at Belle. “You got a ski we can take out?”
“Sure, take your pick.” He nodded to his right. “They’re all full of gas.”
“Thanks, buddy, oh and that … shipment, it’ll arrive later in the month.”
Sam nodded and his eyes twinkled. “Looking forward to it.” He dipped his hand into a box of keys. “Here, that’s for the one with the red stripe.”
Wyatt caught the keys with a snap of his hand. “We’ll leave our stuff here, okay?”
“Sure, I’ll keep my eye on it.” Sam turned and wandered back into the shadows.
“How’d you know him?” Belle asked, dropping her gum into a nearby trash can.
“Friend of old. He rode with the Barbarians for a while until his old lady got sick of it and made him choose. He chose her and opted for a life on the beach, but he’s too damn dirty to ever be clean.”
Belle chuckled. “And he lets you take a ski out whenever you want?”
“He knows what side of his bread is buttered.” Wyatt stripped off his t-shirt and dropped it onto the sand.
Belle bit on her bottom lip. The guy was ripped, and with the sun kissing his golden skin, highlighting the swirling font of ink that arched over his pecs—Don’t Slow Down. Don’t Die Old.—he was totally drool-worthy. She hadn’t appreciated that in the shadows the night before, but now she sure was enjoying it.
“What?” he asked, studying her as he fiddled with the yellow laces on his boots.
“Nothing.” She shrugged and popped open the buttons on her shorts. “Just wondering if you handle a ski as well as a bike.”
“You know I do.” He laughed and removed his boots. His attention slid down her legs in time with her shorts.
She kicked them aside.
“Damn, you’re hotter than the fucking sun when you’re wearing a bikini.”
“Does that line get you all the girls?”
He ran his fingers around the waistband of his faded black shorts. A chrome belt held them low on his hips, the buckle a lion’s head. “I don’t need lines to get girls.”
“You’re a full-of-yourself bastard, you know that?”
Suddenly, he reached out and snapped her close. Her breasts pushed up against his hot, hard chest.
“Wyatt.” She laughed and clutched his shoulders.
“You ready for fun?”
“Sure.” She grinned.
“Ready for the ride of your life?”
“Is that what you’re offering?”
“Hell yeah.”