Chapter One
Brooks
Only one human in this world would feel unlucky about accidentally grabbing the perfect ass of Jax Pierce. That’s me, Dr. Brooks Barrow. I’m that human. That very awkward human who has no business being anywhere in the vicinity of this woman and her notably coveted backside.
Oh sure, it’s plump and round and utterly squeezable, like a nice cool pillow on a hot summer night.
Her famously beautiful rump is just as I’d imagined it would be.
The problem is that Jax didn’t consent to the grabbing. She doesn’t even know my name.
Some men would kill to be in my shoes right now. Me? This is not how I had planned to introduce myself if ever given a chance to meet my lifelong celebrity crush.
Celebrity might be a strong word. To most people, she’s just a model, a social media influencer, an actor in commercials.
To me, Jax is a legend, featuring heavily in my first ever wet dream at the age of 13 and at least weekly ever since then. She’s also a client at Cerulean Resort, and I’m supposed to be her kayak guide to Temple Island for a morning donkey yoga class.
So how did I end up groping her peach?
That would be a direct result of me not paying attention to the local wildlife. What happened was, Jax became very excited at the sight of a fin breaching the water less than twenty feet away as we paddled toward Temple Island.
“Dolphin!”
I’m such a know-it-all. I couldn’t help myself. I’m the naturalist around here; it’s my job to know these things.
“That’s a basking shark.”
Gasping and freaking out a bit, Jax began paddling away like mad. As we were still in shallow water, her oar hit the bottom with extra force, and the vessel capsized. Me, I kayak every day, and I know how to extract myself underwater safely. Jax had informed me this was her first time in such a watercraft. So, thinking quickly, I dove for her.
In the heat of a newfound irrational rush of protective instinct, I hadn’t realized the kayak had already dumped her out entirely, and her life vest was fully functional, and so were her legs. And we were in waist-deep, utterly clear water. Jax was in no danger other than the danger of being molested by me. What I thought was her middle turned out to be her rump.
And that’s where I currently find myself. Inappropriately touching, but, as a consummate naturalist, needing to be sure we don’t startle the shark or, most likely, step on a stingray. “Don’t move,” I say. “Basking sharks won’t bother you, but let’s try to be still, and maybe it’ll come closer, and we can get a good look at that huge mouth.”
She squeaks, a sound of an anxious little kitten. I desperately want her to be calm and know that nothing will happen to her. I’m the guy everyone turns to for animal facts on this island; I know what I’m doing.
“It’s gone now. Off to look for plankton elsewhere.”
“Hopefully, they can’t smell white-hot fear,” she mutters.
“Unless you’re made of plankton, you’re safe. And if you are made of plankton, you’re much too big of a conquest for a juvenile of that size,” I say.
I say this without thinking. Bugs and animals and trees? I know all the things. Women? I know nothing.
“Excuse me?” Jax swivels around to face me, then gives me a strange look, and I realize my hands are still on her. Granted, no longer gripping her bottom but firmly on her waist.
And then I realize what I just said. “I just meant ounce for ounce, you’d be a daunting meal.”