He gives me a cocky-ass grin that literally has my pussy wet, which is problematic.
In so many ways, I can't even start.
Also, maybe it’s not him. Maybe he's not doing anything at all. Maybe it's just the fact that my dress is now literally sopping wet. Along with my sandals and my panties and my bra and my hair and my makeup that is streaking down my face.
This was supposed to be the start of my perfect birthday week and now I am in a puddle, on my dock, standing next to a man who looks like some sort of character from a Marvel movie.
Perfect like Captain America, only with dark hair and dimples in his cheeks and—
“What?” he asks. “You're staring.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I think I'm just dizzy. Advil. That's what I need.”
“Okay. Come into my house and I'll get you some, along with some water or something to eat. Are you hungry? Because I'm fucking starving.”
“Oh,” I say, pressing a hand to his chest again, which isn't necessary but I just want to make sure he’s real. That all those muscles aren't a mirage. That this is happening.
But I turn away, around on my heels. “I'm not eating your food or taking your Advil or anything. I'm going back to my lake house and ignoring you and calling my father to try to understand why we're sharing this dock. I wasn't under the impression that this was shared-use.”
Anchor’s eyes narrow, his chin lowers, giving me smoldering eyes that—okay, now Iknowmy pussy is doing things that have absolutely nothing to do with my clothes being wet.
He's trouble. All sorts of trouble.
I knew that the moment I saw him out on that stand-up paddleboard.
I unpacked my car, put my groceries away, and looked out the screen door and saw that man out on that paddleboard. I knew that I would be too distracted to read my novel if he was out there, paddling away. So precise, so erotic, so—
“You're staring again,” he says.
“Sorry,” I say, pressing a hand to my skull unnecessarily but using it as an excuse. “It's the wound, the near concussion you gave me.”
“If I remember correctly, you're the one who stepped towards me, pushing me into the water. And then you reached for me, which pulled you right in. I think I should be blaming you for this fall.”
“No.” I shake my head. “This is my birthday week. This is my vacation. You can't blame me for anything.”
He grins. “It's your birthday week?”
“Yeah,” I say. “My birthday’s tomorrow. I came up here for a calm, relaxing vacation.”
He smiles. “And you're gonna go call your daddy to make sure I'm supposed to be here? He solve all your problems?”
I frown. “As a matter of fact, my father is a great man. RedfordRough, he's the person who renovated your entire property so you shouldn't be such an ass about it.”
His eyes widen at that. “He did a really fucking good job. The house is incredible.”
“Well, the finishing touches were thanks to me,” I say with a smile.
“You're an interior designer?”
I shrug. “On the side. I was thinking of starting a business one day, but it's a little hard. I'm working so much for my family right now. It's kind of difficult to get anything going.”
He nods. “Actually,” he says, “before you go, there's one other thing I wanted to say.”
“What's that?” I ask.
“Well, you're saying I'm some weirdo for having a name like Anchor, but your name is Lemon. It's not that much better.”
I smile at that because how can you not. “Fair point,” I say. “I guess we both had weird parents.”