Page 72 of I Can't Even

“Discreet sex in public?” I asked. “That’s on my bucket list.”

He groaned. “You are killing me.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.” His voice was gruff and gravelly as he glanced around us. “Far be it from me to deny your list maybe we should check that off right now.”

“You have to catch me first,” I teased.

I laughed and danced back a few steps from him. The sun shone on his hair, and I saw strands of copper mixed in the dark brown. His eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled at me and his big, callused hands reached out to grab me, making me feel small and delicate, which was a rare and beautiful thing given that I wasn’t exactly petite.

“Surfer girl, do you have any idea of what I’m going to do to you when I catch you, and you know I will,” he said.

Oh, I had a pretty good idea, and I was one-hundred-percent all for it. I skirted around a fountain and peeked at him from behind it. He was striding forward, his T-shirt hugging his ripped torso, very intent in his purpose. I almost pretended to trip just so he could catch me, but I didn’t. I couldn’t make it too easy for him, could I?

“I have no idea, new boy,” I lied. “Do tell me and in great detail.”

I feinted one way and he dodged to catch me, then I doubled back the other way, but he anticipated my move and with a spin and a lunge, I was good and truly caught against him and the look in his eyes promised delicious retribution.

He carried me out of the small park with his arms around my waist and mine around his neck. Our faces were just inches apart while my feet dangled a good six inches off the ground.

“I think I’ll start kissing you here,” he said as he nuzzled my neck, which was like pulling a rip cord to get my motor running. Oh, my!

“And then, I’ll move my hands here.” Liam moved his hands to cup my rear and I instinctively thrust my hips against him. Uh oh, my engine was beginning to seriously overheat.

“Now you’re killing me,” I panted.

We were leaving the small park behind and mingling into the crowd. It was time to take this PG-13 and change its rating to a G. A few more hours with my family, okay, maybe just an hour, and we’d be able to excuse ourselves and hide back at his place. I loosened my arms and he let me slide down his front. Okay, a little bit of an R rating there.

“Should we say good-bye to the others and go home?” Liam asked.

“Yes,” I said. So much for an hour.

I grabbed his hand and turned to lead him in the direction of my family. I spotted them several booths away and began to wind my way through the crowd.

As we passed a booth, I caught sight of a navy hoodie out of the corner of my eye. Maybe I was paranoid, but my head whipped in that direction and I froze, causing Liam to plow into my back and knock us both forward a couple of steps.

The man in the sweatshirt glanced up and I recognized the aviators he always wore. It was him, the blond man who had been at the coffee shop, the same one who had looked in my bag while I was surfing, and now he was standing in an artist’s booth full of still life paintings of flowers. Coincidence?

My heart pounded in my chest. Gull’s Harbor was a small town, sure, and it was likely that I would run into a person a few times while going about my life, but this felt different. I got the feeling this guy wasn’t local. I also sensed that our meetings hadn’t been by chance, especially the one where he’d searched my bag on the beach.

Behind the aviators his gaze felt speculative. Why would he follow me? With Liam beside me, I knew this was my opportunity to get some answers. I moved toward the booth where the man in the sweatshirt stood.

“Are you okay?” Liam asked.

He must have felt me enter mission mode because he glanced between me and the hoodie guy and asked, “Do you know him?”

“No,” I said. “But I think he’s been following me.”

“What?” Liam’s back went straight and his muscles bunched. He looked like he was gearing up to do some damage.

“Easy.” I squeezed his hand in mine. “Let’s be sure before we start cracking skulls.”

He gave me a quick nod but the tension in his posture didn’t lessen one little bit. As we neared the booth, the man in the sweatshirt began to back up, looking for an exit that wouldn’t take him by us. This only added to my suspicions.

We were almost there, and he was trapped between three walls of floral paintings, the artist, two other tourists, and us, and we were closing in.

“Liam!”

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