Page 27 of Sins of the Father
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sand was softer than she imagined, warm silk between her toes. Mia lingered at the shoreline, the surf curling around her ankles, when Luc carried a long surfboard from the jeep and set it down with casual ease. Luc gripped the hem of his white shirt and tugged it over his head in one smooth motion. The sunlight caught the motion, gilding his skin in gold.
Mia’s breath stalled.
His body looked like it had been carved from stone—lean, powerful, and honed to precision. Across his back and shoulders sprawled intricate tattoos—elegant, yet raw—dark patterns that seemed alive, winding over the hard planes of his body like whispers of sin.
When he turned toward her, she saw that his chest was unmarked. Muscles shifted under his bronzed skin as he moved, the ridges of his abdomen tight as a drawn bowstring. The contrast made her pulse quicken. It was as if Luc had ink and shadow on one side, purity and restraint on the other.
His black surf shorts rode low on his hips, the faint V at his abdomen drawing her eyes before she could stop herself. Heat flooded her cheeks. For a fleeting second, a sharp, shockingache pulsed through her sex. It was lust, fierce and unbidden. Mia looked away quickly, heart hammering, her throat gone dry. But the image of him—bare, powerful, impossibly male—stayed burned behind her eyelids, and she hated how much she wanted to look again.
“Come,” he said.
Her heart leaped, half with excitement, half with dread. The waves looked endless, vast and alive, stretching toward a horizon painted in silver-blue. Mia hesitated at the edge where the foam kissed the sand, her pulse fluttering with both fear and wonder. She took a cautious step forward. The first touch of the ocean was startlingly cool, curling around her ankles. A shiver danced up her spine. The water pulled gently at her feet, retreating only to rush forward again, bolder this time, climbing to her calves.
Her sarong tangled around her legs as she waded deeper. Sunlight glimmered across the surface, turning every crest into molten light. When the water reached her waist, she gasped. The chill gave way to a strange exhilaration, her skin tingling, her heartbeat matching the rhythm of the waves. She felt small beneath the vast dome of sky, yet utterly present, as though the ocean itself had accepted her into its embrace.
Mia tipped back her head and yelled, “This iswonderful!”
Then she laughed, utterly delighted. Mia took another step, and the water rose to her chest. The current tugged, playful but insistent, and awe washed through her. The sea was endless, untamed and beautiful in its danger. Then the tide shifted, stronger now, pulling at her with unexpected force. Panic flickered in her chest.
Mia’s breath hitched. “I—I can’t swim,” she said, her voice barely rising above the crash of the waves as her feet lifted from the sand.
Luc’s arm slid around her waist before the tide could drag her under. “Then hold onto me.”
His voice was low, commanding but there was something else in it, a quiet reassurance that wrapped around her more firmly than his arm. Mia obeyed, her fingers curling against his skin as the ocean surged against them. The heat of him contrasted sharply with the cool water, and instinctively, her body leaned into his. The panic that had gripped her moments ago ebbed away, replaced by a dizzying awareness of his strength, his steadiness.
And then she realized that she trusted him in this moment. The knowledge startled her almost as much as the waves. Luc guided her to the board, steadying it as she clutched the smooth surface.
“Kick. Like this.” His hand skimmed her thigh, nudging until her legs moved properly.
Her body obeyed, legs thrashing, keeping her afloat. The waves curled and broke around her, cool against her skin, but it was the wild, heart-pounding rush of being alive in something so vast. “Teach me,” she said with a light laugh, glancing up at him. “I want to be in the water without fear—to feel this thrill, to face the ocean and not run from it.”
“You have a lovely laugh,” he said, lifting a finger to touch the corner of her mouth.
“Is that to say some laughs are not lovely?”
“Hmm, I knew someone who sounded like a braying donkey.”
A choking sound came from Mia. “You are mean.”
Luc’s lips curved faintly, the look in his eyes unreadable. “Honest,” he drawled. “There is a distinction. Come, let me teach you.”
She hesitated only a second before reaching for his hand. His fingers closed around hers, strong and sure, anchoring heragainst the pull of the tide. “Breathe,” he murmured. “Let the water move around you, not against you.”
Mia nodded, her heart pounding. The water lapped higher, cool silk over her skin. His hand moved to the small of her back, steady and warm. “Lean into me,” he instructed, and when she did, the sea lifted her, weightless.
He guided her gently, his voice low against her ear. “Kick your legs… slower. Let them follow the rhythm of the waves.”
She obeyed, the water buoying her body. It was terrifying at first—the sense of surrender—but Luc’s arm was there, unwavering, a living tether between fear and freedom.
“Good,” he said, his breath brushing her temple. “You see? You’re safe.”
The thrill of it rippled through her chest. She tried again, this time without his full support, her movements clumsy but determined. He stayed close, his palm skimming her waist as he corrected her posture, his touch scorching even through the cool surf.
She glanced at him, breathless. “You make it look easy.”
“It’s not,” he said. “You’re just making it look beautiful.”
