Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I wait a beat, confused. My mind still reeling over what this actually is. Then, I give up thinking, duck my head into the water, and follow after West.
When I catch up to him, he’s floating on the surface, staring down at one of the reefs.
The moment I look down at what he’s seeing, my insides light with happiness at the utter beauty of the reef.
Then, I feel a hand touch mine. I tilt my head to look and see that West has curled his large hand around mine, engulfing it. My stomach swoops just like the shoal of fish I’ve been watching.
Hand-holding. Such a small act. But it can be so incredibly intimate when you’re hot for a guy.
And I’m hot for West. So fucking hot.
He gestures to something and then starts to swim, taking me with him.
Maybe he just held my hand to get my attention and to lead me over to what he wants to show me. I don’t need to be getting carried away.
But on the surface minutes ago, there was definite sexual tension between us, and then there’s the this that we’ll be talking about later.
And I really need to stop overthinking and analyzing about a guy I haven’t even known twenty-four hours even if we did share a bedroom last night. What I need to do right now is look at the life and beauty happening right below me.
I follow along with West, moving farther away from the boat and from the group we came here with. It’s like we’re in our own little bubble.
We could almost be the couple he pretended us to be earlier, and …
Stop being weird, Dillon. And get out of your head.
I toss all thoughts out of my brain.
Something to the right catches my attention. The instant I see it, I freeze. Pretty sure my heart stops, missing a good few beats.
Then, the panic sets in, and I kick into action. Pulling free from West’s hand, I push up to the surface, kicking my legs like a maniac. I pull the mouthpiece from my mouth, breathing heavily.
“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Shark!” I yell just as West resurfaces. “Th-there’s a shark! We have to get out of here! Back to the boat!” I’m literally living every one of those damn shark movies that I’ve ever seen.
And in each one, the idiot like me almost definitely dies.
I start kicking my legs to get moving. But I’m stopped by West. His hands wrapping around my waist.
“Relax. It’s fine. It’s not gonna hurt you.”
“It’s a shark!”
“It’s sleeping.”
“I don’t care if it’s having a mani-pedi! It’s a fucking shark, and I really don’t want to be eaten!”
He chuckles. “You’re not going to be eaten. It’s only a reef shark. Probably about seven or eight feet long. Not big at all.”
“That’s almost twice my size!”
He nods. “That’s true. You are tiny.”
“Oh fuck. It’s gonna eat me, for sure. It’s gonna see me, the smallest one here, and pick me out as the easy snack!”
“It’s not going to eat you or me or anyone else.”
“What is wrong with you? I’m concerned by how unconcerned you are! Are you missing the fear gene?”
“Shark attacks in the Maldives are almost nonexistent.”
“Almost! You said, almost. What percentage are we talking here? Actually, why are we still in the water, talking?”
“I don’t know the exact percentage—”
“You know nothing.”
“Did you just quote Game of Thrones to me?”
“Not intentionally.”
“Sounds like you did.”
I sigh. “I’m from Yorkshire. Ygritte’s accent is Yorkshire. Everything I say sounds like I’m quoting either her or Jon Snow.”
West chuckles. “Look, Dillon, I promise you, it’s more scared of you than you are of it. You go near that shark, and it’ll swim away—I guarantee it. If it was dangerous, don’t you think I’d have gotten you out of the water already?”
“I don’t know. You could be one of those weird adrenaline junkies who likes to stare death in the face.”
He laughs low. It actually sounds really sexy.
Why am I thinking sexy thoughts in the middle of a shark-and-death situation? I need serious help.
“Nope. I quite like living. And I prefer to get my rushes of adrenaline in other ways,” he says.
“How?”
“Having sex.”
With me?
The thought just popped in, unbidden and uninvited. Thank God it stayed in my head and didn’t come out of my mouth.
What does come out of my mouth though is a croaky-sounding, “Oh.”
I feel one of his hands slide up my waist a touch. Teetering on the bottom of my rib cage.
He’s staring at me in that way again. The one where he looks like he’s hungry as fuck and I’m his next meal.
And it’s weird how much I like it.
Maybe it’s because of the hurt I’ve been feeling and still continue to feel that I’m soaking up the attention he’s giving to me. It makes me feel a little less shitty about myself for that brief period of time.