Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(60)

James reaches out to take my shoes. He sets them aside and drops his jacket to free his hands and frame my face. His voice is gruff and rough as he inspects me. “You’re on.”

He fishes out his phone, turns on the camera, aims it at us, and motions. “On the count of three. One . . . two . . .”

“Three!” I dive down and start digging a huge pile of sand.

James is down on all fours, carving even faster than I am.

I’m getting dirty and laughing as I scoop up piles and piles of sand, digging myself a cute little moat.

I try not to see what he’s doing.

But it’s hard. I steal a peek, and James already has a huge-ass peak of sand on his side.

“What?”

“Done.” He leaps to his feet and dusts off his hands.

“No fair. Yours isn’t even a castle. It’s like a . . . it’s ugly, James Rowan!”

“We said who built the biggest castle. NOT the finest.”

He laughs as he settles down next to me, legs stretched out, one of his arms behind me.

“Fine.” I glance at the camera. It’s still filming. I almost dread asking now. “You get one desire granted.”

“Just one?” His brows fly upward.

I nod cheekily.

Wondering what hell or weird dare he’ll ask me to do. Go skinny-dipping. Embarrass myself in front of his viewers.

I get nervous as I wait but persist. “Name it. I’ll ace it.”

He chuckles. While I lift my gaze to his, I realize he’s looking down at me intently.

His hand comes up to cup one of my cheeks. Warm. So big half of my face feels engulfed.

“Lizzy Banks . . .” He leans closer to whisper in my ear. “Always craving perfection. You can’t help it, can you? You think once you achieve it, you will be loved by one and all, even your father. And it makes you frustrated, shocks you to the core, because you also can’t help . . . wanting me . . . even when you know I’m far, far from perfect . . . still. Not quite perfect enough for the likes of you.”

I start to shake my head. Because that is not true. That is totally not true. True, I have high standards for myself, and for this project. But I’ve never really wanted to touch or change any part of him that makes him him because he’s totally irresistible and . . .

God.

Oh god ohgod ohgod. I’m falling. I can’t even fight it. I don’t even know if I want to fight it. All I know is that I keep wondering about him, this, us. I keep watching him work. Keep discovering more treasures about him to love, admire, respect, want. Tonight he amazed me, excited me. Before I can speak and tell him so, he’s easing back to look at me again. “You do things to me.”

My heart is pounding. “You do more things to me,” I breathe. The beach, usually superpopulated by day, feels desolate. It’s like the night is ours. Like the world is ours. Like we’re a team, unstoppable. Meant to be.

It’s perfect. Tonight. HIM.

“So . . . what is it that you’ll . . . want me to do?” I hesitantly ask.

“Nothing. Just be here. Right here. And do this.” He leans down, and I tilt my head a little upward. He teases my lips apart with his own.

Then we’re kissing.

We’re feverish as we taste each other, savor one another.

I have to peel away with effort, panting out as I tug on his shirt, “You. In me. Hotel.”

He doesn’t immediately strip, merely studies my lips with hooded eyes, his eyelids heavy, his pupils so blown up his eyes are nearly black.

My throat feels swollen and thick.

What was I thinking? That I could create a human being, as if it were art . . . and I could remain unmoved, unaffected by it. Unchanged by it.

I thought I wouldn’t become affected by it, touched by it, changed by it. By him.

How wrong I was.

Every part of this man has touched my life. Every part of him that I’ve touched has touched me back, and the parts that I had nothing to do with have outright shone on their own. Near blinded me. There is so much to him to admire.

I see him now and can’t hide my admiration. I don’t know if I’d have been able to stand three months of feeling imperfect—perfection has been ingrained in me. As if anything less is bad. But when I’m with him I want to shed that skin and just be me, the girl who tries to be perfect but never really buys into being all that. The girl who just wants to be happy, succeed in life, have her father’s love, joke around, and yes, even fall deeply and madly in love with the guy who will make her feel happy. Complement her perfectly.

My eyes water as I stare at the face of that guy—the one that has awakened all those feelings in me. The one I’ve been falling for since he was dirty, crass, bearded bar brawler Jimmy. Only to get rid of the static and outward differences to meet the man within—and to be swept off my feet and stumped by what I’ve found.

I’ve never met a human being that made me feel as alive—as perfect, even with my flaws . . . as seen . . . as happy . . . as free—as him.



We go back to the hotel. I shakily pull out my key card and hand it over, and he swipes it in the elevator and pushes the button to our floor.

The doors seal shut. And James looks at me again. His lips a bit shiny around his mouth—from my kisses.

His eyes heavy lidded as he runs them up and down my body.