Wicked Sexy Liar (Wild Seasons #4)(58)

I actually snort. “Fuck that.”

He reaches for my forearm, thumb brushing over my wrist. “I’m trusting you, you trust me.”

I could be wrong, but it feels like he’s talking about a lot more than roller coasters. I look into his brown eyes and there’s nothing but absolute sincerity there.

He bends at the knee to meet my gaze. “Okay?”

I reluctantly nod. “But I don’t want to hear about it when I freak out and end up riding the stupid thing in your lap.”

Luke grins. “It’s cute that you think I would complain about that.” He holds out a hand to shake and I take it, ignoring how much bigger it is than mine, and that I know exactly what it feels like on my body.

“Okay, okay,” I say, pulling away from his grip and shaking my fingers where I hope he can’t see. “Deal made. Now, let’s get back to surfing so I can see you punk out and I never have to step foot inside that godforsaken amusement park.”

“You’re really hot when you get all worked up,” he says, and I punch him in the shoulder.

I have him lie facedown on his board and we go over the basics of paddling out. One look at his broad, tan back, and I realize I’ve made another mistake.

“You can spot a beginner because they paddle out with their legs open and that drags in the water,” I tell him, and tap his ankle with my foot. “Legs together.” I point out a group of guys running out into the water, and I show him how to read the waves, how to tell which direction they’ll break. “See that guy right there?” I say. “That’s how you want to pop up. Do what he’s doing.”

Luke mimics his position and lies on his board again. “Pretend there’s a beach ball under your chin. Yeah, just like that,” I say, and move around to the other side and lie down in the sand next to him. “So you’ll see the wave . . .” I start, becoming distracted by the way his gaze flickers over my body, down along my curves and back up again, not even remotely subtly.

When he makes the full circuit and meets my eyes, he breaks out in a huge smile. “I was just checking your position,” he says.

“Sure you were.”

“What? I like to be thorough. This is the only part I’ll be good at, okay? Once we get in that water all bets are off; let me keep my manhood for just a little longer.”

I grin up at him, finally pulling my bottom lip between my teeth so I don’t let it slip how f*cking adorablehotsweet he’s being.

“So I’ll feel the wave . . .” he says, and waits for me to continue.

Nodding and getting my shit together, I say, “You’ll feel the push, take two extra paddles to make sure you’re actually in it, hands here, under your chest. With your head up you’ll roll your body and pop up, knee under your chest, feet under you and into your stance, ready to hula-hoop.”

He doesn’t look overly confident but he tries it a few times.

“Good! And if you did everything correctly, you should be able to do it in reverse, too,” I say, and show him, kneeling down, pushing my legs back behind me until I’m lying on my stomach again. “And just do it until you feel comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” He looks less than convinced. “I don’t think that’ll ever happen,” he says, bringing his knees to his chest and popping up.

“Yes it will, look how good you’re doing already.”

“Yeah, on the beach.”

“All in good time,” I tell him, rubbing my hand over his warm shoulder. He looks down at my hand, I stare at my hand, and we fall into a heavy silence before I pull it away completely. “You ready to hit the water?”

Luke shakes his head, eyes playful. “Nope.”

I tilt my head and wait.

“Okay, yeah. I’ve got roller coasters to get you on, and I’ve lived a good life already anyway,” he says, and we head down to shore.

The water is cold and it takes us a few deep breaths to work up the nerve to dive in together, but eventually we do, surfacing with shouts and laughter. We swim out, stopping where the waves lap just at our waist. Luke has his leash strap hooked around his ankle, and hasn’t stopped looking in the frothy water, as if a shark might materialize at any moment and take him down.

“Can you get up on your board?” I ask, and he nods, gingerly climbing up, eyes darting at every little ripple next to him. He’s terrified, and a part of my chest squeezes with fondness that he trusts me enough to even do this.

“The waves are that way,” I tell him, and he looks up from the water. “You can look at my boobs if you need the distraction.”

“Don’t think I won’t hold you to that,” he says.

We work on getting him balanced on his stomach on the board. He slides around a little, complaining good-naturedly, and we talk more about spotting a wave. I quiz him on which direction they’ll break. I teach him how to duck-dive and punch through the smaller waves on his way out, and though he never actually looks any less tense, he listens and does everything I ask.

“As the wave comes, you want to push the nose of the board down, sinking it. Arms straight, hands on the rails, deep breath before the wave breaks over you—”

“Why do I need to take a deep breath?” he asks, eyes wide and panicked.

“Because you’re going to be underwater.”