And the only thing I can think when I look at her is how much I want to wrap my arms around her and just relax.
We're at the lake. It's vacation.
But she doesn't want to relax.
“What's your name?” I ask.
“Lemon Rough,” she says.
“Nice to meet you, Lemon.” Pushing the oar through the water so I can move closer, I’ve never been more eager to get on a dock in my fucking life. “Sorry to intrude on the dock you've been enjoying all this time, but I think we have to share it now. Until you can build yourself a new one.” I give her a grin.
“You want me to build myself a new dock?”
I chuckle. “Hell no, I’m fine to share with you, but looks like you might have an issue with me.”
“You don't own the lake,” she says, “but you're paddling around as if you do.”
“I'm not paddling like I own anything. I went out on the lake and was having a nice time. And if I’m not mistaken, you walked out here looking like you own this dock.” I run a hand over my jaw, trying not to smile too broadly. But damn, this woman is making it hard. “And you looked pretty good while defending this strip of floating wood, I might add.”
“Don't,” she says.
“Don't what?” I push back.
“Don't compliment me.”
I smile. “Why not?”
“Because you don't even know me.”
“I know you're bossy. A little bit entitled. A little angry.”
“Stop it,” she huffs. “Those aren't compliments.”
“True,” I say. “They’re just facts.”
She groans. “What is your problem?”
“I have no problem at all right now. I’m having the time of my life.” And I am. Watching her get all worked up is turning me the fuck on. She has no idea how tightly wound she is, but I want to watch her become undone. “I mean, meeting you is a fantastic start to the week.”
Her lips twitch, and she looks me over. “Well, you know, you shouldn’t be paddleboarding around the lake without your shirt on looking like this because it's very inappropriate.”
“Oh, really?” I snort. “It's inappropriate for me to wear my swimsuit on this lake?”
“Yes,” she says. “You look way too… sexy,” she admits, groaning, but as she says it, she takes one step forward and I step back, because if we are inches apart, I don’t trust myself not to pull that woman into a kiss.
But as I step back, I miss the mark, not realizing how close to the edge of the dock I am, and I find myself falling back, into the lake.
Lemon reaches for me, instinctively, her hand meeting mine as if wanting to help me back up, but my weight is no match for hers—and I pull her in with me.
As she falls into the lake, her head hits the paddleboard.
Shit.
3
LEMON
He's staring down at me as my eyes flutter open.
I immediately push him off, away, because he's way too close. I can practically taste his mouth on mine.
And it would have tasted good.
That kiss? It would have been fucking delicious. I can already tell. And that's saying something.
Anchor looks like fresh air, like sunshine. Like a real fucking man.
Oh my god. I groan, rolling away from him on the deck, pressing a hand to my skull.
“I need some Advil. You know, you practically gave me a concussion.”
“I didn't give you a concussion. You never passed out. You basically clung to me for dear life until I got you out of the water—”
I press a hand against his hard, firm, very chiseled chest. “Don't, Anchor,” I say. “And what kind of name is Anchor anyways?”
He gives me a cocky-ass grin that literally has my pussy wet, which is problematic.
In so many ways, I can't even start.
Also, maybe it’s not him. Maybe he's not doing anything at all. Maybe it's just the fact that my dress is now literally sopping wet. Along with my sandals and my panties and my bra and my hair and my makeup that is streaking down my face.
This was supposed to be the start of my perfect birthday week and now I am in a puddle, on my dock, standing next to a man who looks like some sort of character from a Marvel movie.
Perfect like Captain America, only with dark hair and dimples in his cheeks and—
“What?” he asks. “You're staring.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I think I'm just dizzy. Advil. That's what I need.”
“Okay. Come into my house and I'll get you some, along with some water or something to eat. Are you hungry? Because I'm fucking starving.”
“Oh,” I say, pressing a hand to his chest again, which isn't necessary but I just want to make sure he’s real. That all those muscles aren't a mirage. That this is happening.
But I turn away, around on my heels. “I'm not eating your food or taking your Advil or anything. I'm going back to my lake house and ignoring you and calling my father to try to understand why we're sharing this dock. I wasn't under the impression that this was shared-use.”