“What you’re saying is I’m crap at kissing?” Then realizing that sounded a little whiny with a side of fishing for a compliment, she added, “I mean, crap at kissing you, in particular. I’m a good kisser—a great kisser under normal circumstances, but nothing about this situation is normal. With you, I mean. There’s nothing normal about kissing you or you kissing me, for that matter.” Somebody shut her up. Right about now she’d welcome becoming a great white shark’s predinner snack.
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Come here.”
Whoa, now.
She was close enough to see the gleam in his eyes. The gleam from a man who’d been issued a challenge and wouldn’t back down.
“No need,” she said. “I’m reading you loud and clear. I’ll add more hand-holding, proprietary grooming, sweet-nothing whispering, and snuggles to my routine. Good talk.”
She made to splash past him but he snagged her wrist, and, aided by a swelling wave, reeled her in. He released her as the wave swept her into his chest and she was forced to grip his shoulders. Okay, not precisely forced, but since her feet still couldn’t reach the sand it was either hold onto him or sink.
