Soaked (The Water's Edge #2) (5 page)

Miami was a blur. Grady and I had to race to make our connection—which actually turned out to be a decent-sized plane. Like the first leg of the trip, he sat in first class and I sat mid-plane in a seat over the wing. This time, my seatmate was a man traveling solo who looked only a few years older than me. And, unlike last time, this guy didn’t seem content to ignore me.

After stuffing a carryon in the overhead bin, he turned to face me, reaching out to shake my hand. “Hey. I’m Nick.”

Begrudgingly giving him my hand, I lifted my face to his. “Sadie.”

His warm fingers held mine a moment too long, and I tugged it back, tucking it under my thigh. He had dark eyes, like the color West preferred his coffee. The memory made me scowl.

Nick’s eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder. “Is something wrong? Do you get airsick or something?”

I blushed, embarrassed at taking out my frustration on this innocent guy. “No. I—I’m fine.”

He paused, his gaze drifting over my features. I wondered what he saw as he studied my face before his focus dropped to take in the rest of me. I glanced down, self-consciously. The scooped neck of my top had twisted a little from my seatbelt, and the barest edge of my lavender bra peeked out on one side. I fumbled with the cotton fabric, adjusting it back in place.

A smile lingered on his lips when I looked back up at him. “Yes, you are,” he said softly.

I fidgeted. Was he flirting? I took a minute to absorb the rest of him. He skin was bronzed, and his brown hair was streaked from the sun. Faint laugh lines cracked the sharp planes of his face, his full lips still tipped in a grin.

Why the hell was I noticing his lips?

I didn’t allow my survey to drop below his smooth-shaven chin and the strong angle of his jaw, but his shoulders were brushing mine, so he was clearly broad.

Alcohol. I needed more alcohol.

The flight attendant went through the safety talk and Nick paid attention, which was noticeable only because most passengers were ignoring it. He glanced over his shoulder to locate the emergency exit, two rows behind us.

When the plane began its taxi to the runway, he gripped the armrests tightly, dislodging my elbow in the process.

“Sorry,” he gritted out.

“Nervous?”

“Nope.”

I raised my eyebrows.

He grimaced. “Scared shitless is a better description.”

I bit my lip so I wouldn’t smile, but he saw the small motion.

“Most plane crashes occur within two minutes of takeoff. Once we’re in the air, I’ll be fine. It’s just those first two minutes.”

He braced himself with his feet, his thighs flexing under his gray pants.

“Talk to me. Distract me.” His eyes pleaded with me, belaying the gruff tone to his voice.

“Ummm. Okay.” I paused, my mind blank. “Are you single?”

What the fuck? Where had that question come from?

“Yes. You?”

I clenched my jaw, turned away for a second. “Yup. Very.”

His eyes narrowed as he observed me. “What’d he do?”

“What?”

“What’d the idiot do?”

“He was an idiot.” I shrugged.

“Clearly.”

Shaking my head, I turned the question back on him. “What about you? Why are you single?”

“I travel a lot for work. It makes it hard.”

That word. I couldn’t help my eyes from flicking down to his crotch.

The muscles in his arm relaxed as he laughed at me. “Yeah, it can be a problem sometimes. But I handle it.”

I coughed. Did he mean what I thought?

The laugh lines around his eyes deepened as he struggled to keep a straight face.

“Is it a problem that comes up a lot?” What the fuck was wrong with me this morning? I blamed my lack of filter on my way-too-early-in-the-morning drink.

He kept his voice serious. “Just morning and night.”

I snickered and he relaxed the rest of the way, his knuckles no longer white against the armrest.

“I’ve mastered some coping techniques. I could teach you. You may need them in the future, if you run into any more idiots.”

I blinked. Damn, he was bold. I looked down where his hand rested between us, unconsciously checking out his fingers. Long and lean. Surprisingly lean for such a broad guy.

“I’ve had a lot of experience—”

“I’m sure you have,” I interrupted.

“ . . . and it’d be a shame for all that knowledge to just go to waste,” he finished.

“We do live in a wasteful society these days.”

“It’s sad, really.”

This was the moment we should’ve busted out laughing. But, instead, we stared at each other, the tension rising between us. And I was grateful. This—this is what I needed. To spend a few hours flirting harmlessly with a good-looking guy I’d never see again. To take my mind off West. To remember there were other fish in the sea, other men who would find me attractive.

“I think we’re past the two minute mark now.” I broke the thick silence.

“Does that mean you’re done talking to me?”

“Are you still scared?”

“Terrified. I think you should hold my hand.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I’m sure.”

“It would help.” His face was the very picture of sincerity.

“How do you know?” I couldn’t help but smile at his audacity.

“I don’t. But I won’t know until I try.” He scooped my hand into his, his grip loose and easy. He seemed at ease touching me, someone he’d known less than half an hour.

And oddly, I was okay with it. His vibe was so relaxed, I didn’t feel that weirdness that normally happens when a stranger enters my personal space. He left our hands dangling between us, his tan a slightly more olive tone than my own.

“Do you often hold hands with strangers?” I’d never met someone like him. I was intrigued.

“The pretty ones—as often as I can. But I’m shallow. I pass on the ugly ones.”

“Worried it’s contagious?”

He winked. “Are you implying I’m good looking?”

I opened my mouth then snapped it shut. Tried again. “I mean, I’d say you’re about a six right now. A solid six.” I nodded to reinforce my words.

He shook his head. “I’m at least an eight.”

“Eh, that might be pushing it.” Teasing him felt natural. And he
was
an eight. Maybe a nine.

“You should see me when I’m trying.”

“You’re not trying right now?”

“Nah. This is my laidback, casual look. When I go for devastatingly handsome,
that’s
when you should look out. You can’t start looking your best. You have to build up to it, give them something to look forward to. Otherwise, they’re disappointed every time after that first encounter.”

I paused. That actually wasn’t terrible advice.

He nudged me with his broad shoulder. “I told you. Lots of experience.”

The flight attendant stopped next to our row, took our drink orders. I picked another screwdriver, accepting the tiny liquor bottle and plastic cup of orange juice. He ordered the same.

He let go of my hand so we could assemble our drinks and my fingers felt cool without his shared warmth.

“So, is Grand Cayman your final stop?” I was curious now.

He nodded. “I got a last minute assignment. I’m a photographer.”

“Me too!”

We spent the rest of the flight talking shop, debating techniques, and sharing tips. He was a lot more technical than I was, and I paid attention, even jotted down some notes on my phone.

When he spoke about his work, his face lit up and he used his hands. His passion for the field was clear. And contagious. We traded customer horror stories and compared equipment. He was a big fan of having multiple lenses and using additional lighting equipment. I was more of an in-the-moment, use-what’s-available kind of girl. Less is more and all that. He spent at least thirty minutes trying to convince me of the merits of his camera of choice—one that cost three times my current favorite.

We got so lost in our conversation, the landing took me by surprise, the slight bounce as we touched down startling me and making me automatically latch onto his arm.

He muscle flexed under my palm, his other hand coming up to cover mine. “You okay there?”

I nodded, embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

I started to withdraw my fingers, but he held tight for a moment, until I met his eyes.

“You grabbing my arm? Absolutely nothing to be sorry about.” He released his grip slowly and I pulled away. The simple action of my fingers sliding across his bicep felt loaded with the way he was watching me.

I licked my lips and turned away to hide my edginess, peering out the window at the island airport, palm trees swaying beyond the runway and not a cloud in the sky.

“I guess we’re here.”

“It’s too bad.”

“I forgot to ask you,” I said, facing him again, ignoring his remark. “Do you have a card or something? I’d love to see some of your work.”

He leaned to the side and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, extracting a business card and handing it to me. Bold letters splashed across the top: NICK BENTLEY, photographer.

Nick
Bentley?
The
Nick Bentley? The huge, big shot, famous photographer Nick Bentley?

I dropped the card, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. I wasn’t even remotely in his league, and I’d been arguing methodology with him? Mortified wasn’t a strong enough word to begin to describe how I felt.

“Have you heard of me?” His head was cocked to the side and his voice held only curiosity, not arrogance.

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze now. “Yeah,” I laughed, self-depreciatingly. “I’ve heard of you.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“No,” I backtracked. “No! I’ve seen your work. You’re amazing.”

“Thank you,” he said. He tilted my chin up, his touch feather-light, and waited until I made eye contact with him. “You seem pretty amazing yourself.”

I snorted
. Oh my fucking God, I snorted!?
“I wouldn’t exactly say I’ve got the same experience as you.”

“I offered to share my expertise.” His smile deepened. “The offer still stands.”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about his photography skills or his skills with the other,
harder
issues that we’d been talking about earlier. His smirk didn’t clarify the matter either.

“I’m sure you’ll be busy.”

“I’d make time for you,” he countered smoothly.

“Where did you say your assignment was again?”

“Oh. I’ll be shooting at a new resort here on the island for a few weeks. Water’s Edge. How ’bout you? Where will you be?”

I WAS GOING
to kill Grady.

The Grand Cayman resort opening was his big break within the organization. It was his to organize, manage, advertise, handle, oversee—all that stuff. He’d told me it was basically a make it or break it situation. If he rocked it, he moved up to a VP position within the company. If he dropped the ball, he’d remain a mid-level manager overseeing the Reynolds Island property—not exactly their hottest location, even if he had personal ties to the area.

And he’d told me that he was impressed by my skills—trusted me to come up with a killer campaign.

How could he not have told me they’d hired Nick fucking Bentley too?

I guess that faith in me only went so far. I fumed silently as we went through customs and gathered our luggage.

Once we were situated in the shiny new minivan that would shuttle us to the resort, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I tapped Grady’s shoulder in front of me. He twisted to face me and raised his eyebrows in question. Struggling to keep my voice level and professional, I asked, “Did you hire Nick—”

I was cut off when a hand shot out—stopping the door from closing all the way. Nick ducked inside and squeezed onto the bench seat next to me, his splayed thigh pressing against the length of mine. The heat of him burned right through my casual, linen-blend pants. I moved my leg over an inch and his followed me, maintaining the contact.

Leaning forward to the seat in front of us where Grady was, Nick punched his shoulder. “Grady! Man, it’s good to see you again. It’s been what—two years? I was sorry to hear about—”

“I’ve been
great!
” Grady interrupted, shooting Nick a look before glancing meaningfully at me. “I caught your show at the Galleria when I was in Chicago last year. I even bought a piece myself.”

Nick settled back next to me, stretching his arm out along the seat behind my head. What was he doing?

Grady glanced at me, head cocked in question, clearly wondering if I was going to finish my earlier remark, but I shook my head slightly.

“So this is the hot new talent you were telling me about?” Nick tipped his head in my direction. “I have to say, I agree about the hot part. I can’t wait to see what she can do.”

My jaw dropped at his boldness, and I flushed from my face down to my chest. Was the air conditioner in this vehicle broken or something?

Grady rolled his eyes. “Easy, boy. Remember what I hired you to do and lay off the extracurricular activities for a change.”

The resort opening was Grady’s responsibility, his chance to shine. I guess he didn’t have as much confidence in my abilities as I thought if he’d hired Nick Bentley too. And considering Nick was a fucking
legend
in the photography world, it was clear who was playing second string here.