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One Bossy Disaster
-- EXCERPT: “Um, a little help? I can’t get out.” I make another half-hearted attempt to stand up in my kayak and fail comically. Shepherd stares at me for a second before he laughs. He laughs--a real belly laugh—and it’s a happy sound that vibrates through me. Not cruel, either, but warm and understanding. There goes my heart again as he strides over to where the waves meet the beach. He grabs the front of my kayak effortlessly and hauls it out of the water. No sweat. No big deal. No small favor with bigger muscle. Damn, I’ll admit it. Right now, I am thirsty as hell. I’ve been ogling him all day and he still hasn’t stopped getting hotter. “There,” he says when I’m safely on the sand. “Can you get out now?” I try. I really do. But my body simply won’t cooperate. I guess my legs forgot they’re supposed to be a flesh and bone team, and my arms feel totally disconnected from my shoulders. “This is so embarrassing,” I say, but he just releases the end of the kayak and steps closer. “Save it, Destiny. You worked your ass off today and there’s no point in feeling shamed. Even if I’m going to carry you.” What? He bends down, and before I can register what’s happening, he does it. Picks. Me. Up. As in, I am in his arms right now, damsel in distress style, legs hooked over one arm while his other arm lends back support. The world spins as I weakly wrap my arms around his neck. And oh. Oh. He’s almost superheated with exertion through his wet suit. The shelter of his arms makes me aware just how massive he really is. I’m so used to being the same height as most of the men around me—often taller—but this guy makes me feel small. That’s a miracle in itself. And he’s breathing harder now. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t when he dragged my kayak up onto the shore. His arms tighten around me, drawing me closer. I’m not sure I’m breathing. Scratch that, definitely not. There’s a wild look in his eyes. My arms are locked around his neck and we’re so close, I can feel his heart beating so, so fast. He isn’t alone. Mine strums like a guitar plucked by a rock star belting out a nasty breakup ballad. What is even happening? “It’s normal for first-timers,” he says softly, and I blink up at him in confusion. Shepherd Foster is never soft. …and first-timers? How do I explain that although I’m way younger, I’m not inexperienced. I’ve had my fair share of male attention, though none of the boys I’ve dated have ever swept me up like a storm. “Kayaking,” he clarifies, eyeing my blank face. Oh, crap.
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