“We stay here for three hours,” Juan said, holding up as many fingers. “Only one lifeguard on the beach: me.” He gave them all a serious look. “And I learned my lifeguarding skills the same way I learned my English—Baywatch reruns. So when you swim, I suggesting to you, use buddy system. All of you, find a buddy. I think it will be easy on this cruise, no?”
A ripple of laughter went through the group. Everyone here was a couple.
On the bench next to her, Flynn nudged her with his elbow.
She sent him a look that she hoped conveyed a lack of interest in being his “buddy.”
He smirked back at her. “Hey, I know how to snorkel. You’re the one who has to worry about doing it wrong and drowning.”
“I’ll take my chances with Lifeguard Juan.”
Flynn laughed, refusing to be offended. But she meant it. She planned to spend the entire three hours lying on the beach. That way she wouldn’t need Flynn’s snorkeling advice.
When they reached shore, Belle spread out her towel in the shade of a palm tree, dropped her snorkel gear on the sand, and took out her phone. She’d catch up on some reading.
Flynn laid his towel next to hers and got out his phone as well. For the next hour, he answered email. He called someone named Katrina and talked to her about a trip he’d decided to take to Denver. Was Katrina an assistant? A girlfriend? He probably had a girlfriend. Men as good-looking as Flynn were never single for long.
Belle wondered what Katrina would think if she knew Flynn had kissed Belle last night.
He spoke about Denver for a few more minutes, then said, “I do know how to vacation.”
A pause.
“I’ll be spending time with my family later.” He glanced in Belle’s direction and lowered his voice. “As soon as I’m done with some important business.”
So that’s what Belle was: business. A problem for him to take of. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have even spoken to her, let alone asked her to dinner last night.
She had the sudden vindictive urge to take a picture of the two of them on the beach, post it on social media, and tag him. Let Katrina see it and wonder.
Flynn hung up and put the phone away. He stared out at the ocean for a few minutes, then looked over at Belle. “By the way, if you see me around the resort with my family, you can’t give me the cold shoulder like you’re doing now.”
“I’m not giving you the cold shoulder. I just don’t have anything to say to you.”
“You didn’t run out of conversation last night.”
“Last night I thought I was talking to Marco.”
He sighed as though she were making demands of him. “All right, if you want to talk about my brother, go ahead. Ask me all about his life.”
“You wouldn’t tell the truth. Honesty doesn’t seem to be your strong suit.”
He held up a hand as though making an oath. “I’ll tell you the truth about Marco. Scout’s honor.”
She cast him a doubtful glance. “Were you ever a scout?”
“Yes, and so was he. See how truthful I can be when I want? Although, admittedly I was a better scout than he was. I could start a fire with a piece of flint and steel wool. He had to cheat with matches.”
She shifted on her towel to better see Flynn. “If you were ever out in the wilderness and needed to start a fire, wouldn’t you be more likely to have matches than flint and steel wool?”
“Hey, who am I to question the scouting rules? I just racked up the badges—and made Eagle a year before Marco.”
“Competitive.”
“Yeah, we used to be.”
“You aren’t any more?”
He paused, seeming to think about the question. “We’re brothers. Which means we’re naturally competitive. But we’re also there for each other. When Marco broke the biology teacher’s computer monitor, I took the rap for it and got three days of in-school suspension.”
This seemed surprisingly noble of him. “Why did you do that?”
“Because he cared about his grades, and I didn’t.” Flynn shrugged. “Besides, I was the one who started the impromptu game of tape dispenser catch when the teacher stepped outside.”
She cocked her head. “You were one of those teen hoodlums, weren’t you?”
“No.”
“Your girlfriends were probably heavily tattooed and barely literate.”
“They were very nice girls…and mostly literate. I think.”
“Liar.”
He laughed, and the sight of his smile stirred something in Belle, a reminder of last night when they’d teased each other. His laughter had made her glow with confidence, made her breathless with anticipation.
“I’m joking,” he said. “The girls I dated in high school were literate and respectable, and I’m sure most of them stayed out of prison.”
Belle picked up her phone. “What are their names? Let’s check.”
“Why do you want to sift through my past? I thought you wanted to talk about Marco.”
“You’re more interesting.”
He grinned in victory. “True.”
She hadn’t meant it like that. “More interesting, but not nearly as attractive.”
He laughed again and shook his head. “I might believe that if we weren’t identical twins.”
“I meant that I’ve never gone for the bad-boy type.”
“Good. Because I’m not the bad-boy type.” He ran his hands along the sand, letting grains fall between his fingers. “Bad boys ride motorcycles and wear leather jackets. I drive a BMW and wear a suit and tie to work.”
“A guise. Beneath the Armani, you’re a corporate pirate. Marco, on the other hand, wants to become a doctor to help people.”
“Businessmen help people too. I save companies and therefore save employees’ jobs. It’s all very saintly, and I don’t have to poke around anyone’s intestines in the process.”
“You don’t ever remove anyone from their job?”
A pile of sand had collected beneath Flynn’s hand. “Sometimes I have to. It’s an unavoidable part of business, in the same way doctors can’t save every patient.”
The morning had grown warmer, the sun finally taking its job seriously.
Flynn pulled off his T-shirt. Belle couldn’t help staring. No woman could have. Staring was a natural reaction to seeing his abs. She had run her hands over them last night but hadn’t fully appreciated them until now.
He caught her staring and grinned. She dragged her attention back to the book on her phone. She hadn’t turned a page in minutes.
He laid down, put his hands behind his head, and relaxed. Probably shut his eyes. She couldn’t tell behind his sunglasses and wasn’t about to get caught trying to see.
Out in the cove, the couples paddled around, their snorkels sticking out of the water like black straws. The shade had shifted; soon she’d be in the sun. She’d have to move her towel all morning or put on sunscreen. Forget that—it was too hot to bake on the sand for the next two hours. She’d cool off in the water and try snorkeling after all.
She pulled off her top and shimmied out of her shorts. She’d bought a new swimsuit for the trip, a retro-white one that made her look like a leggy pin-up model.
She glanced at Flynn. He eyed her as if he knew she’d bought it with Marco in mind.
She ignored him and spread sunscreen on her arms, legs and face. She did her best on her back, then lowered her straps to apply lotion to her shoulders.
She hadn’t heard Flynn move, but he suddenly took the bottle from her hands. “You missed a spot.” Without asking if she wanted help, he squeezed lotion onto his hand and massaged it onto her back. His touch was soft, slow, thorough—and sent unwanted shivers down her spine. He lifted her hair, and his finger went up her neck, stroking the skin there, too. She had forgotten about her neck and was now all too aware of it.
He moved to her shoulders. Even though she was fairly sure she’d done an adequate job on them, she didn’t stop him. Al
ways better to be certain.
He shifted so he was sitting in front of her, and squeezed another dab of lotion onto his fingers. He spread it along her throat, the curve of her jaw, and then to the tips of her ears. Everywhere he touched, her skin tingled.
“People always forget their ears,” he said, caressing the ridges of hers. “You’ll thank me later.”
Most women would thank him right now. Many, in fact, would have paid for the service. Belle never realized that having a man spread lotion on her ears could make her heartbeat go erratic.
He slid her straps back onto her shoulders, careful not to wipe off any lotion in the process. More tingles. He was so near. She found it hard not to notice his biceps and the muscles in his arms. She still remembered the feel of them from last night, wrapped around her, when he kissed her so intensely.
“Could you return the favor?” he asked, putting the sunscreen bottle on her towel.
“Um…” She wasn’t sure what he meant. Her thoughts had been dwelling on last night and his lips softly moving against hers. She gulped and her mind snapped back into focus. “Yeah. Sure.”
He picked up his bottle of sunscreen and handed it to her. “I can never reach all the places on my back. Thanks.” He turned, sitting straight, and waited.
She shook sunscreen onto her hand, staring at his back. Lean, tanned, and tapering in a perfect line at his waist. Another part of his body she’d run her fingers across. She wasn’t trying to relive last night, but how could she help it when he was sitting, shirtless, in front of her?
There was probably a moral to all of this that Aesop himself could appreciate: Never make out with a guy unless you’re sure you won’t end up hating him the next day. Especially if he had Flynn Dawson’s body.
Belle blotted her hands together, then put them on his back and rubbed lotion across his skin, leaving a trail of white. She wasn’t sure what her touch was doing to him, if anything, but she had to remind herself to breathe. Repeatedly.
The problem was he resembled Marco too much. She’d fantasized about doing this sort of thing back in college—she and Marco on a tropical beach somewhere, the two of them lost in each other. And now here she was with a man who looked exactly like him. Of course she was responding. Hormones were easily confused. She would have reacted the same way if, say, during her Lord of the Rings phase, a Legolas doppelganger had shown up and asked for a sunscreen rubdown.
Her hands went over Flynn’s back once and then twice. She had to be thorough. The third time, well, that was because she kept having flashbacks of her college beach fantasies. Before she could do a fourth, she moved to his shoulders. He’d lotioned hers so she should return the favor. His skin was soft, his muscles giving way a bit beneath her fingers.
It would be really helpful right now if he spoke, said something Flynn-like to remind her that this wasn’t a daydream sprung to life.
He didn’t speak, though. His eyes were shut, relaxed, his face slightly tilted to the sun. She spread lotion along the back of his neck, and he lowered his head to give her better access. His hair was thick and gleamed with blond highlights. She’d run her hands through it last night too.
She really should stop remembering last night.
With the last traces of lotion, she rimmed the tips of his ears, letting her fingers trail from the tops to the soft skin of his lobes.
Time to stop doing this to herself. She handed him the lotion. “I’m sure you can get the rest.” Then she sat back and took a deep breath.
As soon as she moved away from him, some of her sanity returned. She was glad Flynn’s back was to her, that he hadn’t seen her expression while she ran her hands over his skin. He might have discerned her thoughts.
“Thanks.” He glanced over his shoulder at her and winked. “You can be my buddy any time.”
The man was far too cocky. She adjusted her sunglasses and checked the time on her phone. How long did you have to wait for sunscreen to dry before you went into the water? She couldn’t remember. She’d lived in New York for too long, away from pools and beaches.
Flynn put sunscreen on his legs, then his arms. The movement of his arms, his glistening skin, his hands over his chest…last night…nope…she wouldn’t let her mind wander there. Last night she’d thought he was Marco.
She picked up her snorkel gear and headed to the water’s edge. She should have been in the ocean all along. If she’d been face down in the waves, she wouldn’t have looked at Flynn, wouldn’t have heard his silky voice, so similar Marco’s and yet not similar at all.
Marco had always been upfront about his thoughts. No games. No hidden layers or subtle meanings. No threats or bribes. Flynn was more dangerous.
She put on the fins and mask, checking to make sure the snorkel worked. With any luck, she’d be swimming before he finished with his sunscreen.
She took a step into the water and nearly lost her balance. Walking in fins was like trying to shovel water with her feet. She got her footing and took another step. A wave skimmed into her calves, pushing her. She took a step to regain her balance, but felt as if the ocean were yanking on her fin. Weren’t these things supposed to make it easier to swim? They were going to drown her.
“Walk into the waves backward,” Flynn called. He was strolling toward the shore, gear in hand. “It’s easier.”
Juan should have mentioned that.
She went in backward and found that it did work much better. When she was in waist deep, she turned around and put her face in the water. The clarity below the surface was astonishing. She took swimming lessons as a child. In college, she went to public pools with friends and to the Snake River, but she’d never worn a mask, never realized it was possible to see this way under water. Little silver fish darted by, slipping through the water with ease.
She stared at them in wonder until she needed air. And then she ran into her next problem. Even with the snorkel firmly in her mouth, she couldn’t bring herself to breathe underwater. All of those years of holding her breath while swimming were ingrained in her. She pushed herself to the surface, took a gasping mouthful of air and then went under again.
The fins were another problem. Instead of helping to propel her, they seemed to grab her feet and make it harder to move. She wasn’t worried about drowning, not in waist-deep water. She just had to figure out how to kick and breathe. It couldn’t be that hard. Everyone else was snorkeling fine.
More silver fish swam past her. The water muffled everything, making the world feel silent. Sunlight filtered through the water, creating an ever-shifting pattern of light green and gold. She wished fabric with the same qualities existed. It would make a stunning evening gown.
She needed to breathe again. Just do it, she told herself. You’ve been breathing your entire life. You know how.
She exhaled, but couldn’t inhale. Some deep instinctual part of her brain was sure she’d breathe in water and die. She lifted her head toward the surface again, putting her legs down so she could stand.
Instead of feeling sand beneath her feet, there was only more water. Where was the ground? As she fought against sinking, one fin nearly slipped from her foot. She stopped kicking so she wouldn’t lose it, and then clawed at the water.
She didn’t see Flynn come up behind her, but suddenly he was there, hefting her upwards and tugging her closer to shore. She spit the snorkel out of her mouth and took a grateful gasp of air. After a moment he set her right. The water was shoulder high on him, would have been higher on her if he wasn’t holding her. How had she drifted into deeper water so quickly?
He kept his hands firmly around her waist, keeping her from wandering farther. “Do you know how to swim?” His voice held real concern—as if she might have forgotten to mention that she didn’t.
“Yes,” she said. “Usually.” She pushed away strands of hair that clung to her face. “But I’m losing a fin, and I can’t breathe through the snorkel.” She reached for the fin, struggling to fix it.
He
let go of her, watching to see how she managed. She managed to turn toward shore, but didn’t right the fin. She was treading water like a lame animal.
He took hold of her waist. “Let me tow you to shallower water. Tell me if your fin comes off.”
He walked backward, hands still firmly on her waist. She put hers on his arms. Moving was a slow process, one that felt almost like an embrace.
And familiar, except that last night he hadn’t been bare-chested, wet, and glistening. She looked over his shoulder so she didn’t have to keep her gaze on his face. It was hard enough to see his perfect features; seeing them with such a concerned expression—it was too much like looking at Marco.
“Fin still on?” he asked.
“Barely.”
“The strap probably just needs to be tightened.” The water was now only waist high. He took a couple of more steps backward, pulling her along. “Are you steady enough now?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He let go of her. “Okay, I’m going to fix your strap. Don’t accidentally kick me.” He smiled, as though correcting himself. “Or in your case, purposely kick me.”
Before she could respond, he sank into the water, pushing himself toward her feet. His hand brushed her ankle, then adjusted the fin on her foot and tightened the strap. She felt oddly like Cinderella with an underwater Prince Charming. He moved to her other foot and tightened that strap as well.
When he finished, he stood up, water streaming from him. “Let’s see what’s wrong with your snorkel.” Before she could explain, he leaned toward her. His face was only inches from hers, his cheek nearly brushing against hers. He took hold of her snorkel and blew into it.
“It’s working now,” he said, examining it more closely.
“The problem wasn’t the snorkel. It was me. Breathing underwater isn’t natural.”
How I Met Your Brother (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 9
