Chelsea headed towards the water and kicked off her sandals. She breathed out as her toes sunk into the sand. Nothing could beat the therapeutic benefits of the beach. If Chelsea moved back to Sydney, she vowed to live closer to the water, although she had no idea how she’d afford that on a childcare worker’s salary.
Pushing the thought from her mind, she walked towards Tom.
He turned to face her when she was a few metres away, and Chelsea skidded to a stop in the sand.
Oh. OK. Act natural, Chels. This was why it had been a good thing up until now that she hadn’t seen Tom bare-chested, she decided.
He wasn’t built like gym junkie Darren was, but he was . . . fit. Really fit. Toned. Strong without being showy. Because Chelsea supposed nice guys were like that. Or ones who practised jujitsu, anyway.
She cast her gaze past him and pretended to watch the water when what she really wanted to do was stare at him. When had Tom become so nice to look at?
Probably when he removed his shirt, you brainless idiot.
Chelsea raised a hand in greeting, still careful not to stare at him. ‘Hey. Nice evening.’
‘Water’s nice, too. I haven’t been in yet, but I put my toe in.’
There was so much nice going on, and Chelsea didn’t know what to do about it.
He strode over to a bag near Chelsea’s feet and rummaged through it. ‘Here. The swimming costume you requested.’
He passed them to her, and Chelsea’s heart sunk.
‘What?’ he asked.
How did he do that? Were her facial expressions really that easy to read?
‘Um, nothing. I probably should have said the red one-piece. This is a two-piece. But it doesn’t matter.’
To him, maybe. To her, it mattered a lot. The costume she was holding was a gift from one of her exes who—how should she put it?—had liked Chelsea in less rather than more.
Right now, she’d prefer to be in more. Actually, she generally preferred to be in more when possible. Chelsea didn’t have a bikini body as far as she was aware. She had a . . . practical body. Not skinny, not overweight. She was a bit shorter than she would have liked, and her dad always referred to her as “stocky”, which Chelsea hated. Pair short with stocky and you had practical.
Tom regarded her thoughtfully, his lips turned up slightly at the edges. ‘You don’t seem so sure about it. I’m sorry if I grabbed the wrong one.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll be back in a sec. Why don’t you get in, and I’ll meet you there in a minute?’
That way he’d be too busy focusing on the surf to notice what she was wearing—or not wearing, as the case would be.
‘Sure thing. See you soon.’
Chelsea seemed to be taking a long time to get changed, Tom noted.
It had been stupid of him. He knew women better than that. He should have just grabbed several swimming costumes from the drawer and then let her decide.
Tom dived under another wave. Wow. The surf was really pounding the sand today. Once you got further out, it wasn’t too bad, but the waves were dumpers.
If he’d been with any other girl, Tom might have been worried, but not with Chelsea. That’s one of the reasons he liked her. She wasn’t precious like a lot of other females.
Chelsea was the youngest of four, and her brother had been into all the usual ball sports like soccer and cricket growing up. Tom and Ben had spent many summers together on the same cricket team. Chelsea’s older sisters weren’t interested in any of it, though. They were the definition of “girly girls”, and Tom hadn’t really had much to do with them.
Chelsea was different. Her family often joked that she was the black sheep, but they didn’t really mean it. She’d tagged along to all of Ben’s games as a kid, and eventually her weekends were filled with her own sporting matches like netball. She was sporty and capable, and her father was her biggest fan.
Working alongside several female paramedics over the years, Tom much preferred the no-nonsense, practical attitudes they had over more appearance-obsessed women. He’d never dated a paramedic, but he had gone out with a nurse or two.
Tom had just emerged from another wave when he saw Chelsea come out of the change rooms and walk towards the sand. It was shallow enough to stand, which was good, because he found that he couldn’t move.
Holy mother of God.
He could see why Chelsea had been hesitant about the bikini. There was nothing of it. Just two small patches of fabric to cover her breasts—or should that be nipples? As for the small triangle of fabric between her legs, he was pretty sure there would be even less of it on her backside.
Tom released a strangled sound at that thought, which was drowned out by the pounding waves.
Act natural. Just act like everything is normal. You’re a nice guy, remember?
Right now, the thoughts going through Tom’s mind were far from nice. They were positively X-rated. When he saw a group of guys on the sand stop talking to each other as Chelsea walked past, he felt his jaw clench.
Nope. There was nothing nice about his thoughts.
He was torn between the need to protect her from unwanted male attention and the powerful desire to make love to her right here in the waves like some sort of B-grade porno.
Not going to happen, stupid. It’s not a friends with benefits arrangement.
Nearing the water’s edge, Chelsea caught Tom’s eye. He could be wrong, but she appeared to be blushing.
Turn around, you fool. Don’t ogle her like all the other guys.
Tom turned back towards the waves.
Bad idea. Very bad idea.
‘Tom!’ he heard Chelsea shriek, right before a wall of water crashed on top of him.
Chapter Four
Forgetting the stupid bikini she was barely wearing, Chelsea sprinted the last few feet across the sand to the water’s edge and ran straight in.
The cool water sent a shock through her. It probably wasn’t that cold, she just hadn’t had a chance to acclimatise yet. She didn’t wait to let her body adjust and jogged through the shallow waves in the direction she’d last seen Tom.
He’d be fine, she reasoned. This was Tom. He was a paramedic. A lifesaving paramedic with serious jujitsu skills. That surely had to make him some sort of superhero, and superheroes didn’t get hurt by one lousy wave at the beach.
Even so, Chelsea’s eyes scoured the whitewash looking for him.
Where was he?
He’d been under for a while. That wave had been like three or four waves ago now. She wasn’t sure what that equated to in seconds, but it felt far too long.
She kept pushing through the water, the rising, rushing whitewash turning her jog into a slow, laboured walk. Chelsea darted a glance back towards the shore.
Where were the lifeguards? What good was it having a beach that was patrolled if the lifeguards weren’t paying attention? She spotted a couple of them in their shelter, their eyes dutifully studying the waves.
Chelsea huffed, returning her focus to the surf. The last thing she needed was to end up like Tom and have a wave catch her unawares. She supposed Tom had been in water that was standing height. Maybe the lifeguards assumed he was OK. Of course he’d be OK. This was Tom. Plenty of people got dumped in the shallows and survived.
Then she saw him. Or she saw his back. He was face down and his head was underwater. He appeared to be crouching in the sand, the water swirling around him.
‘Oh my God. Tom. Tom!’
Chelsea forced herself through the water, thinking to herself that waves were a stupid invention. Just as she arrived, Tom pushed himself up and rested his hands on his knees, coughing hard.
Chelsea grabbed for his arms without thinking. She just needed to feel him to make sure he was OK. Tom’s head whipped up and bloodshot eyes that must be stinging from the salt locked onto hers.
‘Fuck,’ she said. ‘Can you breathe?’
‘I . . . can cough.’ He coughed to prove his point. ‘So . . . I can
breathe.’
Chelsea didn’t let go of him. ‘That’s good. I guess. You’re a paramedic, so at least you’d know.’
He shot her a pained look. ‘Thanks for reminding me. Stupid . . . of me. To turn my back like that.’
Still coughing, Chelsea tugged on his bare arm to lead him closer to the shore where the waves were smaller.
He had a nice arm. It was lightly tanned, nicely toned, and had a dusting of brown hair covering it.
There was that word again. Nice. What did it mean, anyway? Pleasant? Agreeable? There was something so benign about it, and the way Tom’s arm felt beneath her hand wasn’t anywhere near benign. It felt sturdy and attractive.
Whoa.
Chelsea immediately dropped her hand. First his chest and now his arm. The “Tom is surprisingly attractive” thoughts were getting out of hand.
Confident they were safe from the worst of the waves, Chelsea gave him more room. Tom coughed again and straightened to his full height, pushing a hand through his wet hair to slick it out of his eyes.
‘Well, that was embarrassing,’ he said.
‘No less embarrassing than this stupid bikini,’ Chelsea replied without thinking.
Whoops. Now Tom was looking at her stupid bikini. Actually, she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but she thought that maybe his eyes weren’t focused so much on the bikini as they were on other parts of her body . . .
There was that flare of heat again. Like the one she’d had the other night. It was located somewhere between the depths of her belly and her solar plexus, and it left her with an aching sensation.
Best not to dwell on it. She turned away from Tom, because that seemed like the right thing to do.
He coughed again, and she looked back at him, worried he still might be struggling for breath. She was about to ask him if he was all right, but saw him quickly divert his eyes from her backside to a random spot on the sand.
Right. Her damn bikini. In all the excitement, she’d forgotten it was just as skimpy at the back as it was the front.
‘Actually, do you mind if we go sit on our towels?’ she suggested. Then added, ‘Or in my case, cover myself with my towel. Stupid ex-boyfriend.’
They started walking along the sand and she noticed Tom give her a curious glance, making sure to keep his gaze at eye level this time.
‘You didn’t buy that bikini?’ he asked.
‘God, no! I would never buy a bikini like this. Josh bought it for me.’
‘Why wouldn’t you buy it?’
‘Um. Decency, for one. And secondly, it doesn’t suit me.’
Tom cleared his throat and fell silent.
Chelsea experienced a sense of relief when they arrived at their towels. ‘You don’t have to be nice all the time, you know. You can be honest and say that it doesn’t suit me.’
Tom’s eyes met hers and Chelsea shivered. The sea breeze was cooler than she’d thought today. And his eyes were really green. Greener than usual, but it was probably due to the salt water.
‘Chels, you really want me to be honest?’
‘Yes,’ she shot back, exasperated.
‘That bikini suits you. A lot.’ Then he turned away and picked up his towel.
‘It does?’ Chelsea replied dumbly.
Tom gestured to the rest of the beach. ‘Every single guy here on the sand seems to think so.’
Oh. Oh. She’d been so busy worrying about Tom that she hadn’t really noticed anyone else. She looked around and discovered a few guys nearby watching her, but they dropped their gazes when they saw she was looking their way.
Crap. She dived for her towel and slung it over her shoulders. Feeling suitably covered, she lowered herself to sit in the sand.
‘Well, maybe guys think it suits me, but I don’t think I’m a bikini kind of girl.’
‘Why not?’ Tom settled on the sand beside her. Instead of wrapping the towel around himself, he laid it on the sand and sat on it.
Chelsea shrugged, careful to keep her eyes on his face although she was tempted to appreciate his broad shoulders. ‘I don’t know. They’re not practical, for starters. A minute more in those waves and it would have washed off me. I want to be able to enjoy the surf without worrying about a stupid bikini.’
‘Fair enough.’ Then Tom shot her grin that filled her toes with unexpected tingles. ‘Pretty sure half the guys were waiting to see that happen.’
Chelsea huffed. ‘Typical male behaviour. They need to get out more. I’m not that exciting.’
Tom twisted to face her, a frown creasing the lines between his eyebrows. ‘Honestly? You’ve had a constant stream of guys interested in you since you moved here, and you don’t think you’re exciting?’
‘I’m stocky. I’m not slender. I don’t have big breasts. I don’t think it’s my body they’re into. I’ve always thought it was my happy face.’ She grinned to make her point.
‘Um, it’s everything, Chels. All of you. You’re pretty and you’re fun. And you look like you’re not scared to give things a go. To a lot of guys, that’s sexy as hell.’
But is it sexy to Tom?
Chelsea immediately pushed the thought away. This wasn’t what this was about. She had no plans to seduce Tom or to attract him. They were simply having a frank discussion about what guys thought. It was actually very refreshing to hear it from a man’s point of view. She was so sick of second-guessing every guy’s thoughts and actions.
‘Well, thank you for being so honest,’ she told him. ‘It’s nice to hear it from a guy’s perspective.’
‘Nice, huh?’ Tom quipped.
They both chuckled.
‘So, Mr. Nice Guy, what would you say makes a nice guy so nice?’
‘I prefer good guy, myself. Nice is so . . .’
‘Nice?’ she suggested, and they laughed again.
‘Yeah. Anyway, if you’re dating a good guy, it’s not rocket science. They’re honest with you and tell you how they feel.’
‘Ooh, hang on. That can’t always be a good thing. Not everyone likes honesty.’
‘True. But if you can’t be honest about the good things as well as the bad things, what’s the point in having a relationship? I don’t want someone who tells me what I want to hear all the time when they could be challenging me to be a better person. Do you?’
‘No, I guess not.’ What he’d said made sense. She’d just never thought about it that way before.
Besides, most of the guys she’d dated hadn’t been serious enough to get to the honesty stage. At that depressing realisation, she moved the conversation along.
‘What else?’ she asked.
‘Like I said, it’s all obvious stuff. Doing what you say you will. Being someone the other person can rely on. The sad truth is a lot of girls don’t find that sexy.’
‘You don’t think so?’
‘I know so. Why else would they choose the bad boys time and time again? Girls love the idea of them. It excites them. It feels risky. All that constant guessing is actually really enticing, but too often they confuse lust with love. Never knowing if he’s going to stick around keeps things interesting. Nice guys seem boring in comparison.’
‘Hey, I thought you were supposed to be selling me the idea of nice guys, not telling me they’re dull.’
‘I said they “seem” boring. I didn’t say they are.’
‘OK. What’s not boring about them?’
‘We like doing things for you. Cooking dinner. Surprising you with things. I should clarify that—I mean things that you want. Not skimpy bikinis that we want.’ He shot her a wicked grin, then returned his gaze to the waves.
Yikes. What was with her toes today? She dug them into the sand, trying to keep them warm and stop them from tingling.
‘That sounds kind of . . . nice,’ she admitted, then cringed. ‘We really need to find a better word than nice.’
‘We’ll think of one,’ Tom agreed. His expression turned thoughtful. ‘If this next part is too weird and
personal, tell me to shut up. Nice guys are worth having in the bedroom too, just in case you’re wondering.’
Chelsea licked her lips because the constant sea breeze was making them feel dry. ‘OK. Good to know,’ she replied, not really knowing what else to say. Then curiosity got the better of her. ‘In what way?’
Tom chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘I once dressed up as a nineteenth century English Lord to help my girlfriend at the time get off.’
Chelsea’s mouth dropped open and she gaped at him. ‘No way!’
‘Way. The whole suit. Tops. Tails. Everything. If you ever repeat it, I’ll deny it, but she was a really sweet girl who found it hard to relax in the bedroom. She finally admitted to me that she enjoyed fantasising, and that was one her fantasies.’ Tom shrugged. ‘My point is, nice guys are prepared to go the extra mile to keep their woman satisfied. I’m not sure that’s always the case with bad boys. Not that I’d know. I’ve never been with one.’ There was that grin again.
Chelsea giggled. ‘Mmm. I’ll admit that some of the guys I’ve been with have been disappointing in the bedroom. I can say that because I’m not with them anymore.’
Chelsea had definitely had some hit-and-misses with guys over the years, but she wasn’t going into detail with Tom about that.
‘Yeah, because I bet, in a lot of cases, it’s about what’s in it for them. You ask me, the hottest thing a girl can do is enjoy herself.’
Oh boy. Was it warm out here now? The wind suddenly didn’t seem quite so cool anymore. She shrugged the towel off her shoulders to help lower her temperature and saw Tom glance across at her.
‘Hey, how about we head home and I cook you dinner?’ he suggested. ‘You can change into something more comfortable, and I can have a shower and extract the sand from my ears and private parts.’
She and Tom usually sorted out their own meals out at home. Occasionally, they’d offer to share with the other when they’d made too much, but normally they ate separately.
‘You’ll cook me dinner?’
Mr. Nice Guy (Pierce Brothers Book 1) Page 3
