Friction

“I’m sorry I disturbed you.” She started to swing her legs back over the chair, but he didn’t want to let her go just yet.

“Why do you read out loud like that?”

She looked back, obviously wishing she’d been able to succeed with her abrupt dismissal, but then stopped and shrugged.

“I spend a lot of time in front of a computer. Sometimes the surroundings are noisy, so I read out loud while I work, it makes it easier to concentrate. I guess it just got to be a habit. I never really noticed.”

“That makes sense.”

She tipped her sunglasses back up on her face, fully covering her eyes. “Sorry again for bothering you.”

“No problem.”

When he lay back on his towel, all he could hear was the slosh of the waves and the voices of the volleyball players. He almost asked her to start reading again.

SARAH HELD her book in front of her face, but she couldn’t concentrate on Rose and Russell’s antics anymore, not that she had been all that into it in the first place. The sex being described on the page had heated up considerably when the man behind her had decided to share his opinion on what a woman felt when a man was inside her.

It was something Sarah tried not to think about too often. She knew a lot about sex, more than she wanted to. She was exposed to the seedier side of it as part of her job, and suffice it to say it was nothing like what Rose and Russell were experiencing.

She snorted softly to herself. Nothing about sex was like what Rose and Russell were experiencing. Sex could be fun and relaxing at best, and as for the worst, well, she wouldn’t go there. She saw too much of it in her work. Her job allowed her to think she’d made a difference in the world, but along the way, she knew something inside her had been irrevocably lost.

That sense of loss, combined with scars from her past, had left her sleeping alone for several years now. She’d gotten used to it and even preferred it; she knew how to take the edge off when she really needed to. Men were an unnecessary complication, and sometimes a dangerous one.

So why, when the gorgeous man sleeping on the sand behind her had looked at her in just that particular, teasing way, and had offered her a smile that made her toes dig down in the sand, had she not shut him down as hard as she usually did? Why had she talked with him—even flirted a little—and felt a…tug? She wanted no part of tugs.

Tugs led to pulls, and pulls led to grasping, which inevitably led to sliding, pushing, rubbing and thrusting—ahhhh!

She threw the book down on the sand, disgusted and appalled that just thinking about it had her nipples poking through her tank top and her thighs flexing slightly in response to her unwanted desire.

This was totally out of character. She wanted to kill Ian for sending her on this vacation.

“It sucks that bad, huh?”

And sucking. Yes, tugs could lead to sucking, too. And licking…. Oh, damn, just stop already!

Sarah drew a deep breath. Logan had spoken to her again, but she was determined to just ignore him this time.

“I thought you were napping.”

So much for ignoring him.

Vacation was obviously playing havoc with her normal sense of independence and self-control.

“I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was too worried about what was happening with Rose and Russell.”

She wanted to laugh and had to choke it down.

“The usual. Piercing and poking and such.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Some people are into that.”

“Are you?” The question was baldly stated and openly curious. He was flirting with her. Well, she would put an end to it.

“No.”

She rose, struggling with the stupid beach chair once again. The stupid joints wouldn’t bend, corroded by salt or age or something, and she grimaced, putting as much muscle into it as possible. The chair gave way, the metal bending under the force of her efforts, the joints popping altogether.

“Ouch. You sure wrestled that into submission.”

Didn’t this guy ever quit? Still, something about his light, teasing tone and comment broke through her annoyance, and she shook her head, chuckling lightly.

“It really wasn’t a fair fight.”

“Understandable. The chair is clearly an unworthy opponent.”

Was he suggesting that he would be worthy? She stood, picking up the broken chair, looking down at Logan and feeling that stupid, aggravating tug yet again.

Okay, so he was eye candy. Lean and tall, he lay over the sand with the kind of reckless sexuality that probably made women turn to jelly with just a glance, though he didn’t seem to be posing. He wasn’t leering or posturing, he was just…lying there.

His lean legs stretched out before him, feet half-buried in the sand. The light scattering of dark hair over his legs continued upward, gathering into a light seam over his flat stomach that thickened a bit on his chest. He had strong shoulders and tight, well-shaped arms. Nice chin, good cheekbones. Firm lips. He was what she’d always thought of as “whiplike”—thin and sinewy, stronger than someone might assume at first glance. Probably fast.

There was a straight, white scar on his shoulder, about two inches long, and she almost asked him where it came from when she realized she’d been staring.

Damn. When caught, pretend not to notice, and then run as fast as you can.

He was looking up at her silently, waiting for her to finish her obvious inspection. He wasn’t the outdoorsy type, she guessed. His skin was not quite as light as hers, but it was clear he wasn’t used to being out in the sun.

“You’re going to burn if you stay out here much longer.”

With that clipped statement, she turned and walked toward the sidewalk.

She hadn’t made it halfway across the beach when she realized he’d caught up and was walking beside her. He stood just a little taller than she did, which meant he was at least six foot, maybe a little more, since she came in at five-ten in bare feet. When his arm brushed up against hers, she subtly stepped to the side as she kept walking, not wanting the contact.

“I’ll vouch for you that the chair broke when you sat in it and let the vendor know he should be lucky if you don’t sue him.”

“It didn’t break when I sat in it.”

“Just trying to save you an argument.”

She slid him a sidelong glance. “He won’t argue with me.”

A moment of silence as he digested that.

“Where are you from?”

“Brooklyn.” Regardless of where she lived now, or where she was born, she would always be from Brooklyn.