“Taylor.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, a vein ticking in his temple. “Aggressive is the wrong goddamn word. I would kill a man for being aggressive with you.” He says something else under his breath that I can’t hear, but it sounds like, I’d kill him no matter what. Or I need to work on my putt. I can’t be sure.
“I’ve been going about dating all wrong. I’m giving off the cherished wife vibe and none of the sex kitten vibe. It’s all stuffed down under the surface. Like you said, men need things spelled out in thick red Sharpie. Meanwhile I’ve been using a pencil. Of course I’m drawing in all the Boring Bobs.” Mentally, I’m already making tweaks to my dating profile. I’m really on to something here. Reluctantly grateful for his input, I smile up at the bounty hunter. “Forget the hookup panties, I need a whole hookup outfit.”
Myles stares at the spot I vacated long after I keep walking, hands partially raised like he’s trying to reason with a ghost. Why is his face so red?
I’m halfway up the stairs leading from the beach up to the rental house when Myles catches up with me. “I’m not sure I like what I’ve unleashed here,” he grunts, falling into step beside me, though his legs are so long, he has to take two stairs at a time. “This is why I usually keep my mouth shut.”
“Do you?” I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “I hadn’t noticed that trait.”
“It’s your fault,” he gripes, looking over at me. “Stealing guest books. Finding evidence. Forcing me to show up and see you.”
“Oh my God. Apologies for the terrible hardship.”
“Yeah, well, it is a hardship when you always look so fucking beautiful and I’m trying to keep my hands to myself.” On the sidewalk in front of the house, he blocks me from walking any further. I’m not sure I could have, anyway, because his words have turned my legs to rubber. “Forget what I said on the beach. Don’t change. Not your clothes or your vibe. There will be a guy eventually who isn’t a complete moron and he’ll…”
“Pick up on my big sex kitten energy?”
Myles swallows. Loudly.
His huge hands slide up my hips and my breath catches, nipples tingling into points. It’s a waste of time to pretend I’m not attracted to him. I’ve been ignoring that fact for the last five minutes, distracting myself with new dating profile color schemes and now, when I’m looking him in the eye, I know why I needed that distraction. It hurts to be kept at arm’s length from him. I don’t know why. Don’t know how it’s possible when I just met him yesterday. But I had an instant awareness of him that I’ve never experienced with a man. Like there is a tiny but powerful magnet in my tummy and Myles is holding the counterpart.
“You pick up on my big sex kitten energy, Myles. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” he mutters gruffly, stepping forward to bury his nose in my hair. Inhaling. “God, yes, Taylor. You know I do. But I can’t—”
“I won’t expect anything else from you.”
His head comes up fast. He searches my eyes warily. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…”
What do I mean?
It’s all coming together now, as I look into this man’s face. This man who was a stranger this morning but now, by some crazy twist of fate and momentary bravery, is the only other person in this world who knows my secret. He might be mean and unavailable and slightly dangerous, but my secret feels safe with Myles. He talks about my plight in such practical terms—no judgments. On top of that, I’m very attracted to him, I’m on vacation and there is a pretty good chance I’ll never see him again after I leave the Cape.
Do I want to go back to my boring dating pool of beige prospects and settle?
Or do I want to go home to Connecticut and reach for more with the confidence I can only gain from experience?
Ignoring the ominous pang in my chest at the thought of not seeing Myles again, I curl my hands in the front of his T-shirt and savor the answering rumble in his chest. “Help me learn exactly what I want. And how to ask for it.”
He tugs me close by the material of my skirt and our laps meet, both of us biting our lips and exhaling unsteadily over the contact. The unmistakable proof that he wants me. “You’re the kind of woman who comes with strings, Taylor.”
“M-maybe.” I force myself to mean the next part. Really mean it. No matter what happens, I have to remember this man is not for me. Not for anyone. He’s made that clear and I won’t make the mistake of thinking I can change his mind. “I might come with strings, but I won’t attach any of them to you.”