Page 70 of The Clinch
“Thought you might need it,” Eden says, standing over me in a white tank and shorts, sun-kissed and smug.
“I’m fine.”
Jessica lifts her head from her book. “You have a sponsor shoot next week.”
Finn makes a sound that could be a laugh. “Listen to the grown-ups, blondie.”
“Copy,” I say, flat.
Liz pauses whatever she’s listening to. One earbud slips out. Then she lifts her head. Sunglasses still on. Nothing in her face gives her away as she reaches over and picks up the bottle off my towel.
Everything in me tightens into one hard line.
She sits up, knees tucked under her and tips a small amount into her palm. Rubs her hands together slowly, like she needs a moment.
“Okay?” Her voice is low. Rougher than it should be.
I turn my face toward the sand before I can do something about the way she asked.
She takes control. I let her.
The first touch lands between my shoulder blades. She moves from one side to the other, smoothing over muscle.
Behind me, her breathing shifts, giving her away. Her hands glide down my spine, steady and thorough, too slow for practicality. She moves lower, covering the small of my back, her thumbs pressing in and sharpening my vision.
I don’t let myself move.
Her palms return to my shoulders, finishing along my neck. Her fingers brush the base of my hairline.
They don’t pass right over.
The beach keeps moving around us—waves folding in, Finn laughing at something Dmitri mutters, Eden’s voice drifting from the umbrella—but everything in me narrows down to that single point where her fingertips hold.
Then she leans closer, her breath skimming my skin.
“You’re beautiful, Leo,” she says, low, meant only for me.
It hits me straight through the ribs.
I don’t answer.
I don’t take what isn’t offered.
But my body doesn’t know the difference between a compliment and a claim.
My fingers knot in the towel, wanting her so badly it hurts.
I almost turn toward her. One move, and I could roll over, catch her wrist, pull her into my lap.
Make her say it again.
I stop myself.
Winning isn’t the hard part. Choice is.
The small ones. The ones that cost.
She hasn’t moved her hands.
