Not Until You: Part V (7 page)

She frowned. Two grown men on a beach vacation together? Great, not another good-looking guy who preferred other good-looking guys. Not that she was looking for anything to happen anyway. He was a stranger. An extremely pinup-worthy stranger. But still. In her sexually deprived state, a little flirting could be almost as satisfying as an orgasm. Almost.

With gentle hands, he bent her leg and wrapped his wet T-shirt around her thigh. His focus was on the task at hand, but she didn’t miss the sneaky sidelong glance toward her open thighs, where her wet panties were probably revealing every detail of what lay beneath.

She cleared her throat, and his gaze darted back to her leg, but the corner of his mouth tugged up a bit.

Well, well, maybe not so gay.

Her body heated at the thought, even though her brain knew that, straight or gay, she wasn’t going to do anything with her rescuer. “So how long were you out here? I thought I was alone.”

He glanced up as he draped the shirt around her leg a second time. “I was here the whole time.” He crooked a thumb behind him. “Was sitting in one of the lounge chairs on the far end. I thought you saw me when you looked down the beach, but I guess not.”

“You could’ve said something, you know.”

He gave her an unrepentant grin. “If a beautiful woman wants to go for a naked swim, who am I to intervene?”

“Very gentlemanly of you.”

“Hey, never said I was a gentleman. Just a hero.”

“Right,” she said, her tone dry.

He tucked the end of the shirt underneath the first layer, securing it. “Is that too tight?”

“No, it’s actually helping the burning a little.”

“Hold on.” He climbed to his feet and jogged a little ways down the beach, grabbed something from one of the lounge chairs, then walked over to where she had left her clothes and picked up those as well. When he returned he held out her T-shirt. “Go ahead and put this on. You’re not going to be able to put on the jeans, but you can wrap my beach towel around your waist.”

“Thanks.” She took her shirt and towel from him, pulled the first over her head, then got to her feet and knotted the beach towel around her hips. She tilted her head up to smile at him. “So, Mr. Humble Hero, you have a name?”

He stuck out his hand. “It’s Jace.”

Her body froze, the world seeming to tip off balance for a moment. Had she heard right? She stared at him for a moment, taking in every nuance of his face, the earlier whispers of déjà vu now becoming shouts.

Was it really him? His hair was longer, his body harder and more mature, the green in his eyes more wary, but the resemblance was there. It’d been years—twelve actually. The nineteen-year-old boy she’d known had become a man. “Jace
Austin
?”

* * *

Oh, shit.
The recognition that flashed in the woman’s blue eyes had Jace dropping his hand. This chick knew him? He frantically flipped through his mental Rolodex, starting with the girls-I’ve-slept-with file.

When they’d locked gazes earlier, he’d felt a nudge of familiarity but had dismissed it. Surely, he’d remember this dark-haired beauty, especially if he had gotten the privilege of touching that lush little body. But something about her was poking at the recesses of his mind.

He rubbed the back of his neck and offered an apologetic smile. “Uh, yeah. Jace Austin. I’m sorry, have we met?”

She flinched a bit—the move subtle, but not lost on him. Damn, well now he felt like a jackass.
Had
they slept together?

She recovered quickly, the corner of her mouth tilting up. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I look a little different than I did at sixteen. Especially without that god-awful bottle red hair and eyebrow piercing.”

Sixteen? Red hair? The flashing list of names in his head suddenly flipped back over a decade and landed on one he hadn’t thought about in years. One he’d purposely tried to block out. No, couldn’t be.
“Evangeline?”

She shrugged and looked out at the water, the wind whipping her hair around and disguising her expression. “It’s Evan now. I stopped using my full name a long time ago.”

“Wow, I don’t even know what to say,” he said, shaking his head. “You look great. I’m so glad to see that you’re . . .”
Okay. Alive.
“Here.”

She turned back toward him and smiled, though it didn’t light her face the way the earlier smiles had. “It’s good to see you, too. But, if you don’t mind, before we go down memory lane, how ’bout that vinegar?”

“Oh, right,” he said, his mind still whirling. “Follow me.”

And she needn’t worry. The last thing he was going to do was initiate any reminiscing. No, some things were better left buried. And how he’d destroyed the girl he’d sworn to look out for was A-number-one on that list.

Roni Loren
wrote her first romance novel at age fifteen when she discovered that writing about boys was way easier than actually talking to them. Though she’ll forever be a New Orleans girl at heart, she now lives in Dallas with her husband and son. Visit her online at www.roniloren.com