They dissolved into laughter, and the water turned off.

“Let’s try offering him a combo. He’s gone for it before.”

“Mmm, you know I love a good BOGO deal, Tipper. It’s worth a try. I think his date’s disappeared anyway. She must have gotten the hint.”

Their laughter faded and a hollow thunk of the door closing signaled their exit.

Wow.

Just — wow.

My mind whirled, and I was annoyed I hadn’t been able to see them through the crack between the stall door and the wall. How many other girls out there had already screwed my West? I made a face as I flushed the toilet, berating myself for letting things with him go past a quick fuck-and-duck.

I finished adjusting my admittedly wrinkled dress, opened the stall door with more force than necessary, and peered at myself in the crappy mirror. What the hell had that slut said about my skin?

Oh.

Oh!

I looked down at my arm, pressed the fingers of my other hand onto my skin, and let go. Five fingerprints glowed white before returning to an angry, lobster-red hue. The skin around my eyes seemed okay, thanks to the protection my gold-rimmed aviators had provided, but the rest of me looked almost fluorescent, like a raccoon in reverse. My hair was crinkled like old straw, frizzed and barely contained by my sad excuse for a braid.

I might have been so caught up in West earlier that I had forgotten sunscreen. And to look in a mirror once we got off the boat.

Maybe. Possibly.

No wonder those girls had been mocking me. I looked like a hot mess. Like, roasted.

Running a cautious fingertip over my shoulder, the tenderness of my skin confirmed the extent of my sunburn. I needed to roll like a pig in a puddle of aloe, stat.

The time had come to call this date a failure and make a quick exit, only I didn’t have my Wrangler. We’d dropped off the dog and picnic supplies at West’s place and come straight here in his oversized truck.

Twisting to see the back of my head, I finger combed my hair as best I could, letting it fall around my face to try to hide my Ray-Ban tan lines. Then I took the coward’s way out and sent West a text that I wasn’t feeling well and was taking a cab back home.

Slipping my tote bag over my shoulder, I skirted the perimeter of the bar, escaping out the front doors without looking back. I was standing on the front sidewalk and searching for the number of the cab company on my phone when it was suddenly snatched right out of my hands.

I gasped, taking a step back, and tucked my bag to my side.

“Running away?”

How the fuck had West gotten out of there so fast?

I dropped my gaze and let my hair hide my eyes, trying to disguise the worst of the damage.

“Yeah, I think I got a little too much sun,” I mumbled, not wanting to meet his eyes. Even though it was after eight, the sun was just beginning its descent, and there was still plenty of daylight.

He hooked my hip with his hand and tugged me closer. Using his free hand, he tipped my chin up, exposing my face. Eyes widening, he touched my cheek with the tip of his finger, wincing as he removed it. “Shit, Sadie, you’ve got to be in pain. Hold on, let me tell Wyatt I’ve got to get you home.”

I snorted. “Wouldn’t you rather stay here? I’m sure there are other toys you can play with instead.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Amber and Tipper would be more than willing to entertain you tonight. Together.”

West glanced toward the bar then back at me, annoyance splashed across his face. He moved closer, invading my personal space, and loomed over me, his eyes flashing gray storm clouds, but I stood my ground, refusing to step back. “I’m two inches from the person I want to be with tonight. Two inches. And I’d be happy to erase those two inches if you’re still not clear on that.”

I watched as he called his brother. I tried protesting that I was capable of taking care of myself, but he just talked louder and put a finger over my lips until he finished. After pressing the end button, he shoved his phone in his pocket and nudged me farther under the overhanging roofline, into the shadows. “Stay tucked back here out of the sun while I pull the truck around,” he instructed, his narrowed eyes daring me to argue.

I sighed and crossed my arms, my chin jutting out, but I nodded once in defeat.

When we got back to the cottage, and I tossed my beach bag on the kitchen table, I found a note stuck on the fridge from Rue, telling me she had gone out but would be back in the morning. I tried to crumple it up, but West had already seen it.

His lazy smirk was out in full force as he plucked the wad of paper from my hand and threw it in the trash. “Good. Because I plan on taking care of you tonight.”

“West, really, you can head back to the bar. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to take a shower and aloe up.”

His eyes darkened, and his lips twitched. “Sounds like a good plan. I’ll help.”

Muttering to myself about stubborn men, I headed to the bathroom and turned the shower on, adjusting the temperature to lukewarm. I eased my sundress over my head and dropped it in a heap on the floor, ignoring West as he lounged in the doorway, watching me.

Nudging the door with my toe, I tried to edge him out of the small room, but he pushed it back open and planted himself in the opening. With one hand, he pulled his shirt over his head, adding it to the pile I had started on the tile floor. When he started unbuttoning his jeans, I covered his hand with mine, stilling his motion.

“What are you doing?”

“Assisting you. It’s my fault you’re burned. I had sunscreen on the boat — I should have thought of it. I didn’t even think about your skin being unprotected while you napped on that bean bag.”

Reaching behind my neck, he tugged on the strings of my bikini until the top loosened and fell, exposing my breasts. He sucked in a sharp breath, and I glanced in the mirror. The sharp delineation between my sunburn and my pale chest looked almost cartoonish.

“Fuck, Sadie.” West scooted closer but stopped short of touching me. “That looks worse than I realized. You need to let me help you.”

After undressing and helping me ease my swimsuit bottoms down my legs, he ushered me into the shower and stepped in behind me, blocking the spray from directly hitting my tender skin. Using his hands and some creamy body wash, he bathed me, his touch light as a feather around my shoulders, which seemed to be the worst.

Working efficiently and wincing in sympathy when I hissed out a breath when his fingers scraped a tender area, he soaped me up, rinsed me off, and wrapped me in a fluffy towel before depositing me on the end of my bed. I dragged a brush through my hair and twisted it into a wet bun atop my head. There was no way I was using a hot hair dryer tonight. While I worked on taming my mane, West rummaged around my medicine cabinet and returned with two ibuprofen and a bottle of water to wash it down. I swallowed the small pills and drank most of the bottle before handing it back.

Flicking off the lights when he returned from putting the medicine up, he spread two large towels on top of my quilt and then moved me to the middle of the bed, my damp towel still draped around me. The muted yellow glow of the streetlight filtering through the curtain left most of his face in shadow, making the angles and planes harsher. Holding the oversized bottle of aloe, West settled next to me on the mattress, sympathy coloring his expression. He squirted a glob of the green gel into his palm and twisted to face me.

“Ready?”

I nodded, bracing myself for how cold it was going to feel.

Starting from the top, he smoothed his fingertips over my forehead, down my nose, and across my cheekbones, tracing the contours of my face. I bit my lip, the coolness of the aloe warring with a small spark of arousal as his fingers set off tingles and goose bumps everywhere he touched. His palm slid down my throat, cupping it, before following the curve of my shoulder. I shivered, my nipples hardening into buds under the towel. He worked his way down one arm and then the other, discovering my inner elbows were ticklish in the process. His lips quirked when I drew back, but neither of us broke the silence.

Taking my right hand in both of his, he turned it upwards and dug his thumbs into the meat of my palm, rubbing from the center out. Then he moved higher, working the tender flesh at the base of my fingers and between the joints before finishing with each individual finger from base to tip, never hurrying but taking the time to go over every area two or three times. You know the way your scalp tingles when someone plays with your hair? I was feeling that times a hundred. By the time he had repeated the process on my left hand, I was boneless.

I’d never in my life had a guy spend so much time on just my hands, never realized how erotic it could be, how many nerve endings could light up as his callused fingers abraded my tender skin. My breathing became slower, heavier, and my eyes closed, all of my focus on where our bodies touched.

I missed when he let go, although the dip and sway of the mattress as he shifted around on the bed told me he hadn’t gone far. When he picked up my foot and started a good, old-fashioned rub, I couldn’t stifle the quiet moan that escaped my mouth. His touch wasn’t sexual, but everything about the moment seemed heightened.

The darkened room. The soft rustle of our cotton towels as he moved. The ball of his hand pressing into the arch of my foot. The heavy thud of my heart. It was overwhelming and not enough at the same time.