CHAPTER FOURTEEN

n.

When he took a step forward, she ran for it, a high-pitched squeal of alarm escaping her. Moments later, he had an arm around her stomach and was dunking her in the chilly surf. Genevieve screamed and clung to him, dragging him under with her until they were both sputtering and laughing.

“There’s your courage,” Dave told her between chuckles.

She laughed too, delighted by his mood.

They rinsed off quickly, dumped sand on the fire, and then headed back to the hotel in the darkness. Their stairwell was just as they’d left it, complete with mattress, pillows, and blankets. Before when they’d crawled into the bed, they’d been clothed. When Brontë crawled into bed this time, she was naked and slightly damp, and so was the man who crawled in after her. As soon as she pulled the blanket over her body, he tugged her close and spooned her, his hand sliding possessively over her waist and resting on her breast.

As if he cherished her.

And she thought that maybe, just maybe, Dave was going t