Which man really knows how to give her what she craves?
“On your way somewhere?”
Keera Koltai lifted her gaze from the nearly empty beer bottle wrapped in her fingers to connect with a pair of very liquid, very male eyes. Brown, with flecks of lighter tan about the same colour as the bare skin of his lean chest.
What was it with the guys around these islands? Didn’t any of them wear shirts?
At least, this one had a black tee tucked into the back pocket of his low hung jeans.
He spoke again, his southern Florida accent hanging heavy in the damp August air. “Where’d you ride from?”
“Up by Tampa.” Keera swallowed the last of her beer and rolled the empty bottle in her hands as she scanned the mostly empty roadside park. The only life enjoying the mangrove shaded crushed shell shoreline was a trio of stilts, wading along in the quiet tide. Over on the other side of the parking lot some parents dug through their van, sorting out gear while their kids jumped up, trying to touch the low needles of a slash pine.
When she looked back to the guy, he nodded, swinging himself around her bright yellow Buell and dropping onto the sandy grass where she’d stopped to stretch before continuing the last few miles to the isolated campground where she was headed. The day’s last rays of sun crossed over his chest, casting shadows over his long, lean legs. Tipping his head, he said, “Nice bike.”
The Buell was Keera’s only real possession, a symbol of some constant quest. Maybe a quest for freedom, maybe a quest for something else, she really didn’t know. The bike was such a personal part of herself, a part that even she didn’t understand, she rarely talked about it with anyone. So she simply nodded and said thanks.
He slanted her a grin and held out his hand. “I’m Samuel, off-duty fishing guide.”
Keera accepted the gesture, wrapping her fingers around his wide palm. Calloused skin rasped against her fingertips as he slowly pulled away in a release so gradual it was a sensual promise. A warm sliver of awareness slipped through her, and she found herself taking an appraising look at his leanly muscled chest and flat stomach.
He noticed her stare and angled back onto his elbows, strands of his shaggy black hair catching in the evening breeze. “I was fishing the rivers that come off White Water Bay the past couple days, now I’m headed up Tamiami Trail to hang out with some friends, then, you know, whatever.”
Keera knew where the conversation was headed.
To hook up or not to hook up.
It was the scenario she’d heard her customers at Fantasies Inc. recount over and over, mostly on Wednesdays when they stopped in to take advantage of the Hot Hump Day specials as they stocked up for the upcoming weekend. She loved hearing their lusty stories about frisky one night stands and leisurely afternoons spent with long-time lovers but lately as she’d listened to the tales she’d started to wonder if there was something wrong with her.
Like now, for example. Here she was with a sexy, easy-going hottie with rough hands that could probably deliver on some sigh worthy stories for when she got back to work but she didn’t feel...enough.
Shouldn’t she be panting? Or feeling all hot and melty? Shouldn’t she be fantasising about all the things this guy could do to her—or what she could do to him?
“So how about it? You up for something?”
An inner voice shouted, this is exactly the sort of thing you need.
An opportunity to jump start her sex dive. But she hesitated. She had no reason not to hook up with him for a night or two—but she couldn’t find a reason to want to.
Think sex, Keera. Want it. Feel it.