George: Don’t make the mistake of thinking an accent makes him a sex god.
Her customers turn on her? Becca rolled her eyes. Levi sounded worse than one of her over-protective cousins. The Wolfe men might be all high-action risk takers themselves, but they were fiercely concerned about the safety of others, especially females—and her the most, warning her to take care in most situations. She might have been quiet, but she wasn’t incapable. But though she’d grown up on the other side of the world from them, they’d been heavily influential without realizing it—flying in and inspiring her with their travel tales and confidence.
Eventually she’d gotten fed up with her parent’s cosseting and her own inaction. If her cousins could spend a year travelling the world on their own, earning their own way and choosing their own path, then so could she. She was taking her own risks. Calculated ones. And she wasn’t going to let Levi start in on the same old lecture she’d suffered through for months before she’d finally scraped together the cash to come away.
“There are plenty of women around,” she gestured towards the bathers on the beach. “I’m never far from the bar. So I suggest you stand back if you don’t want to get wet.”
Levi watched her stalk forward and call out to the people farther along the beach. Calling them to her like the siren she was. And they came. She told them the bar they ought to party on at and then gave them their “shots”.
“Line up, two rows.” She instructed confidently.
Once they did, she lifted her arms, firing shots of drink from her pistols in short streams straight into the open mouths of the zombies.
“Very Game Grrl.” He teased once her tank was emptied and the crowd had dissipated. But that concern lingered—she was more vulnerable than she’d admit.
Petite, pretty, utterly enticing.
She blew the end of the pistol as if it were smoking and looked up at him. “I’ve been practicing.”
“So now you’re an expert?” he asked.
They weren’t talking water pistols any more.
Levi’s muscles tightened. He recognized that look in her eyes. That not so gentle rise of color in her cheeks. It wasn’t embarrassment. Any woman who could so confidently stride along a packed beach offering energy shots to every stranger, and swatting away unwanted advances, wasn’t going to be easily embarrassed.
No, this was attraction. Lust. No longer quiet and shy, Becca Wolfe was all grown up. And she wanted him.
The kick of satisfaction was stronger than it should have been—really, it shouldn’t matter at all. She was a blip in his past. Six months of teen yearning and bruised ego.
But now he might have the chance to seduce the one who’d gotten away. The one he still—annoyingly—wanted. Because he didn’t like the thought of why she’d suddenly turned so amiable—was it because he’d so obviously made it? Made enough money to elevate him to acceptable status for her?
For a split second he played with the notion of saying no to her, as she’d once said to him. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Not after that kiss. That had been no ice-princess, milk-and-water response. He’d always imagined depth in her unfathomable eyes. Now he knew he was right.
If Becca Wolfe wanted to play, he’d accept her challenge. But this time, he’d win.