away.
Having had one too many glasses of red wine to care about being subtle, I turned in the direction that the young waitress had gestured.
The man at the next table didnât smile when I turned and caught his eye, and despite the very nearly mocking set to his lips, I suddenly felt as though I were in the midst of the waves that I had been watching only an hour earlierâas if the heavy water that was infused with salt was pulling me under and claiming me as its own.
He was . . . dark. That was my first thought. Though his tanned skin was actually the burnished gold of tequila and his eyes were the color of rum, the tousles of hair that were nearly jet-black combined with his expression to lend him an air of power and authority, and something else that I couldnât quite put my finger on. His face was sculpted, his features arrogant and aristocratic, and I was quite certain that that face had inspired many a lusty daydream.
I was no better. As those golden eyes, surrounded by thick, dark lashes, stared so boldly into my own lighter blue ones, I felt a sexual tug like nothing Iâd ever felt before. I wasnât a virginâno, there was Tom, and my high school boyfriend, and the two somewhat disastrous one-night stands that Iâd had in between.
None of those had inspired anything that felt even a fraction as seductive as the frankly intrusive examination by this man at the next table. He brought to mind every intimate fantasy Iâd ever had, and I felt certain that he and that wicked-looking face were capable of inciting many more.
He lifted his wineglass and tipped it at me, then returned to his mealâsome kind of healthy-looking grilled-fish-and-steamed-vegetable thingâas if heâd never seen me in the first place. I was left with flushed skin, nipples that had contracted to the point of pain, and a dull ache between my legs.
What
was that? I had to sit on my hands to stop myself from reaching over and fisting them in the strangerâs hair.
Instead of doing that, I focused on my plate, which, while incredibly appetizing only moments before, now held little appeal.
Scooping up a small forkful of potatoes, I pressed it into my mouth, forced myself to taste and to swallow. There were times in my life that Iâd dreamt about this exact mealâmy comfort food of choiceâand now it was dry as dust in my mouth, tasteless and unnecessary.
I swallowed, the potatoes feeling like glue as they worked their way down my throat. When Iâd succeeded in that small movement, I rewarded myself by sneaking a glance across the restaurant at the handsome stranger.
He was watching me again, and he wasnât even being discreet. Self-consciousness washed over me, followed quickly by irritation, no doubt brought on by the wine that was flowing through my veins.
âIf youâre going to stare, you might as well join me.â My scowl was only half in earnestâthe other half was hiding the tremble of my lower lip.
I needed to squash this ridiculous lust. Not only was there no way that this manâthis
stranger
âwas feeling the same way, but I was really in no position to be thinking about sex.
The man raised an eyebrow at my toneâunless I was very much mistaken, he was not the sort of man who was used to be being spoken to like that. He frowned slightly, as if playing my words back in his head. Then, to my astonishment, he shrugged slightly and stood, catching his own wineglass in his hand as he did.
âI think I will.â
Startled by his reaction, I swallowedâhardâas he rose and made his way over. He seated himself at my table as comfortably as if he owned it, and I studied him from beneath my makeup-free lashes as I tried to compose myself.
He was dressed casually, blue jeans and a black button-down shirt, but he still didnât seem like the type of person to bum around a tiny surf town like Cambria. No, unless I was very much