I hesitated when Sandi loaned her beach house to me, but I finally had to admit I’d been depressed ever since the end of my seven-day whirlwind with Ethan. Seven days was all he had, I reminded myself.
Mark Isham’s atmospheric sounds lulled me to sleep, the combination of his brilliant music and the ocean waves washing over me like much needed balm, but even that couldn’t salvage my dreams. I beckoned him there, praying he’d return to me.
The commotion outside my door yanked me out of my dream, my bed, and Ethan’s arms. Screams of excitement, intermittent oohs and ahs, and incessant bamming that could only be made by a large man’s hands shoved away the last vestiges of slumber.
I ran over and peeked out. There he stood looking down at his new legs - still foreign to him - completely bare-ass and surly as ever with a white cowboy hat covering parts I couldn't wait to enjoy again. Ethan.
I swung the door open and slammed it behind him. They could get their own. His gaze licked my body with flames, instantly reminding me of my nakedness, my need. This time I would find his skin if it was the last thing I ever did. That way, he could never return to the sea. Seven days be damned!