Driven

Within moments we are back on the road and headed up Pacific Coast Highway. I’m admiring the sight of the surf crashing on the beach with the sun in the background slowly ebbing toward the horizon before I realize that we’re pulling into the view ourselves.

Colton pulls up to a spot in the nearly empty parking lot. I’m surprised there are so few people here considering the weather is unusually warm for this time of year. “We’re here,” he says, pushing a button that has the top of the car lifting and closing in over us before he turns off the car. I look at him, surprise showing on my face; I was hoping for a non-romantic “date” and yet he has given me my favorite place on earth. A near-empty beach close to sunset. He simply is not playing fair, but then again, he doesn’t know me well enough to know my preferences so I just chalk it up to luck on his part.

He grabs the bag behind my seat and then exits the car. He then collects a blanket from the trunk before coming around to my side. He opens the door with a playful flair as he reaches for my hand to help me out of the car.

“Come,” he demands as he tugs on my hand, a thousand sensations seducing me as he pulls me toward the sand and surf. I am slightly giddy with the fact that he continues to hold my hand in his even though I’ve followed him. The rough calluses on his palms against my smooth skin are a welcome feeling. Almost like being pinched to make sure I’m not dreaming.

We walk out onto the beach past a pile of towels and clothes that I assume belong to the two surfers out a ways in the water. We walk in silence, both taking in our surroundings as I try to figure out what to say. Why am I all of the sudden nervous over Colton’s intensity? Over his proximity?

When we get about ten feet from the wet sand, Colton finally speaks. “How about right here?”

“Sure, although I would’ve brought my swim suit if I’d known we were coming to the beach,” I respond flippantly, my nerves giving way to stupid humor as it usually does. If I could roll my eyes at myself right now, I would.

Sensing my lack of bravado and heightened nerves now that we really are alone, just him and I, Colton quips, “Who said anything about suits? I’m all for skinny dipping.”

I freeze at the comment, eyes wide, and swallow loudly. Odd that the idea of stripping down naked with this ruggedly handsome man unnerves me despite the fact he’s had his hands on me.

His perfection next to my ordinary.

Colton reaches out with his free hand and puts a finger under my chin, raising my head so that I can meet his gentle eyes. “Relax, Rylee. I’m not going to eat you alive. You said you wanted casual, so I’m giving you casual. I thought we could take advantage of the unusually warm weather,” he says releasing my chin and handing me the brown bag so that he can lay a large Pendleton blanket on the sand. “Besides, when I get you naked, it’s going to be somewhere a lot more private so that I can enjoy every slow and maddening second of it. So I can take my time and show you exactly what that sexy body of yours was made for.” He glances up, eyes flashing desire and mouth turning up in a wicked grin.

I sigh and shake my head, unsure of myself, of my reaction to him, and how I should proceed. The man can seduce me with words alone. That’s definitely not a good sign, seeing as how if he keeps it up I’ll be handing over my panties to him in no time at all.

I fidget under the intensity of his stare and the direction my thoughts have taken. “Take a seat, Rylee. I promise, I don’t bite,” he smirks.

“We’ll see about that,” I snort in jest, but I oblige him and sit down on the blanket, distracting myself from my nerves by unzipping my ankle boots. I pull off my socks, free my feet, and wiggle my toes, which are painted fire-engine red, in the sand. I pull my knees up, and wrap my arms around them, hugging them to my chest. “It’s beautiful out here. I’m so glad the cloud cover stayed away today.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he murmurs as he reaches into the brown bag from Fourth Street. “Are you hungry?” he asks producing two packages wrapped in white deli paper, followed by a loaf of French bread, a bottle of wine, and two paper cups. “Voila,” he announces. “A very sophisticated dinner of salami, provolone cheese, French bread, and some wine.” The corners of his mouth turn up slightly as if he is testing me. As if he is checking to see if I really am okay with a casual, no-frills dinner such as this in a land of Hollywood glitz, glamour, and pretension.

I eye him warily, not liking games or being tested, but I guess someone in his shoes is probably wary of others. Then again, he’s the one begging me for a date, although I’m still not sure why. “Well, it’s not the Ritz,” I say dryly, rolling my eyes, “but it’ll have to do,” I huff out.

He laughs loudly, as he pulls the cork out of the wine, pours it in the paper cups, and hands one to me. “To simplicity!” he toasts good-humoredly.

“To simplicity,” I agree, tapping his cup and taking a sip of the sweet, flavorful wine. “Wow, a girl could get used to this,” I admit. When he eyes me with doubt, I continue, “What more could I ask for? Sun, sand, food—”

“A handsome date?” He jokes as he breaks off a piece of bread, layers it with provolone and thin-sliced salami, and hands it to me on a paper napkin. I accept it graciously, my stomach growling. I’ve forgotten how hungry I am.

“Thank you,” I tell him, as I take the food from him. “For the food, for the donation, for Zander…”

“What’s the story there?”