I glance over my shoulder. The man’s pretty mouth is curved into a lazy grin, arms crossed over his superb chest. My gaze falls to the hard ridges of his stomach, to the waistband of his red bathing suit. A laugh, and then: “Eyes up.” I immediately turn as scarlet as a rose on February 14. His eyes wander to the flaming mass of hair tumbling out from under my hat. “That’s okay, Red,” he says. “I was checking you out, too.”
Flirtyyyyyy
