With Every Breath (Sea Swept #2) (16 page)

“You coming with us?” I ask as they reach me, and she nods.

“Elise offered to handle my makeup and wardrobe,” Yasmin says. I squelch my stab of disappointment, because it will be way easier to keep my cool around Yasmin with a chaperone. I should be thanking the stars, not wishing I could send Elise back on board.

“Let’s start with the blue dress,” Elise says to Yasmin, and the girls chatter about the clothes they brought as we head down the ramp and onto the sandy island. They’re grinning and laughing, as excited as ten-year-olds playing princess. I lead them back past the bar, cafe and other passenger buildings, then through a copse of palm trees.

After about a twenty-minute walk, we reach the cove.
 

“Oh, wow, this is gorgeous,” Yasmin says, spinning around to catch the view. “How come passengers don’t get to come here?”

“They used to,” Elise says. “A year ago a guy cut his leg pretty badly on the rocks in the water. He was being an idiot, roughhousing, so it wasn’t the cruise line’s fault, but of course he sued. So now it’s off-limits to passengers.”

“Most of the crew is too lazy to hike over here on their day off,” I add. “There’s another beach closer to the ship that’s reserved for employees, so they stay there.”

I pile my photo equipment on a flat rock. There’s a tripod, plus a couple folding reflective panels to help with the lighting.
 

“Why don’t we get some shots before I change, to test the light?” Yasmin suggests. I nod, and take my camera and lens from their padded carrier. I adjust the ISO and white balance, then look up.
 

I inhale sharply.

Yasmin has discarded her sarong and sandals, and is flipping her hair over her shoulders. As I watch, she stretches, reaching her hands up to the sky and going up on tiptoes as if trying to touch the sun.

Her bikini bottoms are a bright white triangle of fabric, matching her top, and the contrast against her skin is divine. When she came on board weeks ago she’d been a lot paler, but the Caribbean sunshine has painted her a deep tan. She’s a pint-sized image of fiery island beauty, and I am in deep freaking trouble.

“Here, lay on this strip of sand,” Elise says, and directs Yasmin down next to the water. Yasmin stretches out on her side, propped on one elbow facing me, one knee raised in a classic swimsuit pose.
 

My mouth has gone dry. I’m not sure I can speak.
 

“How’s the lighting?” Yasmin calls.

“Good,” I manage to get out, and pull myself together. I crouch down and frame her in the viewfinder. A small wave surges up the beach and laps around Yasmin, making her yelp in surprise. Elise laughs, and fixes her hair, then turns to me.

“Want me to hold one of the reflectors?” she asks, and fetches one of the silvery foil panels. When the light is perfect, I snap a few shots.
 

“How do I look?” Yasmin asks with a smile. She laughs. “I feel like Rose from
Titanic
, posing for Jack.”

That, of course, makes me think of her posing topless like in the movie, which makes my mind jump to the scenes afterward, when Rose and Jack run through the ship and have hot sex in the backseat of an old-timey car. Did she mean to say something that suggestive? Because I want to have sex with Yasmin so bad. So freaking bad. Old-timey car optional.

If Elise weren’t here I’d walk right up to Yasmin, lift her against a boulder, and have a reprise of the bell tower. Just thinking about it has me hard, which makes me swear quietly under my breath. I stay in a crouch and try to think about something un-sexy to get a hold of myself, like my boss Randall Cunningham dressed in a bikini, sprawled out on the beach.
 

Yeah, that does the trick.
 

“You look fine,” I say shortly. “Didn’t you want to be photographed in a dress?” I can’t keep looking at her nearly naked body and stay professional; I’ve got to get her covered up more.

Yasmin scrambles to her feet. “We borrowed a dress from one of the production singers, so we have to keep it from getting wet or dirty.” She and Elise duck behind a boulder. I hear rustling, and try not to think about Yasmin’s bikini pieces falling away before the dress is pulled on.

After a couple minutes, the girls return. The gown has thin flowy straps and is crafted from a filmy fabric in shades ranging from aqua to cobalt. It’s way too long on Yasmin but Elise clips it in the back so it fits her torso, causing the layers of fabric to pool at Yasmin’s feet.

After applying some makeup, Elise helps Yasmin climb onto a hefty boulder, then out to another that’s nearly surrounded by water. Once Yasmin’s in position, Elise comes back ashore.

“What do you think?” she asks. “Is that high fashion or what?”

I gaze at the figure on the water. The dress molds to Yasmin’s body, caressing every curve. The hem drapes at her feet, the breeze sweeping it behind and to one side over the gray rock. She looks like an extension of the sea, a nymph rising from the waves specifically to torment me. Even from this distance, I can see her nipples through the thin fabric. I groan. Does she realize what she’s doing to me?

“She looks gorgeous, doesn’t she?” Elise says. Does her voice hold a teasing note? But when I glance over, her expression is utterly placid.
 

I mutter something about how the makeup looks nice, then raise my camera and start shooting.
 

The last time I kissed Yasmin I’d felt myself at a precipice, and now I’m right there again, looking at a fall that’s a long way down. Self-preservation makes me struggle against it, but with each click of the shutters I can feel myself tipping further and further over the edge …

Chapter 15

Yasmin

I stand on the rock with my arms out to the sea, feeling like the most glamorous girl in the Caribbean. Or an idiot. I guess it depends on how the photos turn out.

“Got it,” West calls. Elise sidles out onto the boulder to help me back ashore, gathering up the sweeping fabric so it doesn’t touch the water or sand. She’d called out posing instructions as West clicked away at his camera, and now I feel a little jittery to see the results. I’ve never done anything like this before, but what girl hasn’t dreamed about getting dolled up and having her picture taken by a professional photographer? It’s something Sofia always wanted to do …
 

West holds the camera out so I can see the digital image on the little screen.

“Wow, they’re perfect,” I breathe as he flips through the photos. I’m perfectly framed against the horizon, and West has managed to turn my amateur posing into something otherworldly. I almost don’t recognize myself. “West, you’re an artist.”

“She’s right,” Elise says, craning her neck over my shoulder. “Why are you trying for that promotion in Miami? You’d be wasted in a corporate zombie job.”

West glances at me sharply. “I thought I asked you not to gossip about that.”

I hold up my hands, but Elise answers for me. “She didn’t—my boss is also in the running, and she considers you her prime competition.”

“Oh.” West pulls the camera away from us. “You want more photos, or a costume change?”
 

“Costume change!” Elise answers for me. With a laugh, she grabs my hand and we duck behind the boulder so I can change into a small, flirty red dress. It’s a Versace that Elise saved up for, and we handle it reverently. After clipping it in the back—everything’s big on my petite frame—Elise gives me a long filmy scarf that flutters in the breeze.

West’s expression when he sees me is disappointingly blank. I guess I’d been hoping for a dropped jaw or something—anything to show he’s not indifferent to me. Ever since he kissed me in his cabin, he’s kept me at arm’s length. We’re friends, and that’s great, but I’ve been thinking a lot about what Elise said a couple weeks ago, and I’m not sure I’m content with ‘just friends’.

But West looks about as interested in me as he is in anything he photographs. Maybe less. I think he got more excited about the sea turtles we came across last week.

Sea Turtles – 1. Yasmin – 0.
 

We go through a few costume changes, and then I decide I want a couple pictures with Elise. In our swimsuits, we head out to the rock I first started on.
 

“How should we pose?” I ask. “You’re the posing guru.”
 

“Let’s jump in the water!” She grins at me. “He can catch us in mid-air.”

“Awesome,” I agree, and glance at West where he stands on the shore, ten feet away. He’s turned toward us, but is staring out to sea, as if he doesn’t see us at all.

“Earth to West,” I call. “We’re going to jump in.”

“What?” he says, then blinks. “Oh. Right.”

“Distracted?” I ask. He shrugs. Maybe he was thinking about the sea turtles. Sigh.

“He’s probably imagining us making out,” Elise teases. West’s cheeks turn red, making Elise laugh, and my mouth drops.

“Oh my God, you totally were!” I squeal.

“I wasn’t, but now it’s hard not to,” he mutters, which only makes Elise laugh harder.
 

We pose for a few minutes, then leap into the ocean a couple times with great big splashes. Finally we wade back ashore and Elise checks her phone.
 

“I better get these dresses back to the costume department,” she says while I grab my sarong.

“So soon?” I say.
 

“We’ve been out here for an hour and a half already.”
 

I sigh. This photo shoot has been a ton of fun—even if West seemed somewhere else half the time—and I’m sad to see it end.

“Let me help,” I say as I reach for the blue dress.

West clears his throat. “Actually, Yasmin, I’ve been meaning to get some head shots of you, for the project.”
 

“Oh?” I ask.

“I think we should put some photos of you in the collage.”

I hadn’t thought to do that, but it makes sense. “Sure, I can stay a little while longer.”
 

“I should get going though,” says Elise, her arms full of dresses. “Meet you guys later at the bonfire barbecue?”
 

After she heads back to the ship, I walk over to the waterline and lean against a tall boulder. It’s warm from the sun, and the dappled gray would probably make for a great background. Or maybe we should go for the palm trees just a few steps away. I glance at West. We’re all alone now in the cove, and I start feeling shy again without Elise to act as a buffer. West stares at me, hard, and I can’t read his expression at all.
 

“Where do you want me?” I ask. “Is here okay?”
 

West puts his camera down on his beach towel and stalks toward me. I think he’s going to pose me against the rock, but just before he reaches me I notice the look on his face: intent, hungry. My stomach tightens, pulse suddenly racing, and then West is gripping my shoulders with both hands.

“I want you right here,” West says, just before his lips crush mine.

Heat spears through me in an exhilarating wave. His mouth is hard, demanding, and I open to welcome his tongue. My limbs feel like the sun has melted my bones, and my fingers clutch the fabric of West’s t-shirt to keep me standing. He presses me backward, pillowing my head against the rock, and his hands pin mine against the stone above my shoulders. I whimper deep in my throat, because I want to be touching him.

I arch my torso, and West abandons his grip on my hands to slide his fingers into my hair, holding my head steady so he can devour me. I eagerly slip my hands under his shirt, spreading my palms flat against his back to drive myself more firmly against him.

He’s already hard, pushing against my stomach beneath his swim trunks, but then West is gone, shoving away from me.
 

I feel the lack like a blow, and gasp air like a fish. West stalks toward the water, wades in, and dives as soon as he’s hip-deep.

I’m left feeling like I’ve been through a hurricane, but the wind is still howling around me. Or maybe that’s my temper, because if West thinks he can abandon me after subjecting me to a kiss that scorching, he’s very badly mistaken.

West swims out to the mouth of the cove with muscular strokes. Just as the water turns choppy, he turns and swims back toward the shore. I stalk over to the waterline and wait impatiently until he pauses, standing chest-deep in the water.

“What the hell?” I say, my hands on my hips.

“Don’t reach for your butter knife just yet,” West says, and has the gall to grin.

“I was thinking I’d pick a sharp one this time,” I shoot back, but that only makes his smile widen.

He walks forward, then grabs the hem of his drenched shirt and pulls it over his head. Suddenly I can’t remember what I was going to say, because water is sheeting off his bare torso and his tanned, defined abs are pretty damn glorious. It’s not like I haven’t seen him half-naked a dozen times in the past few weeks, since the photo team likes to hang out on the beach during our off times at the island, but the sight of West’s six-pack makes my mouth water. I could lick all over those abs. Among other areas.
 

West wades out of the sea, and I try to regain my scowl.

“If you expect me to forget that happened, you—”

“I don’t,” he says. “I just had to take a break for a sec.”

“Why?”

Instead of answering, West reaches for me. His wet hand on my skin makes me shiver in anticipation, my muscles tensing. West slides his fingers up my waist, then down to the knot of my sarong, which is still slung around my hips. He pulls at the tie, and the whole thing falls away. I’m still wearing my bikini, but with West’s hungry expression I feel naked. He looks me up and down, and I expect him to grab me again, but instead he meets my gaze. His smolders mesmerizingly, reaching inside to heat my very core.

“Because this time,” he says, his voice deep and rough, “we go slow.”

For a moment the words don’t make sense, because I’ve forgotten what I asked, but then I realize what he’s saying and thank God he’s not going to walk away from this, because if I don’t get to touch him soon I’m going to explode.