Squinting into the bright day, she searched for him.
Nothing. All she could see was a beach full of laughing, swimming people, none of whom had kissed her senseless.
Whoever her stranger was, he could hold his breath for a freaking long time.
“Ummm.” The cop beside her shuffled into view. “Do you…do I need to take a statement…”
Sera tore her stare from the breaking waves and frowned at him. He looked uncomfortable. Uncomfortable and ruffled. His cheeks were pink and his gaze didn’t want to settle on anything.
Well duh. Did you hear the noises the guy who kissed you made? You’re ruffled too—although for some insane reason it’s because you’re horny.
She shook her head. “No. It’s okay. He’s my…boyfriend.”
What the hell? Why in the name of God did she say that?
The cop seemed to flinch, as if the very thought of standing near the psychopathic kisser’s girlfriend was dangerous. He shot Hannibal a quick look, perhaps hopeful her cousin’s Irish Wolfhound-Mastiff mix might give him some reassurance. Hannibal, ever the epitome of an un-neutered canine, continued to lick his balls, totally uninterested in the whole situation.
Sera frowned again, this time at the dog. His disinterest in itself was just as freaky odd as her stranger.
God, will you stop calling him that? He’s not your anything. Seriously, it’s getting…weird.
It was. The whole thing was weird. The man, his kiss, her reaction to it, the very pleasant heat his touch had provoked, smoldering away in her core. Hannibal’s complete lack of care about it all. She ran with her cousin’s dog for one very specific reason—he wouldn’t let anyone near her. It wasn’t like she was constantly in need of protection; she wasn’t. But just of late, every time she went out she seemed to get accosted by weirdoes. Hannibal kept them all away.
All, that was, except her stranger. And seriously, could you get any weirder?
I can smell your want.
The man’s murmured words slinked through her head and, for the love of God, her pussy contracted.
Your psychotic kisser is the weirdo, Sera Hayes. What are you going to do about him?
Do about him? Chase him? Press charges against him? Hell, she didn’t even know his name.
Damn, why didn’t she know his name?
Are you serious?
“Doing this again on a public footpath, okay?”
Sera blinked. The cop was still talking. Admittedly a few steps farther away from where he’d stood before, his hand resting on his gun, but still talking to her nonetheless. “I’m sorry…what?”
He scowled. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you and your boyfriend, but next time, please avoid doing it on a public footpath, okay?”
Doing it.
It.
The word sent a wave of shimmering, tight, wanton need through Sera. She bit back a gasp, staring at the cop as he continued berating her, her sex throbbing and pulsing and doing all manner of squirmy horny things at the thought of doing “it” with her stranger. Her nipples pinched tight, her heart raced faster and, before she realized it, she was pressing her thighs together at the memory of the way he’d kissed her. The way he’d made love to her mouth with his—
The shark alarm wailed to life, a high-pitched siren that shattered the highly erotic and utterly disturbing memory.
Sera let out a gasp, her heart not just missing a beat but a whole goddamn chorus. The shark alarm was wailing, people were running screaming from the surf and, above it all, the cacophony of someone on the beach shouting, “Shark! There’s a fucking great big shark in the water!”
The cop ran. At a dead sprint on the exact trajectory her stranger had run only moments earlier. Why? Hysterical relief over something other than her to deal with, perhaps? Whatever reason the cop had sprinted away, she was glad for it. She wanted to go home. Go home, take a shower and forget this whole surreal episode had happened.
“Strange that a shark could get past the shark nets, no?”
Sera startled at the voice to her left. She swung about, finding a little old lady complete with poorly applied pink lipstick and matching shell-framed glasses standing beside her.
“I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, dearie,” the wizened woman continued, “but aren’t those nets there to keep the swimmers safe and the sharks out?”
The woman’s eyes seemed to glint behind the thick lenses of her glasses as she stared hard at Sera. Hard enough to make her squirm.
Sera frowned, gripping Hannibal’s leash tighter. The dog—finally finished with his ball-licking preoccupation—came to the party on his protective duties and rose to his feet, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
The old woman shuffled back a step, flicking the huge beast a hesitant look.
Heat flooded Sera’s cheeks. She gave Hannibal’s leash a gentle tug. “Oh, right,” she muttered, trying to make the dog heel. “The psychotic kisser you don’t worry about one iota, but the little old lady gets your wind up?”
“Psychotic kisser?” the lady echoed, that glint not just in her eyes but turning her inspection into something close to intense fervor. “You didn’t consent to his affections? Oh dearie, you need to report him. Do you know his name? His address? I can help with the report if you wish. Do you know where he lives? I could go with you now to demand an apology if you like.”
The questions lashed at Sera. There was no other way to describe it. They came at her fast, the little old lady shuffling forward with each one, coming closer and closer. Hannibal growled again. Louder this time. Growled and strained against his leash.
Sera swallowed. “N-no…I don’t…” She stopped, frowned. Looked out at the beach and the hordes of people keeping distance from the waves and back to the old woman with the piercing stare again. “I mean…how did a shark get—”
“You don’t even know the man who kissed you moments ago?” The elderly lady pulled a face of disgust. “Shameful.”
New heat flushed Sera’s cheeks.
