Rafe had only been in the water for a few minutes—just enough to cool off, let the saltwater slick back his hair, and shake off the heat. He hadn’t been expecting anything to change in that short time.

But when he walked back up the beach toward you, towel slung over his shoulder, his feet slowed, then stopped.

You were lying on your back, stretched out on your towel, completely at ease. Bikini bottoms still in place, but your top? Nowhere to be found.

His stomach clenched. His jaw tensed. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Baby.” His voice was sharp.

You peeked up at him through your sunglasses, completely unbothered. “Hmm?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” His eyes flickered around, scanning the beach for any guy who might be looking—because of course they’d be looking.

You sighed dramatically, arms shifting over your stomach. “Sunbathing, Rafe. Like every other woman here.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a shit about every other woman here.”

He crouched beside you, his fingers gripping your waist, like he was holding himself back from just throwing himself over you to cover you up. “Baby, come on,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Put it back on.”

You pouted, tilting your head. “Why?”

“Why?” He let out a sharp laugh, incredulous. “Because.” His voice dropped lower. “Because I don’t want other people seeing what’s mine.”

His gaze dropped to your bare chest for half a second, then he groaned, tipping his head back like he was physically pained. “Fuck, baby.”

You bit back a smirk, lifting your arms to stretch, purposefully arching your back just a little.

Rafe sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “You’re actually trying to kill me.”