Page 46 of For Better or Hearse

Speak of the devil.

Nathaniel strolls to the poolside deck. His board shorts sit low on his hips. His teeth white and gleaming as he grabs a towel from the bin.

Eyes closed, she groans. She can’t escape him.

When she opens them again, he’s diving into the pool. He swims its length and then emerges in a perfect Bo Derek10run, minus the problematic braids.

Strangely entranced by the rivulets of water streaming down his body, Ash sips her piña colada. Allows herself a moment to shamelessly ogle.

Ugh.

Too perfect. Too infuriating. Too tall. If this were the Dark Ages, he’d be the healthiest specimen of man. Tone and tanned and muscled. Broody and most definitely ready for the Crusades. If only she could send him into battle, never to return.

“Christ,” Ash mutters as Nathaniel towel dries his abs in what feels like slow-motion. God, is this a scene from aBaywatchmovie?

Her stomach flips, and she growls a reminder to herself to cool it.

She’ll literally rip her eyes out of her face if she doesn’t stop checking out Nathaniel Whitford.

Is this how it will be at all the resorts? Stalked by his absolutely flawless body?

“Disease,” she mutters. “I have a highly contagious disease. It’s the only valid option.”

This morning, he was like a German shepherd, shifting into protective mode. Tossing the TikToker aside like he was a pesky gnat. Something tells her if he had taken a swing at the guy, he’d likely be sleeping for a year.

Ash shifts uncomfortably, resisting the urge to take a dip into the shallow end of the pool. She shouldn’t have liked that macho display of dicks out. And yet…her stomach feels gooey and warm every time she replays it.

Fuck. Why are all her emotions jumbled?

The memory of Nathaniel sprinting the distance and pulling her into his arms is seared onto her brainstem.

He wasn’t worried about her. Was he?

To distract herself, Ash pulls out a magazine from her beach bag. She flips through the spreads, but she can’t help but peek at Nathaniel over the edge of the pages. His effortless glide throughthe water. Sunkissed forearms. Those sexy veins running from his biceps down to his hands.

He’s soaking wet, but so is she.

Focus, Ash.

Resisting the urge to fan herself with the magazine, she reroutes her attention to a twenty-page spread about cryptids.

Miraculously, she loses herself in the article. She’s been successfully reading for ten minutes when the lounger beside her squeaks. “Catching up onCryptozoology Weekly?”

“Monthly, actually,” Ash deadpans. “Only so much can happen in thirty days.”

Nathaniel takes it from her, holds it at arm’s length like it bites. He cocks a brow, squints dubiously at the centerfold.

“Which one’s your favorite?”

Delighted by the question, even though Nathaniel looks like he regrets it, Ash lifts her sunglasses. “Bigfoot. He is truly the OG of the cryptid world. Hairy. Smells. Has a whole forest to himself. And yours?”

When he opens his mouth only to look baffled, she laughs.

“Nathaniel,” she says, “you disappoint me. How do we hope to ever have cryptid discourse if you can’t name a single one by heart?”

He rolls his eyes but says nothing. Just leans back against his lounger.

Ash slurps extra loud on her straw in the hopes of driving him away.