Jordyn sat on the beach towel watching
Diego riding out the waves. Her pulse raced. He knew he shouldn’t be out there.
Hurricane Ivan was heading inland and the weatherman had warned of the dangerous
undertow. She’d attempted to chase a few waves, but once she’d swum a few yards
she knew it was a mistake. She’d quickly swum back to shore and waited while her
best friend tried to prove he was smarter than the ocean.
The waters
had turned mean and ugly over the last twenty minutes and the sky was an ominous
gray. The hurricane was moving closer. A breeze came in off the water and a
chill passed through her body. She’d unzipped her wet suit down to her waist,
exposing her bikini top when she exited the water. She should cover up again in
case the rains poured down.
She
scanned the waters. Someone on a Jet Ski buzzed around, stopping every so often
to take some pictures. She hoped he would keep away from the jagged rocks. The
razor-sharp rocks were Jordyn’s bigger fear with Diego
being out on the water. One wrong move and a wave could drag him under and throw
him against the rocks, ending his life.
Jet skis
were prohibited at any time on this part of the beach, but it didn’t stop them,
especially on a day like today. They’d swarm around the surfers—in this case,
just Diego—hoping to get a great shot of him nailing a thirty-foot
wave.
Hopefully that’s all he
catches.
She
scanned the beach looking for any other fools. People with cameras hoping to
click the ideal picture of the perfect storm peppered the
sand.
“Dumbasses,” she muttered. What did
that make her? She was on the beach too. Why had she allowed Diego to convince
her this was a good idea?
“Because
I’m a fool too.” She buried her foot in the sand and watched how the tiny
particles glided between her toes. If she was smart she’d grab her board, jump
in her Jeep and hightail it back to her place. Common sense flew out the window
when it came to Diego, because she was head over heels in love with
him.
Too bad he doesn’t feel the
same. He loved her
like a sister he’d said a few too many times, especially on drunken
occasions.
If she’d
had a nickel for all the times he’d said, “If you weren’t like a sister to me,
I’d fuck you.”
How her
pussy moistened with the thought. A few times she’d been tempted to sock him one
and other times she’d wanted to tackle him and show him the woman inside waiting
for him to fill that void deep within.
Instead
she’d sat back and
waited.
| 
Appetite whetted, Amber! Thanks!
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