After dousing myself in sunscreen and checking myself repeatedly in the mirror on the side of my car, I step onto the sand, scanning the beach for the man I’ve been dreaming about for the past two months. Edwin Santora. Oh my gosh! There he is! Squeeeee!!!
I string my bag over my shoulder and try not to stare as I walk toward him, ignoring the burn of the sand on my toes. Holy shit, this man is gorgeous. Christa Simpson did not exaggerate one bit. Edwin Santora is every bit as godly as she described.
When I reach Edwin, who’s stretched lazily on a full-length tanning chair, I clear my throat. What do you say to a man that looks like that? He instantly notices me and flexes every rippling muscle as he rolls to his feet and strikes me with the most breathtaking smile. He reaches his hand out to me and I want to take it. I never want to let go.
“Hi, you must be Tanya,” he says.
“Haaa,” I sputter, unable to spit out a greeting, too taken aback by the gritty voice he’s wielding. “Hi.”
He chuckles, as he releases my hand and that only intrigues me that much more. “Here. I saved you a seat,” he suggests, indicating the other plastic beach chair laid out next to his.
In a matter of minutes, I was sharing an umbrella with Edwin Santora and witnessing the sexiest sheen of sweat covering his chest and abs.
“Um,” I stutter, “I thought Abby was going to be here today too,” I suggest, pretty excited about the change of plans.
“She’ll be here. She’s late to everything. But you, on the other hand, you are right on time.”
Oh. My. God.
He flashes me some teeth this time and I swear if he doesn’t cut it out I’m going to have to take a dip in the lake to cool my flaming panties.
Copyright 2013 Christa Simpson
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