Villa Blue Read Online Free Page A

perspective of him. Or maybe it was clarifying it? She was open to either perspective—after all, she had the heart of an artist and could appreciate contrasting views—but, she reminded herself, the man was still a complete stranger.
    “I don’t usually show my bra to men within fifteen minutes of meeting them,” she replied as they made their way toward the sidewalk.
    “Good to know. So if you don’t flash men—at least ones you don’t know—and aren’t into adventure—usually—what do you do around here, Ivy?”
    A thin twinge vibrated through her at the casual sound of her name rolling off his tongue, like the single string of a guitar being strummed.
    “I’m an artist,” she said softly, as any rigid declaration would’ve felt false. Though she’d been painting for almost her entire twenty-six years, the announcement of it was new, the singular identification of it still stiff like the bristles of a new paintbrush, so she spoke tenderly, easing in.
    “What style?” Aiden asked as he approached a yellow striped cabana with a sign declaring golf cart rentals.
    “Impressionism. Where’re you going?”
    “Monet, Renoir, Manet,” he nodded. “To rent a golf cart. Looks like best way to get back up the hill to our stuff, right?”
    “I don’t have a wallet with me,” she said, realizing how poorly planned it had been to jump into the ocean. Not that she’d ever plan to do such a thing. “I don’t suppose you do?”
    “Nope.”
    The messy bun on top of her head started to feel like a heavy, matted mess. “You have to give them a credit card and driver’s license to rent a cart. We can just walk. It’s a ways but—”
    “Men don’t walk long distances in wet jeans.”
    She eyed him as she pulled the band out of her hair, releasing the tangle of it to fall down her back. “You told me not to be modest with a wet white shirt on,” she pointed out as she squeezed water from the ends of her hair. “So you should have no trouble walking up the hill in your underwear.”
    “Not wearing any.”
    She fought to keep eye contact with him rather than scan down the length of him to his wet jeans where only the body of man was beneath. Then she gave in and decided, what the hell, and let her eyes take the downward journey as she slowed her steps and Aiden continued walking toward the rental cart cabana.
    Stepping off to the side and watching from just out of earshot, Ivy ran her hands through the knots of her hair as she appreciated the sturdy slopes and lines of muscle that made up the man.
    Aiden James… An interesting man, she decided. She’d say ‘sexy’ but it was too trite a word for someone so vital. She watched his movements, posture, gestures, like any painter would. He was handsome, sure, but there was a presence to him that palpitated. A very attractive presence.
    She wondered, idly, what was beneath those layers of attractiveness. What did he daydream about? Did he ever sit still and ponder or wonder or wish?
    Doubting it, as the man seemed more driven toward action, she twisted her hair back up and fastened it with the band. It would be interesting though, to know what he thought about. What he wanted or strived for.
    As he approached her with two matching sweatshirts and a key with a plastic dolphin keychain attached to it, she let out a quiet chuckle. Of course he’d rented a golf cart and, it seemed, bought clothes without having any money or identification. He had, after all, managed to get her to take up cliff jumping. He either had magical powers or he was comfortable persuading people into giving him his way. She figured on the latter and wondered why that added to the appeal rather than detracted from it.
    “How’d you talk your way into that?”
    “Kindness.”
    “Excuse me?” she asked.
    He motioned toward the number twelve golf cart they’d been assigned, then handed her a gray hoodie with “Parpadeo Island” printed in red block letters across the chest.