She started playing “Unwritten,” swaying to the beat, staring daringly into his eyes as she changed the lyrics. “You are unwritten. I can’t read your mind. You’re totally undefined.” She laughed, still strumming. “You really are, you know that, right?”

Damn, she sure knew how to slither beneath his skin. “I like it that way.”

She rolled those gorgeous eyes and began singing again. “You’re just beginning. The pen is in your hand. Is your ending unplanned?” Her shoulders rocked to the beat, her husky, silken voice escalating as she sang about staring at blank pages, opening dirty windows, and feeling rain on his skin, those challenging eyes reaching right into his soul.

He was grinning again and couldn’t help giving her a taste of her own medicine. When she started singing about no one else being able to speak for him and living life with open arms, he chimed in with his own lyrics. “I don’t want to feel the rain on my skin. You can let it in. I’ll stay in my quiet world, with all my words unspoken.”

She smirked, strumming louder, singing, “I’m not gonna let you, broody boy,” and gave in to her laughter, falling against him, making him laugh, too.

“I’ll give you broody boy.” He grabbed her ribs, and the guitar fell to the sand, making them laugh even harder.

“I won’t let you swallow your words,” she sang through laughter, and he tickled her again, making her squeal.

The happy sound zipped through him, unearthing a joyous part of him that he’d thought was gone forever. His laughter rang out, sounding and feeling foreign, and at the same time, addicting. She was an addicting mix of pushy and playful, and the way she hid her softness behind her strength made him want to peel back her layers and find out more of the words she’d written all those years ago. She felt incredible in his arms, her laughter lighting him up inside. Their eyes collided like a summer storm, hot, sharp, and thunderous, drowning out their laughter, and the world fell silent, save for the sounds of their heavy breathing. Sexual tension crackled in the air, and as a war between right and wrong raged in his head, she pressed her luscious lips to his—Fuuck—adding want and need to the battle. In his split second of hesitation, she pulled away, confusion and embarrassment staring back at him.

“Sorry,” she said awkwardly. “I—”