*Isabella's POV*
"What did you just say?" I asked, shocked as I scrambled to sit up, my heart hammering against my ribs. The rapid movement caused the jet ski to flip over with a loud splash, throwing us both into the cold, dark water with a force that stole my breath.
"What the hell, Jacob? You can't just say things like that to me," I snapped, my voice a little shaky from the shock and the sudden, icy cold of the ocean soaking through my dress. "You know I hate smooth talking, and this is way too far. And look what happened!" I gestured wildly at the overturned jet ski, now floating pathetically a few feet away.
He just chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that was so out of place it made my blood boil even more. "We could've drowned," I said "The jet ski could've fallen onto me, breaking my fucking bones." But he seemed to find the whole situation fucking hilarious.
"I guess I need to do a thorough body check on you," he said, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive purr as he swam closer, a wicked, knowing glint in his eyes.
"As long as you stop using the L-word near me," I shot back, my voice dripping with sass, despite the fact that I was shivering.
"It's my birthday, so I can do or say whatever the hell I want," he said, his voice a low, dominant growl that sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold. He closed the remaining distance between us, his strong arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me flush against his solid warmth, a stark contrast to the frigid sea. "So shut up and let me love you."
I pulled away, a frantic, clumsy motion that sent a small wave rippling out from me. I needed to fucking move. I needed to get away from him, from that word that was still echoing in my head. It was too much, and my brain, my stupid brain, didn't know how to process it. So I did what I always did when things got too real. I ran.
I swam, my strokes a little frantic, a little furious, slicing through the cool water until my feet scraped against the sandy bottom. I stumbled out of the surf, falling onto my back on the soft, damp sand. My soaking wet dress, the one I'd felt so fucking confident in moments ago, was now a heavy, cold second skin, clinging to every curve, outlining my thighs and my breasts in a way that felt more exposing than being completely naked. I didn't even care about the sand getting all over me as I collapsed lying back on the sand.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked from right behind me. I hadn't even heard him follow. His voice was a low, gentle rumble that was somehow more infuriating than if he'd shouted. He lay down beside me on the sand, propping himself up on an elbow.
"I'm mad at you," I said, looking away from him, out at the dark, churning sea. It was a lie. I wasn't mad. I was... awkward . And terrified. And a whole host of other fucking things I couldn't begin to name.
He let out a soft chuckle, "You are probably the first girl in history to ever be mad about being loved."
The words, so casually spoken, hit me with the force of a physical blow. I finally turned to look at him, my mouth slightly open. He just smiled, that same, cocky, beautiful smile that always managed to undo me. He gently forced my chin up, his fingers warm against my cold skin, and planted a quick, soft peck on my lips.
"Let's get you inside," he said, his voice all business again, but his eyes were still dancing with amusement.
"Why are there paparazzi out here?" I asked, a sudden, cold spike of fear cutting through my post-confession haze. I imagined flashes, headlines, my face splashed across some trashy tabloid.
"I'm pretty sure they left," he said, his voice flat, dismissive. "I pay them to." He said it so casually, like he was talking about paying for food.
His gaze dropped, roaming over my body, lingering on the way the wet, blue fabric of my dress was clinging to my breasts, the dark shadow between my thighs. "That dress, wet and the way it's clinging to your body..." he started, his voice dropping to a low, husky murmur that was pure sex. "Well, let's just say I'm two minutes away from doing some unholy things to you on this beach. And I don't want to give a free show to any curious guest left after the party."
He stood up, brushing the sand off his hands, and then reached down to help me up. His grip was firm, his eyes still burning with that dark, hungry light. He didn't lead me back towards the loud music and lights of the party. Instead, he started walking down the beach, towards a dark house a lot further down the shore, a silhouette against the moonlit water.
"Let me guess," I started, my voice dripping with a sarcasm, "is this your fucking house too?" I asked as we stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind us, the sound swallowed by the sheer bloody scale of the place. It was lavish, sure, but that word didn't seem to do it justice. We're talking floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the now-dark ocean, minimalist furniture that probably cost more than my entire tuition. He just laughed, the sound echoing slightly.
"Nah," he said, shrugging off the whole display of opulence like it was a cheap jacket. "The Hamptons isn't really my fucking style, to be honest. It's rented. But, make yourself at home," he gestured vaguely around the cavernous room. "I think Elly left your stuff in the main bedroom." I just nodded, still a bit stunned by the sudden change in scenery. My brain was struggling to catch up.
I turned and headed for the staircase, my bare feet leaving faint sandy prints on the pristine white marble, and of course, he followed close behind. I could feel his eyes on me the whole way up, and it did all sorts of things to my already worn out nerves. Fuck, I just needed a second to breathe. I saw my bag sitting on the king-sized bed in the master suite, and I stopped dead at the doorway, turning to face him. "Will you... um... wait for me out here, please?" I asked, my voice coming out smaller than I'd intended.
His face fell into a mask of dramatic tragedy and he actually gripped his chest. "Don't leave me," he pleaded, his voice thick with fake emotion. "I just got you back, and you're already trying to escape? What the hell did I do?" I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Oh, for shit's sake," I said, my tone completely flat. "I'm not leaving. I just need a moment to freshen up."
A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. "Freshen up, huh? Does that mean you're taking a shower? Because if so, I totally fucking want to join." He added a cheeky wink, and despite my best efforts to stay annoyed, a real laugh escaped me.
"No chance in hell," I said, trying to sound stern but probably failing. "You are staying right out here." I slipped into the bedroom, deliberately shutting the door most of the way, leaving just a crack. I could see him through it, his lower lip sticking out in a pout. Dramatic much. "Bye, Jacob," I said, and with a final, decisive click, I shut the door properly, leaning against it for a second and taking a deep, much-needed breath. Alone. Finally.