Raised by the Mafia

21. The Waves of Lust (Mila)

Ryan and I toddle across the cold sand to the roaring sea. The further we move from the street, the more acutely I realize that the moon has wilted to a crescent. Ryan throws the towels and the boards on the sand at a judicious distance from the surf and surveys the crushing swells in what unsteady light there is. I imagine a condescending smile on his features. This is a children's beach and baby waves for him.

They don't look infantile to me. More like a new opponent to beat. The half-ass instructions from a decade ago are fuzzy. All I remember is how excited I was. Too excited to listen. But, hell bells, if a teenage me could waddle in and play it by ear, a grown-up me should do fine. I'm far smarter and stronger now, after all.

I strip with brisk motions and pick the wetsuit from Ryan.

Accidentally, I intercept his glance and chuckle. There's no better way to describe what he does next than the dated he averts his eyes.

Lingerie and bikinis are all the same to me, but apparently not to him, most certainly not to him. Too bad it's so dark, for I'm dying to know if he's blushing. My instincts scream yes, yes, he is! I made him blush... aww.

Humming the catchy reggae tune from before, I grab the board. "Shall we?"

"Tie the board to your ankle. Then watch the waves for a bit," Ryan reminds me softly, "see if you are comfortable with the tallest ones."

Sitting on the beach at night isn't the most interesting thing to do, but he's right. That's what they told me to do a decade ago. I lower myself onto the cold, damp sand and cross my legs. "Aha. It's all coming back to me."

Maybe my reptilian brain exaggerated how formidable an opponent I'm facing. After I fiddle with the board's strap, the waves start to look pretty tame. Hence, I let my gaze travel to the far more intriguing subject: Ryan's lean figure squatting on the sand.

The wetsuit sharpens the angles of his joints and slims out his already slim everything. Wind tugs on his hair, destroying the gentleman's haircut. If I touch his cheek, would it be as smooth as when I was kissing him in the ballroom? Probably. It's only been three or so hours since then, so it feels longer. Luca used to whine how fast his beard grew, but deep down he was proud as a peacock about it. A bizarre thing to be proud of, but men are men...

"Naz," Ryan snaps. "I'm not in the mood to stand accused of drowning my rich wife."

Damn his observation skills!

"You've signed a prenup, so you have no motive," I call over the sound of the breaking waves then turn all my attention on them. This really is the beginner's place. The waves are fine.

"I'll have no trouble swimming against this drag. Don't worry. If it's more than I can handle, I'll just sit on the shore and watch you demo how it's done."

"No." It's a hard no. Harder one than he gave me when I first proposed marriage to him. "No. You're going in and I'm watching you from the shore until I'm satisfied that you're not an overconfident fool."

His tone suggests it'll never happen.

I shrug and walk into the sea without another word. Board is under the arm, not tripping over the strap. I think I look like a pro, so why argue when I can prove him wrong?

Seawater foams around my ankles that immediately sink into the sand. It clings to my feet, as the last of the waves rushes to the center of the ocean or whatever.

Okay, so I got my feet wet. What's next?

Walk in, stretch on the board, paddle toward the swell, catch it... no showing off. I'll just lay flat on the board and... okay, maybe I could try climbing to my knees. I'll keep it simple this first time, the KISS rule. What's simpler than a kiss? With Ryan? Many, many things.