“Yes, it does, actually.”

The shock that crossed her face made him laugh, even as he found himself struggling with how much to tell her. But there was something about Violet, about the way she was so different, the way she didn’t want anything from him. The way she looked at him, like she saw the real man and not just the jersey.

Her glasses had slipped again, so he pushed them up with the tip of his index finger. “You look surprised. But the thing is, I told you people use me…and well, that can leave you feeling empty.”

Dylan dropped his hand. “There was a woman about a year ago that I met in a club. I was living it up, you know, partying most nights because I thought if things were loud enough, busy enough, maybe I wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t having as great of a time as I thought I would be at this point in my life. Like I said, I love playing ball, but I was starting to feel like there had to be more than dropping two hundred bucks in a night on drinks for people who didn’t give a shit about me. Anyway, so this girl…I took her home, because she was persistent.”

The memory made him squirm. “She just kind of led me into sex and I let her. And it was so…nothing. You know what I mean? It was just two people screwing and I realized that’s not what I want. That’s not who I am. She wanted a reason to brag to her friends and I gave it to her, and that’s all it was. Bodies slapping. The next day, I was just disgusted with myself.”

He couldn’t believe he was telling her about that night, about that woman whose name he couldn’t even remember. But Violet just nodded, and her small, cool hand lay over his.

“I know exactly what you mean, I’m sorry to say. Sex should not be about what you can get from it and then walk away from. I was using Frank the way that woman was using you, and I’m ashamed of myself.”

Somehow he didn’t think it was the same thing at all. “Yeah, but you were dating Frank. And you want to have a baby. That’s a little more noble than wanting bragging rights.”

“The end doesn’t always justify the means. It was selfish of me.”

“I can’t imagine that you’re the least bit selfish, Vi.”

“I try to be a good person, a good friend, a great teacher. But we all make mistakes.”

He was probably about to do just that. But he couldn’t resist. “Do me a favor, then.”

“What’s that?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip and Dylan’s thoughts shifted below the belt.

“Give me a birthday kiss.”

Oh, geez, he was on that again.

And she wasn’t sure she could say no this time. She fiddled with her hair and watched him. “You really want one?”

“Yes. Really, really.”

“And it’s been a year since you’ve…done that?”

“An entire year. Don’t you feel bad for me?”

Well…if it had been that long, Dylan probably wouldn’t notice that she wasn’t the most exciting or experienced kisser ever created. She did sort of owe him a thank you for fishing her out of the water. And she did really want to kiss him.

She wanted to know what it would feel like to have those muscular arms around her. To touch that rock solid chest and to see if a man like Dylan could teach her how to get her eyes to roll back in her head.

“I feel terribly bad for you. I’ve crashed your birthday and you rescued me, gave me your shirt, your water. I guess the least I could do is let you kiss me.”

“The very least,” he agreed. “But I don’t want you to let me kiss you. I want you to kiss me.”

“Oh. Well.” She wasn’t quite sure she knew how to be the aggressor, but maybe it was time to try. Violet took a deep breath and scooted next to Dylan. If her heart didn’t explode in her chest, she could do this.

He bent over, just a little.

Violet could smell him, a masculine blend of deodorant and sweat from the sun beating down on his bare chest. His hair was short, his eyebrows thick, his chin showing a few whiskers this close up. His shoulders were broad, his tattoo detailed and extravagant, making her want to wince at the pain he must have gone through to get it.

Leaning, leaning, she stuck her lips on his, missing the center a little but coming close enough to make it work.

He didn’t really move his mouth because she didn’t give him time. She just approached, pressed, pulled back.

It was a wimpy kiss, a geeky kiss. The kiss of a woman who hasn’t got a single clue how to please a man.

No wonder Frank didn’t notice she was missing for fifteen minutes.

She could be kissing a man and he could forget her existence. Doze off for a minute or two.

Dylan took her hand, pulled her closer when she would have darted to the opposite side of the boat. “That’s one.”

Violet stopped trying to wiggle away from him. “One what?”

“One kiss. I get one for each year. I’m twenty-seven, plus one to grow on, so you owe me twenty-seven more.”

He looked serious, but he was cracked if he thought she was going to repeat that humiliation two dozen more times. “That’s for pinches, not kisses.”

“Not in Puerto Rico.”

Having worked with kindergartners for five years, Violet knew a fib when she heard one. This one fell in the same category as “I didn’t get a cookie” and “He pushed me first.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He gave her a smile that was meant to be innocent and instead was just sinfully sexy.

And she decided that if he wanted another one, maybe the first hadn’t been as pathetic as she’d thought. Maybe she could even improve on it.

“All right.”

“Really?”

He looked so pleased, she almost laughed. “Really.”

This time, she let her eyes drift half closed as she tilted her head and moved in. She landed in just the right spot and put more pressure into it. His lips were warm, firm, and she found herself relaxing just a little, enjoying it just a bit.

“That’s two.” Dylan’s fingers went into her hair and he shifted his body, bringing him closer to her.

Somehow she’d wound up between his thighs, and it wasn’t difficult to reach out and kiss him yet again, opening her mouth, sighing when he kissed her back and the moment stretched on and on. Their lips moved together and Violet gave in to the urge to rest her hands on his chest.

Desire was stirring, kicking up like a pile of leaves hit with a strong wind. She wasn’t a sexual person, she knew that, accepted that, but this feeling was familiar. This new, mild, momentary arousal.

It would fade if they went any further, just like it always did. But for the moment, it felt promising and pleasurable, Dylan’s hands shifting lower.

“That’s three,” he said when he broke the kiss to breathe.

“I think that was more like seven or eight.” Their mouths had been together for more than a minute, with lots of shifting and turning and pressing.

“No, sorry. From point of contact to final pull back, it only counts as one. It’s in the rule book.”

“The Puerto Rican rule book?” she asked wryly.

Dylan laughed and pulled her up onto his thigh. Her wet bikini bottoms pressed down into his swim trunks. “Yes. Now come here and give me number four.”

Violet went in to this kiss eager, hungry, and felt a kick of heat between her legs when Dylan’s tongue caressed along her mouth. She shuddered as he sucked her lip between his and then gave a light nip. That twinge of want flared up into a throb, and she gave a gasp.

Okay, no one had ever bitten her before. It felt a little wild, a little out of control, a little not-what-nice-girls-do. “Do that again,” she said when he panted in front of her, but didn’t touch her.

“Kiss you? I never actually did. We’re still on number four.” He leaned over and around her, reaching for something.

Violet’s butt wobbled on his thigh and she grabbed his shoulder for support. “What are you doing?”

“Adjusting the sail. We’re about three feet from hitting the break wall.”