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Aitor stretched out on the hot sand, his ribs still aching from the last wave that had tossed him like driftwood. Salt crusted his shoulders, the sting blending with the dull throb of overworked muscle. Beside him, Kaled lay with his arms folded under his head, drumming idle rhythms against his own biceps—some silent symphony only he could hear. The surf roared, retreated, roared again, a heartbeat they'd learned to ignore.
Leilani's outrigger cut through the shallows with the precision of a blade. She stood at the prow, knees bent, her body a counterweight to the sway of the boat. The morning sun turned her skin molten, catching the droplets that slid down her thighs as she vaulted over the side. At sixty, she possessed the startling, lithe power of a woman forty years her junior, her tall frame unbowed by time. Her bikini—two narrow bands of indigo fabric—clung to her curves like a second skin, the ties at her hips fluttering with each movement. Aitor's gaze tracked the way her fingers flicked seawater from her braid; the hair was still a deep, youthful ink, save for a single, striking streak of white that ran through it like a lightning bolt.
Kaled exhaled through his nose, a sound that wasn't quite a laugh, both men finding themselves caught in the silent pull of watching her move. There was a practiced grace to her every step, a magnetic vitality that made it impossible to look away. "Looks like we are having the entire ocean for dinner tonight," he murmured, nodding at the glistening pile of tuna and mahi-mahi in the canoe. Aitor grunted, shifting his weight. Sand gritted between his shoulder blades, but he didn't brush it away. Leilani crouched to drag the boat higher up the beach, the muscles in her back flexing under a lattice of old tattoos. The scent of salt and fish bloomed in the air, sharp enough to override the coconut oil she'd rubbed into her skin at dawn.
She straightened, hands on her hips, and squinted at them. "Are you two going to lie there like beached jellyfish?" The mock irritation in her voice belied the spark in her eyes—both challenge and permission. Kaled unfolded himself first, rising with the languid grace of a man who'd spent centuries learning the economy of motion. Aitor groaned but followed his friend.
Sand spilled from their legs as they approached, the heat of it searing their soles. Aitor reached the boat first, his fingers brushing hers as he gripped the prow—warm skin against warm skin, a pulse of contact neither acknowledged. Kaled took the stern, his biceps straining as he lifted. The canoe groaned, half-buried in wet sand, stubborn as a sleeping beast. "Again," Leilani commanded, and they heaved in unison, tendons standing stark against their skin.
Her ass flexed under the indigo fabric as she planted her feet, the fabric riding up just enough to reveal the dusky shadow where thigh met hip. Kaled's drumming fingers stilled against the wood. He watched the way her muscles moved beneath the sheen of sweat—not like a predator, but with the quiet appreciation of a man who understood the sacred geometry of strength. Aitor's breath hitched when she leaned back into the next push, her breast grazing his forearm. The contact lasted less than a second, but the heat of it lingered, branding him through the salt crusted on his skin.
With the canoe finally settled above the tide line, Leilani arched backward, fingers laced and stretching toward the sky. The movement pulled her bikini taut across her nipples, the damp fabric clinging. She rolled her shoulders with a groan that vibrated in Aitor's sternum. "Fuck, I'm stiff," she muttered, and Kaled's chuckle was a dark ripple in the thick air.
She speared them both with a look, still stretched like a bowstring. "You'll carry the fish, won't you?" Not a request. Never a request with her—just that velvet-edged expectation that turned refusal to ash. Aitor wiped his palms down his thighs, scattering sand. He'd carry the damn boat again if she asked with that voice, husky from shouting over the surf.
Kaled crouched beside the gleaming pile, fingers skimming the belly of a tuna. Blood-streaked ice melted in the bottom of the cooler beneath it, dripping between his toes. "How much did you murder today, woman?" He hefted a mahi-mahi by its gills, its scales catching the light like
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