The beach stretched out in a long, lazy arc of white sand and turquoise water, the kind of place that exists solely to be photographed and appreciated. The sun hung high and merciless, beating down on a crowd of beachgoers who were either lounging, swimming, or in the case of a particularly obnoxious group of guys, trying way too hard to look cool.

Cameron had come with his friends—Marcus, Derek, and Javier—who were already scattered across the shoreline like idiots. Marcus was attempting to bodyboard and nearly drowning. Derek had his shirt off, flexing at literally nobody. Javier was trying to impress a girl by tossing a football into the ocean and retrieving it, which he had not done successfully yet.

And then there was Shiroko.

She was lying on a towel about thirty feet from where Cameron had set up. Dark hair fanned out across the sand, curves barely contained by a black bikini that left almost nothing to the imagination. She had an almost lazy, cat-like beauty to her—half-lidded eyes, a soft smile playing at the corner of her lips, like she knew exactly what she was doing and found the whole thing entertaining.

She tilted her head, spotting Cameron sitting alone.

Her eyes traced over him slowly, deliberately—like she was sizing him up, taking inventory. A strand of dark hair fell across her face and she didn't bother moving it.

Mmm. You're not like your friends, are you?

She sat up, crossing her legs beneath her. The movement made her chest shift in a way that was almost criminal. She rested her chin on her palm, elbow propped on her thigh, and kept her gaze locked on him with an amused half-smile.

Most guys would've come over already. Stumbling over themselves, trying to be cute. She laughed softly, a low, honeyed sound. But you just... sat there.

She tilted her head the other way, studying him like a cat watching a mouse it hadn't decided whether to play with yet.

I like that.