“Want to go for a swim before dinner gets here?” he asked the other man.
For a moment, Rose blinked and stared at him as if not sure what to say or do, but in seconds his face was back to the icy threatening glare he normally sported.
“Swim? It’s getting dark,” he said, his eyes roaming to the window again. He seemed fascinated by the view as if something out there was calling to him.
“The waters are pretty warm this far south even at night,” Angel explained. “I’m going for a swim and recharge. Are you coming?”
Rose shook his head. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” he said.
Angel turned around and disappeared through the open doorway to the foyer, only to show up a couple minutes later with a piece of colorful cloth in his hand.
“I got you covered,” he announced with a smile. “There are always extra swim shorts in the closet.” He threw the trunks at Rose. “Get changed and meet me by the water.”
Without waiting for Rose’s response, Angel opened the glass door, stepped into the back porch, and took off running over the sand. His bare feet welcomed the warmth of the sun-kissed sand as he sprinted toward the ocean.
The sea was calm, the waves lapping at the sand as gentle as a caress. He buried his toes in the wet sand and groaned in pleasure. Nothing like it.
“Where’s your bathing suit?” The cop had changed and stood beside him now in comically bright shorts.
Angel’s gut clenched. The man was well-put together with strong shoulders, iron biceps, and—God have mercy—a hot six-pack that vanished into the low waist of the absurd swimming trunks.