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Love you, honey, but you need to check out your Twitter feed.
She screwed up her face. What on earth did that mean? She tapped the app open and started to scroll down the last few hours of tweets. Her heart stopped and she held the phone closer to her face. Did it really say that?
Best way to get on a team? Get naked with the boss in a shower! #whosentthatmysteriouspackage?
Her legs felt like wobbly jelly and she sagged onto the corner of the bed. She recognised who had sent the tweet. It was another member of staff at the DPA. Frank Parker had always been obnoxious in the extreme but this was a whole other level.
Her hands started to shake. The first part was hurtful. Sexist. Something that wasn’t entirely unusual for Frank, whose ambition emanated from his very pores. He was obviously furious that she’d got the place on a team that he would have likely killed for.
But it was the hashtag that killed her. She took a deep breath. The upset shaking was stopping. It was being rapidly overtaken by trembling rage.
How dared he? He was implying that she’d had something to do with the package. That she had somehow manipulated things to trick her way onto a team.
It was pathetic. Truly and utterly pathetic. There was no conceivable way she could have predicted she would be opening mail that day—who on earth could switch on their telepathic powers to know someone else would be off sick? And who on earth could know that Donovan would have been the nearest team leader at that moment of time?
It was insulting, but it was also manipulative. Other members of staff at the DPA would have seen this. Why else would Lara have given her a heads-up?
She sent a quick text back, thanking Lara but containing a few expletives about Frank. She couldn’t help it. If he’d appeared in her room right now she could have killed him with her bare hands.
She started pulling her clothes over her head, leaving them scattered over the floor. Normally Grace was a neat freak. But all those compulsions had left her. She switched off the still-cold shower. There was no way she was getting in there.
Her shoulder gave a little twinge as she fastened her bikini top. It was odd, almost as if her body occasionally came out in sympathy with her. She grabbed her flip-flops and slammed the door behind her.
She wasn’t normally a beach bunny. She didn’t have the figure or the inclination for it. But today the beach had never looked so good. She was sticky. She was uncomfortable. And maybe a quick dip in the ocean would wash away the horrible sensation that was creeping over her skin.
Or maybe it would help her plan her revenge...
* * *
Donovan was fretting. It didn’t matter that Callum appeared to be back to full health and was working as a team leader again. It didn’t matter that someone had decided to put an extra member on his team.
He was still worried. He loved the big guy. He admired him. He wanted to be him when he grew up. Most of the doctors at the DPA felt like about the Granddad of Disease. He couldn’t imagine how sick to her stomach Callie Turner must have felt two years ago when Callum had had an MI on a flight with her. Which was why he had a horrible sinking feeling that he shouldn’t have left the hospital.
That was the trouble with admiring someone so much. He didn’t want Callum to think he was being disrespectful by hanging around. So now he would just have to make sure his phone was permanently charged in case of a call.
He heard a little yelp next door and gave a smile. He’d recognise that noise anywhere. Grace had obviously discovered the showers came from a mysterious underground water pump flowing directly from the Arctic. He’d tried to speak to the guy on the front desk about the cold water but he’d been on the phone and had just shrugged and gestured Donovan away.
He looked out at the blue ocean. Unsurprisingly there was no gym or workout room at this low-cost motel and Donovan thrived on his daily run. A jog along the beach would be perfect.
Even though he had an ocean view the walls in this smaller-than-average room felt as if they were pressing in around him. A sensation that didn’t sit well with him. It didn’t matter that it would be warmer outside than in. The air-conditioning in the room was clawing at his skin.
It was still light and the beach wasn’t too busy at this time of the day. There were only a few die-hard surfers and some families that hadn’t yet packed up for the day. He pulled on his running shorts and vest, tucking his cellphone in one pocket and his music player in the other. He could brave the cold shower later or, if the beach was quieter, he might even go for a swim.
It had been a long time since Donovan had run on sand. It didn’t matter that he’d moved onto the firmer sand next to the shoreline. He could still feel his muscles burn. The late afternoon sun felt good on his shoulders, relaxing even. The sounds of Dire Straits pounded in his ears.
Atlanta was so different from here. No beaches. No view of the never-ending ocean. There were a few parks but none close to where Donovan lived. Just miles and miles of apartments and buildings. Street running just wasn’t the same.
He could get used to this.
He glanced at his watch and slowed his speed. He averaged around three miles back home, listening to the same tracks. The beach was a little emptier now and he could feel the rivulets of sweat run down his back and chest. It had been years since he had gone swimming. Some of his friends had pools but they weren’t designed for serious exercise—not like the kind Donovan craved. Time for a swim in the ocean.
There were no warning flags. No lifeguards either. But Donovan wasn’t worried. He just wanted a chance to sluice off.
He ditched his running shoes and vest, putting his phone and MP3 player underneath the pile on the sand. It only took a few strides to reach the edge of the water.
He placed his hands on his hips and took a few deep breaths, arching his back to stretch out any lingering sore muscles. The water was chilly but not as cold as the shower.
As he took another few steps he could see a few people around him. A few hundred yards up the beach some surfers had gathered, half in the water and half out, watching the waves from under their hands as they shielded out the glare from the lowering sun.
A swimmer was coming back in, their smooth overhead strokes barely causing a ripple in the water around them. It was a woman and she slowed, obviously catching her feet on the seabed.
She moved closer as the water cascaded around her. Dark shoulder-length hair, a bright orange bikini and a curvaceous figure. Hadn’t there been a scene like this in a James Bond movie?
His breath tightened in his throat as he realised who it was. Grace. Somehow he hadn’t figured she’d prefer a dip in the ocean to the cold shower. Grace didn’t seem like the type.
He walked towards her, the waves surrounding his hips and chest. The water was streaming down her face and she rubbed her eyes as she took the tough strides forward against the tide.
Her hands froze as Donovan came into focus. He didn’t know where to put his gaze. It was automatically drawn to her breasts and hips in the orange bikini against her lightly tanned skin.
He’d already seen every part of Grace. But that didn’t matter. That had been work. That had been professional—and it had been a clinical emergency.
Seeing Grace Barclay gliding out of the water towards him, barely dressed, with the gradually dipping sun glinting off her tanned skin, was a whole other ball game.
‘Donovan.’ The word came out a little breathless. A little throaty. She might just have been swimming towards him—it might have been entirely natural for her to be out of breath—but the timbre of her voice had a direct effect on his senses.
He moved towards her, drawn like a magnet. Walking against the tide until only a few inches of ocean water held them apart.
Their gazes met in open acknowledgement of the sexual attraction between them. He could see the
glimmer of nerves and uncertainty in her eyes. Why would Grace doubt he was attracted to her?
‘Hey,’ he murmured. He couldn’t stop his eyes devouring her body. Looking made his hands tingle to reach and touch all parts of her. This close he could see a few tiny freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. Had they just appeared?
He had a new appreciation of her shorter hairstyle. Now none of her body was shielded from his gaze. Everything was there for his appreciation. And, boy, did he appreciate it.
Grace wasn’t acting too shy herself. ‘Hey,’ she replied, as her gaze focused on his broad chest. Donovan was used to working out. He liked to be fit. He liked to stay healthy. There was no spare fat on his body, just toned muscle. Her gaze followed the scattering of hair across his chest that darkened and increased as it drew her eyes downwards. It was almost teasing her to keep following its line across his flat abdomen and beyond.
