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She’d forgotten yet again that she was supposed to be Emmeline. Forgot he would soon marry Emmeline. Would soon honeymoon with her.
The thought of Zale with Emmeline hurt. “Remind me, what are we doing for our honeymoon?” she asked, hating that she already felt jealous. Hating the idea of them together on a beach like this, talking like this …
“We’re spending ten days on my yacht in Greece and then a few days in Paris so you can do some shopping.”
Hannah chewed on her inner lip, thinking that Zale did not strike her as the type to enjoy cruising the Greek islands on a yacht. He struck her as too active for ten days of sunbathing on a yacht. Some rest was good but wouldn’t he also want adventure, or some of an adrenaline rush? “That doesn’t sound fun for you.”
“It’s what you wanted.”
He meant, that was what Emmeline wanted.
Hannah shook her head, unaccountably angry. Emmeline and Zale were not a good fit. They didn’t belong together. Emmeline didn’t even want to marry him but was doing it out of obligation. How could this be a happy marriage?
But Hannah couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t her place to say anything. She was just here as a placeholder until Emmeline arrived.
And even that made Hannah furious. She dived under a wave, exhaled until she needed air and then popped back to the surface. Still upset, she swam a few strokes before turning on her back to float. The sun shone brightly overhead. The water felt cool against her skin and she could taste the tang of salt on her lips.
Zale was not hers.
Zale would never be hers.
She had to remember that. Couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t let personal feelings cloud the commitment she’d made to Emmeline. Even if that commitment made her heart ache.
Hannah turned onto her stomach and swam slowly back to the beach where Zale sat on the sand waiting for her.
“You’re a good swimmer,” he said as she walked out of the water. His gaze was warm as it slowly swept over her, lingering on the small triangles that barely covered her full breasts as well as the scrap of fabric between her thighs.
She could tell from his expression that he liked what he saw and it made her nipples harden and thrust against the wet flimsy fabric of her bikini top.
Nervous, she slicked her long wet hair back from her face. “I love the ocean,” she said, her legs feeling strangely weak. No man had ever looked at her like this. No man had ever made her feel special or beautiful. As if she were something to be touched … tasted … “Love being in the water.”
“I like watching you.”
His voice had dropped, deepened and she felt something coil deep in her belly. Nerves. Adrenaline.
She was wanting all kinds of things she never thought about. Wanting emotions and sensation she never felt.
“Well, I’d love to watch you surf one day,” she answered, sitting down next to him. He was so close she could reach out and brush her fingers across his hard bronzed biceps, so close she could see every shadow and hollow of his flat ripped abs.
She wondered what his skin would feel like if she touched him. Wondered what he’d do.
Her fingers curled into a fist. She couldn’t think like this. Couldn’t be tempted.
“We’ll have to plan a surf trip,” he said, reaching out to lift her wet hair and twist the long strands, wringing water from the ends. “Where should we go? Bali? Perth? Durban?”
She shivered with pleasure as his warm fingers grazed her shoulder. She liked the way he twisted her hair, the tug on her scalp, the heat in his eyes.
He made her feel beautiful. Desirable.
Hungry.
She touched her tongue to her upper lip, dazed by the need to be touched. She craved his hands on her body, wanted his palms on her breasts.
“Anywhere,” she whispered, her breasts aching, her nipples pressing in blatant invitation against her bikini top.
His gaze dropped to her breasts and she could feel the heat in his eyes as if he’d actually caressed her.
“What would you do while I surfed?” he asked, pushing her back against the sand to straddle her hips.
He was hard and she gasped, looking up into his eyes, her lips parting helplessly. It felt so good. She wanted more of him and was aching for him to touch her.
“I couldn’t just leave you at the hotel bored,” he added, reaching out to cup her breast, fascinated by her response.
“Wouldn’t be bored,” she choked, her voice failing her, her inner thighs squeezing tight as hot sensation rushed through her. She wanted him between her thighs, his mouth on her nipple, his hands stroking everywhere.
“What would you do?” he asked.
She could hardly think straight. “Read.”
