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She’d flipped up the curtain while making her morning coffee to see who was using the pool and got an eyeful of bronzed male muscle soaking wet. An eyeful she had not been able to erase from her brain no matter how hard she’d tried.
On day three of her self-imposed exile, she heard the sound of Carter doing his morning laps in the pool and resisted the urge to flip the curtain up again. For about fifteen seconds.
She caught him as he levered himself out of the water and stood on the tiles drying himself—her throat dried to parchment as heat pounded into every one of her pulsepoints.
‘Carter Price, you wicked tease,’ she whispered on an exasperated hiss, her fingers trembling on the curtain.
Was it her imagination or were those skin-tight trunks doing even less to cover his package this morning?
She blew out a breath of frustration. No wonder the blasted man had offered her a chance to stay in the pool house. ‘A more private place to stay, my butt. More like a ringside seat to temptation.’
His ridged six-pack tensed as he lifted his arms to dry his hair—making his abdomen resemble that of a Greek statue. Sunlight peeked through the willow trees that separated the pool enclosure from the rest of the mansion’s walled garden and rippled over firm, tanned flesh. Gina’s tongue darted out to lick dry lips as he looped the towel round his shoulders and glanced towards the pool house.
She dropped the curtain as if it had been electrified with a two-thousand-volt current.
Had he spotted her peeking?
She poured herself a cool glass of lemonade from the pitcher in the house’s tiny fridge and ignored the weight sinking in her belly.
After three quick swallows, she marched into the house’s small bathroom—to complete her own morning ritual.
Who cared if he had spotted her looking at his nearly naked body in those ludicrously revealing swimming trunks? Peeking didn’t count.
As long as she didn’t go out there and rugby tackle him to the ground—she was still sticking to her curfew. With no help from him.
The man was being deliberately provocative. And she hadn’t risen to the bait. She’d been mature and sensible and disgustingly celibate for three whole days now, while living in his home and being subjected to his buff body less than three yards from her bedroom door every morning.
And managing not to make any reference to his exhibitionism during the hours they spent together gave her a free pass to sainthood.
That said, her abstinence had cost her. It had taken her several hours to fall into a fitful sleep each night, the evenings she spent with Carter at the big house only adding to her torment.
Because while she’d managed to keep the conversation entirely innuendo free, sticking to topics such as her work on the new website design, blogging strategies, the history of Savannah and even the American Civil War—which Carter referred to with a wry smile as ‘The War of Northern Aggression’—and she hadn’t salivated once, or not in his presence anyway, the pressure had built each night anyway.
All those long lazy looks, all those wide easy smiles when she said something sharp or witty, all those considering hums of approval that rumbled up his chest when he listened with alarming intensity—were not remotely innocent. And the swimming, right outside her bedroom window.... That was the biggest tease of all.
But she was holding up.
She swallowed down the lump of lust and risked another peek. An odd mixture of regret and relief swooped into her stomach at the sight of the empty pool patio, the wet footprints on the sun-soaked tiles leading out of the walled garden back towards the house. The still surface of the water glinted, a visible echo of the shimmer of sensation rising up her spine.
While her behaviour so far had been exemplary, she had over a week to go. And as each day passed—she could feel her resistance crumbling.
She let the curtain drop, stripped off the T-shirt she wore to sleep in and stepped into the shower. Ten days wasn’t that long. She’d gone nearly six months before that thoughtless night a week ago with Carter. She could handle ten days. Surely.
And then she’d be free and clear and have conclusive proof that she could do denial. When she had to.
But then she pressed the palm of her hand to the mound of her sex, felt the insistent throb of arousal as she pictured his torso—and that damn package defined to perfection behind black Lycra—and flicked on the cold tap. She shuddered as she stood under the frigid spray, and had to admit that cold showers were getting seriously old.
So old, in fact, that tonight she might have to confront Carter when he returned from the mill for their regular dinner date at the mansion and let him know she was wise to his little game—and she wasn’t playing.
* * *
‘So did you enjoy yourself in Savannah today?’
Gina placed her fork beside her plate with deliberate precision and eyed Carter, who was sitting across from her at the large walnut dining-room table with a typically assured smile on his face.
‘Yes, thank you. I took some nice shots down by the river and along Decatur to illustrate the weblog I’m planning. But I don’t think I need to stay any longer. I thought I’d catch a flight home tomorrow.’ And if the thought made her feel a little down, it had no bearing on anything.
‘I thought we agreed you’d stay a couple of weeks? You’ve only been here three days.’
