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“And you won’t hear me complaining about it.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
His head came up. “Shit.”
“What—?”
He pulled her hard against him and crushed her mouth in a fiery kiss. One hand slipped under her T-shirt at the small of her back, the other cradled her hip. A wave caught them, and the surf swirled around their ankles. Perfect moonlit passion.
“Cameras.” He ground the word against her lips as if she hadn’t already figured that out.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head. Had they really thought they’d have privacy, even on a supposedly private beach? The jackals always found a way in. She wondered how much the pictures would bring. A lot.
Their kiss grew hotter. Deeper. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and the tips began to tingle. She felt him growing hard.
He settled his thumb into the soft flesh along her spine. Forced his thigh between her legs. “I’m going to feel you up now.” His hand moved over her rib cage to her breast. The hand no photographer could see. He caressed her through her bra, and dirty little cesspools of illicit arousal swirled through her body. It had been a long time, and this was safe, because it was all so phony. And because it would only go as far as she let it.
His fingers traced the swells of her breasts above the cups, and he whispered against her lips, “When we stop playing games, I’m going to take you so hard and so deep you’ll want it to last forever.”
His crude words sent a surge of heat sizzling through her, and she didn’t feel one bit guilty about it. They had no personal relationship. This was purely physical. Bram could be a stud she’d hired for the night.
But a stud went home when he’d done his job, and she reluctantly extracted herself from his arms. “Okay, I’m bored.”
His fingers brushed her hardened nipple before he stepped away. “I can tell.”
The breeze lifted her hair from the back of her neck and left a trail of goose bumps behind. She pulled her sweater tighter around her. “Well, you’re no Hugh Grant, but your technique has definitely improved from the bad old days.”
“Glad to hear it.”
She didn’t like that silky note in his voice. “Let’s go back,” she said. “I’m getting cold.”
“I can fix that.”
She’d just bet he could. “About that woman you were talking to on your cell today…” She walked faster.
“Are we back to that again?”
“You should know…If I die while we’re married, all my money goes either to charity or to my father.”
He came to a dead stop. “I don’t exactly see the connection.”
“You wouldn’t get a penny.” She picked up her pace. “I’m not making any accusations, just setting the record straight in case you and the friend you were talking to on the phone start thinking about how much fun you could have living off my money.”
She was mainly being a smart-ass to irritate him. Still, Bram was broke and had no morals, so she felt marginally better for having made sure he understood there was no advantage in plotting her premature death.
His heels kicked up the sand as he closed the distance between them. “You’re an idiot.”
“Just covering my bases.”
He grabbed her hand, more like a prison warden’s than a lover’s. “For your information, there was no camera. I just wanted to get my kicks.”
“And for your information…I knew there wasn’t a camera, and I wanted a few kicks myself.” She hadn’t known, but she should have suspected.
The breeze sighed, the waves lapped. She wasn’t done antagonizing him, and she leaned against his arm. “Skip and Scooter, together in the moonlight. How romantic.”
He retaliated by whistling “Tomorrow” from Annie, just the way he used to do whenever he wanted to piss her off.
Chapter 9
