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She’d challenged him with that no-names thing and playing cutthroat. She just hadn’t imagined exactly what cutthroat meant. He’d made wisecracks, sidling close to her, saying things like, “Do you really want to take your shot that way? Maybe you should try it this way.” Then he’d stand right behind her, less than a breath of air between them, and guide her hands on the club. His sexy, slightly sweaty male scent had made her dizzy. It had been so hard not to let him throw her off her game. Hot and cold shivers had run up and down her spine. At some point, she’d leaned back, felt him against her, all of him.
The game—and the games—continued, touches that weren’t necessary, his breath against her hair as he whispered how good her stroke was, what a good grip she had on the shaft of her club, all those innuendoes making her crazy as much as they made her laugh. Everything was so much sexier without names. He was a seductive stranger she’d never have to see again.
“We should have single rooms as well as family cottages,” she said, her voice too sexy, too husky as her memories made her hot and bothered, ready to turn around and jump him. Just the way she’d wanted to that day. “And we should also have dorm rooms the kids can share, as if they’re at school.”
Did she even make sense anymore?
Yet everything had seemed to make so much sense that day. He’d enchanted her with his touches, his whispers, his hard body, his sexual innuendos. And when she’d won the game—had he let her win? She’d never asked—he’d said, “This calls for champagne.” He’d had a condo right on the golf course and not taking up his offer had never been an option. She would have followed him anywhere.
His taste had been exquisite, his lovemaking so beautiful it still made her ache late at night. He’d made her forget the lover who’d broken her heart as if the man had never existed.
“We need to have the best chef,” he said.
She laughed. “You’re always thinking about food.” The champagne and appetizers had been exquisite that night. And he’d been exquisite, knowing exactly how to touch her.
“I’m always thinking about life’s pleasures.” His smile reached deep down inside her to all those memories, to all that pleasure he’d given her, to the taste of him on her tongue, the feel of him inside her.
She’d never known such dazzling sensations as those he’d given her that night.
What would have happened if she hadn’t walked into the interview the next morning and discovered that Dane Harrington, her potential new employer, was the very man who’d made such beautiful love to her the night before?
Chapter Fourteen
Pleasure. “We want our guests to have the best of everything,” Dane insisted.
He realized now that she was the best he’d ever had. Her taste had made his mind reel, her skin had been as soft as rose petals, and the lyrical sounds of her ecstasy still played in his mind every night.
He found himself close to her now—close enough to sense the heat of her body, the sweetness of her shampoo, the citrus of the lotion she always wore. “We need to offer leisure time for the parents, like a couple’s massage followed by a romantic candlelit dinner in their suite. So they can learn how to be lovers again.” He painted the romantic picture he dreamed of with her.
She smelled so damn good. He shouldn’t want this. He shouldn’t need this. It could be so bad for them.
But it could be so damned good.
He put his finger beneath her chin and tipped it up, forcing her to look at him. “What do you think?” His voice was so low it couldn’t even be called a whisper.
Her eyes were wide, her breath coming fast, and her scent carried the sexual musk of that night. Even as his mind shouted a warning—bad idea alert!—his body and his heart didn’t care.
She was so close. Her lips were so pretty and plump, begging for his kiss.
With just the tip of his finger beneath her chin, he touched his lips to hers. The sweetest, lightest touch.
She made a sound, almost a moan.
He trailed the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips. Tasted her. Tempted her. Just the way he had that night. With the tiniest gasp of air, her lips parted for him.
Nothing had ever been so good as when his mouth closed over hers. When her tongue touched his, and the kiss became a slow, sweet devouring of each other. Delicious little moans rose up her throat, sounds of pleasure that were as sweet as her taste. He wanted to haul her against him, feel her body plastered to his. And yet, he wanted this, just her lips, her mouth, her tongue, her taste still filled with the luscious fruit they’d eaten that morning.
