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It had just been a kiss, she reminded herself for what must have been the hundredth time. Nothing more. And nothing would come of it, she knew. A man like Daniel would have a little black book the size of the phone book; given the unsurprised look on Millie’s face when she’d been introduced, half of them had no doubt turned up here for a swim and who knew what else? A kiss would mean nothing to a man like him.
A few moments with the water lapping at her breasts gave rise to a new thought: maybe it did mean something? He was a businessman, used to tactics in the boardroom and no doubt in the bedroom. Was that latest kiss designed to throw her, to make her think he was interested, all in the hope of disarming her defences? Maybe he thought that if he seduced her he might drive a wedge between her and Jake? Divide and conquer—was that his ploy?
But if he seriously thought she could be seduced by a few kisses into doing his bidding he could think again. She kicked lazily at the water while she mulled over the thought, wondering if she could turn it to her advantage. She wasn’t sure she knew enough to play the attraction game; she hadn’t had near enough experience with men. But maybe, if he got to know her a little better, he might be more willing to listen to her, and maybe he might see that Jake wasn’t all bad.
The sun felt warm on her shoulders and she slipped back to duck them under the water to cool them down. She’d get out soon, before Daniel finished with whatever business was keeping him. But it was too delicious not to enjoy just a minute longer.
Her feet swirled the water behind her, not enough to break the surface, just moving the water enough so that it swirled and eddied around her in a blissful water-massage, soaking away the tensions of the day. She sighed and closed her eyes. A person could get used to this. Just a minute more…
Something cold hit her back and she came to with a start. ‘You’ll burn if you’re not careful.’
She would have jumped to her feet, but her arms were tangled, her thoughts already in havoc. Already he was there beside her, his feet planted in the water alongside and his hands on her shoulders, long fingers rubbing lotion into her skin, the press of his hand not allowing her up. ‘You were asleep,’ he said, clearly delighted with the discovery.
‘I must have dozed off,’ she said breathlessly. ‘It was so relaxing.’
‘You don’t feel relaxed,’ he bothered to note. ‘You feel as stiff as a board.’
There was good reason for that, she thought wryly as his hand sought to work the lotion into her back with long, languorous strokes. Long strokes that transmitted their languid caress all the way down to her core and made her even tenser. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could so easily block out the sensations assailing her. This was no casual application of sun block. This was a caress. Every one of his fingertips was like a probe that sought and found exactly the right pressure points to make her gasp with pleasure.
When he kneeled down in the water alongside her, his second hand joined the first, one hand at each shoulder, his fingertips brushing perilously close to her breasts as he circled to her underarms. She couldn’t take any more.
She pushed up, turning her head to roll over. ‘I should get out.’ She almost wished she’d stayed right where she was, for now she could see him. Her mouth went dry. She was surrounded by water, had probably been soaking long enough to turn into a prune, but right at that moment her throat was drier than the Sahara in a sandstorm.
Because somehow she’d known he’d wear black, had known he’d wear it better than most against his sun-bronzed skin. But nowhere in her wild imaginings had she’d estimated he’d bypass simply being devastating and head into the realm of the gods of ancient mythology. He was way beyond dangerous. He was positively lethal.
‘There’s no rush, is there?’
Against her better judgement, his words made some kind of sense as she drank in the olive-skinned perfection of his torso, the whirls of dark hair dusting his naked chest, only to arrow down to his naval and disappear in a line in his trunks. Maybe he was right—there was no rush. So why her desperate rush to get away?
Oh yes…
‘Monica might call,’ she managed at last, levering the tongue from the roof of her mouth and peeling her eyes away to locate her sarong in the same action, mentally estimating the seconds before she could hide herself beneath it. ‘I want to be ready.’
‘She already called.’
Her eyes flicked back to his, sure she’d misheard. ‘She what?’
‘I just spoke to her. She couldn’t raise you on your mobile so she checked with your office and they told her you might still be up here.’
