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A feast to behold, he was tall with long limbs, dressed in tan shorts, sandals and a plain white short-sleeved shirt that stretched tight over broad musculature. Beneath those thick waves of raven black hair, his face was like a chiselled slab of white marble, hard and brutal with a sharp nose, wide jaw rough with the morning’s growth, and full lips she had so longed to feel pressed against her skin.
And his eyes were the stormiest shade of grey she had ever seen, and so intense, they seemed to crash over the banks of her own and wash her away.
“Oh, hey Mr Street.” Cassandra forced herself to smile, but couldn’t drag her gaze from the vision of him coming to stand over her with a colourful drink in hand. It didn’t help that he’d left the top three buttons of his shirt open, teasing her with a glimpse of the treasure beneath. “Sure, help yourself.”
Oh if only I could… David mused, drinking in the bounty stretched out before him, before stepping around her lounger and instead settling down on the next. “Thanks, how’s the sun?” he asked before sipping his drink.
“Hot and bright. Just another beautiful day in paradise,” she said, forcing a broad smile and trying to remember she was meant to be on holiday. She was supposed to be enjoying herself, not a bag of nerves just because her friend’s dad was sitting next to her. Sitting next to her while she was dressed in nothing but this damn micro bikini!
Then he chuckled, a deep warbling rumble that rose up from within his throat to crash over Cassandra as he turned to look at her. “You say that now, but give it a couple more months and you’ll be pinning for some good old English weather.”
She could feel his eyes moving over her body, devouring her from head to toe, and the heat of his gaze made her skin flush and tingle.
“If you say so….” She licked her lips nervously, her mouth suddenly dry. “How’s your book coming along?”
Realising he was staring, David quickly dragged his eyes back out across the bay. Past the menagerie of brightly coloured sail ships, an immense cargo tanker was cutting through the dark turquoise waters towards the Spanish port. He focused on it, trying to ignore the stirring between his legs. It didn’t help.
“Oh… you know, it’s coming along, about as well as British Rail. I’ve got the nucleus of a plot, but it’s missing… something. I don’t know. It’s there, right in front of me, but I just can’t see through the block.”
“The dreaded block huh, is there anything I can do?”
Oh, he could think of a few ways.
Every author had their ways of dealing with writer’s block. It was just an unpleasant fact of life in his trade, like taxes, the government, or Amazon’s ever shifting policies. Making a big deal about them wasn’t going to make any difference, you just had to be practical and deal with it. Sex had always been a great help for him when trying to get over the wall.
Fuck, how long had it been since he’d last gotten laid? Three months? Four, at least. Not since his divorce. Too long. Much too long if just looking at Cassandra in that sexy little thing was getting him hard.
He’d need to do something about that once the girls had gone home.
But first, he needed to make it through the next few days without making a fool of himself.
He coughed, trying to drag his attention back to the tanker, the coast, a bird, anything but the flawless curves of the beauty beside him! Dammit, just being so close to her was a fucking turn on. “No, not unless you can slow down time, get the publisher’s off my back or know a trick for breaking down the wall.”
She hummed for a moment, as if actually mulling it over. “Afraid I’m fresh out of ideas, though I might know a guy with an undead dragon that could deal with that wall of yours.”
“Thanks, but I already have an ex-wife,” he joked, and they both chuckled. It was official. Ex-wife jokes were funny no matter the situation. “So, where’s my daughter scampered off to?”
“Shopping, where else?” Willing herself not to look at him, Cassandra forced a chuckle, the same one she used whenever customers told the same bad joke she’d heard a hundred times before. “The sales are on in Puerto Banus and she’s been dying for a chance to splurge.”
She could do this. It was just Mr Street.
The man she had known almost as long as she could remember.
Who had indulged her girlish princess fantasies when she was eight and had jokingly promised to marry her when she was all grown up.
That used to take her and Stacey to dance class every Saturday.
Her best friend’s recently divorced and sexy as hell dad, who she’d spent years fantasising about.
David couldn’t help another chuckle of his own. His daughter was nothing if not consistent. “Ah yes, as you said, where else.” He took another sip of his cocktail, a crystal drop of condensation rolling down the glass to touch his lips as the sun beat down on them, the air growing hotter by the moment. Or maybe it was the alcohol.
Considering the already almost half empty glass before deciding he’d had enough for now, he laid it down gently in a shady spot before rounding on her. “So she just left you here all alone?”
The concern in his tone was so disarming, Casandra met his gaze without thinking and touched his shoulder with a placating hand. The contact sent a thrill racing through her fingertips. “It’s okay, I don’t really feel like hitting the town now and anyway, I’m not alone. You’re here with me.” The words were out before she could stop them, and the confession made her cheeks burn. Yet she didn’t look away.
Yes, she was all alone with her bestie’s daddy at his Gibraltar Villa.
Out in the wilds, miles from anywhere or anyone who could hear her scream- or beg as his sexy mouth did such wicked things between her… Dammit!
