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His gaze fell on a scrap of silk and lace and his hands stilled.
Hello!
He looked a little closer. Several bra and knicker sets were lying on the top of the jumble of clothes. He could see two g-strings—one lacy and red, the other black satin with a leopard print trim and an intriguing bow. There was even a matching satin leopard print bra.
A cream-coloured bra edged with delicate lace and decorated with a small jewelled butterfly nestled in the cleavage was somehow even more inviting than the colourful numbers. It reminded Alex of her, of her personality—understated, quiet, demure—and it took all of his will-power not to touch.
His heart thudded in his chest. Under all those awful high-necked shirts and baggy pants, underneath her white coat, little Miss Don’t-look-at-me had been harbouring scraps of lace and satin. If he’d been placing bets he would have backed sensible white cotton granny undies and functional bras.
He spied a gauzy lilac, completely see-through negligee with three tiny buttons down the bodice—did she sleep in this? He groaned. How was he going to look at her again? Look at her clothes and not wonder what wisps of material were beneath? Ignoring her had been surprisingly difficult anyway, but this? It was as if he knew a secret about her. A delicious, wicked secret.
He took a couple of deep cleansing breaths and left the room. ‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ Alex said when he found her outside staring at the ocean, forcing his voice to be normal, ‘but I’m going in for a swim. Why don’t you come?’
Isobella turned to face him, her eyes widening as she realised he’d taken his shirt off. She swallowed. His chest was magnificent, spattered with dark hair, thicker across his pecs and becoming sparser and narrower as it arrowed down his flat abdomen and disappeared behind his boardies. Dear God—with that voice and those abs she felt as if Lucifer himself was trying to lure her into the water.
The waves lapped the beach in perfect synchronicity with the beat of her heart. It was as if they were saying—We dare you, we dare you, we dare you…
She dragged her gaze away from his chest, ignoring the siren call of the ocean. As inviting as the water looked, and even if she had been able to wade into it without having a panic attack, there was no way she could go in with Alex. Not shirtless. At the moment not even if he’d been dressed in a three-piece suit. Her libido had just roared to life big-time.
‘I…I didn’t bring my togs.’
Alex thought about the black lace and leopard print set back in the room. That would make a great bikini. Why was she hiding her body? The sarong afforded him the fullest view he’d ever had of her legs, and if those calves and ankles were anything to go by then the rest of her legs were spectacular.
‘You come to a gorgeous coral cay in the middle of the Great Barrier Reef and you don’t bring your togs?’
Alex’s muscles rippled as he talked, and the waves kept up their taunting rhythm.Dare you, dare you, dare you. ‘I thought we were here to work,’ she said testily.
He wondered what kind of underwear she had on right now. Lace? Satin? Silk? Red? Pink? Blue? Was she wearing a thong?Oh, God.
‘We’re here to observe. I’m sure no one minds if we take the odd dip to cool off or do a little snorkelling,’ Alex said sardonically.
‘I told you,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m not keen on the ocean. I prefer dry land.’
Which was true. If someone had a gun pointed to her head and told her to get in then she could do it. But while she had a choice she was staying dry.
Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was hot, and the crystal waters beckoned irresistibly. He wanted to wrench the sunglasses off her face so he could see into her eyes. Hell, he wanted to strip her shirt off and see what she was wearing underneath. He placed his hands firmly on his hips lest they be tempted to act on their own volition.
‘So you’re just going to wander around an island paradise dressed from neck to knee for three days, like some nineteenth-century missionary?’ The fact that she was one thing underneath while pretending to be another on the outside was driving him mad. ‘Aren’t you hot in that?’ he asked out of sheer exasperation.
Isobella looked down at her attire. She’d donned the sarong this morning, knotted it high on her waist and teamed it with one of her many high-necked loose-fitting smock-type shirts that brushed her elbows. It was a far cry from her modelling days, but the sarong was cotton and allowed air flow. It was a little shorter than she’d have liked, but unfortunately her height often worked against her.
