haven’t had any time for research recently, but I’ve been interested in tropical fish since I was so high.’ He gestured somewhere near his knee and grinned.
Oh, boy! Meg gulped as the full impact of that grin hit her. This man’s smile outranked the big screen efforts of most movie stars.
And his eyes were an unexpected drowsy blue. She was perturbed by the way that just looking at him made her breathing quicken, dislodging the comfortable friendliness she usually shared with resort guests.
Dropping her snorkelling gear onto the sand, she reached for her towel and made a business of squeezing excess moisture from her hair. What was the matter with her? This American wasn’t the first handsome tourist she’d taken skin-diving.
She promised herself that a reaction like that wouldn’t happen again. This fellow could smile as much as he liked and she would remain immune. She’d seen one or two of her workmates get themselves into dreadful emotional pickles, breaking their hearts over resort guests. It just wasn’t worth it.
Waving to the group of German tourists, who were making their way out of the water, she decided that it must be this blue-eyed boy’s excitement about the reef that gave him an extra edge of attractiveness.
But she felt ridiculously self-conscious about unzipping the full-length Lycra bodysuit she’d worn as protection from marine stingers.
Her companion didn’t hesitate to shed his suit and Meg found herself stealing a peek at the tall, wide-shouldered and tautly muscled body that emerged clad in simple bathers. She had no alternative but to step out of her suit, too. Nevertheless, she avoided his gaze.
It was very annoying that she should suddenly feel so bothered about something she did every day.
When they both hauled on T-shirts, she felt better, but there was still a self-conscious edge to her voice when she said, ‘We’ll head back to the resort now. You’ll have time for a shower before lunch.’
The Germans, who had their own hired vehicles, were talking animatedly amongst themselves and so the American helped Meg to pile the snorkelling equipment into the back of the resort’s Mini Moke and he sent her another breath-robbing grin. ‘Thanks for a great morning.’
‘My pleasure,’ she murmured.
They both jumped into her Moke and, as she steered the little vehicle up the winding track leading out of the bay, her passenger leaned comfortably back in his seat, turned to her and asked, ‘OK Miss Recreation Officer, what’s planned for this afternoon?’
Surprised, she shot him a calculating glance, but smiled as she said, ‘You Americans are so energetic when you come on holidays, aren’t you? It’s go, go, go the whole time.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘That’s so unusual?’
‘I don’t suppose so,’ she admitted. ‘But we don’t have a huge number of guests here at the moment and most of them seem to be fairly independent, so I didn’t have anything organised for this afternoon.’
‘I was hoping you might be able to take me on a guided tour of one of the island’s walks.’
Meg pursed her lips. Was this fellow making a play for her already? When she’d come to work at the resort just three months ago, she’d discovered that far too many male visitors arrived on the island and assumed the female staff were part of the room service along with the free tea and coffee. She’d developed some pretty useful brush-off tactics.
‘If you have a look in that glove box, you’ll find a pamphlet that outlines all the walks. You’re a big boy. You don’t need a guide. Anyhow…’ she added a white lie as an extra measure of protection ‘…I’m busy all afternoon. There’s a VIP coming soon.’
‘Big deal is it?’
‘Oh, just some hotshot millionaire.’ Meg rolled her eyes.
‘You don’t think much of millionaires?’
Her scowl was automatic. Five years ago, she’d watched her father’s career and health suffer at the hands of a money-hungry tycoon and she’d developed a seriously jaundiced view of wealth. ‘I’m sure those types are so busy counting their money, or protecting it, or making it grow, they don’t have time for the important things in life.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said in a strangely flat voice that made Meg look at him sharply.
They crested the hill and in front of them stretched a magnificent vista—a string of pretty blue bays sparkling in the midday sun like sapphires on a necklace.
As the American admired the view, he said casually, ‘I heard something about a bottle being found on one of those beaches.’
‘Yes.’ A sudden sprinkling of goose bumps broke out on Meg’s arms. ‘I found it,’ she told him.
Sam’s guilty conscience gave him a bad time as he watched Meg’s face grow wistful. He should come clean and confess to her that he was the very millionaire she had been talking about. He should tell her right now.
But an equally strong instinct urged him otherwise. She was already wary of him and a confession like that would make her clam up completely. Then he would miss this heaven-sent opportunity to pick up inside information about the bottle and its message before he tackled her boss.
They reached the resort, Magnetic Rendezvous. She steered the car into a parking bay and, after turning the engine off, leaned forward, linking her arms across the top of the steering wheel. Sam got the distinct impression she was pleased to talk to someone about this bottle.
She turned to look at him and he felt the full impact of her clear grey eyes. Yes, they were definitely grey, he decided—and sweetly framed by long dark lashes. And, he noticed uncomfortably, right now they were shimmering with a suspicious sheen.
‘I don’t know what made me pick the bottle up,’ she said softly. ‘I keep asking myself that and I know it sounds fanciful, but it was almost as if I was meant to find it.’
Her face softened into a sad, dreamy smile and Sam felt a surprising constriction in his throat. In the flesh, Meg was even lovelier than her photo had suggested. The photo hadn’t shown the way she moved, light and graceful, with a sexy little sway of her hips. It couldn’t record the delightful warmth of her voice or capture the way her smile could dissolve into a sweetly serious frown when she was lost in thought.
She was looking serious now when she said, ‘That bottle spent sixty years bobbing around in the ocean. I’m only—well—it’s more than twice my age.’
‘So how old does that make you?’
‘None of your business.’
Sam grinned. At a guess, he’d put her age at around twenty-four or twenty-five. He was thirty-two, so she was a bit young for him—not that he was thinking of her in that way, of course.
Then again…
She was offering him a view of her delicate profile and, as he watched the way she nibbled at her soft bottom lip, a guy couldn’t help contemplating how nice it would be to try that himself sometime.
Meg’s
