shorts myself.’
The flush blanketed her body from tip to toe—as if a hot red sheet had slowly been drawn over her. He watched and the wicked look widened to a smile.
‘You sure you don’t want to cool down?’
She turned, anger flaring. ‘You’re the one who needs to cool down.’ She pushed, totally catching him by surprise, and he tumbled straight in.
The satisfaction at seeing the splash was sublime. The giggles burst out. She delighted at seeing him toppled for once, watching as he stretched out under the water, turning around and heading back to the edge at which she stood.
She made sure she stepped back just far enough out of arm’s reach. She underestimated. In a move that totally surprised her he leapt from the water. Easily hooking his arm around her knees and heaving her over his shoulder so she went head first into the pool. It was not a graceful entry—her arms and legs were in all directions and she knew the splash was spectacular. She sank deep and took her time about coming up. When she surfaced he was standing, chest-deep and looking fiery.
‘You deserve a dunking for that, my sweet,’ he warned, peeling his tee shirt off his head.
The feeling of delight multiplied. ‘You’ll have to catch me first.’ With a laugh she dived away, quite happy for him to play catch.
Her jeans were heavy, weighing her down and clinging uncomfortably to her legs, but she didn’t care. His hand encircled her arm, he pulled her to her feet and within close range. Water racing down her face, she shivered, cold from the pool, hot for him.
He stared into her face, as if he was searching for an answer to a question she didn’t know had been asked.
‘Take your jeans off and swim in your undies. I’m going to do a few lengths.’ He let her go again and dived in the other direction. Mystified, she watched him escape. He was deliberately keeping his distance.
She stood up in the shallow end and dragged off her shirt. Sodden, it landed with a squelchy thud on the concrete surround. Her jeans were trickier to remove and in the end she had to float on her back as she wriggled them down. She stood on the step to throw them out of the pool, enjoying the warm beat of the sun on her wet skin. As she turned back to the water she saw he’d stopped swimming, was just treading water in the deep end and staring.
She glanced down and discovered neither her bra nor her undies remained opaque when wet—no. Both were utterly transparent.
And he was looking at her as if he’d never seen a near naked woman before.
The flush returned to her body. All the blood rushed to the surface and she felt hotter than the sun.
His answering flush was something else. She hadn’t known it was possible for a tanned man to flush like that. But the colour slashed across high cheekbones and his sea-green eyes were lit by a matching flame.
‘I thought the water was supposed to cool us off,’ she croaked.
‘Must be some sort of chemical thing.’ He coughed. ‘If you go into the pool house you’ll find towels and spare bathrobes hanging. And toiletries and stuff. Have a shower or whatever and put on a robe while your clothes dry. I’m going to do another length.’
He turned and splashed through the water again.
Uncaring about the drips, she padded through the pool house—a perfectly good home in itself. Why he lived in such a mansion all by himself puzzled her, but what puzzled her more was why he kept holding back when it was plain as day that they were both pretty eager to get close. That the effect they had on each other was undeniable. What was he waiting for?
She glanced at her watch—glad it was water resistant. She’d been here for hours and other than that one shattering kiss in the kitchen he’d made no move. What had happened to his promise of six big Os in the one night? She wanted that, damn it. Hell, even just one. OK, two. She’d be happy enough with that.
When was he going to get on with it because she didn’t know if she could wait any longer. And then it hit her—why should she wait? Maybe she should be honest, it was why she was here after all. Couldn’t she initiate? Maybe she could be the one not taking no for an answer.
The thrill rippled through her entire body. She stood for a moment under the powerful shower and mentally deliberated. Forcing the recollections of her time with Luc from her mind—they always snuck in at times when she wanted to be brave.
Take what you want, Cally. Take what you want.
She lathered the creamy gel on her body, breathing in the fresh floral fragrance, smoothing it into her skin and starting to feel like a siren preparing herself for seduction.
By the time she left the pool house he was out of the water. Presumably he was in the main building. She spread her sodden clothes on the wooden deckchairs to dry and then turned—it was time.
Blake stood in his kitchen and watched as she walked towards him. He was nearly at breaking-point and seeing her like this was pretty much the last straw. She’d knotted the robe firmly at the waist. She had no make-up on. Her hair was slick. She was beautiful and utterly ready for bed.
He’d been holding back all day. Biding his time, waiting for the right moment. Because he didn’t just want her willing, he wanted her wild. He wanted to know she was as out of control for him as he was for her.
That moment in the kitchen had been a mistake, but one he hadn’t been able to resist. He’d had to pull back quickly from a kiss that had threatened to send every rational thought out the window for all eternity. And that had thrown him. That she seemed to be able to make him forget anything and everything just by touching him.
He’d had to prove to himself that he could pull back. Transient lust. That was all this was, and soon to be remedied because, hell, it was crippling.
He looked back to the kitchen bench and reminded himself of his plan. He didn’t just want victory. He wanted total surrender.
‘You were so long in the shower I did round two of the bread and put it in the oven.’ He couldn’t have coped to see her hands on that dough again. He opened the fridge. ‘Wine?’
‘Thank you.’ She accepted the glass he held out and with deliberation lifted it straight to her lips and took a long, deep sip, not breaking eye contact with him the entire time. Then she lowered the glass, set it on the bench next to her and came closer to him—intention apparent in every move.
His pulse picked up. ‘Got something you want to say, Cally?’
‘No.’
He knew now. She was ready. And, please God, let him be able to handle it. She stepped closer. He looked down at her plump lips, deep pink and parted.
She was his. But he refused to leave room for regret. And he had a lesson for her—one he didn’t want her to forget in a hurry. He whispered, mouth millimetres from hers. An almost kiss.
‘There’s something I want you to do for me.’
Her eyes were cloudy, acquiescent, desire-drugged.
He walked to the kitchen drawers and pulled out the length of black fabric from
