With knife-like grace, Matt brought his legs up to his body and then straightened to tread water beside her. He’d left his dark glasses on the beach, as she had, and his eyes were unmistakably sardonic.
‘I got the impression you wished you hadn’t accepted my invitation,’ he said, reaching out to wipe a strand of wet hair from her face. He saw her flinch and his expression hardened. ‘Lighten up, can’t you? Or do you think every man who touches you wants to jump your bones?’
‘I’m sure you don’t, Mr Brody,’ she retorted, her enjoyment of the day souring on the bitterness of his words. Without waiting for his response, she turned and swam back towards the shore. He was impossible, she thought irritably. He turned everything into a personal assault.
Matt overtook her before she reached the shallows, so she was obliged to follow him as he walked up out of the water. But she found her stomach tightening instinctively when she got a good look at his underwear. He was wearing black stretch boxers that clung to him like a second skin.
He turned, picking up his body shirt and using it to dry his chest and stomach. As before, he didn’t seem to care what she thought of his behaviour, but Rachel was finding it very hard to drag her eyes away. It infuriated her, but she found everything about him unbearably sexy. She was beginning to understand why the girls in the office gossiped constantly about their sexual experiences.
The bravado of bringing one of the hotel towels seemed unnecessary now. Rachel felt distinctly guilty when she pulled the towel out of her backpack. But Matt wasn’t looking at her. As he continued to rub his chest and arms, his attention seemed fixed on a large bird foraging among debris further along the sand.
Rachel couldn’t help herself. Wrapping the towel about her, she exclaimed, ‘What is that?’
‘A pelican.’ Matt sounded indifferent. ‘It’s evidently found something to eat amongst the seaweed. This beach is usually deserted. I guess it thought it wouldn’t be disturbed.’
‘A pelican.’ Rachel shook her head in wonder. ‘I’ve never seen a pelican before.’ She looked at Matt. ‘Is that what you’ve got tattooed on your arm?’
‘Hell, no.’ Matt shook his head, though his gaze barely acknowledged her. ‘This is a nighthawk. I had it done while I was at college. My father didn’t approve, but it was too late then to do anything about it.’ He grimaced. ‘Finish getting dressed. Then I’ll take you back to the hotel.’
‘Oh.’ Rachel let out a sigh. ‘Must we?’
Matt’s frown wasn’t encouraging. ‘Must we what?’
‘Go back,’ Rachel said, knowing he’d understood her the first time. ‘Look, I know I overreacted before, but that’s just me.’
‘Really?’
His frown deepened, but he didn’t immediately say anything else. Instead, to her amazement, he turned his back on her and pushed his wet boxers down his legs.
Rachel’s eyes widened. She’d been right. He was totally uninhibited. He didn’t care who saw him, or that she might find his behaviour offensive.
But she couldn’t deny he was good to look at. Wide shoulders tapered to narrow hips, his buttocks rounded and tight. And he was brown all over. No boring privacy line for him. As he used his shirt to dry himself again, Rachel found she was holding her breath.
She didn’t suck another gulp of air into her labouring lungs until he’d pulled on his cargo shorts. He wrung out the boxers he’d worn to swim in, and then put on the damp body shirt that clung even closer now. She could count the vertebrae in his spine, the neat lacing of muscles over his stomach. And then she realised, with a sense of frustration, that she hadn’t even begun to get dressed herself.
Fool, she thought impatiently. She was acting like a moonstruck schoolgirl. Heaven knew what her mother would think if she could see her now.
She fumbled beneath the towel, trying to dislodge the swimsuit. But her body was wet, the suit damp and clingy. She couldn’t help thinking how much easier it would be if she dared drop the towel and strip in front of him.
Of course she didn’t do any such thing. And to her relief Matt bent to gather up his shoes. With a supreme effort she managed to kick the swimsuit off her legs. It was fairly simple, after that, to step into her skirt and panties using the towel to protect her as she pulled on her tank top.
It was only as she was stuffing the damp towel into her backpack that she saw her bra still lying on the sand. She said a rude word under her breath, but it was too late to worry about it now. She stuffed it into the bag, too, suddenly aware that Matt had started away along the shoreline.
He glanced back when she straightened, however, and his timing was so perfect she had to wonder if he’d been as indifferent to her struggles as she’d believed.
‘Let’s walk,’ he said neutrally, apparently prepared to humour her. ‘If you can stand the heat.’
‘I think I can.’
Rachel slung the backpack over her shoulder and hurried to catch up with him. But when she came level he reached over and lifted the bag from her arm.
‘Leave it here,’ he said, dropping it onto the sand. He spread an all-encompassing arm. ‘No one’s likely to steal it.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Except him, of course.’ He indicated the pelican, who looked poised for flight. ‘But I doubt he’d find one of my towels to his taste.’
Rachel glanced up at him. ‘I know. I shouldn’t have brought it.’
‘Did I say that?’
‘You didn’t have to. I feel guilty enough as it is.’
‘Forget it.’ He dismissed her claim. ‘What’s one towel or more between enemies?’
Rachel caught her breath. ‘Are we enemies, Mr Brody?’
‘Matt,’ he corrected her shortly. And then, ‘Well, we’re sure as hell not friends.’ He started to walk again. ‘Come on. Keep moving. Or you’re going to need to cover up.’
Which wasn’t his problem, thought Rachel, trying to distract herself. But if she wanted to stay with him she had to do as he said. And it was surprisingly pleasant, walking in the shallows, feeling the sand melting away between her toes.
They walked for a while in silence. Rachel had expected to feel uncomfortable after what he’d just said, but she didn’t. In actual fact she enjoyed the sense of isolation, with only the cry of birds and the muted thunder of the ocean to disturb the peace.
And then he asked the question she’d been dreading.
‘Why did you come to St Antoine, Ms Claiborne?’
MATT had halted and Rachel was forced to do the same.
She took a breath. ‘My name’s Rachel, as I’m sure you know.’
‘Okay.’ He was tolerant. ‘Why did you come to
