self-esteem, along with her mother’s need of her, had kept her from a serious pursuit of love, but she longed for a deep connection with the opposite sex. With her mother gone, there was more than just a hole in her daily schedule. She felt her single status very keenly. The sight of couples and families made her feel very lonely. She wanted someone to share her life with. Not the facade of a shared life that her parents had had, but the sort of deep, abiding love that Ingrid and Huxley had.
She opened the towel and wrapped it like a turban on her head, throwing off self-pitying thoughts as she peeled away her wet clothes.
Ingrid pulled the tags off the bathing suit and something else that she held up for inspection. “Look. Huxley bought a shirt. You can borrow this, too.”
Any relief Melodie felt evaporated a moment later. Ingrid was decidedly smaller than she was. The bikini would be microscopic even on her client. On Melodie, it was downright lewd.
Ingrid was not deterred. She dropped Huxley’s sleeveless white shirt over Melodie’s head. “It’s a bit risqué, but nothing I wouldn’t wear poolside or to the beach.”
Or in the bedroom to incite her fiancé?
Melodie looked at the thin fabric hanging from narrow straps over her shoulders to scoop low across her breasts and waft in an indecently high hem across her thighs, barely covering her bottom. Even on the beach, this outfit would be nothing less than bait. With the pearls resembling puka shells around her neck, she looked like a surfer groupie trolling for a vacation hookup.
Unfastening the necklace, she muttered, “I can’t believe this has happened. I look so unprofessional.”
“It’s fine. Better than fine. Your legs should be licensed as a deadly weapon,” Ingrid said with a meaningful lift of her brows. “Let’s see if Roman likes them,” she added with a wicked grin, gathering up Melodie’s wet clothes and zipping outside with them, leaving the curtain to the cabana open.
Melodie hesitated, not wanting to be so encouraged by what Ingrid had said about Roman’s interest. She really wasn’t very experienced with men. Aside from her insecurities, a lot of the reason was exactly what she’d told Roman: she was a workaholic. She’d been supporting herself a long time, spending what little extra time she had visiting her mother, advocating for her. The few men she’d been loosely involved with had been nice enough, just not the type to inspire her to make room in her life for them.
Not that she expected Roman to want a place in her life! Quite the opposite. He struck her as a man who expected his women to be self-sufficient and sophisticated. Which she definitely wasn’t—not when it came to relationships. She might not be an actual virgin, but she was a one-time wonder, still not sure what had possessed her to go through with it the first time.
Well, realistically, she knew that immaturity and helpless fury had driven her. She’d wanted to strike back at Anton and had wound up hurting herself and a man who hadn’t deserved to be used. Anton’s friend, a young man Anton had been using so he could party on his family’s yacht, had had a crush on Melodie. She’d reveled in the opportunity to show Anton that not only did his friends find her attractive after all, but she had the power to influence them. She’d made the boy turn down Anton’s demand to sail in favor of taking her for a private cruise. She went through with the lovemaking she’d promised him, but it had been awkward and disappointing. He’d realized she didn’t truly care for him and had been quite devastated. The entire experience had turned into a lesson in being kind to others and true to oneself, which she had tried to follow ever since.
Today, the truth was she might not know Roman enough to care deeply about him, but she was fiercely attracted to him. She wanted to sleep with him. Really wanted that more than she’d ever imagined possible.
With an impatient noise, she reached for the damp towel and slung it around her waist, needing the shred of added protection as she went out to face him.
He wasn’t there, which made her heart sink in an alarming way.
“He went up to change,” Huxley said, jerking his head toward the balcony, adding with a smirk, “Probably having a cold shower, too.”
Ingrid finished hanging Melodie’s wet clothing across the back of the chairs and said to Huxley, “If we’re going to test those jet skis you reserved, we’d better run. You can get a cab, can’t you, Mel? We’re going the opposite direction to the hotel. We’ll see you tomorrow at the meeting with the hotel manager about the room block.”
Could she be more obvious? Melodie liked Ingrid, but at this moment she wanted to push her into the pool. Don’t leave me alone with him.
But the customer was always right, she reminded herself.
Scanning her gaze across the table, she looked for her phone and realized all she had was her credit card in the pocket of her sweater—which was dry, at least. Thank goodness she had that much.
“Sure,” Melodie said with a stiff smile, as if she was still wearing her conservative suit and had this situation fully under control.
“Bye!” Ingrid blew a kiss, grabbed her fiancé’s sleeve and hauled him away.
Blushing with embarrassed annoyance, Melodie contemplated whether to head into the kitchen and ask the chef to call her a cab or stick around to see if Roman wanted to finish kissing the daylights out of her.
Okay, her hormones cried excitedly.
She had to get out of the sun. She was blistering.
Moving to the bottom of the outside stairs, she wavered, but told herself she couldn’t leave without at least saying goodbye.
Yes, wanting to see him again is all about good manners, she mocked herself.
She climbed with trepidation, heart pounding as though she was descending the basement stairs in a thriller movie. So silly. He wasn’t going to attack her. That kiss had been a surprise, but invited and totally mutual. She had wallowed in it.
The part of her that wanted it to happen again and maybe go further was what scared the daylights out of her. She wasn’t that girl. She wasn’t blasé about intimacy. She wasn’t desperate or angry or deluding herself into love at first sight.
She was just really, really enticed by everything about him.
As she reached the top of the stairs, she grew cautious, feeling like a burglar, afraid she’d catch him indisposed.
“Roman?” she tried.
A very deliberate noise sounded, like someone striking a single key on a keyboard, hard. “Yes,” he said from his office.
“I’m afraid I have to ask you to call me a cab.” She tried to act casual as she moved forward. “I didn’t bring my phone and...”
She came even with the open doors of the office and discovered him standing before his clear screens. He had changed, dispensing with a shirt altogether, and now wore only a pair of drawstring linen pants that hung with rakish sexiness off his hips, accentuating his smooth, powerful back and the curve of his buttocks.
“I’d ask Ingrid for hers, but she and Huxley just left...” She could hardly speak. Her throat had gone dry.
He turned. His flat abs and nicely developed
