slicking her tongue over her moist lips. “That just adds to the thrill, doesn’t it?” she said huskily, then laughed and ran for the pool. At the edge, she executed a near-perfect dive into the crystal clear water and surfaced mid-pool, still laughing as she scraped her hair back from her face. Her laughter faded when she saw that Roger stood at the side of the pool fully dressed.
She treaded water. “Aren’t you coming in?” she asked in surprise.
He glanced uneasily around. “I don’t know, Fiona. If someone were to see us…”
“So what if they do?” she returned boldly. “We’re adults.” She rolled to her back and stroked farther away, sure that he would join her. When he didn’t, she treaded water again. Frustrated that he wasn’t cooperating, but confident that she could persuade him to join her, she purred. “Umm. The water feels absolutely decadent on my hot skin.”
She peeked through her lashes to check Roger’s reaction and saw that his face was flushed and his eyes were riveted on her breasts. Convinced that he was weakening, she pushed her arms out in a modified breast stroke and swam toward him. When she reached the side, she folded her arms over the tiled edge and looked up at him, tipping her head to the side. “Don’t you want to go swimming with me?” she asked, puckering her mouth in a Shirley Temple pout she knew from experience men found hard to refuse.
He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the mounds of flesh squeezed between her folded arms.
“Come on, Roger,” she coaxed as she pushed away from the side. “No one will see us. I promise.”
She watched his Adam’s apple bob again, then shrieked when he jumped in fully clothed, splashing her with a tidal wave of water. He surfaced several feet away.
“See?” she said, laughing. “Doesn’t the water feel marvelous?”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he started swimming toward her. It was then that Fiona noticed the feral gleam in his eyes. She pushed her arms against the water, backing away from him, wondering if perhaps she might have been a little impulsive. “Roger…” she warned as he neared.
He grabbed her, catching her by her upper arms.
“Roger!” she cried, struggling to twist free, as he pulled her to him. “What are you doing? Let me go!”
Instead of releasing her, he locked his arms around her, making escape impossible.
“If you don’t let go of me right this instant,” she said furiously, “I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” he challenged.
Before she could answer, he dropped his mouth down on hers, smothering any hope of a reply. Truly frightened now, she flattened her hands against his shoulders and shoved, but was unable to break his grip. She felt the ironlike jab of his arousal against her abdomen and fear iced her veins.
Remembering a defense technique her brother Matt had taught her, she lifted a knee and rammed it as hard as she could between his legs. He bent double, groaning and holding himself.
“How dare you!” she accused furiously, then spun in the water and swam for the side. She’d almost made it out of the pool, when he caught her arm and tugged her back.
She clawed at his hand, trying to pry his fingers loose. “Roger!” she cried. “Let me go!”
He swung around to brace his back against the side of the pool, pulling her with him, then locked his arms around her again. “Come on, Fiona. Just give me a little kiss.”
“Roger, please,” she begged, straining away from him. “Let me go.”
“You heard the lady. Let her go.”
Startled, Fiona glanced up and saw a man standing on the side of the pool directly above them, his legs spread wide, his hands braced on his hips. Although his face was shadowed by a silver Stetson, she knew her rescuer immediately. The khaki slacks with the knife-sharp creases. The starched white shirt with the silver Texas Ranger badge pinned to the front pocket. Dark brown cowboy boots with a shine so high she could see her reflection in them.
Clay Martin, she thought, relieved that she was being rescued. Then she realized her luck. She couldn’t have planned this better if she’d plotted for weeks!
“Get lost,” Roger growled, then jerked Fiona close again.
Instead of fighting him this time, she wrapped her arms around his neck, prepared to put on a show.
“What the—”
Fiona stumbled back as Roger’s arms were torn from her and watched wide-eyed as Clay hauled him from the pool by the back of his collar. She stared, stunned by the bulge of muscles straining beneath the sleeves of Clay’s shirt as he dragged Roger onto the tiled apron of the pool.
Cursing, Roger fought to sit up. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? We were just having a little fun.”
Clay planted a boot in the middle of Roger’s chest and pushed him back down. Folding his arms across his thigh, he leaned to peer down at him.
“Now, nobody enjoys a good time more than me,” Clay informed Roger in that slow Texas drawl of his. “But when there are two parties involved, and especially when one of them is a lady, both parties have to be having a good time before it can be considered as such. You may disagree with me, but it didn’t appear to me that Fiona was having much fun.”
Scowling, Roger shot a hand beneath his nose. “It was her idea,” he grumbled. “She’s the one who wanted to go skinny-dipping, not me.” He flung his hand in Fiona’s direction. “Ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”
Clay angled his head to look at Fiona. The eyes that met hers were black as night and hard as stone. It was all she could do to keep from shrinking away.
“I don’t doubt that for a minute,” Clay said. He turned back to smile at Roger. “Fiona does seem to have a fondness for making a public spectacle of herself.”
She sucked in an indignant breath. “Now wait just a minute!”
Clay went right on talking as if she hadn’t spoken, as if she wasn’t even present. “But I do question her willing participation in what followed.”
“Well, what did she expect to happen?” Roger demanded. “Standing there buck naked and begging me to get into the pool with her. You tell me what you would’ve done, Ranger, if you were caught in a similar situation.”
Clay pulled at his chin thoughtfully. “Now, that’s hard to say, since a woman’s never objected to me kissing her.”
Roger huffed out a breath. “The mighty Texas Ranger,” he muttered. “The whole damn lot of you are nothing but a bunch of gun-toting, self-righteous, macho cowboys.” He gave Clay’s boot an angry shove. “Would you get your damn foot off my chest? You’re restricting my air supply.”
“I’ll be happy to oblige—just as soon as you give me your word that you won’t repeat what transpired here tonight.”
“And why the hell would I want to make a promise like that?”
“Because
