look of concern eased into a grin. “You’re a real New Yorker. You’d rather resist than relax.”
“I’m from Connecticut,” she protested.
“Same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“See, you want to fight me already.”
“I do not!” She shifted her grip on the ring. How had this man managed to so thoroughly unhinge her?
“Oh, yeah?” He shoved his hand in the water and splashed her. Hard.
She splashed back and kicked with her feet, showering him completely with water until he ducked below the surface.
He rose up, laughing. “See what I mean?”
She shoved another wave of water at him. Damn. He was right. She felt better already.
She could even stare right at his handsome face with the water streaming over its hard lines and feel…almost normal.
“Do you surrender?” she challenged.
“Caspians never surrender.”
“Honor Omnia Vincit, and all that.” Her eyes wandered to the tattoo circling his thick bicep.
“Exactly. And since I am a man of honor, I’ll help you out of the water. I think we’ve both had enough hydrotherapy for one afternoon.” His black hair hung in his eyes, dripping with water.
He looked very unroyal.
And devastatingly handsome.
“It’s okay. I can swim. I grew up in a coastal town. In Connecticut.” She dodged his offered hand and darted around him, diving under and pulling hard for the stone steps twenty feet along the dock.
As she climbed out of the water she sensed his eyes on her. She adjusted her scanty bikini, not that it made much difference. His steady dark gaze threatened to evaporate the water right off her.
This was so wrong.
A strange noise pierced the air. It took her a full five seconds to realize it was her cell phone. She dived for it, dragging her sarong over her bare legs.
Patrick. His work number. He’d called three times this morning just to “see how she was.”
How could she talk to him now, while her inside pulsed with desire for another man?
Guilt speared through her as she pushed the button to send him straight to voice mail.
“Now can we see the files? I’m kind of a workaholic, so I get neurotic if I’m not allowed to work.”
“You are working. You are my assistant and you are assisting me in enjoying my day.” His arrogant expression dared her to argue.
She fought the urge to laugh. Obnoxious jerk!
And he was right, too, which made it worse.
She sucked in a deep breath and tried to compose herself. All she had to do was survive her two weeks’ notice without doing anything stupid, then she could get on with the rest of her life.
“Do you have jeans?” His question yanked her back to the present.
“Yes.”
“Great.”
He shrugged his white linen shirt back on, right over his wet skin. It clung to his ripped chest in a very disturbing way. She was still attempting to tear her gaze from the sight when he looked up. “What are you waiting for?”
“What am I supposed to be doing?”
“Getting your jeans.”
“Oh.”
Sebastian looked at her as if she’d lost a cog or two. He was right. Of course, it was all his fault.
“I’ll, uh, be right back.” She strode into the palace, hoping she could find her way to her room.
In the wide, colonnaded hallway she passed the queen, who was talking at top speed on a cell phone. Despite her damp and seminaked appearance, Tessa prepared her brightest smile. Her Royal Majesty glanced up but didn’t make any acknowledgment.
Ouch.
What did she expect? She was Sebastian’s assistant, not a visiting princess. Get over yourself already.
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