Burning Up

by Sarah Mayberry

  “Really? Wow. That’s interesting. But I wouldn’t want you to waste your time, barking up the wrong tree,” Sophie said. She was starting to enjoy herself, now that she was getting into the swing of this whole banter thing.

  “You have a tree to bark up?” he asked.

  She almost laughed, but she managed to control it. He was too damned charming for his own good.

  “I’m a lesbian,” she said. “I’m not into men.”

  He laughed outright. “Sweetheart, you are so not a lesbian,” he said in a knowing tone.

  “Aren’t I?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, then held up a hand and ticked off points on her fingers. “Short hair. I never wear makeup. I haven’t shaved my legs or under my arms since Bush Senior was in power. And I’m not interested in you.”

  She grinned at him. To her delight, he was frowning. Clearly she’d given him pause for thought.

  “What about before, when you were staring at me? At my—”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to know if they were still as repellent as I remember them being. The answer is yes, by the way.”

  But he was smiling again, a cocky little quirk of his lips.

  “You are so not a lesbian,” he repeated.

  “I don’t care if you believe me or not. All I ask is that you respect my orientation,” she said, her chin coming up.

  Throwing him a cheery smile, she headed for the door. “Lunch is at one. Don’t forget to eat your cottage cheese.”

  6

  LESBIAN. Yeah, right.

  Lucas laughed all the way up the stairs to his bedroom suite.

  Of course, there was the outside possibility that she was speaking the truth. But he wasn’t buying it, not by a long shot. The way she’d been eyeing him up earlier when he woke screamed that she was aware of him sexually. Just as he was aware of her. And she’d been wearing a tank top yesterday, and he hadn’t noticed even a hint of underarm fuzz.

  It was a nice smoke screen, however. He was going to enjoy tearing it down immensely.

  Man, but she was a foxy little thing. The more time he spent with her, the more appealing he found her. The way she bit her lip when she was trying not to laugh at something he said. The way she put her hands on her hips when she wanted him to know she was truly, truly outraged. That little wiggle in her walk. Not to mention her amazing skin, and perky little butt. And those breasts….

  Rueful, he looked down at the tent forming in the front of his underwear. Sexual frustration was another long-forgotten phenomenon for him. He wasn’t sure he was enjoying the trip down memory lane, either. But, surprisingly, he was enjoying the whole flirtation thing with Sophie. The challenge. The not knowing. Not that he wasn’t sure that they’d wind up in bed eventually. It was inevitable, after all. Two grown adults, four weeks, isolation. Some pretty hot chemistry, even if she wasn’t his usual type. Really, it was a foregone conclusion.

  His erection twitched.

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you, buddy. Sooner rather than later. I got that,” he muttered to his impatient nether regions.

  The ring of his cell phone cut into his thoughts and he checked the caller ID. Derek.

  “Hey,” he said, flopping down onto the bed.

  “Yo, Lucas. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, but I wanted to make sure I had something lined up for you first.”

  “What?” Lucas said, confused.

  “Get me out of here? Ring any bells?” Derek said.

  Right. That. He’d almost forgotten how bored and restless he’d been when he’d called Derek yesterday.

  “Sure,” he said. “I was going a little stir crazy.”

  But he wasn’t feeling bored and restless today. Not by a long shot.

  “How does this sound—I’ve booked a charter yacht for you. A big mother of a thing with everything you ever wanted on board and then some. They’ll take you up to the Whitsunday Islands off Queensland, you can cruise around, fish, check out the native flora and fauna,” Derek said suggestively. “There are plenty of berths on board, too, so you just have to give the word and I’ll round up some folks for you to play with.”

  “Thanks, mate, but you know what? I think I’m going to stick it out up here,” Lucas said.

  The words were out of his mouth before he’d even consciously thought them. While he wasn’t a man given to enormous amounts of introspection, he knew himself passably well. Did he really think getting Sophie Gallagher into bed was going to keep him occupied for four weeks?

  “You sure, now? Don’t want you going ’round the bend from boredom.”

  “I’m cool,” Lucas said.

  Apparently he did.

  “Okay. If you’re sure. I could drive up on the weekend if you want some company…?” Derek said.

  For some reason the thought of introducing Derek to Sophie made an alarm bell sound deep in the back of Lucas’s mind. The thought of her in the same room with his shark-in-a-suit manager didn’t feel right. Besides, he didn’t want anything breaking the bubble of their isolation. Two’s company, three’s a crowd, et cetera.

  “Nah. I’m kind of enjoying the peace and quiet. I’ll see you in four weeks’ time,” Lucas said.

  Ending the call, Lucas stared at the ceiling for a beat. The truth was, he realized with surprise, he genuinely was starting to enjoy the peace and quiet a little.

  Go figure.

  Shucking his clothes and hopping to the shower, Lucas turned his mind back to the conunundrum that was Sophie. Yesterday he’d pursued her casually, almost as an afterthought. This morning his interest had become a whole lot more personal. She’d become a challenge. And he was looking forward to conquering her.

  Which meant it was time to step things up a notch. Accordingly, when he finished showering he used some of his signature aftershave, a scent created especially for him by Kenzo. His stubble was one day old and needed no help from him to look suitably bad-boy disreputable—something he knew from vast experience was catnip for the female of the species.

  Standing in front of his suitcase—he still hadn’t gotten around to unpacking—he pursed his lips, thinking through the clothing options. Then he grinned as inspiration struck and he grabbed his board shorts. The pool. What better place to take things up a notch? Technically he was supposed to spend as much time as possible wearing his ankle and knee braces, but what his doctors didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

  Five minutes later Lucas’s crutches ate up the pathway leading to the caretaker’s lodge. The morning sun was warm on his bare chest as he knocked on Sophie’s door. Typical of an Australian summer, it was going to be a stinker of a day.

  She made him wait a long time before he heard footsteps approaching. He smiled as he imagined her going over her options: ignore him and pretend she wasn’t home—almost impossible to pull off given the circumstances—or suck it up and deal with him again.

  She had her game face on, he saw, when she opened the door, but he had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes round when she took in his bare chest.

  “Thought we could go for a swim,” he said.

  “Did you?” She was working really hard to keep her gaze above his chin. He leaned forward so she could get a noseful of his aftershave.

  “Yeah, I did. The water’s great, the sun’s out. Have you got anything better to do?”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he reached out and pressed a finger against her lips. They were incredibly soft, and he added them to the increasingly long list of things that were beginning to fascinate him about her.

  “Before you say it, I get it. You’re not into guys. I respect that. But it doesn’t mean we can’t hang out while we’re up here, right? I swear I’m going to go a little nuts if we don’t,” he said.

  She hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “Okay,” she said cautiously. “I’ll meet you by the pool.”

  “I’ll wait,” he said, propping his hip against the doorframe. He wasn’t about to
give her time alone to second-guess herself. He’d only known her a short while, but he got the feeling she was the kind of person who would think things to death if given half the chance.

  She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again without saying a word. Frowning, she turned on her heel and headed down the hall. He would bet she came out fully clothed, her swimsuit carefully concealed.

  Because she’d left the door open, he leaned forward and stuck his nose inside, taking quick stock of her accommodation. Polished floors led the way into a small galley-style kitchen, and beyond that he could see a living room. No doubt her bedroom was off that somewhere. It wasn’t as ostentatiously high-end as the main house, but it was warm and inviting and full of light.

  He heard a door open and promptly retreated to his original waiting place outside the door. She appeared, carrying a towel and wearing a T-shirt and shorts. The only telltale sign that she intended to swim was the bright aqua tie visible around her neck. He’d nailed it in one. He was also pretty sure that she was wearing a sedate one-piece under all that clothing, too. She just wasn’t the bikini kind of woman. Not that he cared too much. There was only so much modesty a bathing suit could afford, after all.

  “Water’s warm,” he said by way of encouragement as she walked silently before him in the direction of the pool.

  But he was the one who lost the power of speech when she stopped by the closest lounger and stripped off her T-shirt. Full breasts spilled out of two scraps of aqua Lycra.

  Thank you, God. She was wearing a bikini, after all. Showed how much he knew.

  As he stared unrepentantly, she stuck her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and tugged them down, revealing a pair of snug boy-cut hipster bottoms. When she turned toward the pool, he leered with outright hunger at her great, round little butt.

  Oh yeah. Going for a swim had been an excellent idea, if he did say so himself.

  Now all he had to do was to get her wet and willing.

  “Last one in is a rotten egg,” he said, throwing his crutches to one side and leaping into the water.

  SOPHIE HESITATED on the edge of the pool. He surfaced, his hair slicked to his skull, his skin gleaming with water.

  How could he look even better wet than he did dry? It truly was unfair.

  Not that it mattered one way or the other to her now that she was a committed lesbian.

  “Don’t make me come and get you,” he called, sending a warning splash her way.

  “What about your injury?” she asked. “Don’t you have some kind of brace thing you’re supposed to be wearing?”

  He made a dismissive noise. “It’ll be fine. Come on, get your ass in here.”

  For some reason the way he said ass made her feel acutely self-conscious. It also reminded her that he’d seen her naked.

  Why couldn’t she get that fact out of her mind? And it wasn’t because she was outraged that he’d invaded her privacy, or whatever other drivel she’d thrown at him in the kitchen. Rolling her eyes, she forced herself to acknowledge the truth: she hated the thought that he might compare her to other women he’d slept with and find her wanting.

  She knew for a fact that he’d starred in movies with Cameron Diaz, Halle Berry and Jessica Alba. And that he’d been paired with supermodels like Naomi Campbell and Tyra Banks in the gossip pages. Not a group of women she wanted to compete with on any level, except perhaps in the kitchen.

  Not that she was competing, because she was a lesbian now.

  God, she was so screwed up. And it was all his fault. His and Brandon’s. Because if Brandon hadn’t wanted out of their comfortable rut, if he hadn’t poked her with a stick and pointed out that life was elsewhere, she wouldn’t be in this stupid situation in the first place.

  Pinching her nostrils with one hand, she launched herself into the air, tucking one knee tight to her chest and dropping into the water with a highly satisfactory splash. With a bit of luck, Mr. Cocky had just scored a load of backwash in his face.

  She sank to the bottom of the pool, bubbles fizzing off her skin as she bent her knees to absorb the gentle impact, then used her thigh muscles to bounce back toward the surface.

  He let her get a single mouthful of air before splashing her in the face.

  “Nice bomb,” he said. “You have brothers, right?”

  “Nope.”

  “Sisters, then? Tough, lesbian sisters just like you?”

  She hesitated. It was always difficult answering this question. If she said no, she felt like she was denying Carrie ever existed. If she said yes, she opened up a can of worms….

  “I had a sister. She died in a car accident when I was fifteen,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said after a short silence.

  She shrugged. “It’s a long time ago, now.”

  He looked uncomfortable, and she took pity on him.

  “What about you? Any brothers or sisters?” she asked.

  “Nope. Only child.”

  He splashed her in the face again, and she spluttered as water went up her nose.

  “Nice,” she said. “Hope you’ve got eyes in the back of your head, because you’re going to need them. I’m one of those feisty redheads who believes in payback.”

  “Is that a threat?” he asked.

  “I’d like to think it’s more of a promise,” she said.

  He laughed and took off down the pool with a powerful freestyle, using only his arms to propel him through the water. She followed at a more leisurely pace, doing a number of slow laps before finally coming to a halt in the shallow end of the pool.

  “I think that’s it for me,” she said. “I’m turning into a prune.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her. “What about your revenge?”

  She waved a hand negligently in the air. “That old thing? Pfff.”

  Turning her back on him, she climbed the steps out of the pool. She waited until he’d resumed his laps before finding a spot along the edge, lining him up, and waiting for him to come within range. With a banshee cry, she leaped into the air and bombed him again, sending a very impressive shot of water straight up his nose, if she didn’t miss her guess. Giggling like an idiot, she struck out for the steps and was out of the pool before he could even lunge after her.

  He stood in the shallow end, water sluicing off his body as he pushed his hair off his forehead.

  “Okay, I’ll pay that one,” he said, nodding in grudging admiration. “If I didn’t have this leg…”

  “Sure, sure. Whatever,” she said, suddenly terribly aware of exactly how much excitement was bubbling through her blood, and how much she was enjoying his company, and how very, very delicious he looked, all wet and golden and almost naked. Without her permission, her eyes mapped the planes of his chest and belly, lingering on the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the low-slung waistband of his board shorts.

  Lesbian, she reminded herself. You’re into women, not men. Definitely not hairy men, with big, muscly shoulders and arms and chests and six-pack abs and whatever else is hiding beneath all that wet fabric.

  He was laughing at her, his hands planted on his hips, and she knew the exact moment that she’d stared at him too long—he got that predatory gleam in his eye again. For someone who didn’t usually have to do anything to attract women, he seemed to be taking an awful lot of pleasure in hunting her down.

  She only hoped he knew how to handle failure.

  “I might get a bit of sun now,” she said, turning away from his knowing look.

  “Great idea,” he said.

  Crossing to her lounger, she spread her towel out and lay down on her belly. The sun was warm on her skin, and she guessed she’d be dry within a matter of minutes.

  “You’ll burn,” he said from close by, and she realized that he’d settled in the lounger next to hers.

  Surprise, surprise.

  “I’ve got some lotion,” he said, and before she could explain that she’d planned on simply
drying off for a few minutes in the sun before seeking the shade, she felt a large blob of something warm and gooey land in the middle of her back.

  She raised herself up onto her elbows and found Lucas sitting on her lounger now, looking as if he was settling in for the duration.

  “What are you doing?” she asked with exaggerated patience.

  “Saving you from yourself. This skin of yours will go up like a torch,” he said.

  They both knew that it was an excuse for him to touch her. For a moment she stared at him, more words of protest on the tip of her tongue. Then he started to rub the cream in, his fingers firm, his strokes wide and sweeping, his eyes daring her to call him on what he was doing, and she decided discretion was the better part of valor.

  That, and it felt pretty good, too.

  Okay, that was an understatement. Because he wasn’t just rubbing the lotion in, he was massaging it in, his fingers digging into her muscles, his palms pressing down firmly. It was fantastic. Delicious. Addictive. Flopping back down, she gave herself up to the experience. She’d already prepared his salad for lunch and left it in the fridge in the main house. Workwise, she was footloose and fancy free till later in the day. Sighing, she gave herself up to indulgence.

  “This thing’s in the way,” he murmured after a few minutes, and she felt a tug on the back of her bikini top as he undid both the top and bottom ties.

  Vaguely she knew she should say something. Something about him not undoing what little clothing she was wearing. What self-respecting lesbian allowed a man to undress her, for Pete’s sake? But it felt so good, and she hadn’t realized how much tension she’d been carrying in her shoulders over the past few days….

  Just a few minutes, she promised herself. Just a few stolen, decadent minutes.

  “So, how long have you been gay? If that’s not too personal a question,” Lucas asked as she was about to dissolve into a boneless, gooey puddle and slide right off the lounger.