by Heidi Rice
But then he turned from the rail, took off his sunglasses and his slow, seductive smile had all the blood pumping back into her nether regions.
She fanned herself with her sunhat. Goodness, either she was suffering from sunstroke or that smile had some kind of secret thermal mechanism.
He crossed the deck towards her, his emerald gaze even brighter than the dazzling expanse of crystal blue water.
‘So, Miz Radley, you want to strip down to your swimsuit and I’ll get you fitted up, then we can head out?’
He leaned against the console, his large capable hand very close to her hip.
She sucked in a sharp breath as her lungs constricted, only to discover the fresh sweat darkening the front of his T-shirt made his salt and sandalwood scent even more intoxicating.
Courage, Ella, just make a general enquiry so you know for sure where you stand.
‘Is that absolutely necessary?’ she asked.
‘’Fraid so. The salt water’s bound to ruin that pretty dress if you don’t take it off. You didn’t forget your swimsuit, did you?’ His smile tipped into a grin.
‘No, I meant us snorkelling together.’ Her nipples shot back to the full torpedo as his gaze drifted south. ‘Is that necessary?’
One dark eyebrow lifted in puzzled enquiry, the smile still in place.
‘It’s just that May Preston said she’d never heard of that rule.’ The words tripped over themselves to get out of her mouth before her tongue knotted again. ‘You know, about it being necessary for people to snorkel in pairs for safety’s sake...’ She began to babble, her tongue overcompensating somewhat. ‘I know it matters with scuba-diving. Even though I’ve never actually scuba-dived myself...’ She cut off as his lips curved more.
Get to the point, Ella.
‘I just...I wondered if you could confirm for me, why it’s necessary for us to be snorkel buddies? If I’m only going to be a few yards from the boat?’
‘Right.’
The word rumbled out and seemed to echo in her abdomen. He muttered something under his breath, then tugged off his captain’s cap, revealing curls of thick sun-streaked hair damp with sweat flattened against his forehead.
‘What I can confirm...’ he slapped the cap against his thigh, the smile becoming more than a little sheepish ‘...is that May Preston’s got one hell of a big mouth. Which I’m going to be having words with her about as soon as she gets back aboard this boat.’
‘It’s true?’ Ella’s eyes widened, her jaw going slack. ‘You really did make it up? But why would you do that?’
* * *
Cooper Delaney watched the pretty English girl’s baby blues grow even larger in her delicate, heart-shaped face—and began to wonder if he was being taken for a ride.
Shy and hot and totally lost, with that tempting overbite, and her lush but petite figure, Ella Radley had looked cute and sort of sad when he’d spotted her at the back of the boarding line an hour ago. Then her skin had flushed a ruddy pink as soon as he’d so much as smiled at her and she’d totally captivated him.
That nuclear blush had been so damn cute, in fact, that he’d been momentarily mesmerised and the snorkel-buddy rule had popped into his head and then spilled out of his mouth without his brain ever even considering intervening.
But seriously? Could any woman really be this clueless? Even if she did have eyes big enough to rival one of the heroines in the manga comic books he’d been addicted to in middle school? And her nipples peaked under her sundress every time he so much as glanced at her rack? And her cheeks seemed to be able to light up on cue?
No way. No one was that cute. It had to be an act.
But if it was an act, it was a damn good one. And he could respect that, because he’d dedicated his life to putting on one act or another.
Unfortunately, act or no, she’d caught him out but good.
Thanks a bunch, May.
He resigned himself to taking his punishment like a man, and hoped it didn’t involve a slap in the face—or a sexual harassment suit.
‘If I said because you looked like you could use the company,’ he began, hoping that humour might soften the blow, ‘would you buy it?’
The instant blush bloomed again—lighting up the sprinkle of freckles on her nose. ‘Oh, yes, of course, I thought it might be something like that.’ She shielded her eyes from the sun, tipping her chin up. ‘That’s very considerate of you, Captain Delaney. But I wouldn’t want to put you out if you’re busy. I’m sure I’ll manage fine on my own.’
It was his turn for his eyes to widen at the earnest tone and the artless expression on her pixie face.
Damn, did she actually just buy that? Because if this was an act, it ought to be Oscar nominated.
No one had ever accused him of being considerate before. Not even his mom—and he’d worked harder at fooling her than anyone, because she’d been so fragile.
‘The name’s Coop,’ he said, still not convinced that he’d got off the hook so easily, but willing to go with it. ‘Believe me. I’d be happy to do it.’ He tried to emulate her earnest expression. Although he figured it was a lost cause. He’d learnt at an early age to hide all his emotions behind a who-the-hell-cares smile, which meant he didn’t have a heck of a lot of practice with earnest.
Her lips curved and her overbite disappeared. ‘Okay, if you’re absolutely sure it’s not a bother.’ The blue of her eyes brightened to dazzling. ‘I accept.’
The smile struck him dumb for a moment, turning her expression from cute to super-hot but still managing to look entirely natural. Then she bounced up to pull her sundress over her head. And the punch of lust nearly knocked him sideways.
Bountiful curves in all the right places jiggled enticingly, covered by three pitifully tiny triangles of purple spandex that left not a lot to the imagination—and had that cheesy sixties tune his mom used to sing on her good days about a teeny-weeny polka dot bikini dancing through his head.
Damn but that rack was even hotter than her smile. Her nipples did that bullet-tipped thing again and he had to grit his teeth to stop one particular part of his anatomy from becoming the total opposite of teeny-weeny.
But then she turned, to drop her dress into the purse she had stowed under the dash, and he spotted the patch of sun-scorched flesh that spread out between slim shoulder blades and stretched all the way down to the line of her panties.
‘Ouch, that’s got to hurt,’ he murmured. ‘You need a higher factor sun lotion. The rays can be brutal in Bermuda even in April.’
She whisked around, holding the dress up to cover her magnificent rack—and the nuclear blush returned with a vengeance. ‘I have factor fifty, but unfortunately I couldn’t reach that spot.’
He scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin, playing along by pretending to consider her predicament. ‘Well, now, that sounds like a job for your snorkel buddy.’
A grateful smile lit up her face, and he almost felt bad for taking advantage of her...until he remembered this was all some saucy little act.
‘That would be fabulous, if you don’t mind?’ She reached back into her tote and pulled out some lotion.
Presenting her back to him, she lifted the hair off her nape as he squeezed a generous amount of the stuff, which had the consistency of housepaint, between his palms, and contemplated how much he was going to enjoy spreading it all over her soft, supple, sun-warmed skin.
Well, hell... If he’d known the good-guy act came with these kind of benefits, he’d have given it a shot more often.
TWO
Do not purr, under any circumstances.
Ella bit back a moan as Cooper Delaney’s work-roughened hands massaged her shoulder blades. Callused fingers nudged under the knot of her bikini to spread the thick sun lotion up towards her hairline. Tingles rico
cheted down her spine as his thumbs dug into the tight muscles of her neck, then edged downwards. She trapped her bottom lip under her teeth, determined to keep the husky groan lodged in her throat where it belonged.
‘Okay, I’m heading into the red zone.’ The husky voice brushed her nape as his magic touch disappeared and she heard the squirt of more lotion being dispensed. ‘I’ll be gentle as I can, but let me know if it’s too much.’
I could never have too much of this.
She nodded, knowing any further attempt at speech would probably give away how close she was to entering a fugue state.
‘Right, here goes.’
Light pressure hit the middle of her back as his palms flattened against the burnt patch. She shuddered, the sting nothing compared to the riot of tingles now rippling across her skin and tightening her nipples.
‘You okay?’ The pressure ceased, his palms barely touching her.
‘Yes. Absolutely. Don’t stop.’ She shifted, pressing back into his palms. ‘It feels...’
Glorious? Blissful? Awe-inspiring?
‘Fine...’ she managed, but then a low hum escaped as he began to massage more firmly. His thumbs angled into the hollows of her spine, blazing a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
She’d been far too long without the touch of a man’s hands. That fabulous sensation of flesh on flesh, skin to skin. She stretched under the caress, like a cat desperate to be stroked, the tingles rippling down to her bottom as his thumbs nudged the edge of her bikini panties. She closed her eyes, willing the firm touch to delve beneath the elastic, while the hot heavy weight in her abdomen plunged.
Arousal zapped across her skin, and she had to swallow the sob as the exquisite, excruciating sensations pounded into her sex after what felt like decades on sabbatical.
Then disappeared.
‘All done.’
Her eyes snapped open too fast, making her sway. His hand touched her hip, anchoring her in place—and snapping her back to reality.
‘Steady there.’ The amused tone had the blush firing up her neck.
Oh, no, had he heard that strangled sob? Could he tell she’d been hurtling towards a phantom orgasm?
Humiliation engulfed the need.
She was so going to unpack the vibrator Ruby had bought her for the trip, and test-drive it in her room tonight. Deciding she wasn’t highly sexed enough to need artificial stimulation had obviously been way off the mark. And Ruby had once sworn by hers—before she’d found her husband, Callum.
‘That should keep you from getting barbecued again, at any rate.’ The rough comment intruded on her frantic debate about the merits of vibrators. And the blush went haywire.
She stretched her lips into what she hoped looked like a grateful smile—instead of the first stages of nymphomania. ‘I really appreciate it.’
She watched as he snapped the cap onto the lotion bottle. Only to become momentarily transfixed by the sight of those long, blunt, capable fingers glistening in the sunlight from the oily residue.
‘There you go.’ He held out the lotion bottle as another inappropriate jolt of arousal pulsed into her sex.
Locating her backpack, she spent several additional seconds shoving the bottle back into it, pathetically grateful when her hands finally stopped trembling. Maybe if she drew this out long enough the blush might have retreated out of the forbidden zone too.
‘Thank you, that was...’ She groped for the right word—awesome being definitely the wrong word, even if it was the one sitting on the tip of her tongue.
‘You’re welcome.’
Her lungs seized at the glow of amusement in the deep green depths of his eyes. The blip of panic returned as she got lost in the rugged male beauty of his face—the chiselled cheekbones, the shadow of stubble on the strong line of his jaw, the tantalising dimple in his chin.
How could any man be this gorgeous? This potently male? It just wasn’t fair on the female of the species.
The sensual lips twitched, as if he were valiantly suppressing a grin.
Get a flipping grip. The man offered to be your snorkel buddy, not your bonk buddy.
‘So we’re all set?’ The rough question echoed in her sex.
‘Unless you need me to return the favour?’ She coughed, when the offer came out on an unladylike squeak. ‘With the sun lotion, I mean. So you don’t burn.’
The suggestion trailed off as his eyebrows lifted a fraction and the edge of his mouth kicked up in one of those sensual, secret smiles that had been making her breathing quicken all morning. It stopped altogether now.
Shut up. You did not just say that? You sad, sad, sex-deprived nymphomaniac.
‘Forget it, that was a silly thing to say.’ She raced to cover the gaff. ‘I don’t know why I suggested it.’ Cooper Delaney’s sun-kissed skin had the healthy glow of a year-round tan weathered by sea air. He’d probably never had to use lotion in his entire life. ‘I’m sure you don’t need to worry about sunburn. Perhaps we should just—’
‘That sounds like a great idea.’ The easy comment cut through her manic babble.
‘It does?’
His lips kicked up another notch. ‘Sure, you can never have enough protection, right?’
Was he mocking her? And could she summon the will to care while she was barely able to breathe?
‘Um, right. I’ll get the lotion, then.’ She dived back into her bag, rummaging around for what felt like several decades as she tried to locate the lotion before he changed his mind. She found it just in time to see him lift the hem of his T-shirt over his head and throw it over the console.
All the blood rushed out of her brain as she stood, poised like the Statue of Liberty, clutching the lotion like Liberty’s torch.
Oh. My. God. His chest is a work of art.
Sun-bleached hair curled around flat copper nipples as if to accentuate the mounds of his exceptionally well-defined pecs. She followed the trail down between the ridged muscles of his six-pack, then swallowed convulsively as the thin strip of hair tapered beneath the waistband of his cut-offs, drawing her attention to the roped sinews that stood out in bold relief against the line of his hip bones.
No wonder it’s called a happy trail. I feel euphoric.
‘Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.’ His gruff words interrupted her reverie as he presented her with an equally breathtaking view of his back.
His spine bisected the slabs of packed muscle, sloping down to the tattoo of a Celtic Cross, inked across the base of his back, which peeked out above his shorts. Her gaze dipped lower, to absorb the sight of a perfectly toned male ass framed in battered denim.
She cleared her throat loudly, before she choked to death on her own drool. ‘Is, um, is factor fifty okay?’
He lifted one muscular shoulder, let it drop. ‘Whatever you’ve got is good.’
The low words seemed to rumble through her torso, making her pulse points vibrate.
She squeezed a lake of the viscous white liquid into unsteady palms. Taking a deep breath, she flattened her palms onto the hot, smooth skin of his back, while her lungs clogged with the tempting scent of cocoa butter and man.
The muscles tensed as she spread the thick lotion, and absorbed the heat of his skin, the steely strength beneath.
Moisture gathered in the secret spot between her thighs, which now felt as if it was swollen to twice its normal size.
As she spread the white liquid over the wide expanse of his back, and massaged it into his skin, she timed her breathing to the beat of the timpani drum in her ear, in a desperate attempt to stop herself from hyperventilating.
And passing out before the job was done.
* * *
Cooper touched Ella’s arm, signalling with his index finger to draw her attention to the blue angel fish darting ben
eath the shelf of fiery orange coral. Her eyes popped wide behind the mask and her expressive mouth spread into a delighted grin around her mouthpiece.
As they hovered above the reef he watched her admire the brilliant aquamarine of the fish’s scales, the white-tipped fins, and the pretty golden edging on the tail, while he admired the open excitement on her face and the buoyant breasts barely contained by purple spandex.
His groin twitched, the blood pumping south despite the chill of the seawater. The sudden flashback, of her stretching under his hands, her breathing coming out on a strangled groan as he caressed the firm skin, didn’t do much to deter the growing erection.
He adjusted his junk, grateful for the wet denim of his shorts. Which had been holding him in check ever since he’d dived into the ocean, leaving Dwayne to fit Ella’s flippers and snorkelling gear, before she spotted the telltale ridge in his pants.
They’d been out on the reef for over half an hour now, and he’d mostly got himself under control. But the sight of that shy, excited smile, every time he showed her some new species of fish, or the barnacled wreck of the Montana, had been almost as mesmerising as the feel of her fingers fluttering over his bicep whenever she wanted to point something out to him, or the sight of all those lush curves bobbing in the waves.
The woman was killing him. So much so that his golden rule about hooking up with single lady tourists was in danger of being blown right out of the water.
As she pointed delightedly to a shoal of parrot fish flicking past he recalled why he’d made his golden rule in the first place.