by Dani Collins
“Where is home?” he asked. He’d read the answer yesterday, but he liked seeing how his attention put her in a state of conflicted sexual awareness.
“Virginia,” she answered, smile not sticking. “For now. I’m considering a move to New York, though.”
“Don’t bother,” he said instinctively, then closed his mouth in distaste at reacting so revealingly. “It’s a perfectly livable city, but I don’t care for it,” he said in explanation. “More than my share of unpleasant memories,” he added, to see if she’d pick up that the filthiest ones involved her family. Others were so heartbreaking he pushed them to the furthest reaches of his mind.
She only murmured, “I feel like that about Virginia.”
Her tone exactly reflected his feelings, as though she’d opened the curtain and stepped inside the narrow space where he stored his soul. It was so disturbing he bristled, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Her wrinkled brow relaxed and she forced a cheerful smile. “I need a fresh start. And you’ve inspired me now with your talk of telecommuting. Tell me how you manage it. Ingrid said you’re a global company, so I assume you travel a lot? I expect I will, too, as I become more established. What are the pitfalls and best practices?”
She was very smooth in her way of bringing the conversation back to his business. He had to admire her for her dogged stealth.
“The happy couple is returning,” he noted, avoiding answering by directing her attention to where Ingrid and Huxley had stopped at the far end of the pool, admiring the view of the beach.
Ingrid glanced at him, and he inferred that a consultation was requested.
He stood and held Melodie’s chair, getting another eyeful of her breasts, not intentionally, but he was a man and they were right there.
Her sultry cloud of scent filled his nostrils, imprinting him with the image of marble and turquoise and sunlight off dishes so he would never forget this moment of standing here, her lithe frame straightening before him. She had a slender waist and hips he longed to grip so he could press forward, bend her to his will, cover and possess. He had to school himself against setting a proprietary hand on her back as they moved to where the bride and groom were debating logistics.
What the hell was it about her?
She moved with remarkable grace, he noted. Not so much skinny as long limbed. A thoroughbred. Not a mutt like he was. If he didn’t have so much contempt for her bloodline, he might have questioned whether he was good enough for her.
Instead, he was the one with ethics while her sort wore an air of superiority that was only a surface veneer of respectability provided by old money. Perhaps she wasn’t overt about thinking herself better than those around her, not the way her father had been, and perhaps she didn’t act entitled, but she was among her own with Ingrid and Huxley. She took it for granted she was accepted. He couldn’t help but appreciate that confidence.
“Would the guests moor here overnight?” Huxley asked.
“That’s up to Mr. Killian,” Melodie deferred, turning to him.
“Roman, please,” he said drily. She could use his first name until he made his position clear, which would be about five minutes from now. “There’s a shoal to be wary of,” he said to Huxley, stepping forward so he could point.
He was fully aware of Melodie’s proximity to his own. He had no intention of bumping her, though, and actually reached out absently to ensure he didn’t.
Melodie was the one who recoiled in surprise, taking a hasty step backward.
He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, heard her squeak of shock and snatched again, more deliberately.
She was already tipping backward. He missed her, tried again. Their fingertips brushed, but he failed to catch her. Her face pulled into a cringe as she fell backward into the deep end of the pool. Roman stepped back from the splash and stared at her one shoe caught in the grate.
CHAPTER THREE
ONCE MELODIE REALIZED her fall was inevitable, she let it happen, only splaying out her arms and holding her breath. Above her, through the rippled water, three blurry faces stared. Roman was throwing off his jacket and looking as if he might dive in.
She let herself sink, waiting until her foot tapped the bottom, then kicked herself back to the surface.
What an idiotic thing to do!
But that damned Roman had been throwing her for a complete loop, being all masculine and sexy, sending mixed messages of lust and disapproval, hovering next to her like a raptor, smelling tangy and male. She’d been standing next to him, admiring his build, thinking his voice was too hypnotic, when he’d reached toward her as if he knew she was there, as if he was a lover searching for the hand of his mate.
Her reaction had been startled fear that she’d betray how thoroughly he was affecting her if he touched her. She’d jerked back and...
“Pah!” she spat as she came up for air. “You might want to change the design of that grate before the wedding. Either that or we advise all the women to skip the stilettoes and wear flip-flops.”
Ingrid and Huxley laughed unreservedly. Roman wore a more severe look.
It wasn’t easy to tread water in a narrow skirt. Her second shoe came off as she kicked toward the edge.
Roman squatted as she reached for the lip of the pool. His strong hand grasped her forearm, dragging her closer whether she wanted his help or not. His other hand got hold of her opposite arm and he pulled her up and out of the pool as though she was a teensy ballerina, not a five-foot-ten mermaid pushing a hundred and thirty pounds. Soaking wet, she added with a private cringe.
Water sluiced off her, and she rather wished he had let her take stock before landing her in front of him, dripping and plastered with wet clothes, not a single thing left to the imagination. Her makeup had to be running and— Okay, good. Her pearls were still here, but seriously. She felt absurd.
She crossed her arms to hide the way her nipples hardened and risked a quick sweep of her gaze around the faces goggling at her. Ingrid was still snickering, hand cupped over her mouth while her eyes danced with laughter.
“What on earth, Mel?” she asked.
“You left your shoe on the bottom, Cinderella,” Huxley teased, moving to where a large net lay against the low garden wall.
“I can’t believe I did that,” Melodie grumbled, mortified but able to laugh at herself. It was so ludicrous.
Roman didn’t seem to think it was funny, though. He was staring at her so hard her wet clothes should have been nuked off her body.
“May I have a towel?” she prompted.
“Of course.” He snapped into motion.
“Oh! I have a bathing suit you can wear,” Ingrid exclaimed. “I bought it yesterday and left it in my bag.” She disappeared into the house and Melodie shook her head. It was far too late for swimwear.
She followed Roman into the nearby cabana where he turned with a towel in his hand. His gaze raked down her again, making her acutely aware of how her clothes were suctioned to her like a second skin. She plucked at her knit top, which only stretched the neckline and ruined it.
Roman came forward, shaking out the towel and slinging it around her. He was so tall it was no problem at all for him to get it around her.
Her heart did another somersault and his musky scent stole through the air of chlorine as his wide chest filled her vision. Weakness attacked her.
“I—” It would be silly to apologize. She hadn’t fallen on purpose, but he looked so thunderous. “Thank you” was all she could manage as he drew the edges of the towel to where her waiting fingers brushed his.
“When you sank like that, I thought I was going to have to come in after you.”
“It was quite refreshing, to be honest. I needed to cool off.”
She shouldn’t have said that. The se
xual tension she was fighting became something they both had to acknowledge, like it was a real thing holding them in its vortex.
She found herself staring at his mouth, anticipating its feel against hers. Kisses were about as far as she went these days after losing her virginity for all the wrong reasons. Even kisses, however, always seemed to fall short of the hype. She always felt as though she was going through the motions, not really losing herself to the experience. If she couldn’t get caught up in that much, there was no use going further, she’d decided.
But she remained ever hopeful that she’d find a man who made things different. Today, at least, she wanted to be kissed. Deep longing filled her, making her ache to know how it would feel to kiss the man before her.
Distantly she was aware of his hand grasping her upper arm. He stepped closer. His head tilted.
She should have been startled, but it felt so natural. She dampened her lips. Parted them. And gasped when he branded her with the heat of his mouth.
So hot, so smooth and commanding, instantly hungry. Claiming her like a desert warrior stealing her for his pleasure. His hand splayed in a firm pressure behind her tailbone, bringing her imperiously into the wall of his muscled frame.
Heat burned through her wet clothing, sealing them tight with only the friction of dampened fabric between them.
He kissed her as though he meant it. As though he was making sure she’d never forget this moment. As though she was his and he was ensuring she knew it.
She kissed him back with the same passion, not thinking of anything beyond exploring this new pleasure. Letting him have her because what he was doing to her was fresh and exciting and incredible. His kiss made her feel desired. His tongue touched hers and shivers of delight stung her skin. A flood of arousal seared between her thighs, urged her to lean into him and let a moan of pleasure fill her throat.
“Here you are—oh!” Ingrid said on a breathless burst, then laughed with embarrassed hysteria.
Roman jerked back, keeping one hand on Melodie’s arm to steady her. His firm grip hadn’t hurt her, but his touch left a tingling impression. She massaged the spot, trying to dispel the odd vibration while she noted the front of his clothing wore her moist imprint.
“I’ll come back,” Ingrid offered, grin mischievous.
“No,” Roman blurted, brushing past Ingrid as he moved swiftly out of the cabana.
Ingrid, nearly doubled over she was laughing so hard, she stepped and pulled the curtain across. “O. M. G,” she said with exaggerated significance, eyes huge.
Melodie dropped her burning face into her damp hands, eyes closed in mortification. “I don’t know how that happened,” she groaned.
“Oh, please,” Ingrid chortled. “He’s Roman Killian. You should see what the office looks like when it’s announced he’ll be in. It’s like a red-carpet event, there are so many women wearing push-up bras and designer labels. I’m not the least bit surprised you—pun intended—fell for him.”
“No, I haven’t...” Melodie tried to protest, but her bones were still weak, and if Roman had walked back in and told her to come with him, she would have gone without a second thought.
“Don’t bother,” Ingrid instructed with a shake of her head. “If I hadn’t been crushing on Huxley my entire life, I would have fallen for Roman. He’s gorgeous. What intrigues me, though,” Ingrid lowered her voice to murmur, sidling closer with a little wiggle of excitement across her shoulders, “is the way he is falling for you.”
Melodie shook her head. “You’re mistaken—”
“He can’t take his eyes off you,” Ingrid insisted, enjoyment gleaming in her eyes as she gave Melodie’s drowned-rat state a good once-over. “To be fair, I don’t see him with women very often. I think he’s the sort who compartmentalizes. Work. Play. Know what I mean?” Ingrid made little stalls with her hands. “But when I have seen him with a date, he keeps up that aloof facade of his, never planting one on them as if he can’t wait for everyone else to leave. And they’re always blonde and stacked. Kittenish. Not really striking me as his intellectual equal.”
“I fell into the pool, Ingrid. Hardly a sign of great intelligence,” Melodie argued, heart galloping at the idea that Roman had been unable to resist kissing her.
She was not the type to provoke men to passion. Most of them thought she was too tall and wiry. Her half brother had done a number on her as a child, tearing her self-esteem to shreds in a way she’d only been able to rebuild once she had left home, so she still considered herself an ugly duckling who’d arrived at goose, not swan.
That dented 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.