Beaumont Brides Collection (112 page)

No one else had ever managed it. Why should she suddenly start lusting after a man who common sense told her to steer well clear of?

She’d never been short of common sense. At least, she had thought so until now. But maybe she’d been fooling herself about that. Maybe it was simply that no one had discovered the “on” switch before.

‘Say, “No Jack”,’ he prompted.

‘No, Jack,’ she repeated obediently, but just a touch breathlessly. ‘No problems.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said, turning to retrieve the snorkelling gear from the old-fashioned basket fixed to the front of his handlebars.

‘Jack?’

‘Yes?’ He glanced back at her, a pair of well-honed eyebrows daring her to risk another lesson in obedience.

‘Nothing. Except...’ Except what? Forget everything I’ve ever said about not wanting to kiss you. That kissing you has become my number one priority and I can’t wait to try a little trifling. ‘I think that would be a good place.’ She said turning swiftly away to point to a shaded part of the beach where a couple of sunloungers were waiting for them. ‘My complexion is a little tender for too much sun.’

‘Your complexion, like your mouth, is beautiful, Mel.’ His gaze sweeping from the creamy white expanse of skin above the scooped neckline of her vest, via her throat, her chin, her small neatly proportioned nose, coming to a halt when their eyes finally met. ‘You should certainly take care of it.’ He smiled. All of a sudden he kept on doing that. Why the sudden change? He tossed up a bottle of sun block, catching it without difficulty and pointed with it to a huddle of palm thatched cabanas. ‘Why don’t you go and change. Then it’ll be my pleasure to do everything I can to help you achieve that goal.’

If it had just been his pleasure surely breathing wouldn’t be this much trouble. What on earth was she getting into?

‘There’s no hurry,’ she said, with a little gasp.

‘I thought you wanted to go snorkelling.’

‘I do, but...’ Apparently he wasn’t interested in buts, handing over her bathers without another word. ‘Right. I won’t be long.’

Mel had rinsed out her swimsuit and left it to drip over the balcony after her early morning swim. In the privacy of the cabana she unrolled her towel and extracted the tiny white bikini that was her alternative.

In the friendly atmosphere of her London club where she was amongst friends, the bikini had seemed unexceptional. But now, as she tied the shoestring straps behind her neck, she was suddenly aware of her body in a totally new way, the way Jack would be looking at it. At least the way she hoped he would be looking at it. Because that was the way she was looking at him.

She wrapped the towel around her for the sake of modesty, but that just made her look stupid. And she didn’t want to be modest. She wanted him to look at her, every bit of her. She took off the towel, slung it over her shoulder and let herself out of the cabana.

Jack had pulled the loungers deeper into the shade of a couple of huge rocks. He’d peeled off his t-shirt and shorts and was already stretched out as if he had nothing else to do in the entire world but work on his suntan.

His eyes were hidden by a pair of dark glasses, but she knew he was watching her as she crossed the deserted beach, she could feel him following every movement. But who was she to criticise? As she approached his prone figure, her own eyes were focused with equal intensity on the spare, sinewy lines of his body.

It was hard and exciting and it suddenly occurred to Melanie that while a girl who prided herself on common sense would not choose to spend the day on a deserted beach with such a man, a girl who thought that trifling might be fun could not have chosen a better spot.

As she came alongside him she experienced an intense longing to reach out and touch him. Tell him exactly what she was feeling.

Her insides tied up into knots at the thought and instead she flopped down onto the lounger with her back to him, looking out to sea. What a coward! He could only say no.

‘Lie down, Mel,’ he said, his shadow falling over her as he sat up. ‘I don’t want you to burn.’

‘I won’t. It’s still early and I’ve already given myself a thorough coating-’ she began, and could have kicked herself. What was the matter with her? Where was the girl who had wanted to take a risk, court danger? The girl who, an hour ago, had cleared her conscience and was now ready to throw caution to winds.

She should be encouraging Jack Wolfe, not putting obstacles in his way. But on this occasion obstacles were apparently pointless and she jumped as he touched her with the tip of one finger, right between the shoulder blades.

‘You managed to reach here?’ he asked.

‘Well…’ She glanced back at him.

He was regarding her with scarcely veiled amusement. ‘Of course if are a contortionist, along with your many other talents?’ He raised a pair of dark brows inviting her confirmation that this was indeed the case. She considered telling him that she was - except that he would undoubtedly demand a demonstration.

‘No, but-’

‘But me no buts. Forget you were once a spoiled four-year-old and for once just do as you’re told.’

Somewhere, deep inside her brain an alarm was sounding, red lights were flashing. Danger. Danger. But the sun was beating down on her skin, the sea was sparkling an invitation. Why was she even hesitating? Mentally she switched off the alarm and without another word she stretched out on her stomach, burying her face in her arms.

He took his time, lifting the heavy weight of her hair sideways to expose her shoulders before pulling on the bow at her neck to leave the field clear for his ministrations. Mel considered protesting that this was unnecessary. Before she could make up her mind about that he began to unclip the back fastening. That was too much and she half rose in protest just as it fell away and she subsided with a little yelp that escaped before she could do anything about it.

A hot flush of colour raced to her cheeks, colour that wasn’t cooled by Jack’s soft laughter, or his hand slowly smoothing a broad band of cream over her warm skin in one single caressing stroke that began at her nape and didn’t finish until it encountered the lower half of her bikini. His touch was gentle, intimate, deliciously seductive.

A tiny squeak escaped her and she hung onto her breath as his hands spread out over her sides, his thumbs pressing down her backbone as he encircled the sensitive skin at her waist.

‘What’s the matter, Cinderella?’

‘Nothing.’ Her voice was husky, she cleared her throat. ‘Nothing,’ she repeated. ‘I’m just fine.’

Fine! What was she saying! She was far from fine.

Oh, lord, he was off again, stroking the cream along the width of her shoulders, across her shoulder blades, down her sides, nudging his fingers against the soft swell of her breasts, sliding his thumbs beneath the cloth of her bikini bottom to make certain she was protected in the vulnerable strip that would be exposed as she bent down.

She should be pleased that he was taking so much trouble. She was pleased, she decided. Deliciously, entrancingly, exquisitely pleased. In fact she was beginning to wish he’d take the wretched thing off altogether and make a thorough job of it.

She considered suggesting it, but then decided to leave it to him. He obviously knew what he was doing.

Each touch was a new delight, a new torment that unravelled undreamt of desires deep within her, provoking a slow build up of heat that made her mouth throb, her breasts ache to be touched, stroked, kissed. Oh, lord, he’d stopped - no - a little gasp of relief as he began to apply the same magic to her legs.

The pads of his fingers began a series of long, caressing strokes and she shivered as he applied the protective cream to the pale, tender skin of her inner thighs, her calves, her ankles. It was blissful and as the cream melted against her skin, her entire being followed suit and began to turn to warm jelly beneath his hand.

Then he stopped. She gave a little moan of disappointment that she was too far lost to disguise. But no, there was no end to bliss it seemed as, his voice coming from deep within his throat, Jack murmured, ‘Turn over, Mel.’

For a moment she remained perfectly still. If she turned over there would be no going back. But she didn’t want to go back. She’d tossed her coin, made her choice weeks ago.

She should have an affair with someone totally unsuitable Richard had said. Someone who would break her heart.

The part might have been written for Jack Wolfe. It was time to ditch the sweet little ingénue forever. Time to grow up. She couldn’t wait.

As she obeyed him and turned over, the white bikini top slipped off the lounger and fell onto the sand.

Warmed by the sun on the outside, her insides heated to the core by Jack Wolfe’s fingers, Melanie knew she had been right. In the shadow cast by the great rocks she and Jack were so entirely alone that they might have been the only two people in the world.

CHAPTER TWELVE

MELANIE had longed for the look she could see in his eyes as he stared down at her. No man had ever looked at her in quite that way before, with a desire so raw that her breath caught in her throat.

As if he knew he reached out and touched her there, gently teasing his knuckles down her neck, into the small hollow at the base of her throat before turning his hand to run the tip of his thumb along the line of her breast bone.

She held her breath, waiting, knowing that she was a heartbeat from some great secret. For a moment it seemed she would gain her heart’s wish, then without warning he stood up, dropping the bottle on the sand beside her.

‘You don’t have to be a contortionist to finish the job, Melanie,’ he said, tightly. And snatching up the snorkelling gear he walked swiftly away, leaving her to cope alone with feelings that had spiralled so swiftly out of control taking her on some blazingly new emotional rollercoaster. For a moment they had been poised together at the pinnacle, now she was crashing back to earth alone.

Shivering, she sat up bunching her legs up to her body as if attempting to hide her naked breasts from Jack, from herself. But it was too late. And she had exposed more than her body.

Jack knew now that he would only have to click his fingers and she would be his. He’d probably always known it. That day when she’d cut herself, if he’d kissed her then there was only one place it could ever have ended up.

He’d known it even if she had not quite understood what had hung in the air between them. And he’d made his choice. Sent her away.

He had no intention of getting involved with the girl who came in three times a week to clean his sink. No matter how much she turned him on. And he’d just made it plain that he still felt the same way. There was some consolation to be gained from the fact that he was as angry with himself as he was with her. But not much.

She wrapped her arms about her legs and rested her cheek on her knees. What on earth was the matter with her, anyway? It wasn’t the first time a man had rubbed her back with sun cream for heaven’s sake.

There had been a time when she’d spent half her life on a beach and her back had been the subject of some very assiduous attention indeed.

But Jack Wolfe hadn’t just been rubbing sun cream on her back. He had caressed her with it, stroked her, deliberately arousing her with every touch. He’d had seduction in mind and she couldn’t have made her response plainer. So why, having quite deliberately torched those indescribable feelings, had Jack walked away?

Because he didn’t get involved with women who worked for him? Somehow she didn’t think so. A man who made his own rules could break them any time he wanted. And for a moment there, it had been touch and go.

Maybe if she refused to work out her notice? Quit now?

Maybe she needed her head examining.

Mel looked towards the rocks that tumbled into the sea but she couldn’t see him and with a tiny sigh that she would have liked to have been relief, but was very much afraid was regret, she retrieved her top from the sand. But her fingers were shaking so much that it took a lot longer to fasten than the first time. And she took a long time about coating the front of her body with the sun lotion. She needed time and she suspected he did too.

Jack plunged into the water, desperate to cool the heat that was hammering through his veins.

Leave her to do all the running, Mike advised. Play it cool. He thought he had been doing exactly that.

Last night it had been easy. She had suggested a walk along the beach, although he had the feeling that had more to do with too much champagne than any serious intent at seduction. Not that it would have mattered if she had.

She was so tired that she was asleep long before he had put her to bed. And undressing a woman who was asleep was not, despite what he had said to her this morning, a major turn on. He preferred a little co-operation.

Not that she hadn’t been infinitely desirable as she had lain tumbled against the sheets in that ridiculous purple t-shirt and the temptation to slip in beside her, to be there when she woke, was almost overwhelming. Perhaps that was why he had taken himself so determinedly off to the sofa.

But then, this morning, as he had watched her walk across the beach, lithe, fresh, full of life, something had caught at him, stirring a memory of how he had been, once. And the man who had caught at her ankle hadn’t been the cold-hearted bastard with a name that was a gift for lazy journalists, it had been someone he had almost forgotten existed.