Perfect for the Beach (19 page)

She didn’t.

“That is, if you’re interested in dating
me.”
Instead of holding his breath or begging, he reached under her shirt and put his hand on her waist. Then he drew her still-wet finger back into his mouth and sucked hard. Give her something to think about before she answered.

“Oh, I am interested.” Her hips rocked toward him, bumping him in the thigh. “And I’m going to have so much fun telling my friends I’m seeing a lifeguard. They’ll never believe me.”

Kyle took hold of her tiny backside and helped her grind against him, their wet clothes sticking and tugging, frustrating him. “Well, I’m sorry to tell you this, but today was my last day as a lifeguard. I’m going back to school to become an EMT.”

Her head snapped up and she laughed, a deep throaty sound that made his testicles tighten. And not from a torsion.

“Hmm, maybe we have more in common than I would have thought.” Nails scraped across his back. “You know, I was never the smartest in med school, by any stretch of the imagination, but I worked hard. Good luck with your classes.”

He nuzzled her neck, licking along her wet skin, feeling her shiver beneath him. “You can help me study.”

Stepping back, he struggled with her wet shirt, yanking and pulling it up, causing a lot of jiggling of her breasts, thighs, and belly. When the shirt finally landed on the floor in a sopping wet heap, he was fighting for breath, deep want for Sara snaking into every inch of his body and making him nuts.

“Of course I can help you study,” she said, standing in front of him, firm and golden, damp, with goose bumps on her breasts, nipples a deep pink. “Toxicology?”

That quirky little grin she gave made him growl. He reached for her. “I was thinking more along the lines of anatomy and physiology.”

“Oh,” Sara said, striving for innocence, but knowing she sounded more eager than anything else. “If you want, we can get started with all the major muscles. In a warm shower.”

Kyle’s hand on her behind squeezed harder. “I think I’m going to like dating a smart woman. You have such good ideas.”

Sara certainly anticipated a great deal of her own pleasure in dating a large, blond, courageous, and caring ex-lifeguard. “I have other ideas, too.”

Involving a very thorough examination of his muscular body.

He groaned, then kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her chin, brushing past her lips. “You’re so beautiful, and I’m really damn grateful for unreliable bikini straps.”

Sara laughed, knowing she’d gotten way more than she’d ever expected when she’d stuck her sandaled foot on that beach.

“Now, let’s get in that shower,” Kyle said, tilting his head toward the hall. “And I’ll touch and you teach.”

Feeling Sexy Sara rejuvenating within her, she warned, “It could take hours.”

His green eyes darkened. “I’m very dedicated.”

Then he kissed her, and Sara forgot that she ever knew a thing.

MY THIEF

MaryJanice Davidson

For Ethan Ellenberg, who fearlessly bats for me, and for MT, who fearlessly reads rough drafts.

Chapter One

John strode out of the elevator, shifting his suit bag from one shoulder to the other to dig out his key card. He related to Richard Gere’s character in
Pretty Woman …
he missed keys. Not that he ever watched girly movies like that. Well, hardly ever.

He stopped outside this week’s home-away-from-home, Room 666 … hmm, not
too
disturbing. Not that he ever watched cheesy horror movies like
The Omen.
Well, hardly ever.

As he slipped his key card into the slot, the door was thrown open and an arm snaked out and dragged him inside.

He dropped his suit bag, ready to rumble, then realized the arm was attached to a woman. A stunning, redheaded, blue-eyed woman with prodigious freckles.

“Strip,” she ordered.

He thought that over. Naw. He must have misunderstood. She’d probably said something like, “You’re in the wrong room, dicklick,” and in his shock he’d misheard her, which was perfectly understandable because—

“Dude! My lips are moving, can’t you see ‘em? I said strip.”

“What?”

“Strip. Undress. Take. Off. Your. Clothes.” He noticed with surprise bordering on alarm that her own clothes were flying off her as she spoke. “Do I have to write it on my forehead?”

As more and more creamy skin was exposed, alarm changed to something else. And speaking of something else, she certainly was. Her hair was shoulder-length and curly, bouncing around with a life of its own. The shades were drawn and the lights were out, and her glorious hair was the brightest thing in the room. It looked like coals banked for the night. Her limbs were long and slender, and she had the cutest little belly, which rounded out slightly above the darker red thatch between her—

Jeez, all right, I’ll help you,” she said, clearly annoyed at his slothfulness. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but did you take a special bus to high school? A
short
bus?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Then her hands were on him, pulling his jacket off, loosening his tie with nimble fingers, tugging his shirt.

“All right, all right,” he said mildly, but he didn’t feel mild. She was stunning. It wasn’t so much her looks, which were very fine. He had never met a woman who possessed more natural charisma in his entire life. She fairly vibrated with life. And impatience.

Clearly pleased to see he was finally getting with the program, she bounded over to the bed, yanked the covers back—he was treated to a flash of a creamy white bottom—and then was as snug in his bed as a redheaded bug.

Nude, he followed her, sliding between the sheets and wondering exactly what the hell to do now. “They really take this hospitality suite thing seriously,” he said.

Then he said, “Mmmff!” because she had grabbed him by the ears and was kissing his socks off. If he had still been wearing any. Which he certainly wasn’t.

His arms slipped around her, drawing her closer, relishing the silky skin of her back. Her breasts flattened against his chest and his hands slid lower, caressing the fine globes of her butt. Her tongue snaked inside his mouth and he nearly groaned.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

“Oh, here we go,” she mumbled into his mouth.

“That’s the spirit,” he mumbled back.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

“Go away!” they shouted in unison.

“Hotel security! Open up in there!”

Chapter Two

She pulled back from his embrace and peered into his eyes. John waited for a breathless declaration of love. “Hmmm, that’s not quite right,” she said, then reached out and mussed his hair.

“Stop that,” he protested. “It took me hours to get it just right. Also, why is hotel security after you?”

She didn’t answer. Just stood up, bent over, mussed her own hair, flung her head back, grinned at his gasp of appreciation, then grabbed the comforter and slung it over her shoulders.

She marched to the door and opened it.
“Whaaat?”
she whined. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

Two men peered past her, and John at once realized what they thought they were seeing: a barely clad redhead, an unclad John, lights out, shades drawn, and an air of musk and impatience pervading the room.

The smaller man, dressed in a blue suit, shirt, and tie that made him look embalmed, rubbed his hands together. John could hear the rasping sound all the way across the room. “Sorry—so sorry—there’s been—that is to say—”

The taller man shouldered him aside. “I’m Ron Wilde, hotel detective. This is the hotel manager, Ken.”

“Pleased—very pleased—”

“Someone cracked one of the safety deposit boxes downstairs. You haven’t seen anything unusual, have you?”

“She’s a natural redhead,” John volunteered. “I’m not quite sure if that’s what one would consider unusual, but—”

“You hush,” the redhead said, but she was smirking. “Gentlemen, if you
don’t mind …”

“Terribly sorry—never meant to disturb—” The rasping was coming faster. If Kenny boy didn’t get some lotion on those hands, he was going up in flames from pure friction.

“‘Bye,” Red said pointedly, starting to swing the door shut. The detective stuck his foot out, and the door stopped.

He fished around in his jacket—dark brown, which almost exactly matched his hair and eyes—and finally extracted a card. He handed it to Red with a leer. “If you need anything
else,
just give me a buzz.”

John bristled. The punk was coming on to his would-be fake girlfriend! He thought about grabbing the suit by the lapels and tossing him into the tub, or possibly out the window, but then Red slammed the door and they were alone again.

She flung off the comforter like a titian-haired Wonder Woman and, he noticed with total dismay, began dressing as rapidly as she had undressed.

She slid into her jeans, shrugged into her T-shirt (“Come Along Quietly”), then stepped into her sandals. She dug into her pocket, pulled out a rubber band, and efficiently tamed her vibrant hair into a ponytail. As an afterthought, she kicked the comforter in the general direction of the bed.

“Thanks tons, doll,” she said, sketching a salute. “It’s been great working with you.”

Three steps to the door, and she was gone.

Gone?

Not fucking likely.

Chapter Three