Swept Away (35 page)

Now, she lowered her chin and cast an almost shy expression. “You don’t look bad naked yourself, Mr. FBI Man.” She made squiggly trails with her fingers, deep down in the sand.

Something about watching her fingers was sexy as hell. “Have you got a sand fetish or
something I should be aware of?”

She grinned. “I just like the way it feels. I’ve been thinking about incorporating sand in some of my pots.”

He knew nothing about pottery. “Sand? How would you do that?”

“I can mix it with glaze and fire it on that way. Although it might melt—I’m not sure yet. I
might try putting it on the clay before firing it at all. I’m still mulling it over. Deciding exactly
what I want the texture to be. Heavy and gritty, or something lighter, more subtle.”

Her words made him curious. Not so much because he was interested in pottery, but because
he was interested in Kat. “Why sand?”

She reached up to pull his hand down to the beach. “Feel it,” she said, so he let her rake his
hand through. Then she scooted up a little higher, just past the line where the sand went from
wet to dry, and motioned for him to follow. “Now, touch this sand, too. Let a handful run through your fingers.”

He watched the sand sift through hers, then followed suit, and even though he felt kind of
dopey about it, he wouldn’t deny there was something pleasant and peaceful about the act that
made him pick up another handful and do it again.

“Smooth, right? And smooth on your feet when you walk through it?”
He nodded.

Then she leaned forward, scooping up a handful of the wet sand and smearing it in gentle
circles on his calf. “But now it feels rough on your skin, huh?”

He nodded again. “Yeah.”

She tilted her head, her wet locks curling slightly over one shoulder. “I guess I just find it
fascinating—a natural thing that’s sort of an enigma. I mean, can you think of anything else in the world that’s so smooth and so rough at the same time?”

He couldn’t resist a slight, slow, arrogant smile as he glanced down between his legs. “Well,
kitten, I can think of one thing.”

She offered up a light, pretty giggle. “Do you ever think about anything else?”

He shrugged. “Not since I found you stretched topless across that lounge chair the other day.
Speaking of which,” he added, “you can take your top off if you want.”

She stretched out a little, letting her toes dig in the wet sand as the tide rolled in a bit higher, coming up around their feet again. “No, I learned my lesson on that. I don’t want to be tan there
bad enough to risk another burn.”

Holding his hand down so the next rush of the tide washed away the grit between his fingers,
he then lifted his wet palm to lightly squeeze her soft, slender thigh. “I didn’t mean for tanning,
kitten.” He leaned a little closer, near her face, and looked into lovely blue eyes. “I meant because I want to kiss them some more.”

Kat’s breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t used to this yet. And in the light of day, she’d
suddenly started feeling strangely timid with him. That’s why she’d bounded out of bed and
into the few clothes she could find. And that’s why she couldn’t quite breathe right now.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter. “Regrets?”

She shook her head quickly. That wasn’t it at all. The plain, hard truth of the matter was that
she wanted to fuck the man senseless.

But she also wanted not to feel quite so much when she did it.

Because it was too good with him. Too hot, too perfect, and too emotional.

She’d actually cried a little after they’d done it in the shower, and they hadn’t been tears of
sadness or worry or regret of any kind. They’d been tears of wanting more of him somehow, wanting whatever was inside him, in his heart. They were tears of... love.

Insane, she knew. She’d wondered ten years ago if it was really possible to be in love with a
guy she didn’t know any better than she’d known Brock—yet, to this day she knew what
she’d felt had been real. Now, God help her, it was back, with a vengeance. She’d fought it, denying the words every time they’d popped to mind, using her engagement as a weapon. But
now that the engagement was gone, she felt... defenseless.

“Then what is it, kitten? What’s wrong?” And damn it, now his voice was so deep and gentle
—it was killing her.

She let out a quiet sigh. The way she saw it, she had no choice. She knew as well as she knew
her own name that Brock wasn’t a falling-in-love kind of guy. He hadn’t been that kind of guy
then, and he definitely wasn’t now. But she had two more days with him. Two more days that
she could love him and know him and drink in more physical pleasure than any man had ever
even come close to giving her. Or two days to pass that up and kiss him good-bye forever. The
good-bye kiss would most certainly come, either way—so how could she not let herself have this time with him, emotions be damned?

“Nothing’s wrong. In fact, everything’s right. Because...” She lowered her voice to a throaty
whisper as she leaned near his ear. “I want you. I want you to kiss them, Brock. I want you to kiss me everywhere.”

“Aw baby...” he said, low and hot.

“I want you so bad,” she murmured, finally letting that out, letting him know. It was hardly a
secret, but she needed to tell him, needed to surrender the admission, just say it out loud.

His hands rose to her face and their eyes met, dark and intense beneath the scorching rays of
the sun, just for a moment before his mouth closed over hers, firm and demanding.

And as he reached behind her to untie her top, dashing it onto the beach, as he lay her back into
the soft cradle of the sand, as he leaned slowly down, dragging his tongue gently over one
nipple, she heard herself saying it again. “I want you. Oh God, I want you.”

He licked her, kissed her, suckled her, pulling deeply, using his hands to cup and massage her
breasts, and as the exquisite sensations echoed through her accepting body, she whispered it
still more. “I want you. Yes. Oh, I want you so much.”

And when he urged her rear up off the sand long enough to ease her bottoms down, then shed
his trunks and parted her legs and sank deeply inside her in one stroke which was, just as he’d
promised, as rough as it was smooth, she still couldn’t keep the words from tumbling off her
lips. “I want you, Brock. I want you.”

But the whole time, her heart spoke different words inside her. The whole time, in her mind,
she was divulging a deeper truth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

When this whole thing was over, it was going to be bad—her heart broken to bits. Which was maybe exactly what she deserved since she was doing the same thing to Ian.

Yet for right now, while they were alone, while the rest of her existence seemed a world away,
while she could soak this up and take it inside her and let it be whatever she wanted it to be...it
was going to be very, very good.

Chapter Thirteen

Kat had offered to make what she now loosely referred to as dinner. She exited the house
balancing two plates bearing sandwiches, chips, and a few cookies from a package she’d
stuffed in her grocery bag on the way out the door at home. “Would you like turkey?” she
asked, holding up one plate. “Or turkey?” She held up the other.

Brock, lounging at the picnic table in his trunks, and looking just as hunky as usual, rewarded
her with a small grin. “Hmm. It’s a tough call, but I think I’ll take the turkey.”

“Excellent choice,” she replied, lowering both plates to the table, then her bottom to the bench
across from him.

“Not that I’m dissing the turkey,” he said, picking up his sandwich to take a big bite, “but
didn’t I see a couple of prepackaged hamburger patties in the freezer?”

“Yes, and I just moved them to the fridge to thaw. I thought since—if nothing unexpected
happens with my parents and Nina—tomorrow night will probably be our last night here, I’d
save the burgers for then.”

He gave a small nod, tipped back his head with an, “Ah,” and Kat’s stomach churned at the
notion of this coming to an end. Soon it would be Thursday and they’d be rescued and her
fabulous fantasy-come-to-life with Brock would be no more.

Unless...

No. He was not going to announce he was madly in love with her and stay.

Hell, she knew little to nothing about his life other than the fact that he was an FBI guy—but
that alone was enough to keep her sure he wouldn’t.

Yet... she still brimmed with that niggling curiosity one couldn’t help feeling over a guy she
was crazy about. In fact, she suddenly couldn’t believe she’d wasted so much time in shock
without trying to learn more about him. Of course, some of that time had also been in bliss, so
she forgave herself slightly, then said, “So, tell me about your life, Brock.”

He glanced from his plate to her eyes. “Hmm?”

“We’ve talked about me, me, me—a lot. Not so much about you.”

He narrowed his gaze, looking a little mysterious and making her a little wet. “What do you
want to know, kitten?”

“Well...” Instantly thrust into the throes of arousal, she lost her focus and spoke more softly.
She reached for her wineglass and took a drink, letting the alcohol glide warm down into her
chest. “Where do you live?”

“I’ve got a condo in Miami, near South Beach.”

Figured. Mr. FBI was also Mr. Swanky Jet Set. It was still hard to reconcile either image with
the Brock she’d once known, but it was getting less so. “I guess you hit all the clubs?” She and Nina had once gone to South Beach for a weekend and found the club scene too wild even for
them.

Brock shrugged. “Not often.”

Oh. Well, good. But still “Probably lots of women, though.”

Another careless lift of his shoulders. “Enough. Lot of girls on South Beach looking to party,
but not wanting any attachments—and that works out well.”

Uh-huh, of course it did. Images of a revolving door into Brock’s probably stylishly retro-yet
modern bedroom darkened Kat’s mind. She never should have asked about that. Not while
they were in the midst of a hot and heavy well, she hesitated to call it an affair for some
reason, but whatever they were having. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to end up feeling
like a Bond girl.

“How about Sister Katrina?” he asked. Behind him, the sky darkened in shades of rose and
plum and the air around the bungalow grew shadowy.

Kat tilted her head. “How about her?” “Lots of guys get into that tiny bikini?”