Prize of a Lifetime. Donna Hill

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      “Neighbors.” He led the way down the corridor and stopped in front of her door first. “Here you are.”

      “Here I am,” she said inanely.

      “Need any help?”

      “No, I’m fine. Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.”

      He nodded, but didn’t move. “Are you going in?”

      “Oh,” she said, flustered. She stuck the key in the lock, opened the door and flipped on the light.

      “Mind if I take a look around? Make sure everything is cool, okay?”

      Sasha stepped aside. “Sure.”

      “Can’t be too careful,” he said, stepping inside. He walked in, opened the closets, looked in the bathroom and went to the terrace, checking the locks. He turned to her. “Be sure to lock this whenever you leave your room.” He drew in a breath and slowly exhaled. “Well…everything looks fine. Uh, guess I need to get out of here so that you can get settled.” He moved toward the open door.

      “Are you always this…helpful?” Sasha asked with a soft smile, her hand on the frame of the door.

      “As the oldest with two younger sisters, my father always insisted that I look out for my mother and my sisters and treat women the way I would my own family.” His gaze settled on her for an instant too long. He looked away. “Good night. Rest well.”

      “You, too. And thanks again.”

      He nodded and walked out. Slowly she closed and locked the door behind him, and suddenly the brightly colored room seemed incredibly dull without him.

      She shook her head to dispel thoughts and images of Mitchell Davenport. What she needed to focus on was unpacking her bags, taking a long, hot shower and settling beneath the covers of the queen-sized bed that was calling out to her.

      After unpacking, she closed the drapes on the terrace windows and stripped before heading into the bathroom. The moment she walked in she heard the rush of water coming from the opposite side of the shared wall. Mitchell’s room. Her mind flooded with images of his tall, lean, muscular brown body glistening beneath the pulsating flow of the rushing water. The bud between her thighs jerked to attention and began to pulse. A soft moan escaped her lips.

      It had been months since she’d had sex, and even longer that her needs had actually been fulfilled. No wonder she got turned on by the first decent-looking,-smelling,-talking man she met.

      Get it together, girl, she chided herself, turning on the water and wondering if Mitchell would imagine her the same way she’d just imagined him.

      She stepped under the steamy spray and using her shower gel, generously lathered her body. Her nipples grew hard and the beat of the water between her legs only intensified the long drought that she’d endured. She let the water push the scented soap off her body as she caressed the heaviness of her breasts wishing that there were hands other than her own giving her pleasure. Her fingers dipped lower, answering the demanding call.

      She closed her eyes and Mitchell stood in front of her, holding her close, hard and thick between her trembling thighs, stroking her, nibbling her wet skin, pushing her closer to the edge of ecstasy.

      Her body shook from the balls of her feet, charging like an electric current up her thighs, exploding in her center, the intensity weakening her knees. She shook and moaned as release wound its way through her.

      The pounding of her heart echoed above the sound of the water. Her eyes blinked open. She was alone—momentarily satisfied.

      Chapter 3

      Mitchell rose before the sun. He wished he could say that he’d actually slept. But he didn’t. More than once he’d awakened during the night with a hard-on that could cut glass, and he owed his discomfort to Sasha Carrington. Throughout the night he’d envisioned her lush body naked in his bed, on the beach, in the ocean and him doing things to her and her to him that are only talked about on a 900 call. Her soft scent haunted him like an apparition. He’d found himself reaching for her in the throes of tossing and turning in his bed, only to discover that he’d grabbed the downy-soft pillow.

      Bleary-eyed, he made his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower full-blast. Maybe an early-morning jog on the beach would shake off the effects of Sasha he hoped as he stepped under the prickling pellets of icy-cold water.

      Donning a sleeveless T-shirt and his jogging shorts, he laced up his sneakers, grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom, draped it around his neck and left for the beach. Walking through the reception area he passed the bar and closed shops and inhaled the aromas of steamed fish, ham, bacon and spices as the kitchen staff prepared to open the breakfast buffet at six.

      When he reached the beach, a hint of orange glowed just above the horizon. He had about a half hour before the sun fully rose, and the heat with it. He took off at a slow jog, his only company the seagulls and the ocean that rolled toward the shore.

      This was the best time of day, he thought, picking up his pace, those precious moments just before dawn, when stillness and the perfection of nature were at their most beautiful. Nothing was more awesome than watching the magnificence of the sun emerge above the horizon. It was a humbling sight that made you realize how small man really was.

      He took the edge of the towel that hung around his neck and wiped his damp face. He’d started jogging about two years ago and found that it was the best way to relieve stress. When things had started falling apart financially and romantically, jogging was the only thing that kept him from walking out into rush-hour traffic and calling it a day. After a good run, things didn’t seem quite as dismal.

      He reached the part of the beach that led to a bluff of rocks where many of the tour boats docked. He slowed and climbed the rocks until he reached the top then sat down to watch the sun rise. A pathway of orange light spread out over the water, wider and wider as the sun made its ascent, pushing the darkness slowly aside.

      Mitchell leaned forward and squinted against the light. He really didn’t get enough sleep. Now he was seeing things. But what he was seeing was getting closer instead of vanishing like the hallucination he thought it was. His pulse kicked up a notch as the bikini-clad beauty emerged from the water like a water goddess—warm brown, wet, with curves that could send a man driving right off the edge. She didn’t see him, and he wanted it that way so that he could enjoy, for as long as possible, the sweet eye candy that made his mouth water.

      It was then that he noticed the blue-and-yellow striped towel stretched out on the beach near the shore. She strolled toward it, tossing her wet hair over her shoulder, her strong thighs rippling as she walked.

      Whatever he’d imagined that Sasha would look like naked paled in comparison to what was right in front of him. His jaw clenched when she bent down to retrieve her towel. Straightening, she ran the towel across her wet hair and down her arms as she took in the scenery around her, the beauty of the Caribbean being awakened…and then her gaze fell on him. He saw her quick intake of breath, the sudden rise of her breasts. He stood up and began to climb down. He crossed the sand to where she stood, unmoving.

      “Morning. I see you’re an early riser, too.”

      Suddenly self-conscious, she wrapped the towel around her. “I didn’t think anyone was out here, so I went for a swim, СКАЧАТЬ