Riding the Waves. Tawny Weber

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СКАЧАТЬ eyes narrowed. She reminded him of one of those elfish princesses his mother used to read him stories about—the ones he’d always fallen in love with. Tall and slender, and her angular face commanded attention. Silvery-blond hair waved around her shoulders in a silken cape. The demureness of the cut of her calf-length sundress was at odds with the vivid turquoise-and-pink pattern. Bare toes curled sensually in the sand.

      A slow smile of anticipation curved Alex’s lips. It was as if it was meant to be. From one exhilarating ride to the temptation of another. Never let it be said that Albert Alexander Maddow didn’t appreciate opportunity when fate placed it right in front of him. Especially an opportunity that stole his breath away, filling his mind with sexual challenge.

      Through wasting time, he strode across the sand toward her, shoving his wet curls off his face as he moved. The closer he got, the more intrigued he was. Not because of her looks, but because of the look she was giving him. As though she couldn’t decide if he was a crazed ax murderer or how he’d taste covered in chocolate.

      From the set of her chin and the way she shifted her body, lifting one shoulder and crossing her arms over her chest, she obviously figured she could handle either option. Alex grinned. There was nothing sexier than a confident woman.

      And she was even better up close. Her brows, shades darker than her hair, slashed a strong arch over eyes so blue they were almost the same purple as the sunset. Her mouth was narrow, the upper lip heavier than the lower. He wanted to nibble on that lip, to run his tongue over it and see if it was as delicious as it looked.

      Had he ever been so intensely, instantly attracted to a woman? Alex couldn’t recall and didn’t care. After all, the only thing that mattered was this moment and this woman.

      Until the moment was over.

      “Gorgeous,” he commented when he was a couple feet away from her. Her features didn’t add up to pretty individually, but put together, they were stunning. His fingers ached to trace the line of her throat down to the gentle swell of flesh pressing against the vivid floral cotton of her dress.

      “The surf?” she asked after a brief hesitation. Even her voice was sexy. Low and husky, at odds with her ethereal appearance.

      “The view,” he clarified, sensing that she wouldn’t appreciate surfeit flirtation. A man who prided himself on his intuition as much as his brains, he reined in his instinct to hit hard.

      She obviously wasn’t fooled, though. She arched one brow, then glanced over his shoulder. He followed her gaze, taking in the watercolor beauty of the sunset. As always, the sight centered him. The ever-changing transformations of the sea never failed to fill his soul with peace.

      She got that, he realized as his gaze traced the lines of her face. She didn’t look like a woman used to peace, but one who did appreciate it when it was there in front of her.

      “It must feel amazing to be a part of that,” she said with a nod of her chin toward the pounding sea. She acted as if she wasn’t aware of his attraction, but the stiffness of her shoulders and slight step she took backward told him otherwise.

      She didn’t leave, though. Which said it all, in his mind.

      “Do you surf?” he asked, already knowing the answer. She had that romantic, wouldn’t-it-be-an-adventure look in her eyes. Not that surfing wasn’t both romantic and adventurous. But when a surfer looked at the sea, there was always an underlying layer of respect.

      “I never have surfed before, no,” she said, her gaze meeting his again. There was a summing-up, a calculation in her eyes. He recognized the look. Felt the sexual pull of it tugging at him. It was the kind of expression that said she wondered how he’d look without his swim trunks and could he keep it up long enough to make her scream with pleasure.

      Then, as if realizing he’d caught the look, she blinked. Color, soft pale pink, swept over her cheeks. But she didn’t drop her gaze. Almost defiantly, she kept those indigo eyes on his.

      A slow, challenging grin spread over his face. He would enjoy showing her both the view and his talents.

      “Surfing is like sex,” he told her softly. “An intense ride on a lover that knows how to push you to your limits, then bring you back to earth with a gentle kiss and an invitation to ride again.”

      He waited to see if she’d blush a second time.

      “You don’t say.” Her sharp cheekbones blush free, she gave him a long, cool look, then shook her head. “Somehow I doubt that tempting promise of pleasure is quite the same for a beginner. I’d imagine there’s a lot more flailing around, falling and inhaling seawater.”

      “Not if you have the right teacher,” he assured her, taking a small step closer. The sand shifted under his bare feet. He inhaled deeply. Her perfume filled his senses, even from a foot away. Was it stronger along her throat? If he buried his face in the curve, just where her breasts started to swell, would it overwhelm him?

      “I might look into surf lessons while I’m here,” she evaded, not taking the sex-talk bait.

      “I’ll teach you.”

      She gave a nervous little laugh, the sound saying she’d just bet he would. A shutter dropped, her expression chilling almost as much as his body as the evening breeze teased the water still coating his skin.

      “It’s okay,” he assured her, figuring she was smart to ice up. He was a stranger, after all. For now. “The Surf Shack is a part of the hotel’s offering. I teach for them.”

      She didn’t appear to be reassured. Not sure why, Alex put on his safest, most trustworthy face. The kind he hoped seemed nonthreatening. Even though he wanted to go in the opposite direction, he took a tiny step back. He instantly missed the scent of her perfume, flowery and rich, over the salty scent of the ocean.

      “You can check at the hotel. Just ask anyone about Alex and surfing. They’ll vouch for me.” He was pretty sure the last time he’d come this close to begging a woman to spend time with him occurred when he was sixteen and trying to find a date to his first college formal.

      Still, she hesitated. Her gaze slid from his face to the Surf Shack, a tiny frown furrowing the alabaster skin between those deep blue eyes.

      He saw the refusal on her lips.

      “Just say maybe,” he suggested before she could say anything.

      Humor flashed in those stunning eyes and she raised one brow, then shrugged.

      “Maybe,” she murmured. Then, without another word, not even a yes-I-want-to-do-you-until-we-both-get-sand-burns look, she turned away.

      He watched her go, rubbing a hand over the bruised ache in his chest and wondering what the hell had just happened. He felt as if he’d been smacked upside the head with his board in a total wipeout disaster—exhilarated, confused and wondering if he’d done permanent damage.

      Crazy, he told himself. Women were many things. Alluring, captivating, desirable. They were fun, felt incredible and made perfect temporary companions. But dangerous?

      He shook his head, his damp curls falling over his eyes a reminder that he’d better get them cut before he reported in for his real job at the end of the month.

      Dangerous, he thought again. СКАЧАТЬ