Paradise Nights: Taken by the Bad Boy. Kelly Hunter

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СКАЧАТЬ he’d be back soon. One week did not qualify as soon.

      When it came to life on the island, one week bore a startling resemblance to eternity.

      ‘Nico said I’d find you here,’ said a deep voice from the doorway and Serena caught her breath at the sudden rapid pounding of her heart. She turned slowly, her brain wrestling her wayward body for control of her next actions. Her body was all for launching itself into his arms and getting frantic fast. Her brain wanted something a little more demure and nonchalant. Something composed.

      She settled for leaning back in her chair and swirling round to face him, chin high in silent defiance of the effect he had on her body. She could control this. She could. ‘You’re late,’ she said darkly, drinking him in, those startling good looks, the smile in his eyes and the way his lips tilted at her words.

      ‘How goes the job hunting?’ he said.

      ‘It’s probably best if you don’t ask about the job hunting right now.’

      ‘That bad, huh?’

      ‘Let’s just say there’s not a lot here that makes my heart go pitter patter.’ Apart from the obvious.

      ‘So can I persuade you to take some time out to go for a Vespa ride or a swim?’

      With a smile like that he could doubtless persuade her to do anything. Not that he needed to know that.

      ‘I can probably spare a few hours. Distractions aren’t all that common around here. When they arrive we tend to make time for them. It’s just the island way.’ There. Nonchalant had been well and truly nailed. Who said she had no control around this man? She looked at the carryall at his feet. ‘Are you staying overnight?’

      ‘Two hours.’

      ‘That’s it?’ Her nonchalance headed south, never mind the nails.

      ‘I have a pick-up in Santorini later this afternoon. Business is booming.’

      Bummer. She stacked her papers into a pile and shut down her laptop. Two hours was still two hours. No point wasting it. ‘I hope you have a towel in your bag. And swimmers.’

      ‘Happens I do,’ he said.

      Hers were in her room. ‘I’ll meet you in the courtyard in three minutes. Help yourself to some food from the kitchen on the way.’

      Three minutes later she stood by the fastest Vespa on the island—which wasn’t saying much—with Superman beside her munching an apple as she contemplated their next step. ‘What would you rather do first? Swim or sightsee? There’s a good swimming cove nearby. Some pretty little churches up in the hills. Do you like churches?’

      ‘They have their uses. But I’d rather swim first and repent later,’ he said with a decidedly unangelic smile.

      ‘I like your thinking.’ Such a good catholic. She looked at the Vespa, looked back at Pete. ‘Who’s driving?’

      His lips twitched as his gaze met hers. ‘Now there’s a question.’

      ‘I’m the one who knows where we’re going,’ she said reasonably.

      ‘True,’ he said with a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring dejectedly at the bike for good measure. ‘There’s no arguing with that.’

      Serena rolled her eyes at the pitiful image of male self sacrifice before her. ‘Or we could go past the shed and get another Vespa. Then we could both be in the driver’s seat.’

      ‘A marginally better idea,’ he said. ‘If you discount the wasted fuel.’

      They stared at the bike some more.

      ‘You could always give me directions,’ he said.

      ‘Can you take directions?’ she asked sceptically.

      ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

      ‘There doesn’t need to be a reason.’ Clearly he’d never been in the car with her parents.

      ‘Not only can I take directions, I also have an equal opportunity plan of attack for this particular dilemma,’ he said. ‘Me being a thoroughly modern man and all.’

      Serena snorted. ‘Let’s hear it, then.’ He wasn’t quite as traditional in his thinking as her father and brothers when it came to womenfolk and their place in the world. But he wasn’t that far off it.

      ‘I’ll drive us to the beach, you can drive us to the church,’ he said with a grin. ‘We’ll start tossing coins after that.’

      ‘My hero.’ Wonders would never cease.

      He handed her his carry bag and straddled the bike. She slung the bag over her shoulder, next to her own, and slipped onto the bike, her hands at his waist and her sundress riding high on her thighs so that when she settled into place behind him her bare thighs nudged the lightweight cotton material of his trousers and the tightly muscled buttocks beneath. Maybe there was something to be said for not being in the driver’s seat after all. This was very nice. Very … liberating. Perfect, in fact.

      But wait. She’d wrinkled his shirt and she couldn’t have that. So she let her hands roam all over that wide muscled back; a wrinkle smoothed here, a wrinkle made there. Really, there was just no getting rid of them.

      ‘Serena—’ His voice was husky, more than a little strained.

      ‘Hmm?’

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Ironing.’

      ‘Well, can you do it later?’ he muttered. ‘I’m trying to concentrate here.’

      ‘Oh.’ She slid her hands beneath his shirt and set them to his waist, set her feet to the footpegs, her knees tucking in behind his and bringing her thighs into even closer contact with the back of his. ‘Sorry. Ready when you are.’

      ‘Serena—’ He sounded long suffering, his voice a deep delicious rumble that started in his chest and carried all the way to the tips of her fingers as well as her ears. There was just no end to the sensory delights to be found on the back of this bike. ‘The directions—’

      ‘Oh. Right.’ Serena grinned as he started the bike. ‘Turn left and drive. The road follows the coastline. I’ll tell you when we’re there.’

      ‘That’s it?’ he said. ‘Those are the directions?’

      ‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ she said and settled back to enjoy the ride.

      Serena took him to a secluded cove with white sand, clear blue water and a swimming cave she knew damn well he’d want to explore. Sure enough his eyes lit up when he saw it and he wasted no time stripping down to his board shorts. He wore clothes well, no denying it. But he wore next to no clothes better. He was all lean and sculpted muscle, not an ounce of fat on him. Sheer perfection, but for a thin, wicked-looking scar that started high on his back and headed up and over his left shoulder.

      She СКАЧАТЬ