Fired Waitress, Hired Mistress. Robyn Grady

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      He was a man who lived well—the finest food and accommodation, state-of-the-art high-powered cars. But holding a beautiful woman was on a shelf all its own. She seemed to be on a shelf all her own.

      He was no stranger to sex. Slow sex, hot sex—wild sex even better. But, no matter how stimulating the company, he’d never needed to worry about maintaining a certain level of control. He never truly lost himself in the moment. And yet the desire rippling through his veins now was distinct. Unique.

      Disturbing.

      It had to be the setting, the extraordinary circumstances, but it was all he could do not to tug this woman’s supple curves closer, coax her shapely hips nearer, tilt her chin higher and kiss her.

      Hard.

      Normally he knew when a woman was interested too. A lidded look. An arched brow. A sensual smile when she caught his gaze and held it. That kind of nonverbal communication had been perfected by nature over eons to ensure the survival of the species. I’m available. Me too. No genius there.

      But, lying beneath this palm tree with Miz Crusoe nestled alongside him, he was stumped. She’d been grateful, stubborn, teasing, and finally accepting. It couldn’t be his imagination that she was enjoying this contact as much as he was.

      So where did pumped-up high-stakes drama end, and good old-fashioned foreplay with an attractive, might-as-well-be-naked woman begin? If he rolled more towards her, how would she react? With outrage, as she’d done earlier, before he’d flattened her against the ground to make sure she wouldn’t hurt herself? Or would her gaze become heavy with an I-feel-it-too glow?

      When she gave a violent shiver, the choice was made for him. Before she trembled a second time Gabriel held her more firmly, grazing a warming palm up and down her chilled arm.

      After a moment she looked up, and her full lips twitched. “You must think I’m horrible.”

      He grinned. “Worse than Godzilla and the giant Powder Puff man combined.”

      Her perfect smile fanned wider before she sobered. “While I can’t condone all your tactics, I truly am grateful. For everything. You’re right. I’d have been fish food if you hadn’t come along when you did.”

      “I’m glad I was able to help.” More than she’d ever know. “How’s your foot?”

      Her leg moved and she flinched. “Hurts a little.”

      “We ought to get moving before the pain gets worse.”

      She hummed out an affirmation, but then only laid her cheek back upon his chest.

      He gauged the sun’s heavy position in the sky, the storm clouds meshing together overhead, then closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of her hand on his ribs.

      Ah, what the hell? A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

      His palm trailed her arm again, up over the slender shoulder, down to her elbow. Seagulls wheeled and squawked above while time wrapped around them like a promise-filled cocoon. If anyone had happened along they’d have mistaken them for lovers.

      “Guess we really should get going,” she murmured. “You’ve probably got someone waiting.”

      He nailed the quality in her voice: overly blasé. People came to Diamond Shores to fulfil their island fantasy while soaking up every laid-back luxury. Make the rates exorbitant, and it was a licence to print money. It added up that kitten here was looking to be indulged too. But in what way? And to what extent?

      Time for a test line.

      “There’s nobody waiting in the way you’re implying,” he said.

      “What way is that?”

      “How many ways are there?”

      “Let’s see. You could be here on a reckless weekend with a bud.”

      “Nope.”

      “Could be showing a client a good time, hoping to tie the bow on a multi-million-dollar deal.”

      “Good guess, but no banana.”

      “You’re here with your girl?”

      “Don’t have one.”

      Two beats of silence, then her breath brushed his chest again. “Maybe you’re here to find one?”

      “Is that an invitation?”

      She gave a humourless laugh, but didn’t search out his gaze. “Believe me, I’m not your type.”

      “What type are you?”

      “I should start with clumsy.”

      “So this kind of incident isn’t a one-off?”

      “Yesterday I spilled a drink in the lap of an Arab prince.”

      He cringed. “Bet he offered to buy you another one.”

      When she groaned, the vibration blew a pleasant tingling rash down one side of his body. “Hardly.”

      “International model types weren’t the Prince’s thing?”

      She lifted her head to give him a pull-the-other-one look. “Models are super tall and thin.”

      “So, not a model?” he conjectured. “More athlete, then. You compete in the European show-jump circuit?”

      “Horses make me sneeze. And I’m clumsy, remember? I’d break my neck, and the poor horse’s too.”

      “Okay. Your father’s one of the country’s leading barristers and you’re fresh out of law school, ready to fry your first bad guy’s butt,” he surmised, and she laughed.

      “I like your imagination,” she said, “but…”

      “I’m off track?”

      “Way off.”

      “A hint would be good.”

      “But not as fun as hearing what you come up with next.”

      Her eyes were dancing now, and a stream of hair had fallen down the centre of her forehead, criss-crossing her slim straight nose. He scooped the hair behind her ear and his blood heated more.

      “Got it.” He lowered his hand. “You’re a misunderstood heiress running from the press.”

      “Not this year.”

      He chuckled, so she did too, but then she winced and touched her head.

      His stomach muscles crunched and welts stung for the first time as he sat up. “How’s the lump?”

      “Only hurts when I laugh.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ