Wicked Heat. Kelli Ireland

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СКАЧАТЬ the hype. Sunken ship, hammerhead sharks, colorful reefs with abundant life—all that jazz.”

      Liam stood and moved toward her, closing the distance with measured steps until he stood mere inches from her. He looked down and stared into light green eyes rimmed with ebony lashes. Reaching out, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

      “I, uh...”

      He leaned toward her, quietly amused at the way she responded, instinctively moving closer to him before she caught herself. Undoubtedly, it was her need for control that forced her to pause midmotion. But she didn’t retreat, didn’t recover the steps she’d taken toward him.

       Good to know.

      “I thought we’d cleared this up,” she said. “Business before pleasure.”

      “Oh, we did.” He deftly removed the earring that had been about to fall free of her ear, handing it over. “I didn’t want you to lose this. It looks like the real deal.”

      She took it from him, closing her fingers around the earring and stepping back. “Thank you.”

      He began to unbutton his shirt, thrilling as her eyes followed each button until he hit his waist and pulled his shirttails free. Then she looked up, eyes wide.

      Someone knocked at the door.

      His mouth kicked up in a small smile, though his eyes never left hers. “I’ll get that, as it’s likely our luggage.”

      “Sure.”

      He started for the door. Several steps away, he glanced back and found her rooted in the same spot, her eyes locked on his backside.

      “I’ll have our bags put in here. If you’ll give me five minutes, I’ve a mind to grab my suit and head out with you.”

      “You dive?” she blurted out.

      “I do.”

      “Is your future brother-in-law certified, do you know?”

      He tried not to scowl and, by the worried look on Ella’s face, achieved far less than even 50 percent success. “I’m not certain. But I suppose he’s like anyone else—he’ll either dive or drown.”

      Her brow furrowed at the comment, but she didn’t reply.

      He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it on the bed. “Be right back.”

      He rounded the corner but still managed to hear her reply.

      “Please, God, let them be trunks. But if You’re listening, it would be fine if they’re small.”

      * * *

      Long before they reached the dive center, Ella was certain she’d been cosmically destined to face death by drowning. Why? If Liam Baggett was a menace in a power suit, then he was lethal in swim trunks. Yes, small swim trunks, at that. God’s existence had been verified the moment Liam walked out of their bungalow, towel slung over one broad...broad...shoulder, his lips still slightly swollen from their kiss.

      Their kiss. What had she been thinking? The answer was simple: nothing. She’d been living on the sheer influx of desire that had clouded her brain and determined conservative thinking—and living—to be a crime given proximity to him.

      She sneaked another look, this one longer. And she wasn’t any sorrier this time than she had been when she’d stolen the first, second or third looks.

      His upper body had the professionally chiseled look that came from long hours in the gym and, for good measure, a little physical work on the side. His thighs were lean but corded with muscle. If she touched his calves, they’d be solid. But his arms were the most arresting part of him. They were nothing less than sculpted perfection, a wordless covenant that protection could be found within their embrace.

      Ella shook her head. Covenant? Protection? You’re thinking Henry Cavill as Superman, not British surrogate wedding decision maker.

      They passed the bar, and she eyed it longingly. If she stopped for a drink, just one, they’d miss this excursion but could still catch the last outing today. Watching the bartender muddle the mint as he put together a mojito almost made the decision for her... “Ella?”

      Instinct had her rubbing her furrowed brow and forcing herself to take a deep breath. “Yes?”

      Liam waited several feet ahead of her, a knowing look in his eyes. “If you want another...”

       Kiss. Say kiss.

      “...drink that badly, I’m sure we can make the next excursion. We’ve plenty of time before the wedding party’s arrival.”

       Wedding party. Job. Stay focused.

      “No.” The word registered clear and sharper than she’d intended. “No,” she said again, this time more pleasantly. “I need to... We need to use every minute to our advantage to ensure your sister’s wedding comes together without a hitch. No cutting corners, and certainly no making do.”

      That same shadow she’d seen earlier passed over his face. “Of course.”

      “Wait. What’s that look? Is there something I should know?”

      He glanced away, his gaze fixed on some unseen spot in the water. “What, specifically, are you referring to?”

      “I’m referring to the wedding. I mentioned it being perfect and your face went totally blank. Is there something you aren’t telling me? Something I should know?” She hesitated. “Is it something between the bride and groom?”

      “I assure you, Ella, that my interests lie solely in securing my sister’s well-being. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. Understand that I will do whatever I must to ensure her happiness is secured. She’s the priority here, not me.”

      “Of course.” Ella gripped her shoulder and pulled, stretching, before repeating the same with the other side. She was wound so tight she couldn’t tell up from down, left from right, or brotherly concern from familial dissatisfaction. His answer struck her as a bit odd, though. Aggression created a solid foundation for every word he spoke. What was he willfully omitting?

      The answer wasn’t right there for the plucking, but she’d figure it out. One thing was certain, however. He loved his sister and, like he said, she was the priority. At least they agreed on that much.

      “About that drink?”

      A shake of her head before she resumed the trek to the beachfront dive hut. “It’s best I don’t give in to temptation before hitting the water.”

      The wind carried his response to her, soft and so sexually charged it seemed lightning should have struck. “On that, Ella, we very much disagree.”

      Fighting to keep from visibly clenching her thighs at the impact of his words, she focused on retying the sarong around her waist. Her dive suit wasn’t skimpy, but it fit tight, and the thin neoprene did nothing but enhance every movement. So she’d suffer a little discomfort. It wouldn’t kill her.

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