Blame It on the Bikini - By Natalie Anderson Page 0,6

‘It’s a bikini.’

He shook his head, his brown eyes teasing. ‘Sorry, Mya. It’s a bra.’

She was still too mortified to be teased. ‘I was in a swimwear store. I wanted Lauren’s opinion on it. It was a bikini.’

‘There were see-though bits.’ He gestured widely and half shrugged. ‘There was underwire. Looked like a bra to me.’

‘You’d know because you’ve seen so many?’ She tried to bite, but felt her blush rise higher.

‘Sure,’ he chuckled. ‘And for the record, yes, you can definitely get away with it.’

Brad watched Mya closely and couldn’t bring himself to take the polite step back despite knowing the doll was embarrassed beyond belief. But no way in hell was he ever deleting that image. She was gorgeous—far more gorgeous than he’d realised. The picture had been the teaser, but seeing her like this now? All flushed and snappy, pocket-sized but bright-eyed—he was beyond intrigued.

Her hair was swept into a ponytail. Now he remembered the colour had frequently changed. She and Lauren had spent for ever in Lauren’s room, giggles emanating as they did outrageous things to their hair. Though right now, instead of hot pink and purple, Mya’s hair colour looked almost natural—a light brown with slightly blonde streaks round the front. Her wickedly high cheekbones created sharp planes sloping down to that narrow little chin. Those teeth and that impish smile broke the perfection, yet were perfect themselves. The all-black ensemble was unusual for her but it didn’t hide her body. Despite her slender limbs and pixie face, she wasn’t boyishly slim. Her jeans were painted on, and the apron around her hips didn’t wholly hide her curvy butt. As for those breasts … Plumped up by the bikini/bra in the picture, they’d been so bountiful they’d spilled over the edges. Now, disguised under that plain black tee, their silhouette was minimised. But no simple cotton covering could fully hide the softness that seemed sinfully generous in proportion to her small stature.

His heart drummed a triumphant beat. Blood pulsed, priming muscles. Because he’d seen the way she’d looked at him—the flash she hadn’t been able to hide when he’d first walked into the bar. There’d been that pull, that instinctive reaction. He knew the signs—the second glances, small smiles, the heightened colour. The sparkle in the eyes, the parting of the lips. Brad Davenport also knew his worth. He knew he had a body that attracted a second glance—oh, and the cynic in him knew most women would never forget his trust fund. So he was used to being wanted and he knew when a woman wanted him.

Now the tip of her tongue briefly touched that too-wide top lip and then she bit back her smile. Yeah, she still had that gap between her two front teeth.

With just a look she’d had those stag-party guys competing to catch her close and hold her. Only she’d held them off with a few words and a hint of fire. And he wasn’t thinking of the lighter flame.

Brad’s entire body was on fire, and for the second time that night he gave in to impulse. He took her glass from her and put it on the table next to his.

‘What are you doing?’ A breathless squeak.

‘We’re old friends,’ he said softly. ‘We should greet each other properly.’

‘I wouldn’t have said we were friends.’ Her voice wobbled.

He smiled at the sound. He’d stirred a small response from her, but he wanted more. And he was used to winning what he wanted. Before she could say anything more, he stepped close and caught her mouth with his.

She instantly tensed, but he kept it light. When the stiff surprise ebbed from her body—pleasingly quickly—he lifted his head a fraction and stepped closer at the same time. He flicked his tongue to feel her soft lips, tracing their uneven length, and then sealing his to hers again and tasting the delight inside her mouth. And then she kissed him back and that fire exploded. Man, Mya Campbell was a hell of a lot hotter than he’d ever thought possible.

For a split second Mya wondered if she were dreaming. Then the heat blasted into her and she knew not even her imagination could come up with this. She held her head up without even realising—no thought of pushing him away. Because the guy did wicked things with his tongue—sweeping it between her lips. Deeper and deeper again. Caressing her mouth as if it were the most delicious pleasure. She softened, opening more. And