The Devil and the Deep - By Amy Andrews Page 0,49

mischief Nathan’s daughter had got up to between the sheets last night.

And it worked to a degree. Until Stella came on deck an hour later.

In a micro bikini.

He stared at her open-mouthed, pleased for the camouflage of his sunglasses. Two tiny triangles barely contained the swell of her breasts and the pants, high on her leg and low on her front, had two tempting little bows at the side keeping them from falling off altogether.

‘Morning,’ she said airily as she drew level with him, her laptop, some coconut sunscreen and a towel in hand. A smile on her face. ‘What a magnificent day,’ she murmured, inhaling the sea air deep into her lungs, feeling it resonate with her spirit.

Rick watched as her chest expanded, straining the fabric of her bikini top to indecent proportions. Lord, was she trying to give him a heart attack?

‘Sleep well?’ he asked, his neutral tone almost killing him.

Stella sighed as the air rushed out of her lungs. ‘Like a baby,’ she purred.

She hadn’t, of course. How could she sleep with a fire ravaging every erogenous zone she owned and quite a few she hadn’t even known existed?

She’d barely slept a wink.

Perhaps she should have helped herself as she’d led Rick to believe but, after their near miss, she’d wanted strong male arms and a warm solid chest, not just her and Mr Buzzy.

‘How’s your arm?’ he asked politely.

‘Good.’ She nodded. It was the first morning it hadn’t ached when she woke and the bruising was nearly all faded. She could even move it the full range, if a little gingerly. ‘I reckon I can hit my word count today.’

‘Better get started, then,’ he prompted, desperate to get her coconut aroma and bare shoulder out of his direct line of vision.

Stella nodded, knowing it was best to get away from him yet strangely reluctant to do so. It was as if some tropical fever had her in its grip and he was both the cause and the antidote.

‘I might catch some rays first, before the sun gets too hot.’

Of course. Why didn’t she just roll around in some jelly while she was at it?

‘Yell if you need a hand,’ she murmured as she pushed past him, heading for the bow.

He watched her sexy sashay from behind his glasses. Yell if you need a hand.

* * *

Stella sun-baked for the first two hours. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was playing at but it seemed to have something to do with goading a reaction out of Rick. After all, if he was really that into her, he surely wouldn’t be able to ignore her best attempts at extreme flirting?

She shifted, she wiggled, she lay on her back, she rolled over, she sat up, she applied liberal amounts of sunscreen, she even retied the bows.

She got nothing.

Last night had obviously been some sort of anomaly for Rick. A mad moment when a balmy night and the moonshine had affected his judgement. This morning he seemed completely indifferent to her. Nothing like the man who had kissed her as if it were his last day on earth.

Nothing like the guy she’d known for ever either—quick to laugh and eager to share his joy of the ocean. He looked like a robot at the wheel, sunglasses on, scanning the horizon for who knew what. The meaning of life? They’d passed several islands in the distance and they’d slipped by without so much as a land ahoy and a finger point.

It was already weird between them and nothing had happened.

Well...nothing much anyway.

She gave up trying eventually and drifted off to sleep, exhausted after her long night of tossing and turning. But later she knew she was going to have to make amends. Get things back on track.

Because, one way or another, she needed him in her life. And if that meant going to her grave without carnal knowledge of one Riccardo Granville, then so be it.

* * *

After a day of watching Stella prance around in a bikini, it was a relief to finally drop anchor and go below deck. He had a shower. A very cold shower. And lectured himself on the same things he’d lectured himself about all last night.

This was Stella. Nathan’s daughter. His old, old friend and business partner.

And no one had ever died from sexual frustration.

By the time he got out of the shower he’d almost convinced himself, then his gaze fell on Pleasure Hunt and he was lost again. He picked it up to where