In seconds, Whitney stripped and dove cleanly into the pool. Breaking the surface, she treaded water. “Your turn.” With the simple pleasure of having water against her skin, she dipped her head back and let it flow through her hair. “Don’t forget the shampoo.”
The water was clear enough to give him a tempting silhouette of her body from the shoulders down. Water lapped over her breasts. Her feet kicked gently. Feeling the stir, the dull, dangerous stir of desire, he concentrated on her face. It didn’t help.
It glowed with laughter, washed clean of the light, sophisticated makeup she put on every morning. Her hair was sleek, turned dark with water and sun as it framed the elegant bones that would keep her a beauty even when she was eighty. Doug picked up the little plastic bottle of shampoo and tossed it in his hand.
Under the circumstances, he thought it wise to look at the humor in the situation. He had a ticket to a million-dollar prize literally at his fingertips, a determined and very clever enemy breathing down his throat, and he was about to skinny-dip with an ice-cream princess.
After pulling his shirt over his head, he reached for the snap of his jeans. “You’re not going to turn around are you?”
Dammit, she liked it when he grinned that way. The cheerful cockiness was just plain appealing. Lavishly, she began to soap one arm. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that cool, slick feeling. “Want to brag, do you, Douglas? I’m not easily impressed.”
He sat down to remove his shoes. “Leave me my share of the soap.”
“Move a little faster then.” She began to soap her other arm in the same long, smooth stroke. “God, this is better than Elizabeth Arden’s.” With a sigh, she lay back and lifted one leg out of the water. When he stood and dropped his jeans, she gave him a thorough, critical study. Her expression was bland, but she didn’t miss the lean, muscled thighs, the taut stomach, the narrow hips just covered with low, snug briefs. He had the clean, sleek build of a runner. And that, she supposed, was what he was.
“Adequate,” she said after a moment. “Since you apparently like to pose, it’s a pity I didn’t bring my Polaroid.”
Unstung, he pulled off the briefs. For a moment, he was poised, naked—and she was forced to admit, magnificent—at the edge of the lagoon. His dive was sharp before he surfaced a foot away from her. What he’d seen underwater made his mouth go dry with desire.
“Soap,” he said, as cool as she, and offered the shampoo in trade.
“Don’t forget behind the ears.” Using a generous hand, she poured shampoo into her palm.
“Hey, half’s mine, remember.”
“You’ll get it. Anyway, I’ve more hair than you.” She worked it into a lather while she scissored her feet to keep above water.
He gestured with the soap before rubbing it over his chest. “And I’ve more body.”
With a smile, she sank below the surface, leaving a frothy trail of suds where her hair fanned out. The beat of water sucked them down and away. Unable to resist, she swam down, deeper. She could hear the vibrations of the falls, drumming, drumming, see rocks sparkling a foot beneath her, taste the clear, sweet water that was kissed by the sun. Glancing up, she saw the strong, lean body of the man who was now her partner.
The idea of danger, or men with guns, of being pursued seemed ludicrous. This was paradise. Whitney didn’t believe in cunning snakes behind luscious flowers. When she surfaced, she was laughing.
“This is fabulous. We should book in for the weekend.”
He saw the sun shoot sparks into her hair. “Next time. I’ll even spring for the soap.”
“Yeah?” He looked attractive, dangerously so. She discovered she preferred a touch of danger in a man. The word boredom, the only word she considered a true obscenity, wouldn’t apply to him. Unexpected. That was the word. She found it had a sensuous ring.
Testing him, and perhaps herself, she treaded slowly until their bodies were too close for safety. “Trade,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on his as she held out the bottle.
His fingers tightened on the slick soap so that it nearly slid out of them. Just what the hell was she up to? he asked himself. He’d been around enough to recognize that look in a woman’s eyes. It said—maybe. Why don’t you persuade me? The trouble was, she wasn’t anything like the women